Authors: M. A. Sandiford
41
Wednesday 14
th
June
On an afternoon warmed by white hazy sunshine
they at last reached Brussels. The stagecoach halted at the
Place Royale
,
a cobbled square more imposing than attractive, but Darcy asked the driver to
continue a little further to the Royal Park, where they made a temporary base
on benches shaded by evenly spaced lime trees.
From conversation on the coach, Darcy
knew that accommodation in Brussels would be hard to find: the city abounded with
officers, enjoying its many pleasures while awaiting the call to action. His
plan was to replenish funds, then hire a chaise that would convey them towards
the coast. All depended on whether his bank in London had received his request
for a fresh letter of credit.
After leaving Burgess to guard their
luggage, they followed a side-road into the old centre, where the
Bureau de
Poste
was a fifteen-minute walk. They queued, their eyes sometimes meeting
in excited anticipation, then endured further suspense as the
employée des
postes
searched a back room. Darcy looked down at Elizabeth as she took his
arm, holding her breath. She gasped and clapped her hands together as the girl
returned with two bundles.
‘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 between 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 15
th
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.’