Beginning, Previous Section, Section V

Chapter Ten

Posted on Wednesday, 5 April 2006

“Come to bed, Fitzwilliam. This problem will not be solved tonight.”

Elizabeth Darcy kneaded her husband’s shoulders as he sat in his shirtsleeves by the fire. He pressed his fingers to his temples and shook his head. “I need some solitary time to think. Go to bed my love; you must be exhausted. I’ll be up later.”

Elizabeth concentrated her massage at the base of his neck for a while, then twisted around to look at him. It was the first time they had been alone together since Richard had announced the shocking news.

“Are you very angry with me, Fitzwilliam?”

He looked up at her with a weary smile and reached for her hand.

“No, I am not angry. After all, your motives were pure, and you were doing your best to protect a member of my family.”

“Anne is now part of my family too. I love her dearly.”

“As you have proven…But you must understand what I am saying. Had you been keeping from me something concerning your own family, I could have suspected a personal motive of some kind. But in this situation you had nothing to gain by agreeing to keep her secret. Indeed, you were risking a great deal.” Here Darcy winced as the thoughts that had earlier tortured him came to mind.

“Forgive me, Fitzwilliam, but I know you too well not to see that you are hiding your true feelings from me.”

“Unlike I, you mean…who was blind to your deception for all these months.”

Elizabeth blushed. “No, of course not. You are hurt and angry, and I cannot blame you. Naturally, I want you to understand the predicament I was in and the choice I felt I had to make…but you need not spare me your disapprobation. We must talk about this, Fitzwilliam, or it will grow into something far more insidious. Please… please, talk to me…”

“I cannot deny that I find your ability to deceive me—especially, for such a length of time— upsetting, as well as unnerving. And yes, of course I am hurt. Hurt that Anne should want to hide from me, and that you did not think me capable of keeping her secret without interference. But as I said, I cannot really be angry. I feel I have no right to be. You were there for Anne when I could not be.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak but her husband interrupted her, saying, “Let us put this whole discussion off for the time being. I have not the energy, nor the wherewithal, to deal with it just now. Let me concentrate on finding Anne and getting her out of London. You and I,” he paused, staring for a moment at the fire, “you and I love each other far too dearly to allow this episode to injure us in any significant way.”

“Fitzwilliam,” cried Elizabeth, throwing her arms about his neck. “How blessed I am to have you as my husband! I love you so very much!” She hugged him tightly. “Come to bed soon…and don’t hesitate to wake me…for any reason.”

As she bent to kiss his head, Darcy caressed her beautifully rounded belly, then placed his cheek upon it. “Good-night, my love. Go and get some rest.”

He sat in the stillness for some time, trying to focus on the bits of information Elizabeth, Richard and Fennimore had given him…but it was no use. His mind kept drifting back to Elizabeth…and Anne…and the successful deception that had, without his knowing it, been part of his every day life for lo these many months. This was no good! He had to concentrate on finding Anne; in a matter of days, all hell would break loose!

He decided to go down to the wine cellar, select a fine Port and retreat to his old thinking spot. No, by rights it should be called his brooding spot, for that was where he had gone, even as a boy, to curse his demons, rage against the world, his parents and sometimes…G-d. How many hours had he sat on that cellar step, a wine bottle in his hand, after arriving home from Rosings that spring? He rose from his cozy chair and headed for the stairs. As he reached the door, Strickland came rushing towards him in his nightshirt.

“Master Darcy, is there anything I can get you, sir?” said the old butler, anxiously. “Forgive me, sir, but I thought that you and the mistress had retired.”

“It is I who am sorry to disturb your sleep, Strickland. Go back to your bed; I’ll help myself.”

And although the devoted servant again tried to be of service to his master, Darcy dismissed him with a firm tone. Holding a three-branched candelabra, he slowly made his way down the steps. As he moved past row after row of fine wines nestled in their wooden racks, he thought of the times he and his father had spent together before these aging bottles. He had learned as much about his family responsibilities and his family history here as he had about grapes and fermentation. The few words ever uttered about the physical relationship between a man and a woman were spoken here, in the deep, dark stillness of the cellar. In a way, it seemed that while the family was in town, this unlikely place substituted for the open fields of Pemberley. And so, he was here once again.

Making his selection, he uncorked it and took it half way up the stairs. This had been the very spot. He could see the entirety of the cellar from here: the racks, the kegs, the large worktable and the tools and utensils that hung on one wall. Though these objects were bathed in darkness, his eyes had adjusted enough to see them clearly, and he smiled to himself as he took a swallow. Not a very gentleman like way to down your Port, Darcy! he grinned and took another swig.

Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes and began to recite all he now knew about Anne’s residence in London. Fennimore was right. There were only so many suitable neighborhoods within a reasonable radius of Crestwood Lane, and a painstaking, systematic search would be the most logical way to begin. But it was impractical, given the time constraints, and more importantly, dangerous for Anne. He thought in wonder and some admiration of the length of time Anne had been living on her own. How in the world had she made these involved arrangements from Rosings? Surely she had not arrived in London like a lost child!

The more Darcy pondered these questions, the more focused his thinking became—despite the wine--and he was suddenly struck with what he thought was a very logical assumption. If Anne had prearranged her London accommodations from Rosings, she must have done so through a trusted acquaintance or through an advertisement in the newspaper. A trusted friend would be impossible to track down without a great deal of investigation, but an advertisement… If he could locate the newspapers from the months prior Anne’s escape, he might be able to narrow down the probable locations even further. All he had to do was read the advertisements through Anne’s eyes. What would she have been looking for in an ideal living situation? Where would she have felt most safe?

Remembering that Mrs. Pritchett saved newspapers for the dirtiest chores, Darcy rose, the candelabra in one hand and the bottle in the other, and hastened down the steps. He searched the wine cellar, the root cellar, the kitchen supply pantry and the small back shed where the wood was stored. There, he finally found what he was looking for, and after carrying stack after stack up to his library, finally settled down to sort them out.

Although he was missing several papers from the three-month period before Anne’s departure, Darcy found enough of them to be encouraged. And as the clock on his mantel struck four, he began his meticulous perusal of the classifieds.

Juliana Fennimore stared blankly out the window of her coach and listened to her mother drone on. Poor Mama! How can she bear living with this constant guilt and anxiety? She can please no one—least of all herself. I would rather live with Aunt Helen forever than with a man who bullies me and separates me from my children.”

Ever since she was a snip of a girl, Juliana remembered pitying her mother…and being angry at her, at the same time. She, being of such an independent nature, could not understand how her mother tolerated her father’s ill humour, his unreasonable demands and above all, his outrageous edicts! Why had she not found the strength to come to Simon’s defense when she had been the only person on earth remotely capable of influencing their father? Why was she allowing him to banish her to Aunt Helen’s now? Not that she minded being with Helen. Now that Simon was gone, she was far better company than anyone at home, and she loved Helen dearly. But the small, rural community had little to offer by way of society, culture or entertainment. Her only solace would be the ability to ride as long and hard as she liked in a regular saddle. Riding sidesaddle had never suited her, and she therefore rarely rode while in town.

“You know how your father is, dearest. In a few months he shall miss you so terribly that he will send for you and pretend that nothing happened. It is difficult for him, at the moment. As Mr. Greasley is a member of his club, he feels he cannot show his face there…and with nowhere else to spend his leisure hours, he in the worst of tempers. Please understand; your father only did what he thought was best for you.”

Juliana’s head snapped round at this absurd statement. “Do you really believe that, Mama? Do you really think that father cares about my happiness? All he wants is to get me off his hands…to marry me off to someone he can boast about at his precious club! He cares nothing for what my day-to-day life would be like with such a man. Just as he cares little for what you suffer.”

“Do not speak so about your father, Juliana! I will not have it,” interrupted Lady Fennimore, indignantly. “No man is perfect, as you yourself shall see if you ever marry. Life gives each of us certain blessings and many challenges, and it is up to us to make the best of what we have been given and be as happy as possible.”

“Is denying yourself the pleasure of seeing your own son what you call making the best of it, Mama?” Juliana said with genuine sympathy. She wanted to add that women sometimes had to win the respect they deserved…but bit her lip, instead. She reached out for her mother’s hand and pressed it. “I know how much you miss him, Mama--how very lonely you are for his company. If only I knew how to help you.”

The coach, which had been traveling at a fine clip, was slowing down somewhat, and Juliana leaned out her window to see what was the matter. Further down the road, some soldiers in uniform had stopped a farmer’s cart and Post coach. They seemed to be questioning the travelers and inspecting their goods and belongings.

“Oh, bother!” grumped Juliana, annoyed by what would be an obvious delay of at least half an hour. “Soldiers have blocked the road up ahead. They must be looking for a highwayman or some stolen goods. This sort of thing has been happening far too often these days. What kind of society have we become?” she grumbled, leaning back forcefully against her seat.

