A Visit to Scotland

by Meg Osborne

  “Caro was furious to be dragged along.” He rolled his eyes skywards. “In truth, I do not know why she was so determined to come with us. I certainly offered her escape on more than one occasion. We might even have detoured home, had she wished it, but she was adamant to continue on.” He rubbed the back of his neck, thoughtfully, “It did not stop her complaining, however, about the discomforts of such a journey, or the speed with which we progressed.” He blinked. “I hope a few hours’ rest will have improved her temperament a little when next we meet.”

  “Come, Charles,” Darcy said. “It is too cold to stand still. Let us walk on, and continue to talk. You must advise me further on how best to handle Wickham, for I wager your wisdom far exceeds mine in this instance...”

  TAP TAP TAP.

  Elizabeth ignored the sound, keeping her attention fixed on the page before her. When Darcy had suggested she rest, as Caroline intended to do, she had been poised to refuse, to argue that she was in no more need of rest than either of the gentlemen and indeed would much prefer to remain with them. Her own body had betrayed her, though, and it had been at that precise moment that she had struggled to stifle a yawn, which had been met with amusement from her husband, and an insistence that she returned to their room immediately for an hour.

  I promise nothing will happen in your absence, he had said. And if it looks likely to, I shall send for you immediately.

  Reluctantly, then, she had agreed, but upon reaching the room Darcy had taken for himself found she was unable to sleep, and whilst her limbs ached, her mind was active still. She reached for a book, and although she was struggling to lose herself in its pages as thoroughly as she might have done at home, it at least provided a worthy distraction from concerns about Anne. With regards to her husband her mind was clear, at last, for she had guessed from the wistful look he had offered on their parting that like her, he was reluctant to bid farewell to the wife he had so recently reunited with.

  Tap tap tap. The sound came again, and this time Lizzy lifted her head, certain the sound came from the door to this particular room. She frowned. Why would Darcy feel the need to knock at the door of his own room?

  “I am not asleep if that is what gives you pause. You need not fear to wake me!” she chided, as she stood and made her way to the entrance, pulling the door open with a smile, which froze when she beheld who stood at the threshold, an elegant hand lifted as if to knock a third time. “Miss Bingley!”

  “You need not look so surprised to see me,” Caroline said, coldly. “Or have you been so enraptured at being once more in Mr Darcy’s presence that you forget those of us who made the journey at your side?” She did not add the words Lizzy knew she intended. Whether we wished to travel or not.

  “I am surprised,” Elizabeth said, quickly. “But not at your presence: rather, at your presence here. I was under the impression that you were tired and had retired to your room in search of sleep.”

  “Sleep?” Caroline paused. “Well, yes. It is true that the journey did exhaust me, for you know I am not possessing of an incredibly strong countenance....”

  “Then you must return to bed, Miss Bingley, and rest, for the gentlemen will wish to see us both well upon their return.”

  “Oh, but I could not sleep at a time like this!” Caroline insisted, brightening immediately as she spoke. “Indeed, I cannot imagine you are able to, either, with poor Miss de Bourgh’s fate uppermost in your mind.”

  “Indeed,” Elizabeth said, with a canny look at her travelling companion. Caroline’s eyes were wide, her expression the very picture of concern for their friend, yet Lizzy fancied it was the scandal, the potential for gossip, that urged Miss Bingley into action.

  “I felt sure you would be unable to rest until you had seen her for yourself, and I know you will not want to travel alone. Besides,” she beamed. “Is not it pleasanter to call on our friend as two ladies, without the gentlemen along to complicate matters?”

  Elizabeth ought to refuse, feeling certain at that moment that escorting Caroline Bingley to the home that Anne and Wickham shared would not please her husband, yet she was equally certain that if she refused, then Caroline would contrive to go alone, and who knew what upset her presence would cause to poor Anne. If Elizabeth was with her, at least she might temper Caroline’s caustic attitude with some compassion. And, as much as it pained her to admit it, Miss Bingley was right. Lizzy did struggle to rest without seeing for herself Anne’s true condition. She fancied the two had formed a close friendship and wished to reassure herself that Miss de Bourgh - Mrs Wickham, as she now was - did not suffer unduly on account of her rash flight to Scotland.

