They stopped at midday in a hollow, screened from the road by a stand of holm oaks. Goulding sent Donnelly and Simms ahead to scout, and another pair disappeared into the trees behind, watching for French patrols. Fitzwilliam knelt beside the litters, checking Lydia’s pulse, then Georgiana’s. He frowned, said nothing and rose to confer with Darcy.
Elizabeth knelt beside her sister. Lydia’s eyes fluttered open. “Is it over?” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “We’re safe for now,” Elizabeth said, brushing a strand of hair from Lydia’s forehead. “Try to rest, dearest.”
Lydia’s lips twisted in a weak attempt at a smile. “You always say that.”
Elizabeth looked away, her eyes stinging. She busied herself with the blanket, tucking it tighter around Lydia’s shoulders. She could feel Darcy watching her, but she did not look up.
The partisan passed among the men, sharing out hard bread and a little wine. Elizabeth chewed her ration, grateful for the food, though it tasted gritty and stale. She drank sparingly, knowing there was not much to go around.
As they rested, the mist began to lift, revealing the hills in all their ragged beauty. Elizabeth tried to take comfort from the view, but she could not shake the feeling of being hunted. Every crack of a twig, every sudden silence in the birdsong, set her nerves on edge.
Goulding returned from the scouts. “There’s movement on the road to the south, Colonel. Two French dragoons, maybe three. Didn’t see us, but they’re heading this way. Likely an advance party, for they seldom travel in companies of less than twenty.”
Fitzwilliam nodded. “We’ll move in ten minutes. No fires, no talking above a whisper.” His gaze swept over the company, lingering on the women. “We’re nearly to Oviedo. If we can make the old monastery by nightfall, we’ll be safe enough till dawn.”
Elizabeth’s legs ached, her feet throbbed, but she nodded. She would walk another twelve miles if it meant safety for Lydia and Georgiana.
They moved out in silence, the riflemen fanning ahead and behind, rifles ready. The partisans led the way, their steps sure and silent. Elizabeth stumbled once, catching her foot on a root, and Darcy’s hand was there, steadying her. She met his eyes, saw his concern, and managed a tired smile.
“I’m quite all right,” she whispered. He nodded, but did not let go until she held her footing.
The afternoon dragged on, the path winding through forests and across meadows studded with wildflowers. The sun brokethrough the clouds, bringing a brief warmth, but the company did not pause. They skirted another ruined hamlet, its well choked with weeds. In the distance, the faint beat of hooves echoed, and the company pressed themselves into a ditch until the sound faded.
Elizabeth lost all sense of time. She walked, and walked, and walked, her mind empty but for the rhythm of her steps and the weight of her worry. Once, she glanced back and saw Lydia’s eyes on her, full of pain; the girl smiled. The sight gave her strength.
At last, as the sun dipped low, the partisan raised a hand. They had reached a small copse near a stream, sheltered by a stand of ancient elms and oaks. Fitzwilliam signalled for a halt, and the riflemen fanned out to set a perimeter. Goulding directed the men to lift the litters from their shoulders, lowering Lydia and Georgiana gently to the ground.
Elizabeth dropped to her knees, too tired to stand. She watched as Darcy and Fitzwilliam conferred with the partisans, their voices low. The riflemen moved like ghosts among the trees, setting pickets and checking their weapons.
Night fell quickly. The women huddled together, wrapped in their woollen skirts, sharing what warmth they could. Elizabeth listened to the murmur of the stream, the distant call of an owl. She felt the fear recede, replaced by exhaustion.
Darcy knelt beside her, offering a battered tin cup of water. “You should rest,” he said, his voice gentle.
Elizabeth took the cup, her hand shaking. “I will, when I can.”
He smiled, a rare thing, and for a moment she saw the man behind the mask, not the soldier he had become.
She drank, then handed the cup back. “Will we be safe here?”
“For tonight,” he said. “Tomorrow we move again.”
She nodded, drawing her knees to her chest. She watched as Fitzwilliam paced the perimeter. Goulding settled beside the riflemen, speaking quietly. The partisans sat together, sharing a pipe, their faces shadowed in the moonlight.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, listening to the quiet. In her mind, she saw Longbourn’s green lawns, heard the laughter of children. She clung to the memory, letting it warm her against the chill of the night.
She did not know what tomorrow would bring—if the French would find them, if Lydia and Georgiana would recover, if they would ever reach safety. But for now, they were together, and that was enough. She drifted into sleep, the sound of the stream in her ears.
* * *
Elizabeth awoke to the hushed voices of the party, who were quickly gathering their belongings, checking their rifles, and preparing to depart.
“Miss Bennet, we must leave. A column of chasseurs has been seen along the road, and they may decide to investigate the old monastery.” Colonel Fitzwilliam assisted Elizabeth to her feet. Already, Lydia and Georgiana had been placed in their litters.
The weather was still grey and overcast, with wind now coming from the west. They turned off the main track, following a narrow path which traced a small stream. The banks were steep and rocky, and the riflemen carrying the litters began to slip on the muddy path, which was strewn with rough stones, shards broken off the cliffs above. Suddenly, they emerged from the shrub-lined gully onto an open meadow, covered with tall grasses and wild flowers. To the east stood a long line of hills, a mountain range behind, gleaming pink in the sunlight of dawn,the clouds beginning to clear. The view was soon lost, the path now zigzagging up a steep, boulder-strewn hillside covered with ferns and low scrub.
After an hour, Don Mateo called a halt. Elizabeth slumped to the ground. Darcy sat next to her. “My apologies, Miss Bennet, but we took to the road before you had breakfasted. I thought to let you sleep, for yesterday you were quite exhausted.”
“If you have a flask, a little water would be welcome.” Darcy passed Elizabeth his flask together with hard cheese and a crust of bread.
