“You were at such a school, and I am sure you were not mean or selfish. In any case, it is unlikely she would be teaching the daughters of the affluent members of society. There would always be the risk of discovery in that. She must have chosen a charity school, and she may feel she is doing some good in the world by helping girls less fortunate than she is. It is not impossible.” She looked at Georgiana’s miserable face. “Not all people are content to be idle, Georgiana. My father left a life of idleness behind him when he went to the United States, and I can assure you he never regretted it.”
Georgiana pondered over this for some time.
“I cannot help feeling uneasy.”
“I have heard nothing else since I read you the letter, Georgiana. I do not know how you can be harping on the same thing all the time when you have far more interesting things happening to you. I have noticed Mr Gatley paying court to you. What do you intend to do about it? Do you plan to accept him if he proposes?”
The blood rushed to Georgiana’s face. It was true that Mr Gatley had been particularly attentive.
“He has not proposed, so I do not wish to think about it yet,” she replied, embarrassed. “But you need not think to distract me that way. It does not mean I should not be concerned about Anne.”
“Very well, then,” said Clarissa. “I can see that you will not be contented until you have discovered the truth about her. In that case, I have an idea. We will go to see her in Richmond. It will kill two birds with one stone. You can spend time with Mr Gatley, and at the same time, you can assure yourself of Anne’s safety.”
“But we cannot tell Mr Gatley about Anne.”
“No, obviously not,” replied Clarissa.
A few minutes of concentrated effort produced a plan. They would tell Mr Gatley that Clarissa had received a letter from a school friend of hers from Boston who had married an Englishman beneath her station and that she would like to see her, to be sure that she was faring well.
“It is close enough to the truth, isn’t it?”
Georgiana hesitated.
“I do not like this whole idea, Clarissa. We will have to lie, not only to our families, but to Mr Gatley as well. And what will Mr Gatley think?”
“He will not approve, but he will do it for your sake.”
“But how will we contrive it?”
“Leave it to me. I will think of something.”
One can always find plenty of reasons to do something one should not do. Georgiana, who knew very well that they were embarking on a foolhardy endeavour, soon convinced herself that there really was no harm in it at all. What could possibly go wrong, after all?
***
Thus they found themselves once again setting out without a chaperone. They could not bring a maid, for fear that she should reveal something about Anne’s whereabouts. There could not be the smallest hint of a whisper to indicate that Anne was still in England. The presence of a groom, then, had to be sufficient.
So there they were, in carriage, in the company of a single gentleman. Mr Gatley had not quite approved of the arrangement and deemed it more proper to ride on top with the coachman. He had been led to believe that Clarissa was visiting an old school friend of hers who had married unwisely and of whom her family disapproved. Georgiana hoped the clear weather would hold and that he would not be obliged to ride outside in the rain.
It was a short trip in any case. By the end of the day, they would be back—having spoken to Anne and assured themselves of her safety—and no one would be any wiser.
But fate has a way of intervening just when one least wishes it. In their case, fate took the form of a large but hidden pothole in the road.
The carriage lurched suddenly as the wheels teetered over the edge of gaping nothingness and slid into it. Clarissa was thrown roughly against Georgiana. For a few tense moments they were certain they would overturn.
They did not.
The carriage righted itself. The ladies disentangled themselves from each other, straightened the objects that had tumbled about with them, and returned to their places. They laughed in relief. But instead of continuing along the way, the carriage remained obstinately still.
“What has happened?” said Clarissa, opening the door.
She instantly slammed the door shut again.
“What is it?” said Georgiana, alarmed.
“Don’t look,” said Clarissa, pushing her back into the carriage.
Georgiana turned deathly white. “Have we—? Did we run over someone?”
Clarissa cast her head back against the squabs and shut her eyes.
“Answer me!” repeated Georgiana.
Clarissa, who had now recovered from the initial shock, jumped up again. “We have to help him!” she said, urgently.
“Help whom?”
Clarissa was already out of the door.
Georgiana’s heart thudded violently as she realised the truth. She stumbled out of the carriage, terrified to have her worst fears confirmed.
Gatley was lying in a muddy patch by the wayside. There was blood on his head, and he was unnaturally still.
She stood, staring helplessly at him.
“Is he—?”
The coachman and the groom were leaning over him. They looked up when they heard her.
“No need to worry, Miss Darcy,” said the coachman. “He’s alive. Though he’s had a right knock on the head. Head wounds always look worse than they really are though.”
Georgiana, weak with relief, drew closer. She crouched down next to him. Slowly, she ran her hand across his cheek. He was so unlike himself, so unmoving and pale.
Clarissa crouched next to her, and put her arm around her shoulder.
“If you don’t mind, we’ll carry him and lay him in the carriage,” said the coachman.
His words brought to her the awareness that she ought to be in control of the situation. She stood up decisively. He was alive, and he needed help. That was the important thing now.
“Yes, yes,” she said. “We should get him home as quickly as possible.”
