The Journey (28 page)

“You think I alerted the papers?” His tone of voice was shocked. “I just returned this evening. How could I have perpetrated the deed?”

“Well . . . if you did not do it, then who?”

“I do not know, but I shall find out.”

Immediately, he tapped the roof of the carriage with his cane, and the driver slowed the coach and stopped. Mr. Darcy stepped out, and I pulled the shade aside to observe, having not the slightest idea what he was about. He asked if any of the servants had a newspaper.

A newspaper! Did he think they read in the dark? I rolled my eyes, but unfortunately, he did not witness my scorn. And then I was astounded to hear that the driver actually sat on a paper, saving it to amuse himself while waiting for the opera to conclude.

Mr. Darcy beckoned to the runners carrying the road torches, and one of them held his light close so that he might search the periodical. I heard him utter another oath, and within moments, he joined me inside the cab and instructed the driver to walk on.

“Well, there is the answer,” he said with disgust.

“What do you mean? Is it in the
Gazette
as I feared
?
And does it reveal the source who told the reporters?”

“Did you happen to have a recent visit from my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh?”

A feeling of doom descended over me. “I did, sir, two days ago.”

“And did she demand an answer as to whether we would marry?”

“Yes, she did. I fear we did not part on the best of terms.”

“No doubt,” he said, sighing. “She has taken her revenge on you. The reporter quoted her.”

“What does it say?”

“Nothing worth repeating. Suffice it to say the cat is out of the bag. All London knows there will not be a wedding as well as Lady Catherine’s ill opinion of you. How I wish you had refused to speak with her!”

“She is hardly a personage one can easily refuse anything.”

“True. I hate to even think of how she insulted you.”

I said nothing. How could I repeat the dreadful things with which Mr. Darcy’s aunt had threatened me?

“Do not bother to reply. I know her well enough. I can only apologize for any and everything she said.”

“She was adamant that you are to marry her daughter,” I said quietly.

“Ah yes, she persists in that delusion, although neither my cousin nor I have any desire to bring that occasion about. I am afraid my aunt lives in a realm of her own, wherein she thinks she can command obedience not only from servants but also from family members and everyone else within earshot. Believe me when I tell you that is one command that will not be heeded.”

Why did I feel such relief when he said that? I had doubted that his cousin was the object of his affections ever since Mr. Wickham had told me she possessed a sickly constitution. I could see their marriage taking place out of duty to combine the family fortunes, but I could not imagine that Mr. Darcy loved a woman of that description. No, the woman he desired must be one of great passion who could respond to his own driving need.

I suddenly grew warm all over, aware that the cab was quite close, and we were alone in the dark. I pushed the hood of my cloak back, hoping it would lessen the heat causing me discomfort.

“I was surprised that you went away, Mr. Darcy,” I said, attempting to change the subject. “The constable’s office informed me that I must remain in London until after the highwaymen’s trial. I fail to see why you were allowed to depart when I was not.”

“You are correct. We are to stay here. I confess I did not bother to ask permission from the authorities before Fitzwilliam and I left. Did they question you about what happened during the abduction?”

“They did. I told them the necessary facts and attempted to explain Morgan’s background, although I do not think it caused them to think any higher of him.”

“No, I doubt that will happen, Elizabeth. You must come to terms with it.”

I sighed and did not reply. We rode in silence for a while. “I hope you enjoyed your respite from London. Pleasure bent, I assume?”

“Hardly.”

He did not elaborate, which vexed me, but I did not know how to question him as to his whereabouts without appearing unduly interested. I wracked my brain thinking of a subtle manner in which to accomplish my goal.

“I suppose you had business in Derbyshire,” I said at last somewhat awkwardly.

“Does it matter where I have been?” I heard bemusement in his voice.

“Of course not,” I snapped. “I was simply making conversation.”

“I see.”

I knew he was laughing at me, most probably flattered that I was curious as to where he had travelled. I resolved to say nothing more, even if my life depended upon it.

We rode in silence for several minutes before he said, “Fitzwilliam and I returned to Hazleden, Jonah’s Village, and the country thereabout.”

Nothing could have surprised me more! Why should he wish to revisit an area of such unpleasant memories?

“You may wonder at my choice,” he said.

When I murmured my assent, he explained that they had spent two weeks searching out Morgan’s former haunts, looking for clues as to his background and, in particular, who it was that he had slain.

“You do recall that the man has committed murder, do you not, Miss Bennet?”

“Of course, I do. He told me so himself.”

“I am well aware of what he told you. I wished to ascertain if it was the truth or one of his tales. As it turns out, it happened years ago, but Morgan was never apprehended and brought to trial. The man he killed was a landowner, formerly of France, Monsieur Devereaux, who owned a large estate outside Jonah.”

He stopped speaking and turned directly toward me. I could feel the force of his gaze even in the darkness. “And it seems you were right in your assessment, Elizabeth. Morgan took his life in self-defence — over a woman.”

“A woman? But who?”

“You need not worry. ’Twas not one who had stolen his heart, but rather his half-sister.”

“His sister? What happened?”

“She worked as scullery maid in Devereaux’s kitchen, and Morgan, little more than a youth at the time, served as stable hand. One evening he heard screams coming from the stillroom and discovered the landowner assaulting the woman. When he interrupted the scoundrel, Devereaux sliced his face with a sword and then lunged for his heart. Morgan defended himself with the only weapon he carried, a pitchfork.”

