On a marble-topped side-table she found a jug of water, which she poured into a bowl to freshen up her hands and face. ‘You are sure there are no other rooms?’
He explained his conversation with the manager. ‘I’m afraid I had to give him the impression that we were a married couple.’ He retrieved the false papers from his bag and showed them to her. ‘The consul gave me these for use in emergencies. I think it safest that we go under the names in the letters of safe conduct. I will be Mr Giles Ashley; you will be my wife Rebecca. This means that if enquiries are made about English persons staying at the hotel, we will not be discovered.’
She nodded vacantly, as if too weary to assimilate this. ‘I would like to lie down now.’
‘Shall I wake you when supper arrives?’
‘No, just leave the food for later.’
He looked decorously away as she removed her boots and hair clasps and lay fully-clothed on top of the bed.
Having rented out the count’s chamber, the Petrarca did not stint on service. A liveried servant brought a huge tray of cold meats, rolls, pickles, and fruit, accompanied by jugs of wine and ale. At the same time a maid carried hot water to the washroom, and lit them a small fire. Elizabeth, still awake, joined him at the table and tried salami and cured ham. They finished with dark purple grapes, and apricots, all washed down with ale, a pleasant change from the ubiquitous red wine. To eat a good meal in comfort had become a luxury, and Darcy noticed that like himself, Elizabeth showed no inclination to hurry. Apart from references to the food, they ate in silence, as if shying away from discussions about their predicament.
Finally every morsel was gone. Their eyes met, and Darcy stood up. ‘I will leave you in privacy now.’
She faced him, biting her lower lip as if afraid of what she was about to say. ‘This is not right.’
‘I know.’ He spread his arms. ‘If you prefer, I could seek a room elsewhere, but I confess I’m afraid to leave you on your own.’
‘That is not what I meant.’ She rose, and opened the door to the washroom. ‘It is not right that I should sleep in comfort while you make do with this. You spent last night rowing across the lagoon, and have had little or no rest today. You must be completely exhausted. These are special circumstances. We are in a foreign land trying to escape a man who would force me to marry against my will, and have you imprisoned or worse. What matters is that we remain strong and alert.’ She turned back into the chamber. ‘We will find a way of sharing this bed. If that is not to your liking, then you will have the bed, and I will take the bath.’
He recoiled. ‘Out of the question.’
‘Indeed?’ She faced him, hands on hips. ‘And which part of my argument do you dispute?’
He froze, partly lost for an answer, and partly elated to be confronted by the old Elizabeth, the woman who had mocked him at dances in Hertfordshire, and upbraided him after his proposal at Hunsford.
Finally he smiled. ‘Do you imagine I’ll be able to sleep in this bed, in the knowledge that you are shivering in a hard copper bath in the next room?’
‘I might ask you the same question.’
He sighed. ‘What do you propose?’
‘We will lie side by side. It is not so shocking, after all. We sat together at the table without committing any major impropriety.’ She threw up her hands. ‘In any case, for all the world knows we are Mr and Mrs Ashley, so our reputations will remain intact whatever we do. Did you bring any suitable attire?’
‘Only this.’ He pulled her nightgown from his leather bag and shook it out. ‘Still damp from the boat, I fear.’
She folded the plain cotton garment over a chair beside the fire. ‘And yourself?’
‘I will keep my day clothes.’
‘Then so shall I.’
She sat on the side of the bed and leaned forward as if to remove her socks, then thought better of it and slipped fully clothed between the sheets. Darcy remained standing, his mind frazzled by weariness. To share a bed with Elizabeth! The moment he had hoped for had been reduced to absurdity, as if fate were mocking his dreams. He blew out the candles, unbuttoned his vest, removed his boots, and in white frilled shirt and breeches sat on the side of the bed, facing away from its other occupant. Swallowing, he lay on top of the blankets.
21
Elizabeth fidgeted, irritated by the weight of the blankets, which were making her too hot. If only she could take her dress off! She had automatically occupied the right half of the bed, a habit from sharing with Jane; as a result she could not sleep in her usual position without facing Darcy. With a sigh of frustration she rolled on to her back, and tried to lever off one of her scratchy socks with the other foot.
