Mr. Darcy Vampyre (6 page)

‘When your cousin spoke of us visiting your uncle, which uncle did he mean?' she asked, as they rode over a bridge and came to Notre Dame. The great Gothic cathedral rose against the skyline, a concoction of spires, rose windows, and buttresses which were impressive in their artistry and their size. ‘Not his father, I take it, or he would have said so.'

‘No, not his father. I have another uncle here on the Continent. It is to him we will go.'

There came a cry behind them: ‘Darcy! Elizabeth!'

Katrine and Philippe rode up on matching bays, both of them splendidly dressed, Katrine in a velvet riding habit and Philippe in a caped greatcoat with knee breeches disappearing into highly polished boots.

‘I hoped I would find you here,' said Katrine. ‘This is the place to meet everyone in Paris. They are all here to see and be seen.'

‘I hear you had a visit from your cousin, Darcy,' said Philippe, as he and Katrine fell in beside the Darcys and the four of them continued together. ‘He tells me that you are going to stay with your uncle. I envy you. It is many years since I visited the Alps. The clear air, the scented forests, the feel of the night wind against the face… I miss it.'

‘Have you ever been to the Alps before?' Katrine asked Elizabeth.

‘No, never.'

‘You did not plan them as part of your tour?'

‘We did not plan on coming abroad at all.'

‘Ah. It has been a surprise, but not an unpleasant one, I hope?'

‘Not at all. I like to see new places and meet new people.'

‘
Vraiment
, it is good what you say. Without seeing new places and meeting new people we grow old before our time. We must make an effort to do new things, must we not? It is what gives life its zest.'

‘But you will return to Paris?' asked Philippe.

‘No,' said Darcy shortly.

Philippe raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

‘At least not for a while. But later, who knows?' said Katrine.

‘You must,' said Philippe, turning to Elizabeth. ‘We will never forgive Darcy if he deprives us of your company, will we Katrine?'

‘Me, I would forgive Darcy anything!' she said with a longing look at him. ‘But come, Philippe, we must away. I have to be at the du Bariers' in an hour and you have promised to escort me.'

They rode off in a flurry of manes and hoofs.

‘Why do you need to see your uncle?' asked Elizabeth, continuing their earlier conversation. ‘From what you said to your cousin, it sounded as though you wanted his advice on our marriage and our reception in society. Is that so?'

‘Not in the way you imagine, no,' he said.

‘In what way, then?'

He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully, and said at last, ‘We are different, you and I. We belong together and yet we are not the same. My uncle is very experienced. He might perhaps have encountered the difficulties we will face before, and know how to deal with them.'

Elizabeth was silent. Darcy too was silent, and the only sound was of their horses' hooves clopping along the road.

‘You're very quiet,' he said after a minute or two.

‘I'm… surprised,' she said. ‘I thought our differences had been resolved, at least the differences that matter, those involving our hearts and minds. The others, the differences in our social standing and the opinion of other people, I thought no longer mattered to you, as they have never mattered to me. I thought you had overcome them.'

‘So I have, a long time ago. You're right, they don't matter.'

‘But something matters,' she said, bringing her mare to a standstill, ‘because you are not happy.'

He looked surprised.

‘I am happy,' he said.

‘Then you are not easy in our mind,' she persevered. ‘Otherwise why would you want your uncle's advice?'

Again he thought before speaking.

‘Elizabeth, there are things you don't yet know,' he said with a frown.

‘About you?'

‘About me, and my family.'

‘You mean there are skeletons in the closet?' she asked, patting her mare's neck.

He gave a ghost of a smile.

‘Not skeletons, no,' he said. ‘But I think I might have underestimated the problems we will face. For myself, it doesn't matter, but for you… I want to protect you, I want to make you happy.'

‘You do.'

‘No, not entirely. I've seen you looking at me, puzzled, a few times since we married.'

She could not deny it.

‘That's because I don't always understand you,' she said.

‘I don't always understand myself.'

‘You have always been a difficult man to fathom,' she agreed. ‘Even at the Netherfield ball, I could not make you out. And I think that recently, you have grown more perplexing rather than less so. I hope your uncle can help.'

‘I think you will like him, and I think you will like the Alps. The scenery is unlike anything you have ever seen before.' Then his eyes laughed and he said, ‘Your mother would certainly like him. He lives in a castle.'

‘A castle?' she asked, impressed despite herself. ‘Is it finer than Pemberley?'

‘Bigger, certainly.'

‘Finer than Rosings?'

‘More imposing, at least.'

The horses began to trot more quickly, as if sensing the lightening in their riders' moods, and before long, they reached a wider open space.