“If you don’t mind, Miss Darcy, it might be better not to rattle him too much.”
“Of course not,” said Georgiana, pursing her lips together in thought. “I remember passing an inn not too long ago. It cannot be more than a few minutes down the road. We can take him there, and we can send for a physician.”
“Yes, miss, The King’s Arms,” said the coachman.
Gatley did not recover consciousness, despite the inevitable commotion involved in being picked up by the groom and the coachman and deposited on the seat inside. In the shadows of the carriage, his pallor was all the more apparent. He was so inert, Georgiana put her ear to his chest half a dozen times to assure herself he was still breathing.
At The King’s Arms, which she discovered with some relief to be a reputable-looking place, she requested a bedchamber and a private parlour. The innkeeper, a red-faced man called Ned, took in the situation at a glance and sent for a physician immediately.
The physician, Mr Blaine, had little to say. He bandaged the head wound and assured the young ladies when he returned to the private parlour that the wound itself was not worrisome.
“But we do not know what impact the blow may have had inside. Head wounds are not always predictable,” said Mr Blaine. “I shall return later to ascertain whether he has recovered consciousness. I have instructed the coachman to send for me immediately under certain circumstances—particularly if there is bleeding from the nose or ears. We shall have to wait and see.”
Georgiana thanked the physician and instructed him to leave his particulars with the footman, who would arrange for payment later.
As soon as he departed, Georgiana turned to Clarissa, her brows knitted with worry.
“We cannot stay here, Clarissa. We need to leave as soon a
s possible.” She twisted her fingers together. “I am consumed with worry, knowing we are alone at a public inn so close to London. Any of our acquaintances could run into us here.”
“Leave?” said Clarissa. “How could you think of such a thing? Will you abandon him to total strangers?”
“He would not be alone. The coachman—Oskins, he said his name was—will remain with him. He seems very loyal to Mr Gatley. And the physician will attend to him later.”
“And how did you intend to return without the coachman?”
“We could leave the groom behind…” But even as she said it she knew they would not do such a thing.
She exhaled loudly. “If we must stay, then, you must promise me that you will not under any circumstances undertake to nurse him.”
Clarissa made an impatient gesture of protest, but Georgiana persisted.
“It will be bad enough if someone were to discover us alone in this hostel with a gentleman who is not related to us. It would be infinitely worse, however, for us to be discovered alone in this gentleman’s bed chamber.”
“But he is injured. He is in no condition to make advances to us of any sort. What could be more absurd?”
“Society does not care a fig for that. All they would care about is the delicious flavour of scandal.” She gave a humourless smile. “If you broke this rule, not even your exotic status as an American would save you.”
“What foolish, foolish rules these are! Who then is to take care of him? Are we to entrust his care to a stranger?”
Georgiana sat silently looking at her hands. “I am sorry to say this, Clarissa, but I think we had better send for our brothers,” said Georgiana. “We may be obliged to spend the night.”
She expected Clarissa to argue, but her cousin gave a resigned shrug.
“How do you mean to explain our being here?”
“We will have time to think of something,” said Georgiana.
“However much it goes against the grain for me,” said Clarissa, slowly, “I admit that we have no choice. Even I know that our situation here is impossible.”
A message was sent out. But try as they would, they could come up with no foolproof explanation of why they were there.
When Darcy and Robert arrived, there was going to be trouble.
Chapter 25
Gatley awoke with a terrible headache. He stared around him in astonishment, trying to regain his bearings. The room was small, equipped simply with a large chest, a cupboard, an armchair, and the large canopied bed he was lying in. For a moment he remembered…nothing. His only certainty was that he had never been in this chamber before.
He sat up slowly. The blood in his head beat a quick rhythm, like a drum. Or were there drums outside? He put a hand to his head. His fingers found the rough linen of a bandage.
He must have been wounded in the fighting. But if so, why was he then in a room and not in a tent? What on earth was going on? Was he so badly wounded that they had taken him to England? That was not very likely.
He sat up very carefully. Head wounds could be tricky, as he knew from some of the men who had been injured before him. They were unpredictable. One could seem perfectly well, then be suddenly struck with dizziness and fall to the ground. He had no intention of compounding his injury by falling. He swung his legs down from the edge of the bed and looked out of the narrow window. The scene that met his eyes did not look like Portugal or Spain. It was like England.
He stood up carefully. His window overlooked a courtyard that was most definitely English, to judge by the timbering and gables.
A carriage thundered into the courtyard. Two gentlemen—not soldiers—descended and headed swiftly towards the inn. Mr Darcy and Mr Robert Darcy.
The names brought back everything. He remembered the carriage teetering as they struck a pothole. There had been an accident. His memory did not supply him with more information. What had happened? Why were the Darcy gentlemen looking so grim? Had something happened to Miss Darcy? Was Miss Clarissa injured?
He swung round quickly. Stars flashed in front of him. He clung to the bed post until the stars stopped twirling.
“Steady now,” he said to himself.
