Elizabeth shifted slightly, and pretended that she was just waking up. She fluttered her eyes open just a bit: Lydia was certainly asleep, and if Louise was not, she had the good sense to pretend to be so. It was safe to try to make her move.
The idea of falling asleep on Mr. Darcy's shoulder would have been ridiculous only a month ago, and Elizabeth almost laughed at the thought. How much could change in such a short time! But he was still distant.
The shoulder her cheek was pressed against gave a slight roll, and Elizabeth allowed herself to be nudged off into a more proper sitting position. She waited several minutes, hardly daring to breathe, then gave a strategic yawn and lifted her head, pretending to be drifting awake.
Mr. Darcy was looking at her with amusement. Elizabeth was silently indignant. If he had been awake the whole time, he could have done her the dignity of rolling her off him.
The carriage was through the forest, in a lush green hedge of vegetation and leafy growth. Even inside the carriage, with just a window open, the smell of freshness in the air was divine. Elizabeth sat back, with her head against the carriage cushion, and closed her eyes again, taking it in. She reopened them again. Mr. Darcy was looking at her with a fixed expression that made her self-conscious.
Rouen was approaching, and Elizabeth peered out the window to see. The city in the early evening almost-dusk was magical. The two large cathedrals, far from imposing over the town, shared the space out between them: it felt like a friendly place, old but not haughty. Elizabeth felt the sense of history settling around her like a shawl. The early summer evening light rested gently around them: Lydia's face and hair had a halo, Louise leaned forward in anticipation, and even Mr. Darcy looked downright agreeable.
Col. Fitzwilliam was not there to meet them, nor had any message been left at the coaching post. It was decided to find a hotel for the night and leave word; the summer night was beginning to fall and they did not want to risk being caught out without accommodation.
Lydia wanted to rush to the mayor's office immediately, and demand the whereabouts of her love, but Mr. Darcy reasonably pointed out that the mayor was unlikely to be at his desk at eight o'clock in the evening. Lydia sniffed unhappily at this, but could not argue against it.
Louise held a brief conversation with the boy at the coaching post. Of the five hotels in town, two were full, one was closed for family travel, one was exceptionally fine and therefore exceptionally expensive, and one was positioned directly behind the opera house, and therefore at high risk of disturbance from warbling late-night revellers.
"We shall see if there are rooms near the opera house," Elizabeth decided. Proximity to high culture was much more acceptable than proximity to high bills.
The hotel was a comfortable looking two story timbered house: medieval, but well put together. The name over the door was the Hotel Anglaise. Elizabeth was surprised. But, she reflected, Normandy was an English holding; and there were many French cooks in London. In the landing they found signs of good taste and good housekeeping, although clearly furnished with a less than expansive purse. Elizabeth thought she would like the landlady very much.
The boy dropped their luggage at the doorstep without idling for a tip to take them upstairs. Elizabeth made arrangements with the landlady and, sighing, took a case under her arm and a box in the other.
While Louise and the housekeeper set about unpacking in the rooms, Elizabeth and Lydia sat in the parlour, where the housekeeper had set out fresh coffee and a tray of almond biscuits. Mr. Darcy sat by the window, the last rays of evening sunlight on his dark hair. Elizabeth ducked her head and took another sip.
The landlady, one Madame Pommeau, widow, was delighted to have so many English people there at once; she had never met an English person, and kept at them with many questions about London, about Prime Minister Addington and how he tied his cravat, about the way they made bread and whether she had ever met Mademoiselle Wollstonecraft?
The late arrival of Col. Fitzwilliam, who had followed their trail from the coaching post, sent her into paroxysms of joy, despite his dusty shoes in her front room – a real English officer! Was it not wonderful?
Col. Fitzwilliam contributed gamely to the conversation, as did Elizabeth. Lydia sat in a chair yawning ostentatiously, and Mr. Darcy retreated back into his usual glower. For all that she had mocked him for his silence, Elizabeth almost wished she could do the same. By the time they were released from chat and allowed to go upstairs to refresh themselves and change out of their travelling clothes, she was half fainting.
