Authors: M. A. Sandiford
16
Elizabeth remained seated, adapting
to another kaleidoscopic change of scene. She wondered how she could feel so
calm after such adventures. To be rescued by Mr Darcy, carried in his arms to a
boat, rowed across the Venice lagoon, transported by barge to an abandoned
villa, and finally to share this room with this stranger, now observing her
with puzzlement. It should have been disconcerting, but she felt instead a
drowsy euphoria.
A hand touched her arm. ‘Are you
alright?’
Elizabeth blinked. ‘I must have dozed
off.’ She smiled at the woman, who stood at her side still wearing an embroidered
chemise. She was young, no older than Kitty, and pale, with a freckled face and
mouse-coloured hair.
‘Would you like to wash first, Mrs …’
‘Miss Bennet. Yes, if you like.’
There was a tap on the door. ‘Miss Elizabeth?’
Darcy’s voice. ‘I’ll leave your clothes outside.’
The girl peeped round the door and
returned bearing an assortment of shifts, petticoats and dresses, which she
laid on the bed.
‘Thank you, Mrs Hanson.’
‘Miss.’ The girl regarded her with a
mixture of embarrassment and defiance. ‘Alice Dill.’
‘Miss Dill.’ Elizabeth tried to lever
herself up so that she could throw off the blankets.
‘Let me help you.’ Miss Dill took
Elizabeth’s arm, allowing the bedclothes to fall, and guided her to the washstand.
‘There’s cold water in the jug, and a flannel.’
Elizabeth watched as the girl poured
water, but standing was too much effort. ‘Sorry …’
‘Let’s sit you on the bed.’ Elizabeth
submitted gratefully as her nightgown was removed and Miss Dill brought a bowl
of water. The room was cold, and she shivered as she wiped her face and arms
with the flannel. This quick cleansing was deemed sufficient, and Miss Dill,
now taking control, chose undergarments and helped her dress.
‘My turn,’ Miss Dill said cheerfully.
Elizabeth rummaged through her heap of
clothes and was rewarded by finding a pair of half-boots to complete her
attire. But her hair remained troublesome.
‘Miss Dill, I have no brush or pins.’
Her companion handed over an ancient
mother-of-pearl hairbrush. ‘I found this in a drawer.’ She looked in a silver
bag with tassels and threw two comb-shaped clasps on to the bed. ‘I can spare
these.’
‘You’re very kind.’ What a relief to
brush her hair! She regarded Miss Dill with grateful affection. ‘Where are you
from?’
‘The rectory at Woodstock, near Oxford.
My father is rector at St Mary Magdalene’s.’
‘And Mr Hanson?’
‘Also Woodstock.’ She sat beside
Elizabeth and said in a whisper, ‘Gerard and I are artists. His father owns an
estate with £4000 a year, but Gerard has preferred to make his own way and
shares a house with friends from his university days. I knew him from church
when I was a small girl, and we met again at an exhibition. My father said I
should have nothing to do with him, since he had been living with an actress
and was not respectable.’
Elizabeth took her hand, in shock. ‘Has
he persuaded you to elope?’
Miss Dill smiled. ‘I cannot honestly
claim that much persuasion was required. I am a free thinker, Miss Bennet. To
leave home has been a breath of fresh air.’
Tears stung Elizabeth’s eyes as she
recalled the trauma of Lydia’s lapse with Wickham. ‘But my dear Miss Dill, to
be cut off from your family!’
‘I have what I wanted. Freedom. The
company of an intelligent man who respects my ambition to be an artist.’ She
bit her lower lip, and looked away. ‘But there is truth in what you say. I do
miss England, my home, and yes, also my family.’
‘Could you return now?’
Miss Dill shook her head. ‘We have still
to see Verona and Florence.’ She sighed. ‘And yourself?’
Revived by the conversation, Elizabeth
recognised the implications of this brief query. After all, she too was
travelling with a man who was manifestly not her husband. ‘Well, I hail from near
Meryton in Hertfordshire, where I met Mr Darcy last year. I came to Venice some
months ago with an Italian friend and her family, but we, ah, fell out, and I
found myself in something of a pickle until Mr Darcy unexpectedly turned up and
offered to help.’
‘So you are not …’
‘Intimate?’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘No.
