Chapter 17

17

E lizabeth paced the length of Jane's room, keeping as quiet as she could. Her sister was finally asleep after a dose of the willow bark and a light meal. But she was concerned about Jane's pallor, and berated herself for not observing her sister sooner.

But she had been enjoying her game of chess. Mr. Darcy was obviously a good player, and was not about to give her any leeway just because she was a female.

She huffed a reluctant laugh. But then he had completely lost his way in the game and his thoughts had led him in another direction. Perhaps she ought to have pulled his attention back to the game, rather than being amused, watching his expression play out his thoughts. Although she was glad that Mr. Bingley and his sisters were all occupied at the other end of the room. She would not have wanted them to see how his thoughts tended.

And she had known exactly what he was thinking. After all, she had seen those expressions chase their way across many other men. Young Mr. Goulding and Mr. Haye were two of the most recent among many. She supposed she ought to be pleased to discover that wealthy gentlemen as well as her neighbours were as easily affected by her. But they were all the same; they never saw the real her.

She shivered; if any of them knew about Santorio and the fortune she was building with the assistance of her uncle, it would be immeasurably worse for her.

She stopped at the little writing table in the corner, and straightened out the sheets of stave paper. She could begin to write out the accompaniment for the song, at least, although working out the tune for the singer was going to need access to a pianoforte. She would have to rewrite it so that it could be sung by a soprano or mezzo-soprano, and not just a contralto. Perhaps Uncle Gardiner could publish several editions, one for each voice? Then people could feel as if they were being catered for personally.

Taking another turn around the room excitedly, Elizabeth knew she could also write for male voices, too. Not this song, of course, but others. It would be nice to be able to pay Charlotte more.

But she could not sit down to compose just at this moment. There was much to think about. Was she right in thinking that Mr. Darcy was the same as Robert Goulding or Mr. Haye? He had seemed more considerate than that, these last few days. He had even suggested a game of chess when she had said her eyes were tired.

And he had not, at any point, asked her to play for the party.

She huffed crossly at her thoughts. Of course he hadn't importuned her to play; she had not provided them with any opportunity to do so.

But he had lost himself in his thoughts and then asked her about the song. Charlotte had been correct; he was a clever man and might discover her secret if she wasn't careful.

This time she had managed to divert him with talk of her sister's fortune being as much of a risk as Jane's beauty and her own talent. But tonight, he would be thinking about it, she was sure.

She hoped above all that Jane was well enough to return home tomorrow — Elizabeth knew she must get away from here very soon. Perhaps she could pen a note to Papa in the morning; he would be happy to arrange things quickly, whereas Mama would find something amiss so Jane had to stay here longer.

Having made the decision, Elizabeth readied herself for bed and slid in carefully beside Jane.

Sleepily she recalled this afternoon, watching Mr. Darcy concentrating on the chessboard. At least he took her skill at the game seriously. And he was handsome; very, very handsome. She slipped into sleep, thinking about the unruly little curls even in the short hair at the nape of his neck. And it was dark as hers. And those dark, penetrating eyes.

Help me, Papa.

You must help me get away from here just as soon as you can. I am sure you can surmise the reason why.

I think everyone will say Jane ought to stay here, but if you bring the carriage and have it warm with many hot bricks and blankets, I know she will be all right for such a short journey in the middle of the day.

If she stays here without me, I don't think Mary would enjoy being here; Mr. Bingley's sisters would not be kind to either of them.

Please, Papa

Your loving Lizzy

Elizabeth dropped her completed letter face down onto the hall table to be sent to Longbourn, and turned into the breakfast room.

She had hurried to be early, hoping the gentlemen would still be out riding the property. She might get a peaceful breakfast with no questions.

She was fortunate; it was deserted, and the low sun shining weakly into the southeast-facing room was very welcome. Hurrying to select her breakfast, Elizabeth began drinking her tea and reached for the butter.

How long would it be before her letter was delivered to Longbourn and then Papa came for them? It might be lunchtime, and she hoped Mr. Darcy wouldn't turn the letter over and notice the Longbourn direction on it while it was still in the hall; he might ask awkward questions. She would rather be gone before they knew much about it, and have no time to be questioned on the matter.

She huffed a little laugh to herself. Mr. Bingley wouldn't even notice the letter there, and it would be quite, quite, beneath Miss Bingley to actually read the direction on a letter.

She found it relaxing to sit peacefully in this room; she was getting tired of hiding upstairs in Jane's chamber. Perhaps there was time for a second cup of tea and she would not see the gentlemen.

No. It was too much of a risk staying down here. She could make her way to the practice room upstairs instead, and be out of the way of the gentlemen, and out of Jane's room while she was still asleep. She smiled wryly; Jane always found mornings difficult. A little longer to sleep would be an advantage to her.

Upstairs, she found the practice room with little difficulty. At the end of a corridor, no one would be passing; she was quite safe. But to be doubly sure, she would entertain herself with some Beethoven, perhaps. Or maybe Handel.

She leafed through the music beside the instrument, hoping that it would be in tune, and doubting that Miss Bingley would have even remembered it was up here.

Elizabeth was fortunate. Mrs. Nicholls must arrange the tuning, because it appeared to be newly-tuned. She sat down eagerly and rippled into Handel's Gavotte in C major. It was a simple tune, and wouldn't make anyone's heart beat faster, but she could imbue it with her own feelings without seeming to change the notes.

She played happily for a while, before slipping the music of Beethoven's fourteenth Sonata in C minor onto the stand. Her face could not be seen from the door; she would be able to shut her eyes and let her fingers recall the tune.

She had missed this, and she could relax with such a quiet piece; no one would hear her.