A soldier on horseback slowly approached their carriage, his head tilted down, his hat covering his eyes. When he finally lifted his chin and grinned, Juliana gave out a little cry of surprise.

“Ladies,” said he, removing his hat and making his horse bow gracefully before them. Then straightening, he winked at Juliana and offered his most charming smile to Lady Fennimore.

Juliana laughed at her mother’s perplexed countenance, “It is Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mama. What an amazing coincidence! We shall certainly not be delayed for too long now.”

“What is the problem, Colonel? Are we in any danger?” asked Lady Fennimore.

“No, no, Madam, the thief has just now been discovered,“ he said, grinning at Juliana, “but we are still looking for a stolen item. My orders are to have each and every carriage, cart and rider searched. Forgive me, but it will be necessary for one of my men to enter your carriage as well. Please remain seated; it will only take a moment.”

With the ladies’ attention drawn to the Colonel, a uniformed officer entered the coach from the other side and seated himself beside Lady Fennimore. Startled, she turned, then let out a cry mixed with anguish and elation.

“Simon, Simon, my darling boy!” she sobbed, clutching her son to her. “What are you doing here? And what in the world are you doing in that uniform…?”

“Mother, don’t you see!” cried Juliana excitedly. “Our meeting is the very reason for this elaborate hoax! The Colonel has arranged it.”

As the words left her lips, their true meaning suddenly struck Juliana Fennimore like a bolt from heaven, and she turned to look incredulously at the Colonel, who sat upon his steed gazing at her intently—his eyes filled with tender affection. Their gaze locked and held, as if in a warm embrace that neither of them could break. Finally distracted by her mother’s loud exclamations and intermittent sobs, she mouthed her thank you! and turned her attention back to her family.

The Colonel grinned contentedly and, for a few moments, watched the affectionate reunion before him. But suddenly feeling like an intruder in some intimate tête-à-tête, he turned his attention to the driver.

“Pull the coach off to the side and wait there,” he ordered, before riding off to thank and dismiss his men. When he returned, he dismounted, tethered Fennimore’s horse to the carriage, and still holding on to his reins, sprang up to the seat beside the driver.

“My good man,” he said coolly,“ I don’t know where your loyalties lie, but I strongly suggest that you keep this little incident entirely to yourself. If Lord Fennimore gets wind of it, I shall know whom to blame and believe me, you shall regret your actions.”

“No need to threaten me, Colonel! I’d do anything to help young Master Simon. Best man I know.”

“Good man!” said the Colonel joyfully slapping the driver on the back. “So take us on ahead and stop at some decent little inn for refreshments—nothing too posh, mind you. We can’t risk being recognized.” And with that, he jumped back on his horse and waved the driver on.

“Are we moving? Are you coming with us?” asked Lady Fennimore in a nervous flutter as the carriage gave its first lurch.

“The Colonel and I shall accompany you most of the way so that the three of us have time to talk; then we shall return back to London. Mother, my plan is to find a larger flat for Juliana and me to share--hopefully, in a somewhat better part of town. It all depends on the cost, of course, but Dr. Morrison has given me an advance on my wages to make it all possible. When I have moved my furnishings and settled in a bit, I shall come and fetch you, Julie. So do not fret. Your home shall be in London with me, and you can visit Aunt Helen whenever you yearn for some time in the country. How does that sound?”

“It sounds wonderful!” exclaimed Juliana, bending forward to kiss his cheek. “And the best part is that we will be able to spend time with you, Mama. We shall arrange it; you will see.”

“Your father will never allow it! He shall have an absolute fit!”

“We do not expect him to allow it, Mama, nor do we foresee his being able to do very much about it,” said Fennimore. “He may rage about for a week or two, but really, Mama, what could he possibly do to you that he hasn’t already done? He is not a violent man, thank heaven, but he is hardly what you would call good company—he spends most of his time at the club. He could cut your clothing allowance, I suppose, but he is too proud to admit to the world that he estranged himself from his wife as well as both his children!! You must be brave, Mama, and it will all eventually come right.”

Lady Fennimore turned her head to gaze, silently and anxiously, out her window while her children grinned at one another. The time of turning had begun; her children had grown more intelligent and insightful than she. From now on, she would depend on them, instead of the other way around. Not that they had been able to depend on her all that much in the past, she now realized.

