Mr. Darcy, Vampyre

by Amanda Grange

  ‘Yes,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I have. There was a woman in England, the sister of his best friend; she was always trying to attract his attention and win his approbation, and in Paris there were women like that too.’

  ‘But you were different. You were not charmed by his name or his fortune, you demanded something more from him, some proof of his worth as a man. His interest, it was aroused. There are men like this. Once their interest is caught they will pursue a woman with passion and dedication, they will do anything to win her, they will make friends with her friends, they will make friends with her family, they will offer them help—ah! You start!’

  ‘He helped my sister,’ said Elizabeth. ‘And he made friends with my aunt and uncle, even though at first he had dismissed them as being beneath his notice.’

  ‘So will a determined man proceed. He will stop at nothing to win the object of his interest. But once he has her, then what will you?’ he asked with a shrug. ‘It is the chase that matters. They are hunters, these men, predators. To claim a woman, it challenges them, and to succeed in their quest, it brings them to life. But once they have gained their object, once they have caught their prey, then their interest, it wanes, until it is no more.’

  Elizabeth took her hand out of the fountain and rested it on the warm stone of the rim.

  ‘And is that what you think has happened to Darcy?’

  ‘I can think of no other reason for him to neglect you.’

  ‘He says there is a reason, but that he cannot tell me what it is.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the Prince.

  That one word spoke volumes.

  ‘You think that, if he had a reason, he would tell me,’ she said.

  ‘I think nothing.’

  ‘Perhaps not. But I do.’

  He looked at her with compassion.

  ‘You are very young,’ he said. ‘You are a novice in these matters. He has wounded an innocent and that was very wrong of him.’

  ‘He didn’t mean to hurt me.’

  ‘No?’ He sounded disbelieving, but then said, ‘Perhaps it is as you say. But you have been hurt all the same and if you stay with him, you will be hurt again and again. Will you listen to some advice?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ she said cautiously.

  ‘Then I advise you to go away from here, right away. You are not alone; you have friends and a family who care about you. Go to them. Go back to England. Tell Darcy you have made a mistake. If he knows you are truly unhappy with him, he will let you go. You will live again and love again—’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Ah,’ he said delicately. ‘Well, perhaps not. But perhaps—who knows? You are very young and time, it is a great healer. But whatever the future holds, one thing is certain: there is nothing for you here, only unhappiness, rejection. and loss.’

  ‘I know,’ she admitted.

  It was the same conclusion she had come to herself no more than an hour before, and with the Prince’s advice leading in the same direction, she had nothing to lift her out of her low thoughts.

  ‘It is difficult, I know, but it is for the best,’ he said. ‘Once the break is made, you can start to live again.’

  She thought how pleasant it would be to sit by the fountain forever. The thought of moving even a step, let alone going into the villa and giving the orders for packing, as well as dealing with the hundred and one arrangements that would be attendant on her return to England, was wearisome. But she knew it must be done. Making an effort, she stood up. She shook her hand, sending droplets of water sparkling through the air, and as she moved her hand to and fro her wedding ring caught the light. It had been a symbol of all her hopes and dreams, but now it seemed to mock her, and yet she could not bring herself to take it off.

  The sound of footsteps crunching on gravel aroused her from her reverie and looking up she saw that Annie was hurrying towards her.

  ‘Ma’am—’ Annie began breathlessly.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘Yes, why do you disturb your mistress?’ asked the Prince, standing also and resting a hand protectively on Elizabeth’s shoulder. ‘Is it a matter of urgency?’

  Annie looked awkward and she said, ‘No, not really.’

  ‘Then do not disturb your mistress now,’ said the Prince.

  Annie hesitated then bobbed a curtsey and turned back to the villa, but then she turned again to Elizabeth and said, ‘I just came to tell you that I’ve finished hemming the new handkerchiefs as you asked, Ma’am, and I’ve put them in your valise.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Elizabeth absentmindedly.

  The Prince waved Annie away with an imperious gesture and Annie departed, but Elizabeth still lingered.

  ‘Do it now,’ said the Prince. ‘You will not have the strength if you wait, and there can be nothing for you here, only pain. Do it whilst your husband is not here. He has taken his horse and gone riding. Write him a note and I will see that he gets it. My coach is at your disposal. I will have word sent ahead to the inns along your route so that they will be expecting you, and I will send a courier with you to guard you on your journey and to make all the necessary arrangements for you as you travel.’

  ‘You are very kind.’

  ‘It is nothing,’ he said. ‘I could do no less for beauty in distress. Take heart, you will recover. You think not, but a few weeks in the warmth of your family will do much to ease your pain.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘my family.’

  She thought of Jane and her Aunt Gardiner and she longed to be at home.

  ‘You need only to see that your things are packed and you may leave the rest to me,’ he said.

  The Prince offered her his arm and he escorted her back to the villa, talking to her gently of inconsequential matters until they reached the door.

  Once in her room she rang for Annie, then sat down to write her note to Darcy. The words would not come, but at last she managed to say what needed to be said.

