Darcy's Journey

by M. A. Sandiford

  ‘I visited once,’ Elizabeth put in. ‘Signor Mario showed us round the factory and was most kind …’

  ‘So you can take your proposal to him,’ Gabriele interrupted. ‘Excuse me, I was talking with Miss Bennet.’

  Darcy struggled to hide his anger at this further display of rudeness. Had a similar remark been made at his club he would have asserted himself, by fisticuffs if necessary, but here he was a guest, and there were ladies present. He was also unsure where Elizabeth stood: could it be that she welcomed Carandini’s attentions? He turned away as the next course was served.

  Accompanied by his manservant Burgess, Darcy set off after lunch to make practical arrangements for his stay. He began by calling on the British consul, a man of his own age named Richard Hoppner. They got on well, and Hoppner advised him to stay at the Gritti residence, a palazzo on the Grand Canal between Rialto and St Mark’s Square. Although still living there, the Grittis accepted paying guests, and on reading the consul’s letter of recommendation their housekeeper allotted Darcy a comfortable room on the second floor, and found accommodation nearby for Burgess.

  Leaving Burgess to arrange the transfer of his luggage, Darcy next sought a bank, recommended by the invaluable Hoppner, where a letter of credit from his own bank in London could be produced to acquire silver lire and Venetian gold ducats. He went on foot, through the warren of narrow alleys, welcoming the exertion as a remedy for his frustration. How galling to have crossed a continent, only to find his way blocked by the proprietorial Gabriele Carandini—whose attentions Elizabeth seemed to accept, if not with delight, then with resignation …

  He recalled how, after lunch, Carandini had shepherded her directly to the music room. It had to be admitted that Gabriele played well, with such frantic attack in the faster movements that his fair accompanist struggled to keep up. In the Beethoven slow movement they sounded almost professional, confirming that Elizabeth had progressed under his hectoring guidance.

  Before leaving, Darcy had had another word with Edward. A programme for the week was taking shape. The afternoon would be spent with Céline. Next morning they would visit a cemetery to leave flowers at Sir Ambrose’s tomb and the memorial to Giuseppe Carandini. For the following evening a box was reserved at the new opera house La Fenice, for a performance of Mozart’s The Magic Flute. As if to compensate for her mother’s coldness, Lady Havers pressed Darcy to accompany them—an offer he was glad to accept.

  Installed at Palazzo Gritti, Darcy had time to rest before meeting the consul again at Florian’s café for drinks before dinner. Hoppner was now joined by his wife, and they spoke of their disappointment at being posted to Venice instead of Milan, which was closer to her family in Switzerland. The party proceeded by gondola to a restaurant near the Rialto fish market, where Mrs Hoppner was eloquent in praise of her husband’s prowess in art, and his interest in poetry; this led to a discussion of the notorious Lord Byron. It was a fascinating dinner, and for Darcy a relief to be distracted, if only for a few hours, from his anxieties over Elizabeth and the Carandinis.

  7

  The Carandini’s box was located on the second tier, near the edge of the stage. The auditorium was both imposing and intimate, comprising 150 boxes ringed in five tiers beneath an ornate ceiling. Guided to a seat at the front, Elizabeth was so overwhelmed that she could ignore, at least for a moment, Gabriele Carandini’s continual presence at her side.

  The location of La Fenice could not have been more convenient: a short gondola ride along the Rio di San Luca brought them to a water-level entrance. The party included Edward Havers but not Darcy, who had found rooms near St Mark’s.

  As the overture began she fancied she heard movement from the back of the box, but did not turn. To hear a full orchestra was a rare experience; the beauty of the music took her breath away. Gabriele’s incessant flow of conversation at last ceased. He sat motionless, entirely absorbed: with all his faults, his love of music could not be gainsaid.

  By the end of Act I Elizabeth had given up trying to understand the plot, and her thoughts turned again to Darcy. Why had he not come? Did he resent his cool reception from the Carandini family? One thing was certain: he could have no further interest in her. He had satisfied his sense of duty by accompanying his friend to Venice, bringing her letters, and delivering Mr Gardiner’s order for beads; since lunch on the first day he had said not a word.