Thankful for the momentary lull in the conversation, Juliana turned her head to smile at Colonel Fitzwilliam, riding along beside them. She had known that he was there, felt his presence even as she had focused her attention on her brother. Yet, it was terribly rewarding to see his calm, self-assured countenance smiling back at her. From the first, she had thought him especially attractive, with a handsome face only enhanced by his intelligence and wit—even when she was still convinced that he was a brute. His charming manner and surprising faith in her good nature had unsettled her at each of their last encounters. He had seen through her hard facade almost immediately, and now, it seemed, he was trying to show her how much he cared for her. Was it really possible that such a man, a truly fine man, if one could believe the biased assertions of a loving cousin, could wish to court her? She blushed at his intense gaze, then looked away. How she wished she could have more time to get to know him. Surely, she would not be back in London for another month. Would he be patient and wait for her return? Or was he the sort of charming fellow who moved on effortlessly, shifting his attentions from lady to lady? PLEASE! Don’t play with my heart! thought Juliana as she turned back to smile at her brother and squeeze his hand.

After another two hours of travel, the coachman stopped at a modest little inn, not directly on the road, but set back somewhat into the wooded hillside. He had obviously known of its existence, and soon had a small private dining room arranged for them. The Colonel, hoping for the opportunity to sit beside Miss Fennimore, was disappointed and had to content himself with sitting opposite her, enjoying her animated conversation and shy smiles. Listening to the family’s amiable chatter, he remained silent for most of the meal, allowing them to continue catching up.

Juliana glanced up at him every now and then to include him—if not in the conversation, then in her attentions. She need not have worried, however, about his feeling left out. He was happy to simply sit and gaze at her.

When their meal was concluded, Miss Fennimore begged for a few moments to stretch her legs before continuing the journey—for which the Colonel was especially thankful. It was the opportunity he had waited for. Though when they were finally alone—walking a short distance behind the others down the wooded lane—he was uncertain as to how to begin.

They strolled in silence for a while, getting used to the unspoken, but acknowledged, change in the relationship between them. It was strange to no longer be bickering about this and that, nor to be trying to best the other in some inane verbal duel. The silence was soothing—comforting, somehow.

After a while, Juliana broke out in a playful grin as she remembered an exchange they had had earlier.

“I’m curious, Colonel…what would you have claimed as the precious stolen object—had you been pressed for it? What was the item with which your imaginary thief had absconded?”

The genuinely serious look on his face had her baffled.

“You’ve quite mistaken the situation, Miss Fennimore. I would never have called my men out on false pretences. I dismissed them when we caught up with the robber, simply because I do not seek the return of the stolen object; only the assurance that it is being held in safekeeping.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Colonel. I thought it was all an excuse to stop our carriage?”

“It was,” he said softly, taking both her hands in his and bringing them up to his lips for a kiss.

“I could not allow you to leave London with my heart in your possession without knowing what you intended to do with it.”

“Are you accusing me of thievery, Colonel?” said Juliana, all in a blush, when she had finally recovered from her surprise. “I assure you that it was unintentionally done. I have trouble enough looking after my own heart, no less yours. We know each other so little.” She glanced away, not knowing where to look, but the blush that rose from her décolletage and traveled up her neck to her beautiful face deepened and betrayed how affected she was by his statement.

“Well, that is easy enough to remedy, if you would allow it, Miss Fennimore. But you must tell me…if I were to find myself in the vicinity of your aunt’s home, would I be welcome?”

“Indeed you would, Colonel. My aunt is very fond of good company, and I know she would appreciate your sense of humour.”

“And would you be happy to see me as well?” he persevered boldly, not allowing her to tease her way out of a straight answer.

“Very much so, Colonel. I would truly look forward to your visit,” she answered, looking at him directly. Her steady, but gentle gaze made him grin broadly.

“Then shall I apply to your father when I am back in London?” he said teasingly. ”Do you think he will give his permission for me to court you? I am but a lowly second son, you know.”

“As far as I am concerned, my father has lost that privilege. You may, however, seek my brother’s permission…that is, if you think that he has forgiven you for brutalizing him,” she replied with a mischievous smile.

“Oh, I believe he has, Miss Fennimore. Your brother is a good and reasonable man, and we have more in common than you realize. I think I can safely say that he will approve and that you can expect to see me very soon…and very often.”

“Well, what a lovely change in situation,” said Juliana, her eyes sparkling, as she eyed him with some measure of embarrassment. “It seems my banishment to the country shall not be so tiresome after all!”