‘And what of the chimney piece?' asked Elizabeth teasingly.

‘It is the most impressive chimney piece I have ever seen; the sort of chimney piece that would send Mr Collins into raptures.'

‘Then I beg you will not tell him about it, or he will find a way to visit your uncle, and drag poor Charlotte with him,' said Lizzy, laughing. ‘What is his name, this uncle? Is he a Darcy or a Fitzwilliam?'

‘He comes from… an older branch of the family,' he said. ‘He is an uncle a few times removed. He is neither a Fitzwilliam nor a Darcy. His name is Count Polidori.'

‘A count?' asked Lizzy, amused. ‘Then we must definitely not tell Mama about him, or she will be introducing him to Kitty!'

‘He is rather too old for Kitty,' he said.

‘That is a relief. Poor Kitty has had enough to cry about these last few months, with Papa saying he would keep a careful watch over her and never let her out! It took a great deal of soothing to make her realise that he was joking. When do you expect us to leave for the mountains?' she asked.

‘That depends. We can go as soon or as late as you wish. Have you seen enough of Paris or would you like to stay?'

‘I think I have seen all I need to see,' she said. ‘It is very elegant, despite the destruction wrought by the revolution. The people too have surprised me, but…'

‘But?'

‘I find I do not really like it here. The buildings are all very fine, but I am longing for green fields once again.'

‘Then we will make our preparations and set out as soon as they are complete.'

The weather was fine when they left Paris. It was a golden October, with plenty of sunshine and warm, drowsy days. They set out at a leisurely pace, enjoying the journey. Elizabeth travelled in the coach as it passed through the city and headed in a south-easterly direction. They stopped for lunch at an inn near Fontainebleau and then Elizabeth took to horseback, riding through the forest beside Darcy. The whitebeams were starting to lose their leaves, creating openness above them, and the air had a clarity that made the colours sing.

They passed the chateau of Fontainebleau and Elizabeth looked at it in wonder. It dwarfed Pemberley and Rosings, too.

‘At least the revolution didn't destroy this,' she said.

She had seen a great deal of destruction in Paris, with buildings defaced or demolished, but the palace was still intact, rapturous in its beauty. It had graceful proportions and elegant lines, ornamented with the curve of a horseshoe staircase at its front. And surrounding the palace were the greens and blues of the gardens and lake.

‘No, not the outside, but the inside has been ransacked and the furniture sold. François would not recognise it now, nor Louis, nor Marie Antoinette.'

He spoke about them as if he knew them, but Elizabeth's education, governess-less though it had been, was sufficient to tell her that he meant the French kings and queens of centuries gone by.

‘Autumn was always the time for Fontainebleau,' he said. ‘That was when the Court came here to hunt. But not anymore. Nothing lasts. It all fades away. Only the trees remain.' He pointed one of them out to her, an ancient tree, standing alone. ‘I used to climb that tree as a boy,' he said. ‘It was perfect for my purposes. The lower branches were just low enough for me to be able to reach them by jumping, if not on the first attempt, then on the second or third, and the topmost branches were strong enough to bear my weight. When I reached them, I would hold on to the trunk and look out over the surrounding countryside and pretend I was on a ship and that I had just climbed the mast, looking for land.'

‘You may climb it now if you like!' she said. ‘I will wait.'

He laughed.

‘I doubt the branches would bear my weight. It was a long time ago.'

She liked to hear of his childhood, and as they rode on, he told her more about his boyhood pursuits. She responded with tales of her own childhood, games of chase with her large family of sisters on the Longbourn lawn and rainy afternoons curled up on the window seat in the library with a book.

Elizabeth patted her mare's neck as they came to a crossroads and turned south, the carriages rolling along behind them. Darcy, watching Elizabeth said, ‘Has Snowfall won you over? Do you like riding?'

‘How could I not with such a mount?' said Elizabeth. ‘But—'

She shifted a little in her saddle.

‘Saddle sore?' he asked.

‘Yes! I am not used to it, you know.'

‘Would you rather walk?'

‘I think so, for a little while, anyway.'

He helped her to dismount and then dismounted beside her, and they walked on, leading their horses, until Elizabeth at last tired and took her seat once more in the coach.

As they travelled south through France, the Alps drew steadily closer.

‘Twice now I have been deprived of a promised visit to the Lake District, but both times I have been glad to change my destination. I never thought anything could be so beautiful,' she said.

She raised her eyes to their summits, which were iced with snow.

‘You must have seen pictures of them,' said Darcy.

‘Pictures, yes, but they didn't prepare me for their scale or grandeur,' she said.