Unless quarrelling is a form of intimacy, for we do a lot of that. Mind you, these
last days I’ve been too tired to quarrel with anyone.’
Miss Dill touched her arm. ‘You’ve been
ill, I think.’
‘Yes, but Mr Darcy assures me I will
soon recover, and since he is always right, I remain sanguine.’
Miss Dill laughed, and they continued
talking.
17
After conferring with
Burgess, who was keeping watch at the riverside, Darcy followed Gerard Hanson
to a kitchen located in the basement. Here they found a merry group gathered
around a farmhouse table, served by two women in black peasant garb. The room
was warmed by a brick oven in the corner, where one of the women was grilling
polenta over the ashes of a wood fire. The other woman tended a stove where
delicious smells of chicken, onion and garlic rose from a huge pot of boiling
water.
Darcy sat opposite Hanson and accepted a
glass of red wine, followed by a bowl of chicken broth ladled from the pot. The
hot food revived him, but his pleasure was marred by guilt at pre-empting the
ladies. Still, this was no time for worrying about social niceties: at any
moment they might have to flee, and he needed all the sustenance he could get.
A slab of polenta arrived in front of
him, seared with black lines from the grill. He thanked the cooks and tried to
explain that he needed a tray for two people upstairs.
‘They speak only Veneto dialect here,’
Hanson said.
Darcy found a tray and handed two mugs
to the woman at the stove, who filled them with broth. At this point everyone
caught on, and soon the mugs were joined by a jug of wine, a platter of
polenta, even half a boiled chicken. He bowed his thanks and placed a lira on
the table, to general merriment.
‘That should pay your board and lodging
for a week,’ Hanson laughed as they climbed to the upper floor.
Darcy smiled grimly: if only they could
stay that long.
They found the ladies sitting side
by side on the bed and talking cheerfully. There was no table, but Hanson found
a stool just broad enough to hold the tray if it was balanced carefully. He
pulled up two more chairs, while Darcy poured wine and handed out mugs of
broth.
‘Thank you.’ Elizabeth smiled sleepily as
she held the mug with both hands and took a sip. ‘Miss Dill and I have been
comparing notes about Venice.’
‘Miss Dill?’ Darcy frowned at Hanson. ‘I
assumed …’
‘That we were married?’ The young man
grinned at Alice Dill, whose cheeks had turned pink. ‘Not yet, anyway.’
Darcy studied Elizabeth for signs of
shock or embarrassment, but she looked down and avoided his eye.
‘You disapprove?’ Hanson asked.
Darcy glanced at the ladies before
glaring at him. ‘This is hardly the moment …’
‘I’m sorry.’ Hanson sipped wine with a
smile which reminded Darcy of Wickham at his most impudent. ‘I had also made an
assumption, apparently incorrect, regarding yourself and Miss Bennet.’
Darcy nearly dropped his glass. ‘How
dare you!’
The young man held up a hand, as if to
pacify him. ‘I apologise again, but what was I to think when you arrived unchaperoned,
carrying Miss Bennet in your arms?’
Darcy took a deep breath. ‘You have a
point there. We do indeed find ourselves in—unusual circumstances.’
Elizabeth gave a little cough. ‘You
should know, Mr Darcy, that Miss Dill has looked after me with exceptional
kindness.’
Darcy turned to Hanson. ‘Please excuse
my outburst. You have given help when we desperately needed it. For all I know
there are special circumstances in your case too.’
‘Not really.’ Hanson glanced at Miss
Dill, and sighed. ‘We are artists, Mr Darcy. Most of our friends are also
artists, or poets, or musicians. Since I was up at Oxford I have moved in
circles where individual freedom matters more than convention. Even so, I would
have gladly married Alice, had her father approved the match, and I hope to do
so once she has attained her majority.’ He smiled at Miss Dill. ‘If she will
have me of course.’
Darcy shivered as he imagined how this
conversation must be upsetting Elizabeth. ‘It was not my intention to intrude
or pass judgement. I was concerned only for … Miss Dill’s reputation.’
Miss Dill regarded him earnestly. ‘Pray
Mr Darcy, I am not the innocent that you imagine. On the contrary, it was I
that had to convince Gerard of the necessity of flight. Of course there are
consequences. To lose the esteem of my parents has been a sad blow. But there
would have been consequences too if I had bowed to my father’s will and married
a man I could not love or respect.’
Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, who was
listening to Miss Dill with evident admiration. He spread his arms. ‘Let us
speak of this no more. Pray try the polenta, which is excellent.’ He handed
them the platter, and turned to face Hanson. ‘How are you travelling? Have you a
carriage by any chance?’
‘We took the stagecoach from Venice.’
Hanson pointed to the back of the villa. ‘It crossed the river at the lock, and
from here runs south down the coast. But our plan is to head west towards
Padua, Verona, and then Florence.’
‘When?’
‘As soon as possible.’ Hanson glanced at
Miss Dill, as if to confirm her agreement. ‘The farmer sold me an old wagon which
should get us cross-country to Verona.’ He paused. ‘Are you in need of
transport?’
On impulse, Darcy decided to trust the
runaway couple. ‘Yes, and with some urgency.’ He lowered his voice, as if in a symbolic
appeal for secrecy. ‘We are being pursued, and may need to hide or flee at
short notice.’
Miss Dill gasped, and took Elizabeth’s
hand. ‘But you said nothing! How can you be so calm?’
The opiate
, Darcy thought, but
the tender moment was interrupted by a rap on the door, at which they all
froze.
‘Sir?’
Darcy recognised Burgess’s voice and ran
to open the door. ‘News?’
‘Begging pardon, sir.’ Burgess edged
into the room and whispered: ‘Carandini’s manservant has just galloped past
with four constables in his wake.’
‘Could they have seen you?’
‘Not a chance.’ Burgess looked offended.
‘Good man.’ Darcy moved closer. ‘Now
listen. They’ll catch the barge and race back within the hour. Get some
breakfast from the kitchen. Then move our luggage to the back of the villa and
wait there.’
18
The wagon was little more
than a cart on which a canvas roof had been stretched over wooden hoops. Lying
back against the rim, Elizabeth was grateful for the blankets that had
accompanied her all the way from Venice. Beside her, Alice Dill sat
cross-legged, reading a spiral-bound notebook, with Hanson observing over her
shoulder, and Darcy at the back keeping watch.
On Darcy’s instructions Burgess was
driving the horses at a good lick, even though this meant a bumpy ride. The
route was unfathomable—deliberately so, since their pursuers would have
reached Villa Foscari and interrogated the farm workers. Leaving the villa,
Burgess had taken the obvious road west, but once out of sight they veered
south along a smaller track which looped around a vineyard, then turned off
again between fields planted with maize and sugar beet.
As she lay half awake, she replayed in
her mind their adventures at the villa, and especially the conversation in
which Hanson and Miss Dill had admitted their elopement. Why, she wondered, had
they not
pretended
to be married? Their lack of artifice could be seen
as brazen arrogance, a deliberate flouting of convention. Alternatively it
could be seen as admirably honest, or even considerate, given Hanson’s
assumption that Darcy and Elizabeth were also illicit lovers. Instinctively
Elizabeth favoured the latter interpretation, because she
liked
them—or she liked Alice Dill, at least; Hanson’s impudent confidence was
less appealing. Yet he had helped them, and had remained polite under
provocation.
She recalled with a smile Darcy’s angry
rebuttal (
How dare you?
)—whatever he thought of her now, his protective
instincts were keen as ever. Yet Darcy too had exhibited surprising moderation
in apologising to a man that he must despise. The reason must be that he needed
Hanson’s collaboration to secure their escape. She had never thought of Darcy
as diplomatic, but on this occasion he had kept his feelings under control and
the main objective clearly in view—that is, their safety. Or rather
her
safety, since a man acting from self-interest would scarcely have attempted such
a rescue in the first place.
If only he would occasionally act
irresponsibly instead of being so consistently admirable. It was insufferable!
But in her present state an honourable guardian was what she needed, and she
had felt cherished as well as safe as he carried her …
A jolt woke her from a daydream as the
wagon passed over a rut. She levered herself up and looked around, first to the
front where Burgess sat holding the reins, wearing a farm worker’s straw hat
for disguise, then to the notebook that Miss Dill had been studying. Or rather,
sketchbook, since the pages were filled with delicate drawings of wild flowers.
She leaned over to get a closer look.
