Darcy's Journey

by M. A. Sandiford

  ‘Excellent.’ He led her into the street. ‘Shall we find a lounge where we can sit in comfort? I believe the Hotel Metropole is round the corner.’

  ‘Oh yes! I can scarcely wait another minute.’

  The Metropole was imposing, its foyer regal in red and gold. It was also a social hub, milling with officers and their elegant wives. Darcy found a quiet tea-room where a booth was free, and they sank into crimson high-backed armchairs to open their mail.

  He knew already that his bank had replied—he had recognised its stamp in the post office. He slit the envelope and found as expected a letter of credit for £1500, more than enough for his purposes. Three plump packages were addressed in Georgiana’s hand; he opened the latest, and scanned it to confirm she was in good health, had received his letters, and was finding plenty to amuse herself in London. A note from his steward announced a good crop of rhubarb, and no problems except for an outbreak of sheep rustling which had obliged him to employ another shepherd. Finally, at the bottom of the pile, Darcy found a folded sheet, and with a start recognised the handwriting of his cousin.

  Elizabeth touched his arm, radiant. ‘It is wonderful! See, I have two letters from Jane, with such news! She is still engaged to Mr Bingley, who has not quitted Netherfield. None of my sisters has run off with an officer. My father spends every day in his study and complains that he has no intelligent conversation. My mother is well except that her nerves are aflutter through fear that I will be ravaged by French soldiers. In short, all is normal.’

  ‘I’m gratified to hear it.’ He waved his bundle. ‘I also have reassuring news. Georgiana is well, and we have the funds. But I ought to read this last message.’ He unfolded the note, and whistled. ‘My goodness!’

  ‘Who is it from?’

  ‘Colonel Fitzwilliam. He is here, in Brussels, billeted at the house of Viscount de Crécy in Rue de la Violette.’

  Elizabeth gasped. ‘What does he say?’

  ‘That we should call on him directly.’

  ‘Let us find a hackney.’

  He hesitated. ‘You should read your letters first.’

  ‘They can wait. I have read Jane’s latest, and my mind is at rest.’

  Darcy thought for a few seconds. ‘Then I agree. Let’s return to the park and collect our luggage.’

  The hackney turned into Rue de la Violette, a cobbled street just a few paces across. It seemed so modest that Darcy feared that they had been misdirected, but the road broadened and a gateway led to a fair-sized quadrangle. The driver summoned a servant, who swung the gates open so that after unloading their trunk from the roof they could drive through. Two grand houses shared the forecourt, one belonging to the Vicomte.

  They had found a hackney immediately as it dropped off a customer at the Metropole, but on the way to the park had stopped at a bank for ten minutes so that he could fill two bags with Dutch guilder and French louis d’or.

  The servant spoke little English, but on hearing the name Fitzwilliam nodded enthusiastically and invited them into the hallway. Darcy was settling up with the driver when a familiar figure ran down the steps.

  After greeting his cousin, Darcy extended a hand towards Elizabeth. ‘You remember Miss Bennet?’

  Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed. ‘How could I not, after spending such jolly times together in Kent?’

  ‘Sorry to trouble you, cuz, but we have nowhere to stay in Brussels, and the hotels are all full. Is there a storeroom where we can keep our luggage?’

  Colonel Fitzwilliam opened his arms. ‘Of course! What is more, you will stay here. The Vicomte has spare chambers. There is space in the attic for Burgess.’ He spoke in French to the servant, who went off to summon help.

  Darcy drew Elizabeth aside. ‘What do you think? Shall we stay one night and leave tomorrow morning?’

  ‘It would be a pleasure,’ Elizabeth beamed. ‘We need rest after our coach journey, and you cannot miss such an opportunity to exchange your news.’

  ‘Well said!’ cried Colonel Fitzwilliam, rejoining them. ‘Now, all is in train here. Let us go upstairs and take some refreshment.’

  Feeling like a trespasser, Elizabeth accompanied Darcy up the broad staircase and through to a spacious lounge furnished in classical French style, and lit by three grand chandeliers. She was unconvinced by Colonel Fitzwilliam’s assumption that the Viscount would offer hospitality to strangers, but it turned out that the possibility had already been discussed, and arrangements made.