As day followed day, they left the lowlands behind and began to climb, following a winding road through the foothills of the mountains which gave extensive views at every turn. Against the backdrop of the mountains there were tall trees and shady glens, and here and there, they saw mountain goats. There were flowers still blooming in the meadows. Butterflies flitted between the gentians, harebells, and saxifrage, their iridescent blue and yellow wings catching the light.

From time to time, they came across cool, bubbling springs at which they stopped to drink.

Darcy knew the way, having travelled the route before, and as the light started to fade at the end of each day, he led them to a homely cottage where they could shelter, having them safely inside before sunset.

At the end of several days' travelling, they stopped for the night at a small inn.

‘It's not like the inns in England,' said Darcy as they approached.

‘It's delightful,' said Elizabeth.

It was set amidst the mountains beside a mirror-like lake. She ran her eyes over the rustic building with its gaily painted shutters, its blooming window boxes, and its overhanging eaves.

They were welcomed warmly with genuine hospitality. The size of their retinue at first caused some consternation, but the problem was quickly solved by the judicious use of outbuildings which nestled close by the inn.

Elizabeth's room was homely, with pine furniture. There was a picture over the bed, but the real picture in the room was the view. Framed by the window, it was magnificent. Elizabeth rested her arms on the window ledge and watched the sun setting. It turned the sky golden as its last rays blazed out, then flooded it with orange and red as the sky around it grew darker, changing from blue to purple, and then, as the sun sank at last, to black. The white finger of the mountain could still be seen, glowing softly in the ethereal light of the stars that pricked the sky. Elizabeth watched it still, delighting in the novelty and the splendour of its majesty, until the wind blew cold and she drew the curtain.

She washed and changed and then went down to dinner. The dining room was a simple apartment with only three tables, each flanked with benches. But the room was pretty, with long gingham cushions on the benches and gingham curtains at the windows.

Despite the remoteness of the place, the Darcys were not the only guests. A middle aged English couple, a Mr and Mrs Cedarbrook, were also staying there. They had an air of solid respectability about them and whilst her husband's expression was absent-minded, Mrs Cedarbrook's face wore a sensible aspect. They were dressed in good but unostentatious clothes, with Mrs Cedarbrook wearing a cashmere shawl over her cambric gown and Mr Cedarbrook wearing a well-tailored coat and breeches with a simply folded cravat.

The inn was so small that friendship was inevitable, and the four of them were soon engaged in conversation.

‘Have you come far?' asked Mr Cedarbrook, as their host brought in a large bowl of something savoury and proceeded to ladle appetising soup into clay bowls, placing large hunks of crusty bread on the plates next to them.

‘From Paris,' said Darcy.

‘Ah, Paris! How I love Paris,' said Mrs Cedarbrook.

‘Humph,' said her husband, tasting his soup. He made an appreciative noise and took another spoonful. ‘Big cities are not for me.'

‘My husband is a botanist,' explained Mrs Cedarbrook. ‘He prefers the countryside. We are on a walking tour, collecting plants.'

‘New species,' said her husband as he broke off a piece of bread. ‘There are plenty of them in the Alps. What do you do?' he asked Darcy.

‘I am a gentleman of leisure,' said Darcy.

‘A man needs a hobby, even so,' said Mr Cedarbrook. ‘You should take up botany.'

‘My dear, not everyone wants to be a botanist,' said his wife.

‘Can't think why not,' he returned.

Mrs Cedarbrook smiled indulgently, but accompanying the look was also an expression of good humour and common sense. She reminded Elizabeth of her Aunt Gardiner, who treated Mrs Bennet's foibles in much the same way as Mrs Cedarbrook treated her husband's eccentricities.

‘Do you always travel together?' asked Elizabeth.

‘We do now,' said Mrs Cedarbrook. ‘When the children were younger I stayed at home because I did not like to be away from them for months at a time, but now that they have all married and have homes of their own, I enjoy our journeys and I like to see something of the world.'

‘And what do you do when your husband is studying plants?' asked Darcy.

‘I have my sketchbook and my watercolours, and I make a pictorial record of everything we see,' she replied.

‘And very useful it is, too,' said her husband.

They talked of their experiences in the Alps over the meal, sharing their pleasure in the scenery. They also shared with each other information about the journey, for they had approached the inn from different directions, and so they knew what difficulties their fellow guests would face on the following day.

When they had finished their meal, their host brought in a bottle of some local spirit and Mrs Cedarbrook said to Elizabeth, ‘I think it is time for us to withdraw.'

‘Gladly,' said Elizabeth.