  “I appreciate your concern, Miss Bingley -”

  “Caroline,” Caroline put in. “I do think we might abandon all pretence of formality between us, Eliza dear, in the circumstances, do not you think?”

  “Very well.” Elizabeth stretched her lips in an obedient smile. “I appreciate your concern Caroline, but I do not see how it will be possible for us to call on Mr and Mrs Wickham without a note of their address.”

  “Oh, but I have just such a note!” Caroline lifted her other hand, triumphantly clutching a scrap of paper bearing Mr Bingley’s handwriting. “My brother left it amongst his belongings and I wished to ensure it was not lost.”

  Lizzy’s eyebrow arched at this delicate description of Caroline’s sifting through her brother’s belongings. Surely Bingley was unaware of his sister’s activities, for he clearly had not intended her to have the address, or he would have given it to her himself.

  “If you would prefer to stay here...” Caroline began, deciding Elizabeth at once on a course of action.

  “I do not prefer it,” Elizabeth said, quickly. “Only permit me a moment to dress and I will join you.” She closed the door on Caroline’s satisfied smirk and hurried to locate her pelisse and bonnet, hurrying out a note to Darcy as she did so.

  Dearest,

  I am accompanying Caroline Bingley to call on Anne. Forgive me if this was not your desire, but I must see for myself that she is alright, and dare not allow Caroline to go alone. We shall not be gone long.

  Signing the note with a scribble, she left it propped up on the pillow, where Darcy was sure to see it if he returned before them. She scooped her book into her arms, wishing she had something more appropriate for a wedding gift.

  “There you are, Eliza,” Caroline said, as the door flew open once more. “I half anticipated you had returned to slumber and I would be forced to make a call alone. Come, let us hurry before the gentlemen return to spoil our plans!”

  Chapter Eight

  “What do you mean, you have not seen it?” Wickham thundered, upturning his case and fumbling around in the half-dark in pursuit of his missing purse. “I do not see where it can have got of its own volition. This place is poky enough that there are only so many corners for a thing to hide in!”

  “Surely it is where you left it, dearest,” Anne said, standing and crossing over to the small, smoky hearth, and feeling along the stone shelf that passed for a mantel. “Here.” She held out the small leather pouch to him.

  He snatched the purse from her hands, grimacing.

  “It is lighter than I recall.”

  “I needed to pay our servant, George,” Anne said, quietly. “And for tea, for you cannot expect me to keep house without a few essentials.”

  He dismissed her answer with a shrug, turning his attention to his fob-watch. If he left soon he might catch a hand or two at the inn, and make up his rapidly depleting savings. Whilst he was relieved Darcy had not sought to send him away immediately, he had half expected at least the promise of money from his old foe. No such luck. Darcy seemed inclined to insist that as the new Mr and Mrs Wickham had made their bed, he would be content to let them lie in it. He scowled at the dreary rooms they called home. It was one thing for a fellow to hole up in such a spot for a short while in the name of economy, but he was surprised that Darcy was satisfied to allow his cou
sin to languish here for days on end.

  “George, I wonder when we might consider returning home -” Anne began, hesitantly.

  “Home?” George laughed. “And where do you consider home? Recall, dearest, you insisted that we would not be welcomed in Kent. London is out of the question if you wish to avoid the gossip that is surely already circulating about the ton, and I have burned as many bridges as are possible to have built in small towns up and down the country.” He blew out a heavy sigh. “If you wish to go anywhere, you must speak to Darcy, for he has connections that might make our path a little smoother, were he to help us.”

  “I will - I will speak to him,” Anne said, her voice shaking. “When next he calls. I will ask him -”

  “Ask, plead, beg, you’ll not make Fitzwilliam Darcy do a thing he does not wish to,” Wickham said, flippantly. “And at present that includes helping his family.”

  Anne sank a little at his words, and when George looked at her he felt a flicker of concern in his chest. She was thin, gaunt, almost, in the shadows of the fire. She had never been healthy, he knew that, and her breathing had taken on an unhealthy rattle in just the few days they had spent in this damp hole of a house.

