The Journey (10 page)

Whatever it was remained unsaid. Mr. Darcy’s next words had nothing to do with our feelings for each other.

“What did Morgan do, Elizabeth? Why did that scoundrel cause you such distress? Tell me so that I may make it right.”

I shook my head. “There is nothing for you to do, sir. I pray you will not make my foolish display of emotion into more than it is.”

“I cannot believe that, for you do not give into sentiment easily. Morgan’s actions created anguish in you, and you must tell me what happened.”

Once again, I shook my head. “Truly, it is as I said. This entire ordeal has simply overwhelmed me, and I gave in to the relief of tears.”

He narrowed his eyes, and I could see that he did not believe me. “What did the rogue mean when he said I was lucky?”

I knew very well to what he referred, but I could not — would not
—
tell him of the highwayman’s words of love or the manner in which he had held me.

I looked away and shrugged. “I suppose he referred to your status and wealth. The man has been dispossessed of his inheritance, and he resents those who have taken it from him.”

“It was not I who dispossessed him.”

“No, but he relates those who have with your class, sir. He is truly an angry man who feels that he has been robbed.”

Mr. Darcy released my hand then and stood up, pushing away from the table with what appeared to be an air of impatience.

“I hope I do not detect a note of sympathy in your voice for the villain.”

“Not for his actions, of course, but one cannot help feeling some concern that his family has lost their land due to inequities in society. Morgan said his grandfather owned the land on which this cabin is built and that it was stolen from him.”

“Stolen! I doubt that, and if so, it takes a thief to know one.”

“Mr. Darcy, have you no compassion for those less fortunate than yourself? Those who were not born to wealth and inheritance?”

“You know nothing of my compassion, Miss Bennet.”

“I beg to differ with you, for I have received your compassion, and I can testify that you possess the ability to bestow such on a woman in need. Why can you not acknowledge that there are men who are in like need of your forbearance?”

“I judge fairly those who deserve compassion — whether man or woman — and Nathanael Morgan does not.”

Now my ire arose once again, and I could not keep from throwing wood on the fire. “I see. In much the same manner you deemed Mr. Wickham undeserving of your father’s bequest?”

“I fail to see how with incivility you can accuse me of such misrepresentation. I am baffled as to why you persist with this irrational degree of interest in the concerns of men who are blatantly beneath you.”

“Who that knows the sufferings of both Wickham and Morgan can help feeling an interest in them?”

“Their sufferings! I neither know nor care to know of any supposed sufferings of the highwayman who holds us prisoners, but I am well acquainted with Mr. Wickham and with his so-called misfortunes.”

“And at your hand,” I cried with great energy. “You have reduced him to his present state of poverty. You have withheld the advantages which you must know to have been designed for him. You have deprived the best years of his life of that independence which was no less than his due. You have done all this, and yet you can treat the mention of Mr. Wickham’s misfortune with contempt and ridicule.”

“Ah! I thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults, according to this calculation, are heavy indeed!”

He began to walk with quick steps across the room. “But perhaps these bitter accusations might have been suppressed had I lied and flattered you into the belief that I, too, had been ill-used and cheated as these men have obviously done. If I had begged your confidence with sad tales of how others had reduced me to a helpless victim, and how I had no other resort but to steal and cheat my way through life, perhaps then I, too, might enjoy the pleasure of your ignorant sympathy.”

Halting suddenly, he drew near and turned his piercing gaze upon me. “But I abhor such disguise, and I refuse to play upon your emotions to warrant your good opinion.”

“You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you suppose that you might employ any such action to affect me in any other way, for from the very beginning — from the first moment, I may almost say — of my acquaintance with you, your manners, your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others were such as to form that groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike.”

I had also risen by that time, and we faced each other, declaring our righteously fervent viewpoints like two puffed up peacocks.

“You have said quite enough, madam. I perfectly comprehend your feelings and have now only to be ashamed of what my own have been earlier this evening. I propose that we say as little as possible to each other from this moment forward.”

“On that we are at last in perfect agreement!”

If it were possible for fire actually to proceed from one’s eyes, a conflagration would have erupted from Mr. Darcy’s at that moment. I turned my back on him and made a great show of dragging my chair to the opposite side of the room. I sat down facing the wall, which proved to be a futile gesture on my part, for there is nothing quite so boring as staring at a dark, blank wall.

How had this evening descended into such a downward spiral? And what had caused me to turn on Mr. Darcy and engage in an argument? What was it about the man that could set me off like a harridan at the slightest provocation?

* * *

An hour later, I broke my self-imposed exile, picked up the blanket, and lay down upon the floor. I had sat in the corner and fumed excessively, making a great show of my exasperation with frequent sighs and clearings of my throat. They had no effect upon Mr. Darcy as far as I could determine.

At length, my fit of pique lessened, and I began to study the reasoning behind our altercation. For his part, I had little idea, but as for myself, I suspected it pertained to the feelings Mr. Darcy’s embrace had evoked within me.

It would not do for me to experience any sort of attraction for the man. I had just voiced a litany of reasons — perfectly valid reasons — why he would be the last man I could ever care for, and yet my heart seemed determined to strike out on a path all its own, oblivious to my own good sense.

I feared that our imposed constant companionship had deluded me into thinking I might care for him, and that would not do. It would not do at all. It was far better to maintain our mutual dislike of each other. Far better and much safer, for I knew without a doubt that Mr. Darcy would never entertain the idea of marriage with a member of the Bennet family.

