Darcy's Journey (4 page)

As she wallowed in shame, Elizabeth felt
no warmth towards Darcy. He was an honourable man, no doubt, but he could not
love her now, nor could she feel comfortable with him. It was as if all his
actions had been designed to highlight her inadequacies. She had accused him of
separating Jane from Bingley; now they were engaged. She had accused him of
casting off the companion of his youth; now Wickham was exposed as a scoundrel
who had risked the reputation of her family. It was only through Darcy’s
selfless intervention that they had been saved.

If only he would leave her be, return to
England, and let her drown in shame!

6

The dining room was designed to
impress, with its long oval table, chandeliers, and windows overlooking the
Grand Canal. Darcy waited while the family assembled, hoping that Elizabeth had
been reassured by the letters from Longbourn. When she arrived, looking dazed
but composed, he followed her to the table, only to find his path blocked by
Gabriele Carandini, who pushed in with a muttered apology to claim the place at
her side.

Frustrated, Darcy seated himself next to
Gabriele, who threw him an irritated glance before resuming a conversation in
Italian with Elizabeth. Two footmen served broth with rice. By listening
carefully Darcy could follow the gist of what Gabriele was saying, a classical
education in Latin proving useful for once by allowing him to guess words. It
seemed that now that the danger from cholera had abated, Elizabeth was to
embark on a voyage of cultural discovery, including visits to art galleries and
the opera—and all under Gabriele’s tutelage.

It was simple fare, warming and filling.
With Gabriele monopolising Elizabeth, and Regina captivating Edward, Darcy was
left to himself. He ate in silence, trying to divine Elizabeth’s response to
Gabriele. There was something relentless, even obsessional, in the Italian’s
manner; his nasal voice grated the nerves. Elizabeth, when able to get a word
in, replied politely, but Darcy could find no trace of her usual sparkle,
except for one or two attempts at gentle irony which seemed to go over
Gabriel’s head—indeed, he paid little attention to anything she said,
treating her interjections as an opportunity to catch his breath before
resuming his own lecture.

As he surveyed the gathering, Darcy
noted that he was not the only person eavesdropping this conversation. Signora
Carandini was too subtle to stare, but every few seconds her gaze flicked to
Elizabeth, as if to assess her son’s progress; she also glanced often at Edward,
a hint of a smile forming as she saw him falling under Regina’s spell.

As the soup plates were cleared
away, Signora Carandini clapped her hands, gaining the attention of everyone except
Gabriele, who continued his addresses to Elizabeth as if they were the only
people in the room. A louder clap from his mother silenced him, and she began
what Darcy guessed was a welcoming speech.

‘My mother is honoured,’ Regina
translated, ‘to receive our distinguished visitors. She hopes that despite our sad
bereavement Sir Edward will accept the family’s hospitality and spend some time
in Venice. We regret we cannot accommodate his friend Mr Darcy.’ Regina reddened
as she faced Darcy. ‘You are welcome to visit any time. But no doubt you will
be eager to continue your tour and see Florence and Rome as well as Venice.’

Aware of Signora Carandini’s alert gaze,
Darcy replied with relaxed composure. ‘I perfectly understand. For the time
being I will find a hotel and remain in Venice.’

He glanced at Elizabeth, but could not
tell whether her expression was anxious or relieved. As if alarmed by his
scrutiny she looked away, and to cover her embarrassment he addressed Gabriele.
‘While I am here, Signor Carandini, there is a business matter we should
discuss. Before his untimely death, your father was eager to renew his trading
arrangement with Mr Gardiner. On learning of my plan to visit Italy, Mr
Gardiner entrusted me with a document proposing terms for a regular order of
glass beads, for sale to jewellers in London. If you can propose a convenient
time we can go over the details …’

He broke off, disconcerted by
Carandini’s strained expression. It was as if he were listening to Darcy under
duress, while seeking the earliest opportunity to resume his conversation with
Elizabeth—who, by contrast, was giving Darcy her full attention.

There was an awkward pause, before
Gabriele replied wearily: ‘I regret you have been misinformed. I have never
played any part in the running of the, ah,
business
.’

Darcy frowned. ‘I assumed that as eldest
son …’

‘I am owner.’ He took a deep breath, his
chest swelling. ‘Not manager. I am interested only in music and other cultural
pursuits.’

‘Then with whom should I speak?’

‘My cousin. Mario. Also Carandini.’

It was like squeezing liquid from stone.
‘And how do I find Signor Mario? Does he live nearby?’

‘Murano, near the factory. You must take
a boat.’

‘I visited once,’ Elizabeth put in.
‘Signor Mario showed us round the factory and was most kind …’

‘So you can take your proposal to him,’
Gabriele interrupted. ‘Excuse me, I was talking with Miss Bennet.’

Darcy struggled to hide his anger at
this further display of rudeness. Had a similar remark been made at his club he
would have asserted himself, by fisticuffs if necessary, but here he was a
guest, and there were ladies present. He was also unsure where Elizabeth stood:
could it be that she welcomed Carandini’s attentions? He turned away as the
next course was served.

