Her Summer at Pemberley

by Sallianne Hines

  George cried out, “There! Through the trees. The castle and the long brick building. It will not be long now.”

  This news rallied the group. Their energy was renewed, along with their appetites. The sun was nearly overhead.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  At the royal mews, business was conducted quickly and the mares taken away by the stable attendants. The stable master had arranged for a luncheon on the grounds to be followed by a tour of the facility.

  The head groom and the stable master joined the party at the elegantly-appointed tables under the shade of a spreading oak. Kitty gazed about her, taking it all in. Sleek, beautifully-kept horses could be seen in well-tended paddocks as the sun shone on the bright grass and into the dark forest. Just as they concluded their meal, her eye caught the motion of a small group entering one of the buildings. She rose to follow her own party, which entered the same building from the other direction.

  As the groups neared each other, two ladies looked over at them. One was tall and willowy, with dark eyes and auburn hair, dressed in a deep violet habit. The other was much shorter with a fuller figure and blonde curls cascading below her hat. She wore a lovely sky blue habit, but her form and movements lacked the elegance of her companion.

  “Sibley! We have guests? Dear Sibley, do introduce us. It is not often I visit here, and even less often I meet other young people.” The blonde lady lurched towards them with a manly stride but her eyes were bright and her smile friendly.

  “Of course, Your Highness …”

  Kitty gasped. Was this Princess Charlotte? Her eyes flew to Fitzwilliam. He stood by the master and prompted him with names, introducing the ladies first.

  “Miss Catherine Bennet of Longbourn at Hertfordshire.”

  Kitty made the deepest and most graceful curtsey of her life. She flushed with color but met the princess’ eyes with a smile. “Your Highness.”

  All were introduced one by one, after which the princess asked, “And are you here to tour? It is not common.”

  Owen stepped forward and made a slight bow.

  “Your Highness, we have returned three of the royal mares who were covered by my family’s stallion.”

  “All the way from Derbyshire! Your stud’s bloodlines must be impressive.” She then turned to Kitty and Lucy.

  “And do you ladies merely accompany the gentlemen?”

  Lucy was struck dumb, so Kitty spoke.

  “I take a great interest in horses, Your Highness, and love to ride above anything.”

  Princess Charlotte looked at her closely.

  “Do you? Well, I share your passion. Some call me reckless, but there is nothing I love more than a raging gallop. I am not known for being ladylike. Are you a bold rider, Miss Bennet?”

  Kitty hesitated. “Some might say yes.”

  “Then we must ride together. Do you return to …”

  “Oakhurst, Your Highness,” the master provided.

  “… to Oakhurst today?”

  Darcy answered, “No, Your Highness. We have been generously given lodgings here for this evening and plan to leave tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Fie, we have just ridden, and I have an appointment later this afternoon. Shall we ride tomorrow, say ten o’clock? Elphinstone, is that agreeable to you? Gentlemen?”

  Bows and a nod confirmed the plan.

  “Good, then it is settled. Sibley, will you handle the arrangements?”

  “Certainly, Your Highness.”

  Princess Charlotte then added, “I invite you to explore the forest on your own this afternoon if you have not ridden too far today.” She guffawed. “Ridden too far—is there such a thing?” She smiled at Kitty. “There are many wonderful bridle paths. The forest is vast. I wager you’ll not find such scope or beauty anywhere else in the kingdom. Well, we must be off. Until tomorrow then.”

  Curtsies and bows were repeated and amazed looks exchanged amongst the visitors.

  Kitty looked at Fitzwilliam again.

  “To ride with Princess Charlotte—can it be true?”

  “A great honor indeed,” he replied.

  They continued their tour and then enjoyed a leisurely tea. Dinner would not be served until nine o’clock at the guest lodge.

  Cressley commented, “They have been most hospitable and obliging here, Darcy. I would not have expected so much.”

  “Nor I.”

