10. Questions at the Inn

CHAPTER 10

Questions at the Inn

J ane stifled a groan as she stepped out of Mr Bingley's fine carriage. The vehicle was well sprung and the seats adequately cushioned and as comfortable as such could possibly be, but after a seemingly endless day of travel, she had little desire ever to go further than the end of the drive again. Her back ached, her legs were stiff from sitting, and her knees hurt when she walked.

Any excitement she might have felt when they began this journey had long since faded into misery. Their travels had been slower than she hoped, and their inquiries either fruitless or distressing.

They had left early in the morning after Mr Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam's arrival at Longbourn, their trunks minimally packed to keep the carriage light and the horses quick. With no word from the posting inn where Elizabeth had been taken, other than the regretful return of the two servants left there, the colonel announced they would go directly to the inn where Elizabeth had written her letter. He had assumed command of this operation, and the others, for lack of anything better to suggest, had tacitly agreed.

At least , Jane had thought, somebody is capable of making decisions and doing something . The colonel had ridden postern for this first part of the journey, leaving Jane inside the carriage with her father and their new neighbour. Nobody seemed inclined to conversation at this early hour, and she was grateful when they arrived at their destination some hours later.

The colonel strode into the place and requested in polite, but firm, terms to speak with the innkeeper. The man might have been awed by the colonel's flashing brass, or by the silver in his purse, or perhaps only wished to help, but he offered up what information he could whilst the travellers took a quick meal.

"Aye, I remember them, of course I do. The lady was pretty enough to catch the eye, if you'll forgive me for saying so…" His eyes flickered to Jane and his mouth narrowed in appreciation. "Kin to this lovely lady, I'll wager. Hard to forget. And the request for her to have a room alone and then get the coach on the morrow was out of the usual. But ‘twas what happened next that stays in the memory."

The man gave a very definite nod and folded his arms across a thick chest.

"Do go on, sir," the colonel requested. "And perhaps another cheese pie? Thank you, my good fellow."

The innkeeper made a gesture to someone for the pie and resumed his tale.

"This is a busy tavern, being at the crossroads and all. The post comes through, and we have horses and good rooms, and ample ale. Your lady was with a rather rough-smelling man, all filthy and ragged, but he talked like a nob—like you, come to think about it—and she did not seem afraid of him. Friendly-like, rather. They had their tea and were about to set off when another gent walks up to them with a knife, trying to push the nob out the door."

Jane could not stifle a gasp, but the innkeeper paid her no heed and kept talking. He seemed to relish this audience.

"The next thing I know, the young lady grabs a tray and cracks him—the one with the knife, that is—a good blow on the head, and then fists are flying and ale is splashing everywhere, with shouting and cursing and all manner of bad behaviour, and in the middle of it all, your two fly out the door and are gone, before the other cove gets himself off the floor and out of the ruckus."

"Do you mean to say," Mr Bennet asked, "that our Lizzy started a tavern brawl? Her mother will be most put out."

Beside Jane, the colonel barked out a guffaw whilst Mr Bingley stood quite still, only his eyes blinking rapidly. Oh heavens! What must he think?

"Then your daughter, it seems," the colonel replied in a calm voice, "was quite well, as were your horses when they left. Well, we know they were here. The question now remains where, exactly, they went afterwards."

The innkeeper could offer no more information, and he was compensated from the colonel's pockets for some of the spilt ale. Neither could any of the stable hands say where the carriage went, only that it tore out of the yard faster than any driver ought to go, and disappeared around the curve before they could see which way it turned at the crossroad.

"Now we know why Miss Elizabeth did not return home as planned," Colonel Fitzwilliam stated as they reclaimed their own carriage. "And so, our search continues. Onward, friends, towards Wales."

Thus, the journey progressed. The colonel bade the coach driver to stop at every inn and toll house they came upon, there to ask whether there had been anyone passing through answering the description of Elizabeth or Mr Darcy. But none had seen a gentleman in torn clothing, or a young woman in distress, or a carriage that might have been the Bennets'.