  “You must try and go outside today, Anne,” he said, reaching a hand out to brush her cheek. “Wrap up warm and take some air. You look so pale.”

  “I am quite well,” she said, smiling as if to accentuate her words. Instead, the motion merely accentuated the hollows of her cheeks, the dark circles deepening under her eyes.

  “But perhaps I might accompany you on your business, today. We could take dinner out, perhaps even invite William to join us -”

  “No.” Wickham’s response was sharper than he intended, and he saw Anne flinch. “No, dear, you know I do not wish to spend a great deal of time amongst what passes for society here. The people are rough, uncouth, hardly those we might wish to befriend. And I do not imagine Darcy any more likely to take dinner with them as he is to spend time with us. It has been two days already since last he called here.” He snorted. “I do believe, my dear, that he is ashamed of us. Were it myself alone who bore the brunt of Darcy’s judgment, I would not mind it, for I have long been aware of my old friend’s great pride and self-interest, and the way he looks down upon those who he perceives to be a disappointment. That he would act so cruelly to you pains me deeply, and I fear, were I to cross the fellow’s path without your steadying influence and these four walls to contain me, I would speak words we might both come to regret.”

  Anne frowned, turning Wickham’s reasoning over in her mind. He would retreat before she could construe a response. Taking his own coat off, he laid it over her shoulders, drawing her close enough to drop an affectionate kiss on her upturned forehead. “Now settle into your seat, like a good little wife, and I shall return home as soon as I can, with swelled coffers and something good to eat. Do not worry: it shall all come good in the end, we must just bide our time here a little longer while I fathom our best way forward.”

  His confidence soothed Anne, and she obediently sank into the one chair their home boasted, reaching for her writing-case.

  “Perhaps I will write again to Mama. You know, I have already written once and received no response. I wonder if she is stunned into silence, or -” Anne said no more, but George could read her anxiety plainly in her features.

  “Perhaps she hesitates over her pen as you have done,” he said, gently. “It is not every day one receives news that one’s daughter is married, after all. Perhaps she merely struggles to find a way to communicate her happiness on the page.”

  It was a bald lie, and they both knew as much, but they smiled at one another in shared complicity.

  “I will write again,” Anne said. “And suggest our calling at Kent. I am sure -” she coughed, her voice tight and strangled when she spoke again. “I am sure she will be eager to see us as soon as we have money enough and a mind to travel.”

  George said nothing, unsure that even he could successfully manufacture a response in the affirmative to such a suggestion. See them, Lady Catherine de Bourgh might, but he doubted she would be eager about a reunion.

  “I’ll not be gone long,” he said, with a cheery wave. Stepping out into the street, he pulled the door closed behind him, feeling a flicker of guilt at leaving Anne in so squalid a place, without comfort or companion. A cat darted across his path, and he mused upon the notion of finding a kitten or some such gift for his new bride. That would cheer her, surely? And help defy the mice, for he had heard the unmistakable rustle of the pests in the small cupboard that passed for their pantry.

  Cheered by this thought, he walked along at rather a jaunty pace, his hands swinging loosely by his side. He was brought to an abrupt halt by the sight of two young ladies walking slowly down the street, examining each property they passed with expressions of interest. The first, he dismissed after acknowledging her elegant attire and plain features, but the second caused him to stop still in the street. He had seen this young lady before: had even, at one time, entertained thoughts of seducing her. It had been abandoned, of course, when he realised that she was no air-headed young girl to trifle with but quite as clever as he was, if not more so. Elizabeth Bennet - or Darcy, as she was now. She was slower to smile than he remembered, and he wondered if she had learned the stern expression she wore from her husband, for he fancied she would scowl if she could, yet her brow was furrowed in concern, rather than anger. You would bring your wife here, Darcy, to lecture me in your absence? Glancing about him for some escape, he ducked into an alleyway, grateful that the ladies had not seen him. They would go to call on Anne, surely. Wickham hurried along to the inn. Would it upset his wife, seeing her old friends, or having her friends see her in this state? She had mentioned returning home with increasing regularity. This visit would surely merely increase her agitation. I suppose it was only a matter of time, he reasoned. Neither of us wished to hide here forever. He had wanted to secure rather more certainty of a welcome, upon their return, but if that could not be helped there was no more to it. Darcy would help them, he reasoned. For Anne, he will help. He must help.