  Christopher stood and looked at the group.

  “Shall we take the princess up on her offer? Who is game? Who will join me for a hack in this magnificent forest before dinner?” He smiled in an inviting way, particularly at Lucy.

  Lucy could not resist him.

  “I shall join you,” she said, forgetting the two could not ride unaccompanied.

  The others in the party begged off, claiming to have spent enough time in the saddle for the day, and chortling about the princess’s comment.

  Christopher eyed Kitty.

  “Come, Miss Bennet. Surely you wish to explore?”

  The forest beckoned. Kitty was tempted. She looked at Darcy, who merely raised a brow.

  “If the ride is short—no more than an hour—and if we stay on the paths, I will go.”

  “Excellent! I shall tell the groom and be back to fetch you ladies when all is ready.”

  He returned some time later with a gleam in his eye.

  Darcy gave him a cautionary look.

  “Do return punctually, Mr. Christopher. The ladies will need time to dress for dinner.”

  Christopher said nothing, only bowed his acquiescence, and the three riders were away to the mounting area. Owen and Darcy and the Cressley men left with the stable master to further discuss business.

  Watching Christopher lift Lucy into the saddle, Kitty noted a small saddlebag attached to the cantle, and a similar bag tied to his own. What could he wish to carry on such a brief ride? But perhaps the bags had been there all along.

  He did not—as a gentleman should—check Kitty’s tack, and he allowed the groom to assist her into the saddle. Did his amorous feelings for Lucy cause him to forget his duties? That was no surprise. Kitty had never marked his concern for others or for decorum.

  Poor Lady Drake. Her situation with her son was not unlike Mr. Bennet’s own trials with Kitty’s sister Lydia.

  Soon the three were mounted and they emerged from the barn. The sun was approaching the crown of the hills to the west as they swept under the eaves of the great and ancient Windsor Forest. Such tales were told about it! Bold knights rescuing damsels in distress … exploits of robber barons … royal stag hunts. Stories flowed from her memory as the party moved quietly through the trees. They seemed to be on a main path, but several other paths wound away in one direction or another.

  “Mr. Christopher, do we not have a guide?” Kitty asked.

  “Our ride is not long, Miss Bennet. There was no need to trouble anyone,” he replied.

  “Do you know which path to take?”

  “I have an idea, Miss Bennet. Further on this path will fork, according to the groom. We shall keep to the left.” He and Lucy dawdled behind.

  Kitty’s Oakhurst gelding was restless under her.

  “My horse wants a faster pace. I shall await you at the fork.”

  “Very good, Miss Bennet.”

  Kitty turned to see the young couple plodding along, their heads leaning very close together. Such intimacy made her uncomfortable, and she urged her horse forward.

  The canopy overhead was open in many places, allowing the sun’s slanting rays to penetrate. She could make out clearings here and there through the trees. The rich smell of the forest filled her nostrils and she breathed deeply. After a brisk trot, she perceived the fork a little ahead, as Christopher had described. She cantered to the spot and then checked her horse.

  Wondering how far behind they were, she turned.

  The path was empty.

  The light was fading. Kitty peered dubiously down the path. Where could they be? The way ha
d curved some, so perhaps Lucy and Christopher were hidden around a bend. Had they stopped to pick a stone from a hoof? The light overhead—when she could see any—was touched with pink. She recalled their morning ride into this valley. The sun would soon disappear behind those tall westerly hills. The tangled boughs overhead competed to block the last shreds of light. The shadows of the trees were playing tricks on her eyes and she called out for her companions.

  There was no reply. For a moment she panicked. Would anyone hear her cries for assistance? Would such a commotion summon help? Or draw unsavory sorts? Or attract the beasts of the forest? She grasped a handful of mane and patted the gelding’s withers. His warmth was comforting. She must think!

  Facing in the direction she thought she had come from, Kitty urged the horse forward at a walk. In the waning light—and viewing everything from the opposite direction—nothing looked familiar. She could not judge if she remained true to the original path or not.