‘Are you uncomfortable?’
His voice, from so close by, gave her a jolt. She froze, then turned her head to view the dark form at her side, just visible in the fading firelight. He was also on his back, on top of the bed, gazing straight up.
‘It’s hot with all these layers on.’
‘Shall I open a window?’
She wriggled again. ‘The problem is really the dress. It would be better if I could take it off.’
‘I could go to the washroom while you make the necessary adjustments.’
She smiled, sensing humour behind his grave manner. ‘That would help.’
She heard footsteps and the click of the door. Quickly she sat up, pulled off the irritating socks and dress, then hesitated. She was not wearing stays, which Darcy had left behind in the bedroom at Lido, only a petticoat over a shift. But it would feel so good to remove the petticoat too—and really, what difference did it make? Might as well be hung for a sheep … With resolution she threw both dress and petticoat over an armchair, checked the door again, and dived back under the covers.
‘Ready!’
Her courage still high, she rolled on to her favourite side, and observed as Darcy resumed his former position.
She felt comfortable, freshened by the breeze from the window, now ajar. The feverish sweating was wearing off, and she had no nausea from the meal. But her thoughts remained chaotic and discordant, like an orchestra tuning up. She recalled how drowsy she had felt over the past weeks; now it seemed that sleep would never return. She opened her eyes to observe Darcy, who lay perfectly still, in a rigid posture that signalled his unease. What thoughts might be churning in his head?
‘Difficult, isn’t it,’ she whispered. ‘To relax.’
‘Are you still uncomfortable?’
‘I am well. And thank you for your forbearance. I just wanted to say …’ She blinked. ‘You need have no fear of my revealing this to anyone. Not even Jane.’
He frowned. ‘Why raise the point now?’
‘To reassure you.’
‘That you will not oblige me to wed you?’ He smiled. ‘From some women I might fear such a motive, but in your case I am entirely tranquil!’
She blushed at this reference to her dreadful behaviour at Hunsford. Despite his protestation, she believed he must have felt some such fear. To be forced into marrying Wickham’s sister-in-law!
‘Where will Mr Hanson and Miss Dill be now?’
‘Half-way to Padua, I hope. There’s a good road all the way, along the north bank of the river.’
‘What do you think of them?’
He reflected. ‘What can I say? I’m grateful to Hanson for his help; on the other hand, his behaviour towards Miss Dill is scandalous.’
‘Are you sure he is the prime instigator?’
‘As an older man, he must accept responsibility.’
Elizabeth conjured an image of the couple—the supercilious convivial young man on one side, the acute determined girl on the other. ‘My impression was the opposite. Mr Hanson is all impudence and bluster, but I suspect it is the quiet Miss Dill that holds the reins.’
Again he pondered, and again she feared a critical response. He turned towards her a fraction, and for an electric moment their eyes met. ‘You may be right. I found Hanson a
miable, but childish. I can believe he would be easily led.’
Elizabeth levered herself up a little. ‘When I first got to know Alice, Miss Dill, I thought of my sister. Lydia. But their cases are entirely different. Lydia is a child. Alice is gifted and single-minded. Perhaps she will marry Hanson, but it would not surprise me if in time she discarded him, as being of no further use.’
‘A formidable young lady, then?’
‘Yet I liked her. She was kind, modest, a good listener. I found myself confiding more than I should, although that was probably the influence of the opiate.’
He nodded, and after a brief silence she went on, ‘The trouble is, I have lost confidence in my power to judge. I have been thinking about Regina, whom I believed my friend. She was clever, charming, affectionate, but it seems clear that she connived with her brother in holding me captive, so that he might trick me into marrying him. I even wonder why she married Sir Ambrose. For love, or for his title?’
Darcy’s face twisted into a scowl. ‘There is something badly amiss with that family, and I suspect it stems from the mother.’
