Darcy's Charade Read online

  "Dear me," Mrs. Bennet murmured. "It must have slipped my mind."

  "Yes," Elizabeth said uneasily.

  What is going on? she asked herself. What are they up to?

  She bided her time. Soon Mr. Collins appeared and was warmly welcomed. Then Mrs. Bennet announced that she had sent for four bottles of champagne which were on ice and would be served during the meal.

  Elizabeth's brows drew together.

  "What are we celebrating, Mama?" Lydia inquired, puzzled, as the entire family entered the dining room.

  "Why, Lizzy's engagement of course," Mrs. Bennet told her, "to Mr. Collins here."

  Elizabeth stared in horror. "But..." she protested.

  "My dear Cousin," Mr. Collins interrupted, patting her hand. "I have talked to your mother and she understands. You need a few days to get used to the idea."

  Elizabeth gasped.

  "Yes, yes exactly," Mrs. Bennet concurred. "We are prepared to give you that, Lizzy. However, there is no reason not to go ahead with the preparations, is there?"

  "No indeed," Mr. Collins returned.

  "Of course, Lizzy will have to have a simple, quiet wedding," Mrs. Bennet stated.

  "Nonsense!" Mr. Collins declared dropping his spoon into his soup. "Miss Elizabeth, my little cherub, I am prepared to contribute. My patroness, the Honorable Lady Catherine de Bourgh, advises me to marry as soon as possible and to spare no expense. She is all one could wish for in a person of importance."

  "Very generous of you," Mrs. Bennet responded. "Isn't it, Lizzy?"

  "I do not know what to say," Elizabeth heard herself mutter at this prompting.

  Mrs. Bennet nodded.

  "Let us kill the fatted calf in style!" Mr. Collins cheered as he raised his glass in the air.

  Elizabeth shuddered at the unfortunate simile.

  "Mr. Collins will do you proud, Lizzy," Mrs. Bennet reckoned.

  "Did you hear that, Lizzy?" Lydia laughed. "You are a lucky girl! Are you not pleased?" And then, without waiting for an answer, she continued, "When do you think the wedding should be?"

  "In April or May, perhaps," Mr. Collins suggested.

  "Splendid," Mrs. Bennet said. "The Gardiners will be visiting then, too," she added. "Girls, your cousins can be pages. Won't that be nice?"

  Elizabeth listened, speechless with horror.

  They would not take her seriously. They intended to go ahead as though she had consented.

  Elizabeth was so appalled, so stunned that she could not say a word. For several minutes she just sat there frozen into immobility while her food grew cold, unable to utter a protest to Jane, or even to think clearly.

  Gradually as the meal progressed and the champagne began to flow, Elizabeth's agile brain began to work once more. She was both annoyed and frightened by the turn events had taken. What if they succeed in pushing her into this?

  If everyone in the neighborhood was told that Elizabeth was going to marry this man, there would be no way out. He could ruin her reputation if she resisted. And what then? What if she lost her place, and as a result, destroyed the happiness of a beloved sister? What if she were thrown into the streets? What if she stayed there year after year growing old and ugly, and....

  I am not going to have any more champagne, she decided.

  One glass was enough. The ice had broken; the numbness was gone. Any more and she would be too relaxed—and that would be her undoing.

  All at once, everything became clear. If she could not reason with them, if she could not make them see that there would be no wedding, then she had to act now—tonight. Tomorrow would be too late. By then they would be discussing putting an announcement in the paper and that would be the end of her freedom.

  But what could she do to prevent this distasteful union?

  I shall run away, Elizabeth concluded silently.

  The prospect of leaving everything she held dear did not appeal to her, but it was infinitely preferable to being compelled to accept this loveless match.

  Elizabeth gave no hint, no inkling of what was going on in her mind. She waited until the others had retired for the night; then she began to make ready.