  The curtain fell, and she rose to stretch her legs. Gabriele launched a critique of the orchestra. Edward Havers, sandwiched between Regina and her mother, was trying to escape to the back …

  Where Darcy now sat, talking with a man whom she recognised as Mario Carandini.

  Self-consciously Elizabeth picked her way through the chairs, Gabriele’s commentary going in one ear and out the other. She exchanged a quizzical glance with Darcy, but Regina took her arm and led her towards the hubbub of the ladies’ room.

  ‘You like?’ Regina asked.

  ‘La musica, yes. The story is silly.’

  ‘In opera lirica the story is always silly. It is a tradition. Did you see the woman in the next box? Never have I seen so many feathers. Do you think she is really a bird?’

  ‘She aspires to be Papagena perhaps.’

  ‘She might spread her wings and fly away.’

  Elizabeth smiled. She wished her friend was not always flippant, but at least the light chatter was a change from Gabriele’s lecturing. ‘Or maybe lay an egg.’

  They laughed, and carried on talking.

  When a bell announced the start of the second act, one of Regina’s tresses came loose; by the time they reached the box the scene had started. Regina pushed through to join Edward Havers, while Gabriele irritably beckoned Elizabeth to the front. No Darcy: she wondered if after completing his business with Mario he had left. Ignoring Gabriele’s frantic signals, she sat at the back.

  Quietly the door opened, and the dark shape of Darcy took the chair next to hers.

  For a while they said nothing, but during a crescendo he whispered, ‘Are you not eager to view the stage?’

  ‘You seem content here.’

  ‘I prefer the side-lines.’ He smiled. ‘As you may have noticed at the Meryton ball.’

  Her eyes moistened at this reminder of home. ‘I see now that I mistook reserve for arrogance.’

  ‘Join the others if you prefer.’

  Elizabeth shook her head. ‘Here, every eccentricity is explained by my being English, so I do whatever I please.’

  ‘Ah.’

  He fell silent, so Elizabeth continued: ‘Any progress with Signor Mario?’

  ‘It was a relief to find him so approachable. He has accepted your uncle’s terms, and a consignment will leave next month. I was wondering …’ He dropped his voice. ‘About the letters you sent your family. Only two arrived, one a hastily written note. May I ask how many were sent?’

  ‘Perhaps ten.’

  ‘Your sister showed me the note you wrote on scrap paper. The envelope was not addressed in your hand.’

  His solemn manner reminded her of her father’s interrogations when she had misbehaved as a small girl, but in his face she saw only concern.

  ‘I was desperate.’ She looked away, to hide her distress. ‘Venice was cut off. No letters arrived, none left. A visitor who knew Giuseppe Carandini called to give his condolences. He impressed me as an honest man. Just as he was leaving, I scribbled a note with the address on the back, and asked him to post it once he reached a city well away from the cholera.’

  ‘Were the family aware of this?’

  She moved closer and whispered, ‘I told him the note was private, and begged him to show it to no-one.’

  ‘And this was the only letter that got through,’ Darcy mused. He waited for the music to louden before adding, still in a whisper, ‘Miss Bennet, did you wonder whether your post was being intercepted?’

  She tensed, disturbed by his question but also relieved to hear her fears expressed by a man whose sens
e was not in doubt. ‘I confess I did. You see …’ She spread her arms. ‘I was confined to the house. Signor Carandini and his physician both insisted. My letters were taken to the post office by a servant …’

  ‘Who might have been told to dispose of them.’

  Elizabeth sighed. ‘But this is speculation, Mr Darcy. We ought not speak thus of a family that has given me hospitality. There are, after all, other explanations. In any case, what motive could they possibly have?’

  She stopped, fearful of rebuke, but after thinking for a moment he replied: ‘You’re right. The situation is odd, but we have no reason to suspect the family.’ He paused, before continuing, ‘I was impressed by your performance on the pianoforte.’

  Her lips twisted into a smile. ‘How gratifying that someone approves.’

  ‘Signor Carandini is an exacting master?’

