For Miss Bennet's Honour

by Sophia Woodford

  "How would you like to go back to France?"

  Louise made it clear in a jumble of French and English words that she would like that very much indeed. Elizabeth could not promise her that they would go to France, only that they might go to France, and that they simply must be prepared.

  "Yet it is so far!" Jane said. She looked thoughtful, but cautious.

  "It is not so foolish," Elizabeth said quickly. "Young English ladies have travelled abroad before and no harm come to them. Miss Berry – and Miss Wollstonecraft – "

  "Wealthy ladies," Jane said. "Who are allowed rather more liberty in their activities than we – "

  "Not only wealthy ladies," Elizabeth said. "Some have been clever – now, I see it in your face, Jane, you do not need to carry the point further."

  Jane, who indeed had the look of one about to make an ironic comment, smiled and folded her hands. "I do not like to be so far from home," was all she concluded.

  But Elizabeth remained thoughtful, and after supper communicated her desire to take her uncle up on his extremely kind offer.

  The next day Mr. Gardiner wrote to the Foreign Office to request passports, and exchanged a bit of money, including some of Elizabeth's – but again he returned late, and it was obvious his mind was elsewhere.

  The next morning the party left for Southampton, leaving Jane with Mrs. Gardiner and the children, and leaving Elizabeth very anxious.

  Chapter 6.

  The ship to France left at noon tide, and the men were off early into Southampton to finish the little things ahead of sailing. Mr. Gardiner to post final letters of instruction to his firm, and Mr. Bennet to write of the affairs to the family, and collect their passports.

  Elizabeth waited at the inn, a small cosy family run institution that looked and felt as if it had been there since the time of Henry the Eighth. She counted and re-counted her French coins, and attempted short conversation in that language with Louise, who was dropping reminiscences about her youth.

  Yet with an hour until sailing, her father and uncle had not returned. At the inn, Elizabeth looked anxiously for them every time the door swung open. Yet it was only the proprieter, who looked at the young ladies with a kind and worried eye.

  "I suppose we might meet them on the ship," Elizabeth offered tentatively. She was keenly aware of the days they had lost, and the risk that if they missed this sailing it might be another two or three days before another could set out over the Channel.

  "Our bags – I shall ask for them?" Louise said, watching Elizabeth's face.

  "Yes – yes," Elizabeth said, hesitantly and then more firmly. She must be certain of herself. There was no one else to be.

  Just a half-mile from the inn, the ship was waiting with the boarding plank down. The sky was clouded over, and the grey sea jostled against the shore. For the first time in her life, Elizabeth felt daring and brave, like the heroine of an adventure novel.

  She could not help but be excited about seeing France, that hotbed of revolutionary sentiment and radicalism, and even though her mission was to restore her sister, Elizabeth was not immune to the delight of being a young woman who is the mistress of her own time and pocketbook, setting off on a journey to a new place – no matter how small that pocketbook. On top of the money from her uncle, Elizabeth had withdrawn a small amount in London against her own allowance, and changed it to French money at the port; what the rate of exchange was, she did not know exactly.

  She was particularly grateful for the presence and assistance of Louise, who was as robust a companion as an intrepid heroine could ask for.

  Louise was palpably excited about returning to the country of her birth – she had been born and brought up in the Loire – and shared her memories of France over dinner at the Southampton inn, overnight in their room, and on their way to the docks and as they bundled onto the ferry. Elizabeth received a picture of vague impressions of gilt, satin, the glamour of her mistress's home, endless hair brushing and curling, and the privilege of once having seen the Queen, poor Marie Antoinette, from a very long way across a ballroom where Louise had been permitted to hide and peep from behind a curtain.

  "And how did you leave?" Elizabeth did not mean to ask a difficult question, but was so caught up in her maid's recollections it was as if she was being told a bedtime story.

  Louise was still. "Ah, my mother and I – we left Paris as soon as we could." She laughed a little. "A chevalier of mine, a poor young man – he was a clerk in the new government, and promised to get me out."