  Her lower lip began to quiver. She bit it to keep from crying. She must not alarm her horse. She tried to breathe deeply, but her hands shook on the reins. Perhaps her horse knew the way back; they often did, but that occurred mostly on familiar ground. This horse was from Cressley’s stock and, like Kitty herself, had never been here before.

  She craned her neck as they moved along, hoping to see something familiar. Suddenly the horse’s muscles bunched beneath her. Something raced across the path in front of him and he shied, pawing the air in panic. The reins slipped from her fingers. Kitty leaned forward, clinging to the mane to stay aboard. The frightened horse backed into a low branch and knocked her out of the saddle. Landing with a thud, a biting pain shot through her wrist. The terrified horse bolted into the dark. The poor thing! She prayed he would not hurt himself or get his bridle tangled amongst the branches.

  She looked about her. Tears filled her eyes. The darkness was nearly complete. She would not to cry. She would not be missish. Managing to stand, she felt her way to a large tree trunk. She leaned her back against it, but her legs grew weak and, losing the battle for courage, she collapsed to the ground and wept.

  Time passed—she knew not how long—and her weeping turned to anger. How could they do this? Abandon her in the forest? They will not wish to face Darcy after this! What are they about anyway? Where would they go?

  The saddlebags. Had Christopher planned this? Was it some kind of elopement—or worse? However this had come about, she was now in a predicament. She must not dwell on why until she was safe. She must think like Darcy now, or like a scientist, or like a man. She must solve the problem at hand. Even her throbbing wrist must not distract her.

  She was in the forest, in the dark, and lost. Sight was useless. What could her other senses tell her? What did she hear? The coo of mourning doves. The twittering of night birds. The call of an owl. She strained her ears further abroad for any sound of humans or the welcome hoof beats of a horse. Nothing. She sighed. A forest was not familiar to her. Most of her rides had been across the meadows and down the country lanes of Longbourn. There one could nearly always see the sky and look for the position of the sun or the stars. Here the shadows were deep and the ancient forest blotted out the heavens.

  Kitty’s only experience of such dense woods had been on the ladies’ ride along the River Derwent, the day of the picnic.

  Unbidden, something suddenly illuminated her mind; something Andrew had shown her that very day. Dear Andrew! What a fine instructor. Whilst on the high rocky passes and also down by the river, he had showed her how moss grows mostly on the north side of trees.

  She reached behind her, feeling the tree’s bark. It was rough and fissured. She came to her knees and turned towards the tree, allowing her hands to stretch out on either side, feeling for the textured sponginess of moss. She ignored the stinging pain in her wrist. The tree’s trunk was too vast for her to encircle with her arms. Moving to the right, she stretched her hand along the bark until she felt a change. Yes! It was moss. Her hand explored to determine how far the moss grew, and she soon found the other edge. So this side was north. She pictured it firmly in her mind. Her pride in her own resourcefulness buoyed her resolve and momentarily eclipsed her fear.

  Leaning against the tree so her back was to the north, she peered into the woods in each direction. A faint shimmer slowly appeared to her left. Silhouettes of some of the trees were visible. The moon. It was rising—in the east. How fortunate it shows its face so early! Now she had some bearings: east and north. But from which direction had they entered the forest?

  She struggled to remember the location of the sun during tea, but her mind’s eye failed her; she had paid the sun no heed then. Continuing to retrace the activities of the afternoon, at last she recalled shielding the left side of her face as they emerged from the barn. West! They had ridden straight into the forest, so they had been going north. She knew the path had wound its way around but did not remember any particularly sharp turns until the fork.

  From these deductions, she concocted a plan and felt a burst of pride at her rational thinking. Even Papa might be proud of her now.