She nodded. ‘But do you not see? On a brief acquaintance you have already unmasked the Carandinis. I became friendly with Regina over a period of months and noticed nothing wrong. Once I prided myself as a judge of people; now I have fallen at one hurdle after another. Wickham, Regina, not to mention—’ She stopped just in time, cursing her tiredness.
He smiled. ‘You were about to add, Miss Dill?’
She could only smile back. ‘You know full well what I was about to say. I hope you are suitably embarrassed.’
His eyes softened. ‘You did not misjudge me. On the contrary, you saw my faults all too clearly.’
It was tempting to apologise yet again, but instinctively she resisted. ‘Can we be sure? Perhaps you are even worse than I thought.’
They both laughed, and she was surprised to find tears in her eyes, as if a tension had lifted.
She rolled over, and at last fell asleep.
22
Darcy peered round a bend in the stairwell and checked the foyer. He recognised the waxed moustache and squat figure of the manager, talking with a distinguished silver-haired gentleman. Darcy pulled back, wondering where he had seen the man before. Nothing came to mind, but he could recall no link with Carandini. Trying to appear relaxed, he stood tall and walked confidently down.
The silver-haired gentleman had moved aside to check his bill, and as Darcy approached, the manager raised his arms to greet him. ‘Signor Ashley! Buon giorno.’ A barrage of questions followed. The chamber was comfortable? La signora slept well? The supper was to their satisfaction?
After assuring him all was well, Darcy leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘Has anyone asked for us?’
The manager frowned. ‘Late last night a man did ask whether we had English guests. I cannot recall the names he gave, but they were not yours.’ He drew Darcy to one side, and whispered: ‘In fact he was so impertinent as to demand details of any English patrons. However, as I explained yesterday, I would not like it generally known that I rented out the count’s room. This was a special favour. I therefore told him that we had no foreign guests, English or otherwise, whereupon he went on his way. I apologise, Signor Ashley, but I had to consider my own position.’
‘You did excellently,’ Darcy assured him. ‘I appreciate that you have protected our privacy; you may also rely on my discretion.’
The manager bowed. ‘The signor is all politeness. You will take breakfast, yes?’ He pointed at the door opposite. ‘The sala is comfortable and catches the morning sun.’
‘I will see whether Signora Ashley is ready.’
The bed was empty, with sounds of whimpering from the washroom. He called softly, ‘Miss Bennet? Are you well?’
‘I am not!’ The door was yanked open and Elizabeth faced him, dressed but in tears, waving two hair grips. ‘I am such a mess! These are useless. And my face!’ She ran to the mirror. ‘I have no powder box, no rouge, nothing!’
‘What do you need?’
‘I had almond bloom, but it was left behind. Even talcum powder would do. Plus safflower or any pink blush.’
‘We can go shopping once we reach Padua.’
She waved this away. ‘How can you be so calm? As if all was proceeding smoothly according to plan? Do you not see that our situation is disastrous? Trapped in a foreign land where we barely speak the language, separated from our luggage, no proper clothes, pursued by constables who would arrest you for abduction, obliged to travel unchaperoned under false names, not to mention our reputations ruined if this escapade becomes known …’
He could only smile at this accurate summary. ‘And to cap it all, no almond bloom.’
‘Most amusing!’ She took a step forward and he was struck by the pallor of her skin, and the panic in her eyes. No wonder she craved powder and blush. ‘Mr Darcy, saunter with your head in the clouds if you must, but try to grasp one point. I will not marry you. You may spend a fortune to save my sister, risk your life shepherding me across Europe, sacrifice yourself to duty like a knight of old, and still I will not marry you. Foolish and unworthy I may be, but inside there remains a speck of self-respect that will not be denied. Do you follow? Must I make it plainer?’
He took her arm. ‘Miss Bennet, do not excite yourself. You are unwell.’
She pulled away. ‘I mean what I say!’
‘I know. You will not marry me. I am, indeed, the last man in the world whom you could ever be prevailed on to marry. You have expressed yourself with exemplary clarity in the past, and need not remind me now.’