  The Vicomte rose to greet them, and introduced his daughter, the honourable Lorraine de Crécy. He was tall, and so thin that he seemed taller than Darcy even though their heads were actually on a level. Both in stature and character, the word that fitted him was upright: he carried himself well; he obviously abstained from excess in food and drink; his manner was courtly and correct. All these traits had passed to his daughter, a slender elegant woman in her early twenties, with severely pinned dark hair and a long face that was striking in spite of plain features.

  Mademoiselle de Crécy took Elizabeth aside as the men began talking of the campaign. ‘Pleasure to have you here. May I show you the house?’

  They viewed a parlour, a dining room, the Viscount’s study, and two drawing rooms which had been converted for use as offices. On the upper floor they visited Mademoiselle de Crécy’s boudoir and salle de bains, which adjoined a small chamber which had been allocated to Elizabeth.

  ‘This room is used for guests,’ Mademoiselle de Crécy said. ‘We thought you could share the salle de bains with me, if that is convenient.’

  Elizabeth admired the bathroom, which held a flushing lavatory and bidet of latest design, in addition to the bath and dressing table. ‘I’m overwhelmed that your family should go to so much trouble.’

  ‘It is no more than an expression of our gratitude to England for defending Wallonia against Bonaparte. My father is among many nobles who have offered accommodation to British officers. Colonel Fitzwilliam has become a valued friend.’

  ‘These considerations hardly apply to Mr Darcy—or myself.’

  ‘Colonel Fitzwilliam has letters from Miss Darcy describing your adventures.’ Mademoiselle de Crécy smiled. ‘Although not in enough detail to satisfy my curiosity.’

  Elizabeth coloured. ‘The story is not entirely edifying.’

  ‘These are difficult times, Miss Bennet, and we all cope as best we can. Colonel Fitzwilliam speaks of you in the warmest terms, and that is enough for me.’

  Elizabeth’s eyes moistened at this kindness, and she realised how much she had feared ostracism if their unconventional and often unchaperoned trip across Europe became generally known. Still, she was unsure as yet how much had been confided …

  A maid passed carrying Elizabeth’s clothes, and they followed her into the small chamber.

  ‘Perhaps you would like to wash and change after your journey,’ Mademoiselle de Crécy said. ‘At noon we take a light luncheon. Dinner is later than usual in these parts, at six o’clock.’

  She spoke as if accustomed to organise, her calm confidence daunting. But there was affection in her eyes, and Elizabeth hoped she had found a new friend.

  ‘So cuz, what are your duties here?’ Darcy demanded.

  The Viscount had withdrawn to his study, leaving the cousins alone with instructions to help themselves from a decanter of wine on the sideboard.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged. ‘Office work. I coordinate a team that procures supplies for my regiment. We receive reports on the state of our armaments, uniforms, and other equipment, and intercede with the suppliers. Also with the War Office, which foots the bill.’

  ‘And when the regiment marches to fight the French?’

  ‘I will ride with them. Liaise with headquarters and the battalion leaders. Take part in hand-to-hand fighting if the need arises.’ He clapped Darcy on the shoulder. ‘Don’t look so glum! I have survived such encounters in the past, and with reasonable luck will do so again. Enough of me. How do matters stand be
tween yourself and the charming Miss Bennet?’

  Darcy hesitated. ‘There is no, ah, formal arrangement.’

  Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. ‘Come on, Darce. I could not help noticing how she looks at you. At Rosings the claws were out. Now she purrs.’

  ‘Certainly her feelings have—altered.’ Darcy sipped claret as he studied a portrait of the Viscount’s late wife. ‘But Elizabeth is troubled. That ghastly Italian family has undermined her confidence. She feels unworthy, she fears our family will reject her. Above all, she is ashamed that a certain gentleman of ill repute has become her brother-in-law.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Colonel Fitzwilliam frowned. ‘More your doing than hers, I should have thought.’

  ‘She believes our marriage would distress Georgiana.’

  Colonel Fitzwilliam was incisive. ‘Georgiana will love her.’

  ‘Elizabeth, yes.’ Darcy lowered his voice. ‘But not her family tie with Wickham.’

  ‘Oh.’ Colonel Fitzwilliam reflected. ‘I see what Miss Bennet means, but no, I will not have it. The Wickhams are settled 150 miles to the north, and I wager that you will be in no hurry to invite them to Pemberley.’