‘Miss Dill, these are exquisite. Are they your work?’
Miss Dill blushed. ‘I found this in a
meadow downriver from the villa. The petals are blue, with hairs on the leaves
and stem. I believe it is called Blueweed, or Viper’s Bugloss.’
‘And this one?’
‘Sweet violet, also common in early
spring. The colour was blue, shading to purple.’
‘Do you paint too?’
Miss Dill glanced at Hanson. ‘Gerard
advises me to concentrate on drawing, but I would like to try with water
colours when I am more skilled.’
‘Show me some more.’
Miss Dill turned a page, and brought out
a tiny guide book that she had been using to identify the flowers. As they
passed the time in this pleasant way, Elizabeth was impressed by her
companion’s determination. Merely to be accomplished would not satisfy her. She
aspired to be a serious artist, and also a botanist who could explore mountains
and deserts and bring back pictures of little-known species. In no way was she
comparable with Lydia. Elopement had allowed her to travel around Europe in the
company of an experienced artist. It was not a romantic fancy, but a
well-conceived means of achieving her goal.
Elizabeth would have liked to discuss
Miss Dill with Jane, or her father. For a moment homesickness overwhelmed her,
until she looked up and noticed Darcy in quiet conversation with Hanson. How
would the master of Pemberley view Miss Dill’s ambitions, and her decision to
run away from home? It interested her that she
did not know
. The
conventional response would have been abhorrence, but she had come to see Darcy
as an independent thinker who might privately hold surprising views. If only
she could ask him now …
She leaned back, and drifted into another
daydream.
They were no longer moving.
Elizabeth blinked, looking for Miss Dill, but the wagon was empty.
She crawled to the back, which faced a
narrow track through woodland. A crunch of boots on twigs startled her and she withdrew,
only to be reassured as Darcy came into view.
‘Miss Bennet! How are you?’
She hesitated. ‘Still shaky. But a
little better.’
‘We’ve been picnicking with scraps from
the villa.’ He lifted her gently down. ‘Shall I carry you?’
‘I’ll try to walk.’ She took his arm,
and he led her to a clearing where one of her blankets had been spread on the
dusty ground. Hanson, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Miss Dill, greeted her
with a cheeky smile and pointed to a basket holding brown rolls, cheese, apples,
and dried figs.
She kneeled on the blanket, feeling
queasy at the sight of the food. ‘Where are we?’
‘I thought it best to hide,’ Darcy said.
‘So far as I can tell we are near a road that leads north to a small town
called Oriago. My plan is to cross the river there after dark.’
‘Why not leave now, before our pursuers
catch up?’
‘Because that is what they will expect.
We cannot outrun them, remember. Our only chance is to remain out of sight for
such a long period that they have no idea where we are. Then their forces will
be dispersed far and wide. They might even conclude that we have got away, and
abandon the search.’
Elizabeth regarded Hanson and Miss Dill.
‘And how do
you
feel about this? I fear we are delaying you, perhaps
even exposing you to danger.’
Hanson shrugged. ‘Mr Darcy has
contributed to costs, which is welcome since I am short. We are in no hurry,
and Carandini’s men have no reason to harm us.’
‘In any case it is our duty to help,’
Miss Dill said. ‘It is shocking that you have been treated so ill. I’m sure
that if our situations were reversed, you would feel the same.’
Elizabeth threw an anxious glance at
Darcy.
Was this true
, she wondered. Darcy had selflessly helped her own
family—Lydia, and now herself. But would he moderate his plans in order
to save a runaway couple? She feared he would not, and what was more, that he
was only accepting their help now
because of her
.
‘Where is Burgess?’
Darcy pointed. ‘Watching the road. I
doubt we are in any danger here, since nobody saw us drive in. Still, it is
best to know what they are up to.’
She smiled at Miss Dill. ‘I pray that one
day I can return your kindness.’
Miss Dill smiled back. ‘Waiting here is
no hardship, for there are many flowers for me to draw.’
Elizabeth tried to eat, but the
uneasiness remained. Why was she on edge? Yes, their situation remained perilous,
but so it had been when rowing across the Venice lagoon.
Darcy raised a bottle. ‘Wine?’
He poured a little into a cup, and she
accepted it gratefully, wishing that she could lie back as before and float
into oblivion.