It was a long time since she had had a woman to talk to—a sensible, mature woman—and she felt herself in need of someone to turn to.

As there was no withdrawing-room, they retired to Mrs Cedarbrook's chamber and there they sat and talked. All the time, Mrs Cedarbrook watched Elizabeth and after a while she said, ‘Something is troubling you, my dear. Can I help?'

‘No, it is nothing,' said Elizabeth.

‘I have two grown up daughters and I can tell that something is wrong. Will you not trust me?'

Elizabeth was longing to do so, but she did now know how to begin.

‘You are from Hertfordshire, I think you said?' prompted Mrs Cedarbrook.

‘Yes, that's right, from a small town called Meryton,' said Elizabeth.

‘I do not know the town, but I have passed through Hertfordshire often on various journeys. It is a very beautiful county, but very different to the Alps. You are a long way from home. Do you not find it lonely here, where there are so few people?'

‘I have my husband,' said Elizabeth.

‘Of course. But sometimes a woman needs another woman to talk to.'

Elizabeth said nothing, but she had been thinking exactly the same thing. She had been troubled for some time, and she found it difficult to keep her feelings to herself, because at home she had always had someone to talk to.

‘You are a long way from your mother,' said Mrs Cedarbrook.

‘Yes, I am,' said Elizabeth.

She gave a rueful smile as she thought of her mother.

Mrs Cedarbrook said, ‘Ah,' quietly, and added, ‘And your friends.'

‘Yes,' said Elizabeth with a sigh.

‘You must miss them,' said Mrs Cedarbrook kindly.

‘I do. But not as much as I miss my sister.'

‘If you need someone to talk to, my dear, I am here.'

Elizabeth looked at her uncertainly and then came to a decision. Mrs Cedarbrook was a stranger, but she was a sympathetic woman and Elizabeth needed to confide in someone. Her friends and family were a long way away and she had no one else to turn to in her need for a listening ear and, more importantly, some advice.

‘You are worried about something,' said Mrs Cedarbrook gently.

‘It is only…' said Elizabeth, not knowing how to begin. ‘It is just that…'

‘Yes, my dear?'

‘It is just that, sometimes, I don't understand my husband.'

‘You have been married long?'

‘No, we are only just married. We are on our wedding tour.'

‘You seem very happy together. It is not difficult to see that your husband loves you very much.'

‘I wonder,' said Elizabeth, looking down at her hands, which were pleating the fabric of her skirt in her lap.

‘What makes you say that?' asked Mrs Cedarbrook.

‘It is just that he hasn't so much as touched me in all this time. He's attentive and friendly and considerate, we have a great deal to say to each other, and the way he looks at me—you have seen the way he looks at me.'

‘Yes, I have.'

‘But at night, when we could be alone, he avoids me.'

Mrs Cedarbrook looked at her thoughtfully.

‘You are very young. Perhaps he is just giving you time to adjust to your new life. Tempt him, my dear. You are very lovely, and there isn't a man alive who could resist you if you put your mind to it.'

‘That's just it,' said Elizabeth. ‘I don't know how.'

‘You are a woman in love, you will know how when the time comes. Go to his room if he will not come to yours. It will not be long before you are happy, I am sure.'

‘You have taken a load from my mind,' said Elizabeth. ‘Just to be able to talk about it has been a help.'

There was a noise from below.

‘I think the gentlemen are coming to the end of their conversation. Go now, my dear, and I am sure your problems will soon be over.'

The two women rose and Elizabeth returned to her own room. Annie helped her to undress and then, saying, ‘Thank you, Annie,' Elizabeth waited only for her maid to leave the room before she went through the interconnecting door into her husband's room. She had hoped to find Darcy there, but the room was empty, save for a faint, lingering scent of him.

On the washstand, his valet had laid out his brushes and razor, and Elizabeth went over to them and ran her hands over them. These were the things he had touched, and she let her fingers linger there. Her eyes wandered round the small, rustic apartment until they came to rest on the window. It had been left open. The night air was fresh but cold, and it carried a hint of frost. She went over to the window and prepared to close it, but her hand rested on the catch for a moment and she looked out over the tranquil, moonlit landscape. The lake was shining placidly in the silver light and, far off, trees were silhouetted against the white backdrop of the mountain. Hanging above it was a gibbous moon, phosphorescent in the darkness.

Her attention was attracted by movement close at hand and she saw the dark shape of a bird—no, a bat—heading towards the window. She closed it quickly, leaving the bat to hover outside. As she looked at it she was seized with a strange feeling. She thought how lonely it must feel, being shut out, being a part and yet not a part of the warmth and light within.