Accompanied by his manservant
Burgess, Darcy set off after lunch to make practical arrangements for his stay.
He began by calling on the British consul, a man of his own age named Richard
Hoppner. They got on well, and Hoppner advised him to stay at the Gritti
residence, a
palazzo
on the Grand Canal between Rialto and St Mark’s
Square. Although still living there, the Grittis accepted paying guests, and on
reading the consul’s letter of recommendation their housekeeper allotted Darcy
a comfortable room on the second floor, and found accommodation nearby for Burgess.

Leaving Burgess to arrange the transfer
of his luggage, Darcy next sought a bank, recommended by the invaluable
Hoppner, where a letter of credit from his own bank in London could be produced
to acquire silver
lire
and Venetian gold ducats. He went on foot,
through the warren of narrow alleys, welcoming the exertion as a remedy for his
frustration. How galling to have crossed a continent, only to find his way
blocked by the proprietorial Gabriele Carandini—whose attentions Elizabeth
seemed to accept, if not with delight, then with resignation …

He recalled how, after lunch, Carandini
had shepherded her directly to the music room. It had to be admitted that
Gabriele played well, with such frantic attack in the faster movements that his
fair accompanist struggled to keep up. In the Beethoven slow movement they
sounded almost professional, confirming that Elizabeth had progressed under his
hectoring guidance.

Before leaving, Darcy had had another
word with Edward. A programme for the week was taking shape. The afternoon
would be spent with
Céline
. Next morning they would visit a cemetery to leave flowers
at Sir Ambrose’s tomb and the memorial to Giuseppe Carandini. For the following
evening a box was reserved at the new opera house
La Fenice
, for a performance
of Mozart’s
The Magic Flute
. As if to compensate for her mother’s
coldness, Lady Havers pressed Darcy to accompany them—an offer he was
glad to accept.

Installed at
Palazzo Gritti
, Darcy
had time to rest before meeting the consul again at Florian’s café for drinks
before dinner. Hoppner was now joined by his wife, and they spoke of their disappointment
at being posted to Venice instead of Milan, which was closer to her family in
Switzerland. The party proceeded by gondola to a restaurant near the Rialto
fish market, where Mrs Hoppner was eloquent in praise of her husband’s prowess
in art, and his interest in poetry; this led to a discussion of the notorious
Lord Byron. It was a fascinating dinner, and for Darcy a relief to be distracted,
if only for a few hours, from his anxieties over Elizabeth and the Carandinis.

7

The Carandini’s box was located on
the second tier, near the edge of the stage. The auditorium was both imposing
and intimate, comprising 150 boxes ringed in five tiers beneath an ornate
ceiling. Guided to a seat at the front, Elizabeth was so overwhelmed that she
could ignore, at least for a moment, Gabriele Carandini’s continual presence at
her side.

The location of
La Fenice
could
not have been more convenient: a short gondola ride along the
Rio di San
Luca
brought them to a water-level entrance. The party included Edward Havers
but not Darcy, who had found rooms near St Mark’s.

As the overture began she fancied she
heard movement from the back of the box, but did not turn. To hear a full
orchestra was a rare experience; the beauty of the music took her breath away.
Gabriele’s incessant flow of conversation at last ceased. He sat motionless,
entirely absorbed: with all his faults, his love of music could not be
gainsaid.

By the end of Act I Elizabeth had given
up trying to understand the plot, and her thoughts turned again to Darcy. Why
had he not come? Did he resent his cool reception from the Carandini family?
One thing was certain: he could have no further interest in
her
. He had
satisfied his sense of duty by accompanying his friend to Venice, bringing her
letters, and delivering Mr Gardiner’s order for beads; since lunch on the first
day he had said not a word.

The curtain fell, and she rose to
stretch her legs. Gabriele launched a critique of the orchestra. Edward Havers,
sandwiched between Regina and her mother, was trying to escape to the back …

Where Darcy now sat, talking with a man
whom she recognised as Mario Carandini.

Self-consciously Elizabeth picked her
way through the chairs, Gabriele’s commentary going in one ear and out the
other. She exchanged a quizzical glance with Darcy, but Regina took her arm and
led her towards the hubbub of the ladies’ room.

‘You like?’ Regina asked.

‘
La musica
, yes. The story is
silly.’

‘In
opera lirica
the story is
always silly. It is a tradition. Did you see the woman in the next box? Never
have I seen so many feathers. Do you think she is really a bird?’

‘She aspires to be Papagena perhaps.’

‘She might spread her wings and fly
away.’

Elizabeth smiled. She wished her friend
was not
always
flippant, but at least the light chatter was a change
from Gabriele’s lecturing. ‘Or maybe lay an egg.’

They laughed, and carried on talking.

When a bell announced the start of
the second act, one of Regina’s tresses came loose; by the time they reached
the box the scene had started. Regina pushed through to join Edward Havers, while
Gabriele irritably beckoned Elizabeth to the front. No Darcy: she wondered if
after completing his business with Mario he had left. Ignoring Gabriele’s frantic
signals, she sat at the back.