  There was no need for Elizabeth to count her money. She knew exactly how much she had. Ever since Mr. Bennet passed away, Elizabeth had been saving up for a new writing table, a fancy foldaway thing with secret drawers and hidden panels.

  Only yesterday she had looked at her nest egg. It had seemed so much. More than sufficient to buy the writing table with. Now that she had to consider it as her entire fortune, she realized that it was precious little, and wondered how far she could get with it.

  Traveling was expensive, especially if one went by coach. But Elizabeth could not rely on walking. She was a lady and she had been warned on many occasions about the dangers of going anywhere unescorted.

  Elizabeth sighed. She would have to travel by coach. At least that would take her far away quickly. But when?

  I had better go early in the morning, she decided, before anyone is awake.

  That meant she would have to start preparing for her trip now, this very minute. There would be no question of undressing, going to bed and snatching a few hours sleep. There was no time for that.

  Stealthily Elizabeth changed out of her dinner dress into a plain blue walking ensemble. She packed a few items of clothing in a valise, including her dancing slippers and a shawl. She collected the few souvenirs she had of her parents and put them in an inlaid wooden box. The money she had saved so carefully and for such a different purpose went into her reticule.

  When Elizabeth was ready she had a long last look around her room. Then she closed the door and stole quietly downstairs. She was about to depart when she suddenly realized what consternation her unexplained disappearance would cause.

  She owed it to Jane to say why she was leaving.

  She slipped into the drawing room, opened the escritoire and scribbled a short note.

  Dear Mama,

  I will not marry Mr. Collins: not in April or May or any other month or year. Not Now. Not ever. As I tried to tell you both, I do not and cannot ever love him. And Papa warned me never to marry without love. True there are other things to be considered. But one should never marry without love.

  I beg you to forgive me for any pain I may cause you by my decision. However, I remind you that I do not and never have considered myself engaged to Mr. Collins and that I refused him when he proposed to me.

  I thank you for all you have done for me. I wish you every happiness in the future. I wish Mr. Collins every happiness in the future, too, and I hope that he may find a wife worthy of him.

  I am leaving here now in order to save you the expense of wedding preparations—for as you must now see it will be wasted since I do not intend to become a bride. I shall write again as soon as I can.

  Your very affectionate, loving, devoted, and obedient daughter, Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth reread her note, grimaced at the phraseology, decided there was no time to alter it and left it where she knew her mother would find it.

  Then she picked up her valise, opened the front door carefully and shut it gently behind her.

  Outside a chill ran through her. How cold the November wind was! How still and dark it was outside.

  There was something eerie about seeing the candles in the widows of Longbourn, flickering and burning low. Soon they would be extinguished, the sun would rise and a new day would dawn.

  Elizabeth pictured the family gathered at breakfast. She recalled the laughter and the warmth she had found here at her parents’ home. She half turned round, intending to reenter the house and then she remembered that she could not as she had taken no key.

  She had better not delay, she told herself and she hurried towards the gate.

  Every step Elizabeth took made her feel more nervous. She had never been out on her own at this hour of the morning. How different everything seemed.

  There was no one about. Not a sound could be heard
; not a creaking carriage; not a lovesick cat; not a rolling drunkard; not a neighbor out late—nothing.

  Elizabeth shivered. When at last she reached Meryton she felt as if she had been running a marathon. Her heart was pounding and her hands were clammy. Yet she knew she had not traveled more than a mile and that it had taken her barely thirty minutes.

  "I must keep going," she reflected. "I cannot stop now."

  She crossed the road and made her way along the main street. From here it was only a short walk before she reached the coaching inn.

  As Elizabeth approached the inn, she heaved a sigh of relief. The place was alive. Every window was ablaze with lights. People dashed about shouting for fresh horses, for ale, for their breakfasts or for fodder for the animals. Ostlers, passengers, and servants mingled in the courtyard. Departing stagecoaches met returning post chaises.

  Elizabeth's courage returned. She approached the booking office clerk to ask the time of the next coach to London.