I gasped, cringing at the image, and I could not speak for several moments. Then a thought struck me. “It reminds one of his mother’s plight.”

“His mother?”

“Yes, do you not remember how I told you Morgan’s father took advantage of his mother when she was but a maid in his house? There he was, witness to the same horrible deed repeated upon his sister.”

“Perhaps that is how it played out in his mind. I cannot say. I do know that is when his life began as a fugitive. He and his sister fled before the authorities arrived, and from then on, he lived in the shadows as a petty criminal. ’Tis a shame he advanced into delusions of infamy, thinking he could act the highwayman.”

“Now he faces kidnapping and extortion charges as well,” I said softly.

“True. I cannot but feel somewhat responsible for that.”

“Responsible! You? But why?” I asked, shocked at his statement.

“Because I suggested he hold me for ransom. As I told Fitzwilliam, I doubt any of those villains could have imagined such an idea if I had not planted it in their minds.”

“Then I share in your guilt, Mr. Darcy, for if you had not sought to protect me, none of it would have transpired.”

We were silent once more, the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves the only sounds heard. Snatches of passing lights flickered through the sides of the shades.

“Why ever did you go in search of this information, sir? Why should
you
seek to aid Morgan?”

He did not answer for several moments, other than a deep sigh. “I know that you — well, that is, I have no wish to see the man hang. With the background we have uncovered, perhaps the murder charge can be dismissed. And besides, I wanted to do what I could for the woman Gert. After all, she let us go.”

“Gert? What has she to do with this?”

“She is Morgan’s sister, Elizabeth. I thought you knew that by now.”

“His sister!”

“Evidently, she led a rough life after leaving the Frenchman’s house. Morgan retrieved her more than once until finally he installed her at that cabin in the woods. There he could afford her some measure of protection.”

“Then there is some good in him, is there not?”

“There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to good and evil.”

I grew quiet, recalling the scenes between Gert and Morgan. Those memories led to reliving the days Mr. Darcy and I had spent confined together in that small room . . . and the nights.

“Did you and Colonel Fitzwilliam revisit the highwayman’s cabin?”

“Yes. It is all the same. Nothing has changed. Even the blanket still lies on the floor where — where we — ” He broke off and pulled the shade aside as though he was distracted by a passing sight.

“At times it seems as though it all happened so long ago,” I said, sighing.

“And sometimes as though it were only yesterday.” His voice was so low I had to strain to make out his words.

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Darcy, do you ever — oh, this is insupportable! I know not why I even think about it.”

“About what? Tell me.”

“It is quite strange. At times I find myself almost wishing to return to that place. How can I?”

“To Morgan’s cabin?” He sat up straighter, and I sensed an alteration in his demeanour, although I could not make it out inside the dark coach.

“No, sir, you mistake my meaning. I do not wish to return to the cabin, but to the wood after we were freed. I know we travelled in primitive conditions — afraid, hungry, without shelter — but at least we were at liberty. We knew the identity of the enemy and we stood . . . united.” I pulled my cloak closer, suddenly chilled. “After tonight, in this society, I shall be as confined to my uncle’s house as I was imprisoned in that cabin.”

“Blast!” he said loudly. “It is utterly unfair that you should continue to suffer.”

Neither of us said anything, riding in silence for some time before he spoke again. “I noticed a park across the way from Mr. Gardiner’s house. Might you not at least walk there with your sister? Perhaps Bingley and I could escort the two of you.”

My heart leapt at the thought, not only of escaping the house but also at the chance to see him again. However, he dashed those hopes with his next statement.

“No, that would not do. If anyone saw us together, it would only cause more tongues to wag. People would say you were my — well, it simply would not do.”

Just then, the driver pulled up on the horses, and I suspected we had reached my uncle’s house. Within moments, the footman opened the door, and Mr. Darcy descended the steps from the carriage and then reached for my hand to help me out. I could feel the warmth and comfort of his touch through my glove. It seemed to travel up my arm and wrap itself around my heart. How I wished he would never let go!

We entered the small parlour, having been informed by the servant that my aunt and uncle had not yet returned from their evening out. I thought to ring for tea, but intuiting that both of us needed something a bit stronger, I suggested a glass of sherry, which Mr. Darcy did not refuse. We sat down and sipped our drinks in silence.

I was suddenly quite conscious that we were alone. It had seemed so natural at first that I thought nothing of it, for had we not spent days and nights in no one’s company but each other’s? We, however, were no longer hidden away in that cabin in the woods. We were inside a house in London, and servants did talk.

Almost as though we both became aware of the thought at the same time, Mr. Darcy rose to leave, stating that he should go.

As we approached the door to the foyer, I thanked him for escorting me home. “Once again, sir, you have come to my aid. I have taken advantage of your kindness far too often.”

His eyes softened as they gazed into mine. I feared he could see the intensity of my emotions reflected on my countenance, might realize that I loved him, and so I averted my face.

“Mr. Darcy, I must ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“Mr. Bingley has called often upon my sister since you have been away. Did you happen to speak to him about her before leaving Town?”

“How could I not attempt to right the wrong I did once you confided her true feelings to me?”

I caught my breath. “Thank you.”

“I fear that I have been a selfish being all my life. As a child, I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately, I was spoiled by my parents, who, though good themselves, allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing — to care for none beyond my own.”