Marriage! From where had that word appeared? Impossible!

I shook my head slightly to clear away the unwelcome thought. He had made his disdain for my family’s society evident from the outset, and any fanciful ideas on my part could only end in heartbreak. Of that, I was certain. My practical nature assured me that the distance caused by our mutual anger proved the wiser choice for both of us.

Still, I had great difficulty erasing the memory of standing within his arms, the comfort I felt as my head lay cradled against his chest, and the surprising tenderness of his touch. It had stirred strange, unfamiliar sensations within me, yet I found them oddly enticing.

Something about his embrace made me feel safe, as though I had finally found my way home, and yet something about it alarmed me — an unspoken warning that I could easily be swept up in a whirlpool of emotion that might prove my undoing.

After I lay down, Mr. Darcy sat at the table a bit longer. After a while, I heard the scrape of his chair, and by the light of the moon, I watched him approach. Without a word, he lay down beside me, and I moved over, shifting the blanket so that he could share it. I was thankful for the darkness, for I feared that if our eyes should meet, he might read my thoughts.

“Elizabeth . . . you must allow me to apologize for my behaviour. It was unforgivable.”

Oh, no, do not apologize, I pleaded silently
.
How could I remain angry if he was kind?

“No more so than mine, sir. I should not have accused you in such a harsh tone. I fear that my sense of injustice sometimes overtakes my good sense.”

“We both may have spoken hastily.”

“True.”

“And it will not do for us to be enemies, for we are in great need of comradeship.”

“Indeed.”

“Then shall we make a truce? I shall not accuse you of defending those whom you know little about, if you will not blame me for their circumstances.”

But I did know the harm he had done to Mr. Wickham!

When I did not respond, he said, “Elizabeth, shall we not put off further discussion of this disagreement until we are in less precarious surroundings?”

I could agree to that. “Very well, sir.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, Mr. Darcy.” I rolled over on my side and faced the wall.

“But I would talk with you about Mr. Wickham at a later time.”

I sighed. What possible good would that do? Provoke another argument?

“Good night, sir.”

* * *

Sometime later that same night, I awakened to what sounded like gunshots!

Within moments, I heard horses snort and neigh, men shout, and doors slam. At first, I thought I was dreaming, but once I opened my eyes, I saw shadowy movements through the window.

“Mr. Dar — ”

“S-h-h!” He placed his hand over my mouth.

Quietly we both sat up, and he then rose to a standing position. Staying well within the shadows, he advanced across the room to the window and peered out, only the barest outline of his profile visible. When further movement flashed across the window, he quickly stepped back, pressing himself flat against the wall.

We heard more raised voices, and I was certain one of them belonged to the woman, Gert. Then a clattering of horses’ hooves could be heard gathering speed as though several people were riding around the house, and subsequently, into the distance. Moments later, we heard nothing at all.

Mr. Darcy chanced another look outside while I hastily stood up, smoothed my gown beneath my pelisse, and gathered up his greatcoat from the floor where he had left it.

Had someone come to rescue us?

My heart raced as I skirted the room, quickly reaching Mr. Darcy’s side. He held his finger to his lips, cautioning me to silence. There was little need, for by that time my heart was in my throat, and I could not have found breath to speak. We stood thus, listening for the slightest sound, but silence endured. Whatever had happened outside was now ended, or so it seemed.

When he nodded his head to indicate that I might look out the window with him, I crept up from my crouching position and gazed out into the night. I could see but two or three stars barely illuminate the heavily clouded, ink-coloured sky.

And then we heard footsteps outside the door! That distinct click of the key roared in my ear as it turned in the lock. I held my breath, waiting to see who would spring through the doorway! The knob on the door did not turn.

After standing motionless and waiting for some time, Mr. Darcy walked softly across the room, and I followed close behind. He placed his ear against the thick door, but we heard no footstep, voice, or movement.

“Remain behind me,” he whispered.

I nodded and watched his hand reach out to the doorknob. I thought my heart would surely leap from my chest when he slowly opened the door! The hallway appeared empty and dark, but in the distance at the end of the hall, a faint light shone, and a fire crackled and spit.

Mr. Darcy looked in both directions, and seeing the side door, he pushed against it with all his might. Alas, it was locked and would not give. There was no other way out of the cottage but through the room where Morgan and I had dined together.

Tightly clasping my hand behind him, he crept toward the light. We had just reached the doorway, when a voice called out. “Ain’t nobody here but me.”

Mr. Darcy and I slowly advanced around the corner. Gert sat on a stool by the fire, stirring the logs.

“They’re gone. You can leave.”

Mr. Darcy walked to the window and peered out, then moved back to the hall and explored it in the opposite direction.

“Where have they gone?” I asked, incredulous.

“Don’t know. Don’t care. But if you’re leavin’, now’s the time.”

Mr. Darcy returned to the room. “How long do we have before they return?”

“Like I said, don’t know, don’t care.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why are you letting us go? Will they not harm you when they come back?”

“Nate don’t touch me, and he keeps the others’ hands off me. Besides, he’s the one who give me the key.”

What did that mean? Was Morgan allowing us to leave, or could this be a trap? The questions were surely reflected in my expression.

Mr. Darcy’s eyes met mine, but there seemed to be little question in his. Quickly, he returned to the door and looked out into the night. “In what direction is the closest town, and how far away is it?”