  My dear Darcy,

  I cannot stay here any longer. I am not making you happy and the gulf between us has destroyed all my peace and happiness. I am going home to Longbourn. The Prince has kindly given me the use of his carriage and he is sending a courier with me to smooth my journey. I hope you find what you are looking for. I can see now that it isn’t me.

  Elizabeth

  She rang the bell again for Annie, but when her maid didn’t come she went downstairs herself in search of the Prince. She found him in the music room with his other guests. She thought how strange it was that they could continue with the house party as if nothing had happened. Sir Edward and Lady Bartholomew, so plump and happy, Monsieur Repar and Mrs Prestin, and all the other guests. For them it was a day like any other.

  As soon as the Prince saw her he slipped away, leaving his guests singing and talking together, and joined her by the door. He took the note from her, promising to make sure that Darcy received it, and told her that the carriage was ready for her.

  ‘I will send one of the footmen upstairs to carry your boxes,’ he said.

  ‘They are not yet packed,’ said Elizabeth, adding with a glimmer of humour, ‘I seem to have mislaid my maid.’

  ‘Ah! See, a burden it has been lifted from you, it is always the way. A decision, once made, no matter how difficult, frees the shoulders from the weight of indecision, and that is a heavy weight indeed. Already you are happier, your humour returns. It is good to see you smile, even if only for a moment,’ he said genially. ‘But now, we must find your maid.’

  He beckoned to one of the footmen and told the man to go to the servants’ hall and look for Mrs Darcy’s maid.

  The footman looked uncomfortable.

  ‘Well?’ demanded the Prince. ‘What is it?’

  The footman said something in Italian and although Elizabeth did not understand every word, she was able to make out that he had just been to the servants’ hall and that Annie had not been there. He looked as though he could say more but did not know if it would be we
lcome.

  ‘Say everything,’ commanded the Prince.

  The footman said, haltingly, that Annie was a friend of one of the gardeners, and that it was the gardener’s afternoon off, and that the footman had seen them heading for the forest.

  ‘Ah!’ said the Prince, with a wry smile. ‘Amore! It is very wrong of her, of course, but what will you? No matter.’ He turned to Elizabeth. ‘I will send one of my maids to help you and to accompany you to the nearest inn, and I will send Signorina Annie to you when she returns.’ He said to the footman, ‘See to it.’ The footman bowed and withdrew, and the Prince continued to Elizabeth, ‘I am sorry you have had this inconvenience.’

  Elizabeth said, ‘It doesn’t matter. At least someone’s love is prospering. I am only sorry that I am taking her away.’

  ‘But you will return,’ said the Prince. ‘You are welcome here at any time, you know that, I hope, and you must bring your charming family with you the next time you come to Italy. They will all be very welcome here. Your mother will like it, do you think?’

  ‘I am sure she would,’ said Elizabeth, smiling again as she thought of her mother exclaiming over the furniture, then trying to persuade every gentleman at the villa that either Kitty or Mary would make him a charming wife.

  Whether the Prince would enjoy the visit as much as her mother she very much doubted!

  ‘Then you must visit me again soon, and stay with me for as long as you like,’ he said with a bow.

  Elizabeth thanked him for his generous invitation and returned to her room, where her spirits once more drooped. To leave this place where she had been happy, for in the first days at the villa she had still hoped that she and Darcy would become one, was a trial to her. Once gone, she would have to admit that hope was dead.

  The arrival of one of the Prince’s maids at least gave a new turn to her thoughts as she instructed the girl, and very soon Elizabeth’s things were packed and a footman arrived to convey them to the carriage. With one last, lingering look around the room, she followed the footman downstairs.

  The carriage was waiting for her by the side door. It was an elaborate affair with a florid coat of arms emblazoned on the side. Two footmen flanked it –‘For your protection,’ said the Prince—both dressed in the Prince’s scarlet livery, and the courier stood by its side. He was a handsome young man, charming and respectful, and he took his place next to the coachman on the box, where he was joined by the maid.

  ‘Until we meet again,’ said the Prince, bowing over Elizabeth’s hand.

  ‘Thank you for your hospitality,’ she said, ‘and thank you for your kindness and your advice.’

  ‘It is nothing,’ he said. ‘Take courage, you will soon be with your family and then your happiness, it will recover.’

  He handed her inside and she arranged her skirts around her on the sumptuous silk-upholstered seat.

  The footmen took their places, standing on the runners on each side of the carriage, then the coachman called to the horses and they began to move, the heavy carriage going slowly forward until it began to pick up pace and bowl down the drive.

  The fountains, which had been singing on her arrival, now seemed to be weeping, and Elizabeth was weeping too. Tear after hot tear, held back until now by pride, came freely, and in the solitude of the carriage, she gave way to her emotions.

  ‘This will not do,’ she told herself after a while.

  She sought out her valise, in which Annie had stowed her newly hemmed handkerchiefs, and found it under the seat. She pulled it out and opened it—and then her heart stopped beating, for there, on the top of her clothes, was a bundle of letters, all in her own hand, and addressed to her family and friends.

  She lifted them up with disbelief.