  "How romantic!" Elizabeth said, still caught up in the story.

  "Only me out," Louise said. Her face closed off, like a window drawing shut. "He was eighteen – he could only do so much. What could I do? Of course I could not leave Maman. I sold my dresses and combs to buy passage on one of the last sailings to England."

  "Oh – oh," Elizabeth said.

  Louise shrugged. "There is nothing more to say. I wrote to him, but the letter was sent back unopened – and by then I had found employment with your very kind uncle."

  They reached the ship, and Elizabeth pulled her shawl closer around her. With Louise's story, the magnitude and gravity of her adventure was beginning to fall on her. When she set foot on this ship, she would be leaving England behind – only for a little while, she reminded herself, but it was truly an act of great severity. Louise seemed to have a similar reverence for the act of going on board ship, and paused before stepping onto the plank, and again before setting foot on the actual boat.

  Their trunks were with them, for Elizabeth had paid a few pennies extra to make sure their luggage was carried on at the same time as they were; she had heard warning stories about "mislaid" trunks being sold on to unscrupulous peddlers. She and Louise attended closely to the loading and unloading onto the boat, and Elizabeth tipped the porter boys a little more than she had intended. The head porter checked their names against the passenger manifest, and Elizabeth informed him that Mr. Bennet and Mr. Gardiner were to follow.

  "Better be soon," he said, checking his pocket watch, and turning to look over his shoulder at the sea. "The tide won't hold."

  Elizabeth, who had only the vaguest ideas of what a tide could or couldn't do, reassured him again that the gentlemen would certainly be there by the necessary time.

  The girls' cabin was small and had only a little window; though the Bennet purse had not stretched to one of the grand rooms, Elizabeth had enough sensibility of the possibility of pleasure in the crossing that she was pleased they would not be scraping by in one of the inside cabins.

  Their luggage safely stowed in the hold, Elizabeth went up on deck to smell the sea air and wait for her father. The sense of adventure was still delightfully strong, even though they had not left shore yet.

  But the minutes ticked by and Mr. Bennet did not appear.

  "Do you think he is unwell?" Elizabeth said, scanning the docks anxiously for his face. "He would have sent word, surely."

  But this was more an attempt to reassure herself than a reflection of reality, as Louise's face showed before she quickly smoothed it back into a reassuring smile. Elizabeth could not help but laugh. "Yes, yes, I know," she said.

  She stood on the deck waiting, impatiently twisting her handkerchief in her hand, until the ship's man came up to pull up the gangplank.

  "Oh, no – wait!" Elizabeth said. "My father and uncle are not yet on board."

  "Tide's turning, ma'am," the boy said shortly. "We got to get under sail."

  "Please – just ten more minutes," Elizabeth said. "I'm sure he will come – he has to – he's probably just been delayed at the passport office. Please!"

  The boy looked at her face. "Ten minutes," he grudgingly said.

  But ten minutes passed and Mr. Bennet did not come, nor Mr. Gardiner. Elizabeth did not know what to do. Should she disembark? She asked Louise to find their trunks. But their luggage was so deep in the hold that by the time the porter could be
found, it was too late: the boat was in motion, and all aboard were under sail on the way to France.

  Elizabeth was alone.

  She stood very still as the ferry moved out of the harbour, and passed the rocks at the mouth, which had so diligently guarded the British navy during the recent encounters with her enemies. How quickly the ship sailed! It only seemed a blink and a breath before they were away, from being near enough to practically touch one of the stacks, to it receding behind them, looking only as big as your hand.

  Elizabeth's mind raced. Her options seemed few. She had only a bit of money, and no passport. When they reached France, she might turn around and sail back to Southampton – assuming the captain would allow her to remain on board with no advance return fare – but that did not resolve the danger to Lydia, which Elizabeth was now in part feeling for herself.