  Darcy harrumphed. ‘A safe bet if ever I heard one.’

  ‘Listen.’ Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped closer, and lowered his voice. ‘Why not stay a few days? The family is hospitable, and Mademoiselle Lorraine will make a fine companion for Miss Bennet. If you need occupation, I could benefit from some assistance in the office—figures were never my strong point.’ He raised a finger. ‘And yes, I nearly forgot. The Duchess of Richmond is hosting a ball tomorrow evening, to which all senior officers and their wives are invited. Ladies will be in short supply, especially ones that speak English. Absolutely Miss Bennet must attend, and you too as my guest.’

  42

  Thursday 15th June

  The barouche turned into Rue de Minimes, a cobbled street just five minutes drive from the Place Royale. Elizabeth sat beside Mademoiselle de Crécy, who was keeping an appointment at a hospital of which she was patroness.

  It had been a busy afternoon, the first order of business being the vital question of their dresses for the ball. There was no time to measure up for a new gown. Elizabeth had taken her cream-gold silk dress to the modiste, so that a fashionable sash might be added at the back; Mademoiselle de Crécy ordered similar alterations in a white gown ornamented with pink borders and crimson ribbons. Their dresses would be delivered by early evening so that they could leave at eight o’clock.

  At the Minimes hospital they were taken on a tour of inspection, and Elizabeth stayed in the background as her companion paused to speak with people at all levels—not just doctors but nurses, patients, cooks, cleaners. So far as she could tell, the hospital was well run, mostly by nuns in white habits and starched wimples, large cloths shaped into hats called cornettes.

  At length they were shown to the chief surgeon’s office, where Mademoiselle de Crécy held a meeting with senior staff. Unable to follow—she had learned only the rudiments of French as a child—Elizabeth waited in an armchair in the corner and thought about her new friend.

  They had gone to their rooms after supper and cards; Elizabeth had been in her nightdress loosening her hair when the door from the dressing room opened an inch.

  ‘Mademoiselle Bennet?’

  ‘Come in.’

  Mademoiselle de Crécy entered, also in her nightdress. ‘I wanted to check you have everything you need. Shall I ask my maid to brush out your hair?’

  ‘I can manage alone.’ Elizabeth held up her mother-of-pearl brush. ‘You should know that I am a thief. This heirloom was pilfered from Villa Foscari near Venice.’

  Mademoiselle de Crécy raised her eyebrows. ‘We had better count the spoons before you leave.’

  ‘The villa had been abandoned for decades. It was the most beautiful building I have ever seen, left for use as a storehouse for a local farmer.’

  ‘What adventures you must have had. Are you tired?’

  ‘More excited than tired, with the ball tomorrow.’

  ‘Why not come to my room and talk?’

  They made themselves comfortable on Mademoiselle de Crécy’s broad four-poster, with the window ajar to let in a cooling breeze. Cautiously Elizabeth described her abduction by Carandini, Darcy’s rescue mission, and their flight across the Venice lagoon. She feared that the Viscount’s daughter, with her noble birth and strict Catholic upbringing, would shudder at the impropriety of it all, but Mademoiselle de Crécy was enthralled, even envious.

  ‘More, more!’ she cried. ‘What happened next?’

  Elizabeth swallowed, and provided an edited version of their encounter with Gerard Hanson and Alice Dill.

  ‘Oh, it is romantique, scandaleux! And did you like this artist, Mademoiselle Alice?’

  ‘I confess I did.’

  ‘Bien dit, Elizabeth.’ Mademoiselle de Crécy clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Pardon me …’

  Elizabeth smiled. ‘If I am to confide such intimacies, we may as well use first names.’

  She continued, omitting only the embarrassing episode in the small riverside town of Oriago where she and Darcy had shared a bedroom.

  ‘Alors.’ Mademoiselle de Crécy leaned back against her pillow. ‘You enjoyed being Madame Rebecca Ashley?’

  ‘Yes.’ Elizabeth met her eye. ‘And what are you smiling at, mademoiselle?’

  ‘I think you will also enjoy being Madame D—’

  ‘That’s quite enough.’

  ‘No need to be missish and deny the obvious.’

