“No, I am scared by the fury Mr Darcy betrays at every step.”
“It is natural. Colonel Fitzwilliam is like his brother,” her sister endeavoured to console her.
“I know; yet I would rather behold him vehement than heated. I cannot well explain it. My fear is not of the dangers that may await us, but of his manner when confronted by that lady.”
“He will not kill her—”
“Assuredly not; yet he may endanger our very mission by uttering unguarded words, as he once did in Kent.”
“No, Kent lies far behind us, and that man exists no longer. You have changed him. Place your trust in him!”
Chapter 18
They departed not long after sunrise, leaving a town whose daily labours had begun long before. Elizabeth had risen much earlier still, fearful that the maid might not arrive in time. She paced her chamber with impatience, glancing now and again into the street where carriages already passed.
She was at once elated and apprehensive. However urgent their principal errand, she could not but rejoice in the prospect of travelling with Darcy, though at every moment she feared they might fail in saving the colonel.
At last, a carriage stopped before the house, and Darcy stepped down. With her heart beating with astonishing swiftness, she hastened down the stairs as she had often done at Longbourn. She could almost hear her mother’s voice reproving her—That is no way to behave, young lady—but that morning she cared for no such scoldings. A footman opened the door, and, helped by her future husband, she climbed in, smiling at his eyes, which were avidly caressing her.
They travelled in contented silence, Mr Gardiner dozing in a corner, while Darcy pointed out to her the extraordinary colours of the sunrise.
“We shall see many such dawns, my dear,” he murmured, in that persuasive tone she had learnt so well in the mere two days of their betrothal. Her calm and affectionate look showed that she did not wholly comprehend the import of his words; and, after casting a glance at Mr Gardiner to be assured of his continued slumber, he fixed his gaze upon her. “There will be little sleep at the beginning of our marriage.”
He delighted in the blush that rose to her cheeks at his boldness. He had believed her to be wiser, but it seemed her experience was confined to the realm of books. She knew little of the particulars of married life, which was plain in the innocent manner in which she allowed him to discover her. His Elizabeth was truly pure, and the knowledge had given him unfeigned pleasure from the first time he kissed her. He had been the first man to part her lips, the first—by accident at first—to touch her beautiful bosom, and he dreamt of the moment when her whole form would yield its secrets. Elizabeth perceived the disturbing ardour of his eyes. Still, she was far from imagining that the gentleman before her was picturing her without her gown.
Now, my dears,” said Mr Gardiner as he awoke, “let us speak of the plan.”
Darcy bowed his head, for their journey had already been set out with care. He wished not to trouble Elizabeth, though he feared it might become dangerous. Thus, two of his men had gone ahead, in the company of a certain Mr Watson, a member of the Bow Street Runners.
“Bow Street Runners?” Elizabeth asked, her curiosity for a moment overcoming the worries that pressed upon her. “Do they truly exist? I have read of them, yet I thought the name but an invention, fit for tales of mystery.”
“No, I assure you, it is a real and active body, though one must know how to seek it,” Darcy explained and encouraged by her curiosity he continued to give her explanations hoping to appease her discomfort. “It was formed in the last century under magistrate Henry Fielding, attached to Bow Street Magistrates’ Court in London, and employed in the pursuit of offenders throughout the kingdom.”
“Offenders!” cried Elizabeth, suddenly aware that, if they judged rightly, Miss Henry and her family were indeed offenders, breaking the law as any other criminal. “Pray continue,” she murmured, drawn on by a thread she scarce knew whether of fear or of concern.
“Mr Watson took charge of the matter the moment I told him our story, and he arranged every step of our journey with care.
“We shall stop at Crawley, which lies about halfway between London and Eastbourne. It is a prosperous coaching station where many travellers from the coast take rest. There are good inns, and we shall remain there the night. Mr Watson had already secured suitable lodgings for us, and we shall have a message from him at each station out of London. If we depart in the morning, after breakfast, we should arrive in Eastbourne by five o’clock.”
This was the easy part of their journey, which had been carefully prepared.
“What did Lord Matlock discover in Southampton?” asked Mr Gardiner. “Did the message from Mr Phillips avail him?”
“The news was not encouraging. The house had stood empty for some months, the blinds drawn, and no one could offer more concerning the owners.”
“But who are they?” Elizabeth enquired.
“That is the curious part. Until last summer, the Henry family inhabited the house—father, mother, and, as a neighbour described her, ‘the young lady with the splendid hair’.”
“But they knew nothing further? It is most unusual. Neighbours are generally well informed.”
“So it had been with the Barringtons, but both died, and the young family was less sociable. They travelled often and did not cultivate acquaintance in the neighbourhood.”
“Do we know that Mr Henry is still alive?”
“My uncle had the foresight to ask whether Sophia’s husband were the same as in her youth, and the neighbour was certain he was. Mr Henry was known for his taciturnity; he gave a curt greeting and had no further intercourse with any of them.”
“At least we may prove that Miss Henry lied in declaring her father dead. I wonder how she meant to reconcile this after marriage? Would she have cast him off forever?”