  There must be some mistake, she thought, scarcely able to believe the evidence of her own eyes, and with trembling hands she untied the bundle and tore open the top letter.

  My dearest Jane,

  You will be surprised when I tell you that we are not going to the Lake District after all, we are going to France…

  She picked up another one:

  My dearest Jane,

  …We are now established in Paris, and it is the most beautiful city…

  And another:

  My dearest Jane,

  I wish you were here. How I long to talk to you. So much has happened that I scarcely know where to begin. We left Paris a few days ago and we are now in the Alps.

  All of them, every letter she had written since leaving England, they were all there. Her mind raced. What were they doing there? Who had put them there? Why had they never been sent?

  And then she thought of the strange incident when Annie had found her in the gardens and told her that her handkerchiefs had been hemmed. It wasn’t urgent news, it could have waited. But then with a creeping feeling running down her spine, she realised that Annie had not sought her out to tell her about the handkerchiefs; she had sought her out to tell her about the letters, but, on finding that Elizabeth was not alone, she had given nothing but a veiled warning instead.

  Then if Annie had known about the letters, had she put them there? If so, where had she found them? And who had stopped them being sent?

  Elizabeth remembered Annie’s strange behaviour when she had first noticed the Prince and she wondered if Annie suspected him of stealing the letters. But a moment’s thought showed her that, whatever Annie might or might not have suspected, the Prince could not have been involved because most of the letters had been written before Elizabeth had visited the villa.

  But who, then? The only people to touch the letters, apart from herself, were Annie and the footmen who took them to be posted. Annie she could exclude, which left the footmen. But why should any of them do such a thing? They were all loyal to Darcy. They had been in his family’s employ for years. Except…

  She remembered an incident in Paris when one of the footmen had fallen ill and had been quickly replaced. He had had excellent references but they had not known anything of the man personally. It seemed ridiculous to think that he was involved, but the fact remained that the letters had not been sent. Could he have been paid to suppress the letters? she wondered. But, if so, why? And by whom?

  It might be possible that Annie knew, but Elizabeth could not ask her because… she shivered… because Annie was missing. What had happened to Annie? Where was she? Was she really in the forest with a lover or had something happened to her?

  ‘Stop the coach!’ called Elizabeth, rapping on the floor of the carriage with her parasol to gain the coachman’s attention. ‘Stop the coach at once!’

  But the carriage did not slow its riotous pace.

  She wound down the window and called out, ‘Stop! I command you, coachman, stop this instant!’

  But his only response was to whip the horses and drive them faster. She felt a rising tide of panic as she realised that she was in the Prince’s carriage, driven by the Prince’s coachman, and surrounded by the Prince’s servants.

  She looked out of the window and wondered if she could jump out of the carriage, but it was going too fast. It passed farmers on their way to market and she called out to them as they crossed themselves and stood back to let the carriage pass. Their faces were sullen and hostile, but when they heard her cries, their expressions turned to horror or pity. One woman, moved to action, ran forward when the carriage slowed to take a corner, and thrust a necklace of small white flowers through the window. She said something unintelligible, but her gesture was clear: put it around your neck.

  Elizabeth, frightened by her look and by the tears in her eyes, did as she said.

  As she did so, she smelt the pungent smell and recognised the flowers as wild garlic.

  Strange tales began to come back to her, folk tales she had read in the library at Longbourn, stories of strange creatures that preyed on the living and haunted the forests of Europe, half men, half beasts, mesmeric, and seductive, but evil and dangerous, creatures who bit their victims, pi
ercing their skin and drinking their blood; beasts which could be held at bay by garlic.

  ‘No, I will not think of it,’ said Elizabeth aloud. ‘It is nothing but a story, a myth, a folk tale. There is no such thing as a vampyre.’

  But she held on tight to the necklace, crushing the delicate flowers and leaves with the tightness of her grip.

  The coach sped on and she saw that it was heading for the forest. A terrible dread seized her and a fear of the looming trees.

  There must be something I can do, she thought.

  She looked wildly around the carriage and saw that her travelling writing desk had been packed beneath the opposite seat. As quickly as she could she pulled it open and dipping the quill into the ink she began to write.

  My dearest Jane,

  My hand is trembling as I write this letter. My nerves are in tatters and I am so altered that I believe you would not recognise me. The past few months have been a nightmarish whirl of strange and disturbing circumstances, and the future…

  Jane, I am afraid.

  If anything happens to me, remember that I love you and that my spirit will always be with you, though we may never see each other again. The world is a cold and frightening place where nothing is as it seems.

  It was all so different a few short months ago. When I awoke on my wedding morning, I thought myself the happiest woman alive… but of what use are such thoughts now? I wanted to spare you but I am in terrible danger. I have nowhere to turn and you, my dearest Jane, are the only person I can trust. I am being abducted by Prince Ficenzi’s servants and I am writing this letter in desperation because I can think of no other way to help myself. I mean to throw it out of the window when it is finished, for I am at this moment in the Prince’s carriage, in the hope that one of the local people will see it. I think they will make sure the letter is sent, for, thank God, I have reason to suppose they will help me if they can.