  Elizabeth looked away. Mademoiselle de Crécy leaned over and touched her arm. ‘Pardon me.’

  ‘It’s all right. I’m not angry.’ She turned back. ‘What did Colonel Fitzwilliam say about us?’

  ‘Only that Mr Darcy had found you in Venice and helped extricate you from a difficult situation.’

  ‘That is all?’

  Mademoiselle de Crécy frowned. ‘That was all he said, but he did look at my father in a certain way, as if there was something else …’

  ‘I see.’ Elizabeth sighed. ‘I should return to my room.’

  ‘Sleep here if you like.’ Mademoiselle de Crécy smiled. ‘Unlike your Fraulein Edelmann I am quiet as a mouse.’

  Returning from the hospital to Rue de la Violette, they found Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam in the lounge, talking in hushed voices with the Vicomte.

  ‘Come!’ Lorraine de Crécy gestured her to follow. ‘We will leave the men undisturbed and go to the parlour.’

  ‘Is something amiss?’

  ‘My father looks worried.’

  Some minutes later, Darcy entered and bowed.

  ‘Mademoiselle, your father asks to see you in the study. I need to speak in private with Miss Bennet.’

  When they were alone he sat beside her and said, with forced calm: ‘There is a disturbing report which we must discuss. Bonaparte’s army has overrun the border guards near Charleroi and is advancing towards the Prussian position at Ligny.’

  Elizabeth gasped. ‘Is that not where Captain von Staufen and his wife were bound?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, and I wish them every fortune. But we must also consider our own safety. The general feeling is that this is a feint. Headquarters has decided that the ball is to go ahead, and that all officers may attend.’

  Elizabeth felt a tingle of fear and excitement. ‘What is your cousin’s opinion?’

  ‘He will go. So will the Viscount and, I presume, his daughter.’ He spread his hands. ‘There can be no imminent threat. The only question is whether we should proceed with our current plan, or find a carriage and leave today. The trouble is that flight provides no guarantee of safety. With French troops rampaging over Wallonia I believe we would do better to stay put until Bonaparte’s intentions are revealed. At least here we enjoy secure accommodation and the protection of the British army.’

  Elizabeth nodded. ‘Let us remain with our friends.’

  43

>   At the end of Rue della Blanchisserie was such a crush of carriages that the Viscount instructed his driver to halt, so that the party could proceed on foot. Colonel Fitzwilliam led off, clearing a path for his hosts; Darcy followed with Elizabeth on his arm. The Duke of Richmond’s residence was easily located: Gordon Highlanders were playing the bagpipes at the entrance, attended by red-coated officers, some mounted, as well as the cream of Brussels society.

  Viscount de Crécy presented their invitations, and they passed through to a ground-floor coach house which had been transformed into a huge ballroom. Elizabeth gasped, released Darcy’s arm, and stepped forward to survey the scene. Never in her life had she seen so many people at a ball: already there must be hundreds, and the arena was still filling. The opulence took her breath away. The walls had been newly papered in a rose trellis design, and were adorned with huge drapes, and clusters of flags representing countries of the coalition. Pillars bordering the dance floor were bedecked in ribbons and flowers; behind them, in the alcoves, divans, chairs and drinks tables were set out on rugs. Overhead hung rows of magnificent chandeliers.

  Lorraine de Crécy came to join her. ‘Impressive, no?’

  ‘Splendid beyond words.’

  ‘The duchess is not what one might call frugal. Perhaps the duke’s fortune could be better spent, and yet …’ She swept her arm around the hall. ‘These men are about to risk their lives, and deserve the best farewell party we can give them.’

  ‘All officers are invited?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘Yes, as well as nobles from home and abroad. William, Prince of Orange will be attending. Also his brother Prince Frederick. Numberless dukes and counts with their wives and daughters.’

  The Vicomte led them to an alcove where they joined a group centred around the Duc and Duchesse de Beaufort and their daughter, who jumped up to greet Lorraine. The young women conversed in rapid French, leaving Elizabeth beside an Englishwoman who had sunk into a sofa looking pale and exhausted. Her husband, it emerged, was a general who had left her alone while joining a discussion about the campaign. Darcy, like the other gentlemen, remained standing. The noise was deafening, with excited voices raised so that they could be heard against the bagpipes and general clatter.