As she climbed the stairs, Elizabeth gathered her thoughts. She was foremost concerned about money. She had two days' worth of expenses in coins in her reticule, and although she expected to be able to make an arrangement at the local bank if her uncle's letter ever came through, Elizabeth did not like living on credit. Furthermore, she was worried about Lydia spending beyond their means. And she was slightly suspicious that the gentlemen were subsidising their rent, based on a quick whisper and the unexpectedly good rate; she was determined to ask Mme. Pommeau as soon as she could get her alone.
An hour later, the foursome sat down to supper. They were the only guests in the hotel, and the meal showed their hostess's enthusiasm. Elizabeth helped herself to chicken boiled in red wine, and roast potatoes sliced so finely they were nearly as transparent as a window pane.
"No famine here, I see," Mr. Darcy said, accepting the plate from her hand.
"I suppose they put on a good spread for guests," Elizabeth said doubtfully.
"Possibly not," Col. Fitzwilliam said. "I saw good food in town – we will find out tomorrow, in any case."
Lydia, who always ate well, scooped up the last of the potatoes, which had a miraculously reviving effect. Before they hit the bottom of her stomach, she was already talking vigorously about what she expected to do tomorrow. What time tomorrow should they present themselves at the mayor's office? – "for I shall be up at dawn I am sure, I am never able to sleep when dear Wickham is apart from me." Had the Colonel seen the shops of the town – what were they like? Did he think there might be dancing? Why had the Colonel not yet married? ("Lydia!", Elizabeth whispered, appalled; but Col. Fitzwilliam simply laughed.)
Elizabeth listened to this with mortified silence, but when she dared to cast a look at Mr. Darcy, he at least seemed to be taking it with equanimity, and maybe even amusement.
After supper, Col. Fitzwilliam drew Elizabeth aside over a plate of biscuits. "I must ask a favour," he said in a low voice. Across the room, Mr. Darcy's eyes and ears were attentive.
Elizabeth nodded, cautiously.
"I know how much your sister affects her husband," he continued, still speaking low. "I also know – or at least have observed – that you yourself, Miss Bennet, are an uncommonly sensible young woman."
Elizabeth could not help smiling, and interjecting, "I would not do other young ladies such a slight, Colonel – I will only own that I am perhaps a commonly sensible one."
"Be that as it may," Col. Fizwilliam said, also smiling a little, "I must ask your assistance tomorrow. Your sister's sentiment does her credit but it will be a delicate conversation – her strength of feeling may be taken awry. Is it possible to occupy her for the morning – to see the sights of the town, perhaps?"
"More likely the shops," Elizabeth said, then immediately regretted having spoken so poorly of her sister to someone not in the family. "But of course, Colonel – I will try."
He bowed.
"Thank you for looking after her," she said. She did not want to allude too strongly to her knowledge of his ward's entanglement with Mr. Wickham, but she felt strongly the need to impress on him her gratitude. "Mr. Darcy has made it known to me that your family has no cause to love Mr. Wickham."
"Nor yours, I suspect," he said.
Elizabeth liked the colonel very much. If she had a brother, he might be like him: kind and sensible, and thoughtful without being intrusive. In
such a strange situation as the one they now found themselves, she could evaluate him much more objectively than she could at Rosings. It was almost a shame she did not like him; she was certain he would make someone a very fine partner. It was a shame they were unlikely to see each other after they returned to England.
However, his cousin she could not work out at all. Whenever she expected Mr. Darcy to be sharp, he was courteous; when he should be friendly, he was proud and aloof; and when he had every right to be uncomfortable and silent, as in the carriage, he was alive and amusing. Elizabeth had grown to twenty being used to a healthy reliance on her own judgement, and to be confronted with a gentleman who continually overturned her expectations of him was disconcerting. Elizabeth was beginning to doubt her own judgement – and she did not like it.
As if summoned by her thinking of him, Mr. Darcy appeared at her elbow, taking his cousin's place. He bowed. "I apologise for my intrusion," he said. "I would simply like to offer." He spoke low, so as not to be overheard by the others.
