Chapter 51

51

T wo days later, the Bennet coach turned into the drive at Longbourn. Papa was there to greet them, and Elizabeth thought she had never been so glad to come home before.

Perhaps she might even have time for a quick call at the cottage with Charlotte — how she longed to be alone with an instrument. With only a se'ennight until the wedding, Elizabeth knew she was not likely to have many chances to get away from the house.

During the greetings, she caught Papa's eye, and his amusement told her that he understood her very well. And it was less than two hours later that Charlotte arrived.

Stephens was behind them as they walked briskly up the hill, and Elizabeth tucked her arm tightly into Charlotte's. "Oh, it is so good to see you again! What was it like when we were gone? Did you have to be terribly careful about the soldiers?"

Charlotte laughed quietly. "It was not so bad, Eliza. Only that we hardly went out. But yesterday evening, all the militia were gone and we heard that the deserter had been accounted for. I knew you would be anxious to get back to the cottage, and then your father's note arrived this morning, saying that I was to present myself at Longbourn after lunch, and here I am!"

"Charlotte!" Elizabeth was mortified. "Papa did not order you to come, did he? I will have to have words with him as soon as I get home."

"No, you will not. It was an amusing note, and obvious it was quite droll and not at all commanding." She squeezed Elizabeth's arm. "I have to say I am quite as anxious as you to get away from home by now."

"Have you been working on songs?" Elizabeth shivered. "I have so much music inside me, I cannot wait to get to the instrument — although it may take a while to warm up in there. This year is very cold."

"I believe your father came this morning and set the fire. It may not be as bad as all that."

Elizabeth gaped at her friend. "He did that? He must have been very sure of me — and you."

Charlotte laughed. "With your whole family in town with you, I expect you could not get as much done there as you would have wished."

"True. I have begun work on several pieces, but I need to get them checked and adjusted and then written out." She shrugged. "I had hoped this batch would be ready to give Uncle when they are down for the wedding, but I will have to send them later by mail coach as usual."

She hesitated. "There is something else I want to tell you." Did she really want to? "But I do not want it becoming public knowledge — unless Mama has noticed," she said gloomily, "and then everyone will know."

Charlotte's eyebrows went up. "You do not have to tell me unless you wish to."

"I do want to, but I am not sure how I want you to respond."

Her friend raised her brows, and they both laughed.

"Oh, very well, then. Mr. Darcy has asked consent to call on me. He said he wanted to prove he is a better man than I thought him."

"You have surprised me, Eliza. You would not have told me if you had refused, and although I thought he was going to ask, I was certain you would refuse."

"You thought he would ask?"

"Certainly. The way he looked at you was different to the way all those other men looked at you. I believe he saw the real you; the one who does not want to be possessed, pandered to, and patronised!"

Elizabeth stared at her. That was not the response she had been expecting. "I have to say he has been quite interesting when he has called. And has only mentioned music once, and changed the subject quickly when he noticed I wasn't happy."

"There you are, then." Charlotte looked sly. "I will be interested to see how he is with you at the wedding. I presume he will be there?"

Elizabeth nodded, but happily they had reached the cottage, and she fished the key out of her reticule, glad she did not have to answer.

Within an hour, it was as if they had never been away. The cottage had been reasonably warm, and Papa had seen the woodpile was stacked high; Elizabeth was utterly grateful.

She had treated herself with half-an-hour of just playing; faster and faster, until her pent-up needs had been satisfied. Then she looked up.

"Charlotte, have you a moment to listen to this? It the one I called Hope's Beginning , remember? A piece to follow the March of Hope ?"

"Good," Charlotte nodded. "It needs a follow-on piece."

Elizabeth began playing, but half-way through, she stopped. "No, that's not going to work." She scribbled on her notes. "I'll have to work on that a bit more. Why does everything always sound different than it did in my head?"

"Stop complaining, Eliza. Just be thankful that most of the time it does sound well." And her friend nodded. "It is good, and definitely can be understood to be a follow-on from the first one. When you've changed that little bit, it will be very successful."

"Good." Elizabeth tried a few snatches of melody. "There. I can work on that tonight."

She turned to Charlotte. "Now I want us to work on the song. You know, the one about following the drum. I think I've got the style of music right, and I wondered how you were progressing with the words."

"Not too badly." Her friend pulled a few sheets of paper from her reticule. "It needs us to work them over together with the tune, of course. Can you play what you have so far? Then I can make tea and we'll sit over a pastry and work on it."

An hour later, they had begun to pull the song together. "Yes, that first part needs to show more — well, almost hero-worship as well as longing in the tune," Elizabeth said thoughtfully, and hummed a changed melody.

"That's good," Charlotte scribbled a sentence, "and the words red coat and dazzling breeches repeated at the end of every stanza! I just have to imagine it is young girls like Maria and Lydia singing them!"

Elizabeth laughed. "I am very glad they will not know it is us writing this."

Charlotte changed the subject abruptly. "Will Mr. Darcy call tomorrow? Will we have to do half-days in future?"

Elizabeth frowned. "I don't know. Well, not tomorrow, anyway. He cannot come here until his sister is better. So, if you can spare the time for the day tomorrow it would help because it will become difficult next week, being closer to the wedding, of course."

She was calmer in the evening; the chance to play, unworried about being overheard, had been a great blessing, and she could sit and dream about what still needed to be done, and changes to be made.

But, unaccountably, she found her thoughts tending towards Mr. Darcy and the occasions that he had called on her in town.