  She leaned away, thinking this over, as the audience applauded an aria. ‘He is a man unlike any I have met. He has no lightness, no frivolity. For the first time in my life, any charms that I possess count for nothing. At home, my efforts at singing and playing were applauded; here, they are exposed as mediocre, and I am not allowed to escape with a joke. I am inadequate, and must improve.’

  He fell silent, and she realised her words must have affected him in some way. Eventually he smiled sadly and said, ‘That is a sentiment I know well.’

  Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘I hope you are not recalling …’

  ‘Yes?’

  She whispered, ‘You know. Hunsford.’

  ‘In my case the censure was deserved.’

  She swivelled to face him, forgetting for a moment where they were. ‘Mr Darcy, it was not! The folly was all mine.’ She put head in hands, before recollecting herself and dropping her voice again. ‘It is pointless to re-open old wounds, but if I could wind back time and recant every word, I would. Please understand that.’

  He regarded her a few seconds, before murmuring, ‘You are kind, Miss Elizabeth, but I have long accepted that much of what you said was true. Not the part about Wickham, but the rest.’

  She yearned to contest this, but saw that he really believed it, and marvelled at such humility. There was a long pause, in which she felt strangely at ease. Both had admitted fault; both had sought to forgive. She asked, changing the subject, ‘What are your plans?’

  ‘For the present, to remain in Venice.’

  ‘But having come so far, you must see the rest of Italy. Florence, Rome, Verona. It is the opportunity of a lifetime.’

  ‘And yourself? How will you return to England?’

  ‘With Sir Edward and Céline, in the spring. Regina too, if she accept his offer of a dower.’

  He thought awhile before saying awkwardly, ‘I have no wish to intrude, Miss Bennet, but should you ever require assistance, of any kind, I beg you to ask me. Whatever has passed between us, I hope you can see me now as a friend of your family.’ He smiled. ‘Indeed, the best friend of the man now engaged to your sister.’

  A shadow passed over her heart. This was a kind man, honourable, even good company. She had been given a precious opportunity, and had thrown it away. She nodded, unable to speak; he too turned his attention to the music. His dignified presence, so different from the passionate demanding Gabriele, felt safe, comfortable, homelike. She sat contentedly, wishing the moment would never end.

  8

  March 1815

  Spring had come, and fruit trees were in blossom. In his hired carriage, Darcy sat opposite Theodore Avery, whom Lady Regina Havers had recommended as cultural guide. They had set off from Mantua after lunch, and would shortly enter Verona, the final leg of his tour.

  Leaving Elizabeth behind in Venice had been hard: all his protective instincts rebelled, and he had gone only under the conviction that this was her wish. He understood now that in helping her family he had increased her feelings of guilt. It upset her deeply that he had borne the main cost of rescuing Lydia, and she was obviously afraid that he had come to Italy mostly in order to rescue her—establishing a comparison that was hardly flattering. What had finally decided him was his trust in Edward Havers, who planned to return to Verona in March, and thence to Switzerland, where they would wait for an opportunity to cross the Alps.

  Leaning out of the window, Darcy recognised the pink roofs of the ancient Roman city centre, with the Lamberti tower just visible in silhouette. Impatiently he called out to Avery, who was dozing. ‘Nearly there!’

  The guide roused himself for a token glance. ‘Twenty minutes should see us through the city gate.’

  In which case, all going well, he would see Elizabeth within the hour. Edward’s party was to have arrived the day before, and should be installed at the Hotel Leoncino, chosen for its proximity to the Roman amphitheatre.

  And what then?

  He hoped, of course, to accompany them to England: Edward, scarcely the most practical of men, had begged him to do so. But what of Elizabeth? In Venice he had sensed a change in her feelings. First suspicious, then embarrassed by guilt, she had relaxed and started to confide in him. How would she respond to the prospect of a long journey in his company? Did she fear he would renew his attentions?

  But there were reasons for optimism. Whatever Elizabeth thought of him, she would surely value the security of a second Englishman joining the group. After all, they would not be thrown together constantly: he would spend time with Edward, and she with Céline—and perhaps also Lady Havers if Sir Ambrose’s widow had accepted the dower and decided to settle in England …

  Or was it Regina’s plan to entice Edward to the altar, once a proper period had elapsed?