He regarded her, trying to mask the bitter despair in his heart. She met his eye, then turned away with a cry. ‘Oh, what is the point? You will never understand.’
‘On the contrary, I understand perfectly. Let us not distress ourselves by talking of this further. I came to ask whether you would like breakfast. I have checked downstairs and the coast is clear.’
She turned back to the mirror and struggled to attach a hair clip. ‘I look such a fright.’ Her hand lingered on her temple. ‘And I have a headache.’
‘It will pass.’ He stepped closer, speaking softly. ‘You are recovering from the opiate. In a few days you will feel much better and your cheeks will bloom even without the aid of rouge.’
She threw him a suspicious glance, but with the hint of a smile. ‘So you are a physician, Mr Darcy?’
‘No, but I have come across cases of laudanum withdrawal.’
‘Of course. You know everything. How foolish of me to doubt it.’
‘I know I would like breakfast, at any rate.’ He walked away, and after a final adjustment of her hair she followed.
The sala colazione had filled, but at the window table a man raised his hand and beckoned them to join him. As they approached, Darcy recognised the silver-haired gentleman he had seen earlier at reception.
‘Buon giorno.’ Darcy bowed. ‘Giles Ashley.’ He extended an arm towards Elizabeth. ‘My wife, Rebecca.’
The man rose and bowed to Elizabeth. ‘Good morning Mrs, ah, Ashley. Professor Pavoni. Antonio.’
Darcy helped Elizabeth into her chair, admiring her poise as she replied in Italian, ‘An honour to meet you sir. We admired your performance of Rossini last night.’
Of course: that was why the man was familiar. Yet up close he appeared younger; Darcy wondered whether he was bewigged, or prematurely grey.
‘English, please!’ demanded Professor Pavoni. ‘I’m most impressed, madam, that you should recognise the piece, since we printed no programme.’
‘My wife is an accomplished pianist and music-lover,’ Darcy said.
She threw him an amused glance, as if enjoying the game. ‘My, ah, husband grossly exaggerates my abilities,’ she said. ‘Everywhere we go he arouses expectations that I cannot possibly fulfil. However, it is true that I love music, and it was a delight to listen to an orchestra in such a setting.’
A maid took their order, and returned with a basket of rolls and pastries, soon followed by a fresh pot of coffee and a bowl of boiled eggs.
‘Are you based in Venice?’ Darcy asked Pavoni.
The professor shook his head. ‘Padua. I hold the chair in musicology. Conducting is not part of my work, more a recreation. I have assembled a small amateur orchestra to perform at festivals and other popular venues.’
‘Your musicians are also staying in the Petrarca?’
‘The leader only. The others are down the road in a locanda.’ Pavoni pointed out of the window. ‘I hired a barge for the trip.’
Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, and she turned to address Pavoni with an innocent smile. ‘Your boat must be full, with so many instruments to carry.’
He hesitated. ‘Where are you bound?’
‘We have been making our way from Venice to Padua,’ Darcy said. ‘With so many Palladian villas to admire, our tempo has been more Lento than Allegro.’
Pavoni smiled. ‘You have a carriage?’
‘We shared one with friends,’ Darcy improvised. ‘But they have gone ahead now, so we will have to find an alternative.’
‘I see.’ Pavoni hesitated again. ‘I would offer you a seat on our barge, but perhaps you will need a carriage in order to complete your tour.’
‘On the contrary, your offer comes at a most fortunate moment,’ Elizabeth said. ‘We were remarking only yesterday evening that no matter how exquisite the architecture, one can have too much of a good thing.’
‘I concur fully with my wife,’ Darcy said.
Pavoni clapped his hands. ‘Capital! Your company will light up an otherwise routine journey.’
With relief, Darcy resumed eating.
23
The barge was built to transport people, not goods—and in some luxury. The cabin contained rows of upholstered benches with an aisle down the middle; a spiral stairway at the back led to the roof, where the more enterprising passengers might venture for a longer view. The walls were painted with vines on a pale blue background, and held vases filled with orange-red spring geraniums.
Darcy's Journey Page 9