He had to know. Sharp talons of anxiety gripped him and dug into him.
He made his way down the stairs slowly. Every now and then the stars reappeared and he had to stop and lean against the wall. Finally, he found himself in front of a closed door and recognised Darcy’s voice.
He strained every muscle in his body to listen. Miss Darcy’s voice reached him. He closed his eyes and leaned against the door as relief washed over him.
She was safe.
Then he felt tremendously guilty for thinking only of her. There were others who could have been harmed—Miss Clarissa or the coachman or the groom. But the talons that had torn at him lifted.
“It is not what you think,” said Miss Clarissa’s voice.
Miss Clarissa was safe too. Again, the relief weakened him, and he sagged further against the door.
He had not been listening to what they were saying until now. He had only listened for their voices. But now the voices resolved themselves into words, then into meaning.
“And you—you would do better not to say anything,” said Darcy. “How can your sense of propriety be so twisted that you can sneak off to an assignation in a public inn! Have you no sense of behaviour at all? Robert—is it possible that your sister can be so completely without propriety?” Robert seemed to have nothing to say about the matter. “One can make allowance for your ignorance of our customs, Madam, but this is beyond enough. To set up a secret meeting with Mr Channing, and to arrange for Mr Gatley to bring you here—”
He saw stars again. But these stars were different. They came along with the roaring in his ears as the blood rushed up to his head.
He had heard quite enough. He stood upright, his strength returning to him with his anger. How dare they involve him in this sordid affair! How dare Georgiana use him in this way? And Channing too! The drumming in his head turned into heavy hammering.
He most definitely had something to say.
***
The door flew open. Gatley stood in the doorway, looking ghastly under the white bandage but otherwise unharmed.
Georgiana’s delight at seeing him safe overcame all else, and she jumped up with a cry of delight.
“You are recovered, Mr Gatley! Oh, I am so very glad.”
“Good evening to you all. Miss Darcy, Miss Clarissa, Mr Darcy, Mr Robert Darcy.” His face was tight and pinched, his eyes drawn. Georgiana reflected that he still looked very ill, though there was something in his eyes that made her uneasy.
“I hope you did not sustain a serious injury,” replied Darcy coldly.
“I am quite recovered, as you can see,” said Gatley in clipped tones.
“Then perhaps I should ask you to give an accounting of your behaviour? Is this something you agreed upon with the young ladies’ knowledge, or did you and your cousin set up this assignation without their knowledge?”
“I could ask you out for such a question,” said Gatley, cold as ice.
“I accept. Name your seconds,” replied Darcy in clipped tone.
“Stop!” said Georgiana.
“Do not interfere in matters that do not concern ladies,” said Darcy.
“I will, and I shall interfere,” said Georgiana. “Before you decide to pull down those swords from over the fireplace there, may I have a word with you in private, Brother?”
“You may not. I have nothing to say to you.”
“Then may I speak with Mr Gatley?”
“Certainly not alone,” replied Mr Darcy. “Have you not broken enough rules already?”
“Fitz,” said Robert, “perhaps there is another explanation…”
“Kindly stay out of this, Ro
bert.”
“I will speak with Mr Gatley,” said Georgiana, desperation lending her strength. “Really, Brother, I never thought you could be so foolish. Would I have sent for you if I had planned a secret assignation in an inn?” Satisfied that she had scored a point and that it had thrown him off for at least a few minutes, she left the room and reappeared a few minutes later with a chambermaid.
“Amy here will be present when I talk to Mr Gatley.” She nodded at him. “May I speak to you?”
It was very clear that Mr Gatley had no desire to talk to her at all.
She waited, her hands twisting together behind her back.
“Well?”
He gave a curt nod and followed her to a small side room, a storage room in some disarray, full of barrels and boxes and all kinds of discarded objects. She waited for Amy to enter, then shut the door.
“I do not believe we have anything to say to one another,” said Gatley, not giving her the chance to say a word. “You have deceived me, Miss Darcy, and manipulated me. There can be nothing you can say to me that will change that. What explanation could you possibly have for misleading me—nay, deliberately deceiving me? When I specifically asked you if you had your family’s approval? And to think that you have taken advantage of me in this matter—to do what? To set up an assignation with my cousin and his friends? In spite of what you have seen of them? What is it about my cousin that is so alluring?” He stopped and leaned on the wall, burying his head under his arms, too overcome to continue. Georgiana, still unable to believe the stream of accusations he was throwing at her, observed him coldly. If that was what he believed, then she hoped he would suffer miserably.
By and by he stood up straight again. “And to think that you made me a part of it! What did he do? Did he ask you to bring me along? Did you intend to laugh with him about how gullible I am?”
Georgiana, who had brought Gatley here to try and reason with him, stared at him impassively.
“To put me in such a situation that I appear to have conspired with Channing to bring you here!”
He turned away towards the doorway, then swung round to throw one last accusation at her.
The Darcy Cousins Page 27