Quietly the door opened, and the dark
shape of Darcy took the chair next to hers.

For a while they said nothing, but
during a
crescendo
he whispered, ‘Are you not eager to view the stage?’

‘You seem content here.’

‘I prefer the side-lines.’ He smiled.
‘As you may have noticed at the Meryton ball.’

Her eyes moistened at this reminder of
home. ‘I see now that I mistook reserve for arrogance.’

‘Join the others if you prefer.’

Elizabeth shook her head. ‘Here, every
eccentricity is explained by my being
English
, so I do whatever I
please.’

‘Ah.’

He fell silent, so Elizabeth continued:
‘Any progress with Signor Mario?’

‘It was a relief to find him so
approachable. He has accepted your uncle’s terms, and a consignment will leave
next month. I was wondering …’ He dropped his voice. ‘About the letters you
sent your family. Only two arrived, one a hastily written note. May I ask how
many were sent?’

‘Perhaps ten.’

‘Your sister showed me the note you
wrote on scrap paper. The envelope was not addressed in your hand.’

His solemn manner reminded her of her
father’s interrogations when she had misbehaved as a small girl, but in his
face she saw only concern.

‘I was desperate.’ She looked away, to
hide her distress. ‘Venice was cut off. No letters arrived, none left. A
visitor who knew Giuseppe Carandini called to give his condolences. He
impressed me as an honest man. Just as he was leaving, I scribbled a note with
the address on the back, and asked him to post it once he reached a city well
away from the cholera.’

‘Were the family aware of this?’

She moved closer and whispered, ‘I told
him the note was private, and begged him to show it to no-one.’

‘And this was the only letter that got
through,’ Darcy mused. He waited for the music to louden before adding, still
in a whisper, ‘Miss Bennet, did you wonder whether your post was being
intercepted?’

She tensed, disturbed by his question
but also relieved to hear her fears expressed by a man whose sense was not in
doubt. ‘I confess I did. You see …’ She spread her arms. ‘I was confined to the
house. Signor Carandini and his physician both insisted. My letters were taken
to the post office by a servant …’

‘Who might have been told to dispose of
them.’

Elizabeth sighed. ‘But this is
speculation, Mr Darcy. We ought not speak thus of a family that has given me hospitality.
There are, after all, other explanations. In any case, what motive could they
possibly have?’

She stopped, fearful of rebuke, but
after thinking for a moment he replied: ‘You’re right. The situation is odd,
but we have no reason to suspect the family.’ He paused, before continuing, ‘I
was impressed by your performance on the pianoforte.’

Her lips twisted into a smile. ‘How
gratifying that
someone
approves.’

‘Signor Carandini is an exacting
master?’

She leaned away, thinking this over, as
the audience applauded an aria. ‘He is a man unlike any I have met. He has no
lightness, no frivolity. For the first time in my life, any charms that I
possess count for nothing. At home, my efforts at singing and playing were applauded;
here, they are exposed as mediocre, and I am not allowed to escape with a joke.
I am inadequate, and must improve.’

He fell silent, and she realised her
words must have affected him in some way. Eventually he smiled sadly and said,
‘That is a sentiment I know well.’

Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘I hope you
are not recalling …’

‘Yes?’

She whispered, ‘You know. Hunsford.’

‘In my case the censure was deserved.’

She swivelled to face him, forgetting
for a moment where they were. ‘Mr Darcy, it was not! The folly was all mine.’
She put head in hands, before recollecting herself and dropping her voice
again. ‘It is pointless to re-open old wounds, but if I could wind back time
and recant every word, I would. Please understand that.’

He regarded her a few seconds, before
murmuring, ‘You are kind, Miss Elizabeth, but I have long accepted that much of
what you said was true. Not the part about Wickham, but the rest.’

She yearned to contest this, but saw
that he really believed it, and marvelled at such humility. There was a long
pause, in which she felt strangely at ease. Both had admitted fault; both had
sought to forgive. She asked, changing the subject, ‘What are your plans?’

‘For the present, to remain in Venice.’

‘But having come so far, you must see
the rest of Italy. Florence, Rome, Verona. It is the opportunity of a lifetime.’

‘And yourself? How will you return to
England?’

‘With Sir Edward and
Céline, in the
spring. Regina too, if she accept his offer of a dower.’

He thought awhile before saying
awkwardly, ‘I have no wish to intrude, Miss Bennet, but should you ever require
assistance, of any kind, I beg you to ask me. Whatever has passed between us, I
hope you can see me now as a friend of your family.’ He smiled. ‘Indeed, the best
friend of the man now engaged to your sister.’

A shadow passed over her heart. This was a
kind man, honourable, even good company. She had been given a precious
opportunity, and had thrown it away. She nodded, unable to speak; he too turned
his attention to the music. His dignified presence, so different from the passionate
demanding Gabriele, felt safe, comfortable, homelike. She sat contentedly, wishing
the moment would never end.