Lady Matlock, who had never bothered to acquaint herself with her niece, could only purse her lips in frustration—that Felicity was chattering animatedly with George Darcy at the far end of the table, and that Anne was talking amiably with Fitzwilliam at the other.
“Mr. Bingley, a long time since we met, in the year ‘02?” said Mr. Darcy, after the ladies had retired and the gentlemen were partaking of port and cigars.
“Indeed, sir, it was ‘02, before the Lent term at Cambridge.” He cleared his throat, coughing slightly, possiblyfrom Hurst having lit a cigar—none of the other men had the habit. “I intended to take up residence in an estate I leased in Hertfordshire. However, after the recent heavy rains, a bridge required repair and my removal has been delayed by a month. Dashed awkward, really.”
“Yes, we’ve similar problems with bridges on the estate. But Derbyshire seems a long way from Hertfordshire. Are you on your way north? For I recall that was where your family resided.”
“An aunt remains in Scarborough, but the truth of the matter is my sister, Caroline, did not wish to return to London and thought to come here. We hope not to inconvenience you, particularly as you already have guests, but Darcy did extend an invitation…”
“Ah, I understand. No inconvenience—‘tis almost a house party. Do you return to Hertfordshire, or do you intend to continue to Scarborough?”
Bingley was pinned down and admitted he hoped to remain at Pemberley for some three weeks, until the end of October. For Mr. Darcy, the issue only assisted Fitzwilliam and himself—Miss Bingley certainly had claws; though whether there were pigeons was yet to be seen.
Darcy saw he was closely watched by Miss Bingley, and he could not speak a word, especially to Felicity, without calling her attention. The lady was at a great disadvantage. Cousin Anne was an heiress, but she appeared pale and sickly; her features, though not plain, were insignificant. Miss Bingley considered herself the handsomest woman in the room; thus, she felt no competition from that quarter.
On the other hand, Lady Felicity was very pretty and well-dowered, being the daughter of an earl. Moreover, Darcy had an easy relationship with her. That Lady Matlock, a countess, was pushing the match seemed an insurmountable challengeto Miss Bingley’s ambitions.
Darcy watched her face as her resolve hardened. Once again, Sun Tzu sprang to mind—keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Glancing conspiratorially at his father, who was occupied with Mr. Hurst, he stepped up to Miss Bingley, intending to engage her in conversation. Immediately, however, Lady Matlock called to him, and he was obliged to attend to her. Lady Catherine then demanded his presence, expounding on Anne’s remarkable skill at cassino, and asking why card tables had not been set up for the enjoyment of his guests.
Thus the evening dragged on until all were exhausted by thepas de quatre—Darcy,le danseur noble;andles danseuses,Lady Felicity, Miss de Bourgh, and Miss Bingley.
Chapter 39
Mbotyi River, September 20, 1813
They climbed, always climbing, to the ridge above the beach. Bumper enthusiastically ran ahead, chasing animals through the surrounding scrubby bush. For Elizabeth, his company was a delight, and seeing his boundless energy lightened her burdens. But the going was slow and hard, for the trail was indistinct and often disappeared completely, sometimes forcing her to backtrack when they came to a gully too steep, or the scrub was impassable.
Perhaps they should walk further inland, away from the rocky coast? But the aggression of the boys the day before and her fear of meeting more decided her against seeking the more open land beyond the escarpment. Thus the day became a monotony of traipsing across small beaches, climbing steep ridges, traversing rocky headlands, and then descending once again, losing all the height they had so painstakingly gained. On the beaches, she encouraged Ellie to remove her sandals, for their feet were soft. If toughened by the sand, she hoped their journey would become easier.
They spent the night next to another lagoon, which disappeared into a steep-sided gully. The outlet cut close to the headland, and they were forced to slide down a steep slope, landing in water some three feet deep, almost to Ellie’s neck. She kept her grip on the fire pot, but it was submerged, the coals spluttering and steaming.
Her eyes red from her tears, Ellie removed the lid of the pot—just sodden charcoal. “I’m so sorry, Lizzie, the fire’s gone out.”
“Oh, my sweetling, ‘tis not your fault. We’ve a flint andtinder safe in the knapsack.” She pulled Ellie close, holding her tight. “Under those trees there’s soft grass where we’ll make our camp. Perhaps I could take the guitar, and we can sing some lovely songs. Do you knowBaby Bunting?”
A half hour later, Bumper came bounding up. Ellie shrieked. “What’s that in his mouth? Oh, the poor thing—a rabbit, just like Baby Bunting’s.”
He dropped the hare in front of Elizabeth. “Bumper, you clever dog. Ellie, we’ll have rabbit stew for dinner, and tomorrow, you’ll have soft, furry boots for your feet.”
After the meal, sitting quietly by the fire, she watched the distant clouds above the horizon turn first pink, then grey, and finally fade from sight. There was a chill that the warm tea failed to dispel. How she wished to curl up, fall asleep, and have William find her, a great Indiaman coming to anchor just offshore. He would gently carry her to the captain’s barge; the crew chanting as they rowed out to the vessel; swung aboard, carried to an impossibly wide cot; falling asleep in his arms; waking with the sun pouring through the windows of their villa in Sydney… or their house at St. Andrews… or the master’s suite at Pemberley…
Or reflected off the cold, damp sand of the African shore.
That morning, avoiding a steep gully, they were forced to march further inland. Cresting a hill, they saw men, women, and children standing outside a homestead, silently waiting for them to pass. The women, adorned with beaded necklaces, aprons, and red blankets, waved as they came in sight, then giggled when she and Ellie waved back. She relaxed, letting go of the tension that had plagued her since the assault by spear-boy.
A small girl, perhaps five or six years old, ran down the slope towards them. Hesitantly, she removed her necklace and placed it over Ellie’s head. Then, as quickly as she had come, the child ran back to the village. As before, a lone voice began chanting; the accompanying rhythmic beat of drums grew in volume until all of the homestead were clapping and singing.
What beautiful people. Elizabeth could not help but smile. Then, turning to follow the trail that led back towards the broken cliffs and gullies, the singing and drums slowly faded until she was left with only the rustle of the wind, the roar of the waves breaking against the shore, and Bumper’s excited bark as he sprung yet another hare from cover.
The day was hard—as always—yet she was determined to push on as far as they could. Still, truth be told, it was a relief when they came to a broad river, three hundred yards across, flowing ever so strongly with brown, silt-laden water, and too deep to wade. A challenge for yet another day.
***
“We could build a boat; then crossing the river would be easy.” Ellie looked hopefully at Elizabeth.
“We’ve only two knives. Building a boat requires chisels, mallets, saws—we’ve none of those. But there’s plenty of wood. So your suggestion is excellent. We’ll build not a boat, but a raft.”
“Did Robinson Crusoe build a raft? Was there a picture?” Ellie burst into tears. The book was left in their cabin on theGrosvenor.
