Authors: M. A. Sandiford
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 amiable, 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.