  Darcy relaxed, recalling the beauty of Florence and the grandeur and fascination of Rome.

  Edward ran into the foyer of the Leoncino exactly as the clocks struck seven, the time of their rendezvous.

  ‘Darcy! Thank God you’re here.’

  His agitation alerted Darcy. ‘What has happened?’

  ‘Let’s get a drink.’ Edward led him to a lounge where a sideboard held two decanters.

  ‘Is everyone well?’ Darcy demanded. ‘Where is Miss Bennet? Céline?’

  Breathlessly Edward poured two glasses and took a hasty swig, dribbling red wine down his chin. ‘Céline is upstairs with the maid. Miss Bennet …’

  ‘Yes?’

  He sank into a divan, head in hands. ‘I’ve made an unholy mess of things.’

  Darcy sat beside Edward and tried to keep his voice calm. ‘Where is she?’

  He spread his palms. ‘I don’t know.’

  A jolt ran through Darcy’s body. ‘Was she lost during the journey?’

  ‘She never began the journey.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It happened the day before we planned to leave Venice. I had been on an excursion to Castello with Céline and our English maid. Returning, we found the house abandoned except for a footman. Communication was difficult since he spoke little English, but it seemed there had been a change of plan: the Carandinis had gone to visit friends and were not expected back for two weeks.’

  ‘And Miss Bennet?’

  ‘Went with them.’ Edward looked up, his face reddening. ‘According to Céline he said that Miss Elizabeth was to remain permanently in Venice, and that a happy announcement was imminent.’

  ‘An engagement to Carandini?’

  ‘I assume.’

  Darcy swallowed. ‘And their destination?’

  ‘I pressed him repeatedly but learned only that they had gone to the region north of Venice where Prosecco wine is made.’

  ‘What did you do next?’

  ‘What could I do?’ Edward took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. ‘I’m sorry, Darcy, but I had to stick to my original plan. Our crossing to Mestre was booked, as well as our carriage to Verona. We stayed overnight at the house, and left the next morning.’

  ‘Did you speak to Carandini’s cousin Mario?’

  ‘No time.’

  ‘Surely …’ Darcy broke off, realizing th
at Edward had done his best in a difficult situation. He refilled their wine glasses, struggling to collect his thoughts. His impulse was to find a horse and leave for Venice, but a night-time gallop through unfamiliar countryside was pointless. No, he would remain in Verona overnight, hire a local driver, and leave in the morning.

  He put a reassuring hand on Edward’s shoulder. ‘You acted for the best. Let us dine now and discuss further.’

  They found a corner table in the Leoncino’s elegant dining room and ordered platters of polenta, lentils and sausage meat. While they waited, Edward outlined the events of the last two months, which had seen some oddly shifting alliances.

  ‘It began with Lady Havers.’ Edward met Darcy’s eye. ‘Did you notice how she sought my company?’

  ‘A most alluring woman,’ Darcy said with a grim smile.

  ‘I can concede that she formed a sincere attachment to my brother. But myself? I think not. Or rather, only because I am now baronet.’

  ‘You gave her no encouragement?’

  ‘I was charmed at first, but wearied of her. Noticing this, Lady Regina redoubled her efforts for a day or two and then suddenly dropped me. I was upset that she also ignored Céline.’

  ‘And her brother?’

  Edward raised his eyebrows. ‘Continued his attentions to Miss Bennet, but with one alteration. For the first time he began to compliment her. It was embarrassing in its clumsiness, but also a relief. Rehearsals were requested rather than demanded. He even found aspects of her performance that he could praise.’

  ‘Was Miss Bennet impressed?’

  Edward looked away as a waiter approached with their food. ‘Hard to say.’ He raised a finger. ‘You remember the younger sister, Maddalena?’

  Darcy nodded. ‘A sweet child.’

  ‘Clever too, and not an admirer of her brother. I overheard her once whispering a warning to Miss Bennet. Be careful of Gabriele, he is bad man. I think she became attached to Miss Bennet. As did Céline.’