  "London?" the clerk questioned. "There's one about to leave this minute. You can travel on that if you like."

  "How much is it?" Elizabeth inquired timidly.

  He told her the price for an inside seat and for an outside one; the latter was considerably cheaper. Elizabeth thought wistfully of her limited funds.

  "An outside seat, please," she requested as she took out the money to pay for it.

  The clerk raised a pair of disapproving eyebrows. "Are you sure, miss?" he queried.

  "Quite sure, thank you," Elizabeth replied.

  "Begging your pardon, miss, but you don't look to me like an outside passenger," the clerk commented, "more like an inside one."

  Elizabeth smiled wanly. "I thank you for the compliment, sir," she responded, "but I cannot afford an inside seat."

  "I see," the clerk said.

  He touched his cap to her all the same and smiled as he handed her her ticket. He advised her where to sit on the top of the coach and warned her to hang on tightly to the luggage rail.

  "Thank you," Elizabeth answered.

  She was helped up by the coachman who apologized for not giving her the seat beside him, but he already had one passenger there and there was not room for another.

  Soon they were on their way. Elizabeth had a magnificent view from her perch.

  Suddenly they were on the open road, going full speed ahead, further and further from everything and everyone Elizabeth knew and loved.

  There was precious little to do during the journey. Elizabeth was unable to converse with anyone. The coach was going at nearly eight miles an hour, rocking her to and fro and forcing her to hang onto the luggage rail as she had been advised to do. Her only entertainment was to count the towns they hurtled through and reflect, as hunger pains assailed her, that she had not planned her trip very well.

  Elizabeth sighed. "I suppose I can count myself lucky to be riding on a coach at all," she mused.

  As the coach bounced along, Elizabeth became vaguely aware of an argument proceeding between the coachman and the young man alongside him.

  Two minutes later, she became painfully aware of what had been discussed. The wretched young man, with his beaver hat covering too much hair, took the reins.

  He whipped up the horses shouting to them to go faster...faster...faster...

  If there is one bone left unbroken in my body when I get to London, Elizabeth thought as she clung desperately to the luggage rail, I shall be fortunate indeed!

  Then, suddenly, the coach lurched sideways and Elizabeth lost her grip. She screamed in fright. Before her, she observed a haystack, and as she flew through the air she prayed that she would land on it. Then, everything went black.

  Chapter Four

  Elizabeth came to, seconds later. She was lying amidst a pile of moldy straw. Her head ached and her mouth was dry. From somewhere in the distance, a voice floated across to her.

  "Any bones broken?"

  Elizabeth stood up and examined herself. Luckily she had not been seriously injured. The haystack had saved her. But she had been bruised. Her limbs smarted as though she had been beaten with a birch cane. She was sore and stiff. Moreover, the state of her clothing left something to be desired.

  "I don't believe so," she heard herself answer.

  She was dimly aware that people were working to get the coach the right way up.

  Meanwhile, the young man who had been responsible for the mishap came towards her.

  "Won't be long before we are on our way again," he informed her brightly.

  Elizabeth focused on him. He had not suffered a single scratch.

  "You stupid inconsiderate boy!" she cried angrily. "How dare you drive so recklessly!"

  "There is nothing wrong with my driving!" the young man retorted.

  "Isn't there indeed?" Elizabeth countered. "What do you imagine overturned the coach then?"

  "It was bad luck."

  "Bad luck!" Elizabeth screeched at him. "It is entirely your fault!"

  The young man snorted contemptuously, which did nothing to improve Elizabeth's fast rising temper. She felt that at the very least he should have apologized for the trouble he had caused.

  The young man was not contrite. He turned his back on Elizabeth and walked towards the coach, swearing at her under his breath.

  "I pity the poor sod who has to tame you!" he declared.

  Elizabeth was close to tears. Her rage had died and in its place had come overwhelming misery.

  "I might have broken my neck!" she pointed out with a sob in her voice.

  "I wish you had!" he returned.