Behind him, Col. Fitzwilliam asked Lydia if she had any idea of the shops in town.
"My cousin is more used to military habits," Mr. Darcy continued, "and I suspect he has not been particularly thoughtful in his choice of our accommodation." Elizabeth was amused at the idea of Mr. Darcy correcting his cousin's thoughtfulness, but allowed him to continue. "You are unmarried and your sister's husband is elsewhere. If you are uncomfortable with our presence here, you need only say the word. It would not be an impossibility to seek out different lodgings."
"Not an impossibility!" Elizabeth repeated, in tones of soft outrage. "Mr. Darcy – it is after dark, in a strange town, where we hardly speak the language. I would be unkind indeed to throw you out after the kindness you and the Colonel have shown me and my sister."
"I do not want you to feel put upon or unsafe, that is all," Mr. Darcy said. "I do not mean to – intrude upon you."
"I do not fear that from your quarter," Elizabeth said honestly, and Mr. Darcy looked surprised. Worrying that he might be insulted, she rushed to say, "I mean only that you have comported yourself in a gentlemanly way throughout. And," she said, trying to recover, "I would be more fearful to be alone in a strange town if there were not two friendly gentlemen between the drawing room and my door, and one of them a military officer."
"I do not fence so badly as all that," Mr. Darcy said, smiling.
"I hope you will not have cause to use it," Elizabeth said mock-gravely. "Truly – I do appreciate it, but do not trouble yourself. I much prefer you where you are."
The candlelight was low, and the sun was nearly out, leaving the corners of the room dim and glittering. Elizabeth was surprised to find she did not mind. Mr. Darcy was no longer grating on her, as he had throughout their acquaintance. His kindness in tracking down Lydia, in paying for lunch, in helping them in small ways with everything, without either lording it over them or impressing the debt on her, was strikingly different than her first impression of his character. Perhaps the air of France had changed him; but she was also reminded of Col. Fitzwilliam's words, months ago (it felt like a lifetime ago), that he was not usually so grave and silent.
Mr. Darcy was looking at her with an expression – it was difficult to tell in the darkness of the candlelit room – but it made her face hot. She opened her mouth to speak, but found she could think of not a single word to say.
"Miss Bennet," he began, in a tone very different than the one he had used before. Still low, but a velvety richness that made Elizabeth swallow; her mouth was unaccountably dry.
"Lawd!" Lydia's voice pierced the room. "What are you two talking of? I hope it is what we shall do tomorrow – Col. Fitzwilliam tells me there is much to do in town, though of course I shall never rest until I find my dear Wickham."
"I shall see," Elizabeth said. She smoothed her palms, which had become unaccountably dry, on her skirts, and excused herself to Lydia's side.
They retired upstairs not long after; but it was much longer before Elizabeth could forget the sound of Mr. Darcy's voice, and the look on his face, and the knowledge that he was just a floorboard below.
Chapter 23.
As Elizabeth had expected, Lydia was not up at dawn crying out for her lost love. She was not even awake. Her form was crumpled under the bedclothes, breathing the even breaths of the well rested.
Elizabeth, however, could not sleep in. She was up with the sun. She washed quietly, not wanting to wake Lydia. But her feet were tapping as Louise laced her into her stays and dress.
As Elizabeth combed her hair, she heard the men go out downstairs. They were out early. She was sorry to have missed them, but she went downstairs to see what the breakfast spread was like and what the day brought.
Elizabeth wondered what the men would do when they found Mr. Wickham. She herself was caught between wanting to see him punished to the full extent of whatever laws applied – which she was at least self-knowing enough to understand came out of her own embarrassment – and a sisterly desire to spare Lydia the humiliation of a condemned husband – no matter how much she deserved it.
Was he even guilty? The gentlemen seemed to think so. Elizabeth thought back to her conversation with Mr. Wickham at the ball in Meryton. Mr. Wickham had not been pleased about the peace. In fact he had discussed how much he admired war. At the time Elizabeth thought he was being ironic – at the time she had not wanted to speak with him very much at all.