  Between saving her sister from danger, and saving herself from embarrassment, Elizabeth could see only one way forward. Without pride or exaggeration, she knew herself to be sensible and brave; and the storybook feeling of the adventure was compelling. "And as for my reputation, it can hardly fall further than it has already, with the rejection of such fine men," Elizabeth thought to herself, trying to cheer herself up.

  The sea air was fresh, and she turned her face to it. What she had to do, was consider what had to be done – and do it.

  Elizabeth had always moved decisively when needed, and could think quickly on her feet. She comforted herself slightly by imagining Jane caught in such a place, or, goodness, Kitty – Elizabeth was at least better suited for the occasion. While her stomach still felt the fear of the situation – alone in a foreign country! So recently at war! – she had travelled by herself before – and Southampton to Le Havre was no longer than Longbourn to the Lakes, after all, a journey Elizabeth had contemplated many times.

  "Now," she said to Louise. "Let me think. The first thing to do is arrange our passports. There must be an embassy; we will present ourselves – we will present ourselves and say our papers were lost at sea. My luggage has my name on it, and we will see what else they need; perhaps they will need to write to Father or Mr. Gardiner, and by that time they will likely have joined us already." Elizabeth did not allow herself to think what would happen if they did not. "Next, we will try to arrange credit – to see what banks are in town. They may need a passport, but we will enquire first; and there are enough English there that I am sure some will be familiar with my uncle's bank, and his name. That will do for credit. Now – "

  "Miss Bennet?"

  Elizabeth stopped. The voice behind her was familiar, yet one she had not expected to hear again, and certainly not in such a place. The tone was incredulous, tinged with concern. She slowly turned.

  She was on her way to France – alone. And she was sharing a transport – a full day and night – with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  Chapter 7.

  "Mr. Darcy!"

  Miss Bennet sounded flustered; her dark eyes darted to the left and right of him. "What a surprise – what a pleasure to see you here," she said. "Are you travelling to France?"

  "I would be poorly placed if I were not," Darcy said.

  He was still recollecting his wits after the surprise of seeing her here. Darcy had heard nothing from Miss Bennet, nor seen her, for two months – months he had occupied in trying to rid himself of the hold she had over him. Darcy thought that would be long enough to forget her eyes; it evidently was not. The fullness of her self leaped out at him: the quirk of her mouth, her slightly too pointed chin, her alert, engaged posture.

  Darcy certainly did not expect to see Miss Bennet also travelling to France. Was she alone? Did she know of her sister's defection? Surely she must – but if she did not know, Darcy did not want to probe a painful subject, or surprise her with painful news. He thought of how to enquire. "And are you travelling for family business, or on holiday?"

  Her eyes stopped flitting around, and settled on Darcy with a disconcertingly searching expression. "Holiday," she repeated. "Yes, holiday. Indeed, I am at leisure. I have heard marvellous things about France – I have always wanted to travel there. Our maid is French, you know." A girl behind Elizabeth bobbed a curtsey; Darcy in his surprise had not noticed her. "And following the peace – my time being my own, and my family being well, I decided to take the opportunity."

  And my family being well. So she did not know of Lydia's actions. Darcy was relieved that she was, for now, spared that worry; then a wave of outraged anger followed. One Bennet girl flitting off to France on a careless whim was bad enough, but two – never had he felt more strongly the right of his superiority over that ridiculous family, until now. Mr. Bennet ought to be whipped for allowing his girls to make such spectacles of themselves. Even the sensible ones could not be trusted to look after themselves for more than a week at home, it seemed.

  Nor had Darcy missed the small bite of my time being my own, either. Elizabeth Bennet remained mistress of herself, at no husband's beck and call. Well, she was very welcome to it.

  "I am glad to hear you are at such leisure," Darcy said, a little tartly, with a slight bow. Miss Bennet dipped a curtsey in return. He was about to leave her when she cleared her throat lightly and asked,

  "And yourself?" she said. "Do you travel for pleasure?"

  He could not very well explain his reason, but he was not quick enough to come up with a plausible story. Her bright eyes were fixed on his face, and his tongue was thick and heavy in his mouth. "I do," he said shortly.