  The night noises of the woods came from every direction as she trod silently along the unseen path. Skittering noises, snuffling, chattering sounds, creaking, and the occasional call of some bird. Were there dangerous beasts here? Wolves? Bears? Did they hunt at night? She wished now she had read far more about the world of nature, and vowed to do so if Providence granted her that chance.

  The moon had risen high enough for its face to glow through the canopy above. Was she still moving in her intended direction? She checked another tree to confirm, found the moss, and gauged the path was aiming more or less to the south. She squared her shoulders and trudged on, tucking her aching wrist close to her body.

  A small light twinkled in the trees ahead. She stopped and blinked. Red it was, not unlike the eye of a beast, and bobbed here and there, definitely approaching. She gasped, ready to call out, but then stopped of a sudden and thought better of it. It could be help, or it could be more trouble. She held her breath but heard no voices. She hesitated. They would see her before she could see them. It would be wise to stay out of sight until she knew if this was friend or foe.

  Carefully she moved two steps off the path and hastily reached down for a few sticks and stones to make a cairn of sorts to guide her back to the path.

  The light continued to approach, getting larger. It was no beast’s eye, but a lantern. A few steps further off the path, she found a large tree and knelt behind it, not daring to breathe. The pounding of her heart filled her ears until her head swam. Touching the tree, she steadied herself.

  “Hallo? Hallo?” a voice called.

  Could they be searching for her?

  “Hallo … Miss Ben—

  At the very moment she heard her name, the lantern illuminated the familiar face uttering it—Owen! Her legs quaked.

  “Owen! Owen! I am here,” she called, trying to steady her strangled voice as she rose to her feet.

  “Miss Bennet? Where are you?”

  Keeping her hand on the tree for support, she stepped around it.

  “Here. I am here.”

  Holding up the lantern, Owen rushed towards her, his face lit with joy.

  “Thank God! Are you hurt?” Upon seeing Kitty’s face, he embraced her with his free arm and kissed her hair. Then he drew back. “Pardon me, in my joy I believe I breached …”

  “Oh, etiquette be hanged!” she cried and threw her arms about his neck. “I am so happy to see you.”

  His smile broadened. “I can tell you have your wits about you. Can you walk? Are you hurt?”

  “Only my wrist. When I fell. The horse … he reared … a branch knocked me … the poor horse, was he ...?”

  “He is unharmed. When he returned riderless, Darcy and I flew into action.”

  “Christopher and Lucy … ?”

  “They have not been seen. How did you become separated?”

  Kitty trie
d to explain in breathless bursts. “They were behind … it was as if they left a-purpose … a plan?… the small saddlebags … I did not suspect …”

  She swayed.

  Owen reached around her waist to support her but nearly tripped over an obstacle. “What is here?”

  Following his gaze, she laughed weakly.

  “My cairn … to mark the path. Your lantern—I knew not if you were friend or foe.”

  He laughed heartily. “There is a great story here. Let us get you back to the lodge and tended to. Then everyone may hear the whole of it. Come, lean on me.”

  Waving the lantern back and forth, he called out, “Darcy! Darcy! I found her! Darcy, this way.”

  Soon several twinkling lights made their way towards them, and in moments Darcy burst onto the path. Owen took his lantern.

  “Kitty! Oh, Kitty, are you hurt? Come, put your arms about my neck. Yes, there’s a good girl.” He swooped her up in his arms. “We have not far to go.”

  Brandishing two lanterns, Owen led the way. Others ran ahead to call off the search. When they neared the edge of the forest, Darcy set her on her feet and supported her with his arm. They emerged from the trees into the glowing light of the moon.

  Kitty was out of the shadow at last.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Princess Charlotte herself and her best friend Miss Margaret Mercer Elphinstone were at the guest lodge to receive Kitty on her return. The stable master had informed the princess of the search. A physician had been called. After examining Kitty, he pronounced her in excellent condition other than her wrist, which he splinted and wrapped. Darcy’s face expressed his relief.