But now she had to consider his words in the light of his actions. Why run off with Lydia if he were not masking some other, darker purpose? It was not beyond him. Elizabeth had evidence that Mr. Wickham was not contained by the scruples that kept other gentlemen in check – the bare facts Mr. Darcy had laid out in his letter, and her own evaluation of their weight, proved it. Yet a mercenary elopement was still very far from treason
"Lawd! What a rest," Lydia said, coming downstairs and yawning. "These beds are so soft – much better than those at home, although the decor is not so good. What dull walls they have, no paper at all."
"The gentlemen have left," Elizabeth said. She had no idea what they were doing, though she was anxious to know. There was nothing like waiting to drive someone mad. She was keen to get outside and walk off some of this nervous energy with her feet. "Shall we see the town?"
Already she was developing plans of her own. Elizabeth did not know what the gentlemen's plans were, nor what the consequences would be for her sister's new husband; for some reason she could not quite explain to herself, Elizabeth had a desire to beat Mr. Darcy and Col. Fitzwilliam to Mr. Wickham, just as she had beat them to Lydia. And she was equally interested in exploring their new environs: a whole new city of a kind she had never seen before.
Le Havre had been one sort, a military town. There was always order in such places, and always the same sort of order. But Rouen was no such place.
Elizabeth laced up her walking shoes and followed Louise and Lydia out the door.
What Elizabeth found was a reasonable bourgeois town, with fine houses, clean streets, and healthy citizens who walked with their heads held high. The streets were old and the houses seemed untouched by the upheaval of the Revolution: aside from a few damaged walls, and even those might have been from neglect or age. As the ladies walked along the road to the city square, they passed vegetable sellers, bakers and a butcher – even a cake shop, selling small confections made with an expert, leisured hand. The cathedral in the town square was very grand, far from the ruined crumble that all such institutions had reportedly been reduced to during the great Terror. Elizabeth could not help a small gasp as she looked up at it. The white stone gleamed in the morning sunlight, and the windows were tall and high, almost otherworldly. It was very far from the familiar, comfortable parish church that she was used to. She could not imagine attending church here every week. It would be overwhelming.
The town square held both the Banque Nationale and the post office, and Elizabeth quickly
stopped in to ask if any letters had come on the morning post from Le Havre. There was none for her yet, but the man reassured her that post was regular and good. He showed her a newspaper he had received from London, just three days old. "Bonaparte is wise," he said. "The roads are good."
Elizabeth smiled and said she was sure they were. At least the replies to her own letters were likely to come soon.
The citizens of Rouen were not only proud, but liberal and easy in their manners. Women, elegant women in fine clothing, walked unaccompanied on the street without harassment or shame. This shocked Elizabeth the first time, but she grew to admire and even envy them. A lady gave her a friendly nod, and a gentleman an admiring look that he did her the dignity of trying to hide.
Now – to find Mr. Wickham. As the girls walked, Elizabeth considered where he might have set down, based on her small knowledge of his character. In Meryton, he had gone to some trouble to make himself pleasant among the ladies of the town. Might he have done the same here? True, Rouen was a larger city, and perhaps the French girls were not so impressionable; but based on Elizabeth's afternoon at the beach in Le Havre, girls were much the same wherever they were.
In this case, Lydia would not be a hindrace, as Elizabeth had feared – she might be her guide.
"Where would you like to see?" Elizabeth said, pretending to be guileless. "You have been in this country longer than I. You must know everything." She paced her steps carefully, slowly, allowing Lydia to lead ahead. When she turned a corner too quickly, or Lydia was caught in a window admiring a dress, Elizabeth was patient. She pretended to adjust a lace on her shoe. Louise looked at her suspiciously; it was not usual for Elizabeth to be hanging back. She more often strode ahead, walking briskly.
Lydia wandered from a dress shop, where she admired two bonnets for three quarters of an hour before deciding to buy neither of them, to a cobbler's, where she wondered whether her own shoes were not too low of a heel. Elizabeth kept up her side of the conversation – not that much was ever needed from a conversational partner of Lydia's, who was blessed with the happy gift of being able to carry on three conversations at once, and on her own.
For Miss Bennet's Honour Page 9