  Elizabeth winced as if he had struck her. What had she done to deserve him as a traveling companion? Nausea coupled with utter wretchedness threatened to overwhelm her.

  "It's all right," the coach driver said. "Nobody was hurt. We'll still get to London on time."

  Elizabeth bit her lip. So I am nobody, am I? she mused unhappily.

  She was past being angry, past even being miserable. All she wanted was a quiet corner to crawl into where she could lick her wounds in peace.

  Elizabeth gazed at the other passengers who were hurriedly resuming their places and carefully avoiding looking at her. Not one of them stopped to commiserate with her; not one of them paused to take the young man to task for his selfishness.

  Sheep, the lot of them! Elizabeth reflected.

  They were probably embarrassed by her outburst. She could imagine them talking about the incident later "...and then the young lady on the roof made such a scene!"

  Elizabeth grimaced. Her gloomy reverie came to an end when the coachman approached her.

  "Is there anything I can do for you, miss?" he offered.

  Elizabeth bit off the stream of invectives she wanted to hurl at him. He ought not to have allowed that lout to drive. He should have had more consideration for his passengers.

  "Yes, please," she answered coldly. "You can help me back onto the top, if you wouldn't mind."

  The coachman handed her up. As he did so, Elizabeth noticed that he was a trifle muddy and disheveled, also that he seemed a little pale, as if the incident had shaken him. This time he was firmer in his refusal to pass the reins over to his young companion and the coach proceeded on its journey at the usual eight miles per hour to which the horses were accustomed.

  The other passengers, though shaken by the mishap were unharmed, and it seemed to Elizabeth that only she was annoyed. From what she could hear of their discussion, accidents on the road to London were a common occurrence. The passengers inside expected them and were philosophical about them. They did not wish to complain or make a fuss.

  Elizabeth bit her lip. She was in no position to start a fight. She had tried to stand up for her rights but she had been put in her place. The others would not lift a finger to see the bully chastised.

  Elizabeth ground her teeth. It made her furious to think that this boor on the seat in front of her would get away with his action. If she had been a man—if she had been str
ong enough—she would have pushed him off the vehicle then and there in retaliation.

  She sighed. "Put it down as experience," she seemed to remember her dear father telling her once.

  Elizabeth shuddered. If only she did not feel so sick and so weak and so horrible!

  An hour later, Elizabeth caught a glimpse of the George Inn. The aging building, high on the top of a steep hill, overlooked the town and the surrounding countryside, dominating the landscape.

  Finally she would have a moment to herself as the coach halted in front of the hotel. She descended wearily, feeling more like an old lady of ninety than a young one of twenty one. Her joints had not recovered from the bashing they had undergone, thanks to the uncomfortable seat she had on the coach as well as the unfortunate accident.

  Slowly Elizabeth made her way into the inn. There was a vacant chair by the window and she went towards it. As she did so, a mist seemed to pass before her eyes.

  I am not going to faint, she told herself. I am not going to faint.

  The mist departed, but Elizabeth was unable to ignore the throbbing in her head.

  If only I could have something to eat!

  There had been no time for that before she left home.

  Elizabeth glanced at the handwritten menu. It wasn't merely that it was expensive but that she had to save every farthing she possessed until she could earn more.

  Elizabeth put her head in her hands. I shall just sit here for a minute or two—until my headache goes—and then I'll find out when the next coach leaves for London, she promised herself, and how much that costs.

  If she were lucky there might even be enough left over to purchase something for lunch—like a roll of bread.

  Elizabeth was feeling so ill that she did not observe a carriage arriving at the inn with its horses steaming. Her eyes were cast down and her hands, which were as cold as ice, were over her brow trying to alleviate the pain. If only that would go! She could think of nothing else.

  Suddenly Elizabeth was aware of a man staring at her. She glanced briefly in his direction and noted that he was definitely not one of the people from the stagecoach she had been on.

  He must be the inside passenger of another coach...