  There was a short pause while he tried to think of how to describe his activity, and could not.

  "Very well," Miss Bennet said. "A good journey, Mr. Darcy. I hope your holiday is a pleasant one."

  "And yours," Darcy said, and watched her go. She was more surefooted on the sea than he. His land legs had suddenly returned. Five minutes before he had been able to walk up and down the deck easily; now his legs had turned to syllabub. He leaned on the railing, and watched Miss Bennet pick her way through the passengers on deck, to the steps to the cabins.

  To travel to France – a country only recently at war – alone – at her age! It was the most ridiculous thing. What a favour Miss Bennet had done him by refusing him. Darcy had had a lucky escape after all.

  Chapter 8.

  The cabin Darcy shared with Richard was simple but well equipped, and the cousins settled in with little conversation. It was just gone two o'clock in the afternoon, and they would not reach Le Havre until morning; Darcy looked forward to reaching solid land again. He could not write easily at sea, and reading was making his head spin and his stomach lurch; Richard, who had no such problem, was reviewing maps with a frown.

  At three o'clock exactly, a sailor knocked on the cabin door with an invitation to dine at the captain's table, with ten or twelve of the other wealthy passengers, in an hour. Darcy and Richard accepted with pleasure. Darcy was intrigued to see what other types of Englishmen were making the journey – and moreover, if his experience with sea captains on land was any indication, the sherry and port would be of the highest quality.

  "Excuse me," Richard said to Darcy, rolling up one of his papers. "I wish to speak to the captain about where exactly we shall be coming in to Le Havre. I will see you at dinner?"

  "Of course," Darcy said. His cousin away, he took the opportunity for a small dram to settle his stomach.

  After a short nap, his seasickness was nearly gone; a relief, as he had been dreading the long journey. As he made his way to the captain's quarters, Darcy found himself looking for Miss Bennet among the passengers on deck, but she was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she had already retired to her cabin.

  The sun was low in the sky, an outrageous orange-yellow reflected in the flat sea. It seemed larger here than it was in Derbyshire. Darcy watched the vivid colours splashing across the Channel, for many minutes, until the ringing of the five o'clock bell prompted him to the captain's table. He stepped quickly, having rediscovered hi
s sea legs. It would not do to be late.

  But when he arrived and was shown in by a sailor, Darcy was surprised and dismayed to find Miss Bennet seated on the other side of the captain's table, next to his cousin and only two places down from his own.

  "Darcy!" Richard said, beaming. "Look who is here."

  "Miss Bennet," Darcy said, for the second time that day.

  "Mr. Darcy," she said. Her cheeks were pink and she could hardly look at him.

  "Is it not an astonishing accident?" Richard said. "I encountered Miss Bennet on deck – she is taking the same journey as we are. When I remembered our invitation, I thought, of course I thought she must dine with us."

  "Not quite the same journey as our own," Darcy said sharply.

  Richard looked confused. "I am sure – "

  "Miss Bennet is travelling for pleasure," Darcy said.

  Miss Bennet winced at that, but shook it off. "It is a pleasure to see you again," she said. "Thank you again, Colonel, for the invitation – it is a vast improvement on the spread we packed, I can assure you."

  She turned to the young man on her other side, and began a lively conversation.

  Darcy did not know if he was more annoyed that his words had not struck home, or at himself for speaking so churlishly. This was the very characteristic that she had chastised him for, and here he was falling into the same trap – with her within earshot to hear him fail.

  Her very presence made Darcy feel raw and painful. He did not expect it to be so. He thought that the sting of her haughty and presumptuous refusal would have faded. He thought that her absence from his company in the past months would have lessened the sting. But every bright laugh, every low tone, every flicker of a look she cast his way across the table was a wrench to his heart. Unreasonably, he felt her behaviour was an affront to him, for having admired her. Darcy was exceptionally grateful when the ladies retired after dinner. Miss Bennet passed behind him; he did not dare look up.