  “HERE! THIS MUST BE the place,” Elizabeth said, her heart sinking as she examined the ramshackle cottage before them. Glancing back at Caroline, she saw her friend’s eyes widen momentarily, before meeting Lizzy’s expression with an ostentatious smile.

  “Well, let us knock, then, Eliza, and not lurk in the street!”

  Thus pressed, Elizabeth lifted her hand, knocking smartly on the door, and cautiously straining to hear any sound from within. Some moments passed before slowly the door creaked open to reveal Anne herself in the entrance.

  “Lizzy! Oh, Elizabeth! I can scarcely believe it is you!”

  Any doubts Elizabeth had felt about calling on Anne vanished at such a reception, and she felt hot tears pricking at her eyes, as she eschewed any idea of reserve, and threw her arms around her friend. She felt thin next to Elizabeth’s body, slighter still than she had been at Kent.

  “Are you quite well, Anne?” Unable to keep the concern from her voice or her face, Lizzy scanned her features for some reassurance, noting Anne’s gaunt face, and the smile that did not entirely reach her eyes.

  “I am better for seeing you! And you, of course, Miss Bingley. Do come in where it is warm, and we might speak a little more freely.”

  Lizzy had quite forgotten Caroline Bingley’s presence beside her until she heard her name on Anne’s lips, and she turned, seeing her own surprise mirrored on Caroline’s face. Where Elizabeth felt concern, however, Caroline displayed distaste, all her excitement and thirst for gossip gone in acknowledging how small and unhappy was the home that had been taken by their friend.

  “Come, Caroline,” Elizabeth whispered in a voice low enough that Anne might not hear it. “We must go in, and not linger on the doorstep.”

  “Of course.” Caroline plastered a smile on her face that convinced nobody, but to Elizabeth’s relief, she obedientl
y followed Anne into the house, clearing her throat and admiring, in a small, forced voice, the cosy warmth of such a bijou home.

  “It is only temporary, of course,” Anne said, quickly. “And you must forgive me for any lack of comforts. I have not been entirely well, and we have but one servant who is rather less than attentive.” Anne laughed, but it more betrayed her embarrassment and disappointment than anything else.

  “We were not sure what to bring, or what you might need,” Elizabeth said, thrusting the book forwards. “But I recall how dearly you loved to read at Rosings, and thought you might be in need of entertainment.”

  Anne took the book, flipping it open and reading the short inscription Lizzy had penned with a slight smile.

  “Thank you, Lizzy,” she said, setting the book down with care. “You are very kind.”

  She set to in gathering tea things, but Lizzy noticed that her own drink was taken in a cup not matching its partners. The interior of the small house was dark and cramped, and whilst there was a sofa that she and Caroline were able to share, close to the fire, there was only one other seat available to Anne, which she sank into, while the water boiled on the fire for tea.

  “Where is your husband?” Caroline asked, tactlessly glancing around the room. “I do not suppose he remembers me, for we met but once in Hertfordshire.”

  Anne blinked, her smile delayed, but appearing at last.

  “I will ask him,” she promised. “He is out at present, seeing to some business in town. He will be so happy to hear you are both here and to know that you have called on us. He is a little hesitant, I believe, to return to England, unsure of the welcome we might expect.”

  “Your friends would be eager to see you,” Elizabeth said, determinedly. There was a sharp intake of breath from Caroline and she ignored it. “And surely you would prefer to be surrounded by familiar places and your own belongings.”

  “You know me well, Lizzy!” Anne confessed, laughing quietly. “I am eager to be at home, but George delays: I believe he wishes to make a triumphal return and ensure that we will be at least acknowledged, if not welcomed.” Her eyes darted to the mantel, and then back to Elizabeth. “I wonder, have you - have you heard from Mama at all?”