"I do not hold much hope for anyone to have noticed the carriage," Jane's father protested after one such stop. "It is black and neither very old nor very new, and is quite unremarkable in every way, other than that it holds my Lizzy. Ask away, young man, but I do not expect you will find much joy in the answers."

Similarly, asking after Mr Wickham seemed fruitless. Who, after all, would take notice of a single man riding through on horseback, or in some sort of conveyance, when the entire business of these establishments was to cater to exactly such men. Likewise, if he had a companion with him, so did hundreds of others each day. He would have been perfectly unexceptional.

"What does he look like?" Jane asked. "Would it be of any help to describe him?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam scratched his head. "He is said to be handsome, but I never saw it. His features are, I suppose, of the sort that many women appreciate. He is just above average height, with light hair and blue eyes, exactly like so many other men in England. He is about thirty years of age, so remarkable neither for being very young nor very old, and he is likely dressed in presentable clothing suitable for a long journey…"

"Exactly like so many other men passing through these inns." Jane sighed. "Yes, I see the problem. A man, looking much like many other men, alone or in company, travelling through busy posting inns. It is the proverbial needle in the haystack."

"And my Lizzy," her father added with a sigh, "is no closer to being found."

By the time the sad party arrived at Northampton, where the Colonel proposed they spend the night, Jane was exhausted. Conversation in the carriage had been sporadic, neither lively enough to keep her interest nor sparse enough to allow her to drift into her thoughts and focused on the sole topic of how to discover and rescue Elizabeth and Mr Darcy. Few personal topics had been touched upon, and Mr Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam were almost as much strangers to Jane now as they had been when their journey began. It had been an uncomfortable ride in every manner of the word.

At last, the coach rattled into the hotel's courtyard. Colonel Fitzwilliam had sent a rider ahead to secure rooms and arrange for someone to care for the horses, and a stable hand and servant were both standing ready to greet them, along with a tall man in military garb.

"We are frequent guests here," the colonel explained. "I will vouch for the quality of the accommodations."

If his family hunted often in Wales, they must come this way regularly. But how odd to have a receiving party waiting. They must be good customers, indeed!

But this was no time for musing. Jane was far too anxious to move after a day confined in this small rattling cage, and they finally rolled to a stop, not a moment too soon.

They all but tumbled out of the carriage, each more eager to move than the other.

The colonel leapt out first and shook the hand of the tall soldier, and then clapped him on the shoulders in a much more familiar manner. The soldier gave Colonel Fitzwilliam a momentary grin before turning a more serious face to greet the others.

"My assistant, Major Hawarden," the colonel explained, forgoing formal introductions for the moment. "I asked him to meet us here. He might be of use."

Jane was pleased enough for the lapse of perfect propriety. She only wished to move her aching feet.

Still, she had not gone three steps when her foot began to tingle, and then exploded in a blizzard of irritated pain. She gasped and stumbled.

The colonel, who was only a step behind her, was at her side in an instant.

"Miss Bennet! What is wrong? Are you injured?"

Oh, so much ado for so inconsequential a problem. She started to laugh before another jolt of pain seared her foot. She sucked in a rush of air to keep from crying out.

"No, I am perfectly well. Just my foot seems to have gone numb, from sitting still for so long, I think. It is only pins and needles. A few minutes are all I need, and I shall be quite back to normal."

"Minutes? No, you cannot stand out here in the middle of the yard for minutes. You must be inside, on a soft chair, until the tingles end. Allow me."

"But sir!" Jane began to protest.

At her side, Mr Bingley sputtered some unintelligible syllables, before he, too, began to gush concern for Jane's plight.

"My poor Miss Bennet! Can you hop? Lean upon my arm. No, let me support you like a crutch."

"A crutch? My good fellow," the colonel protested, "we cannot have Miss Bennet hop through the courtyard like a one-legged rabbit. Unthinkable. Now…"

And in a moment, without a by-your-leave, Colonel Fitzwilliam had swept her up into his arms and carried her across the width of the courtyard and into the inn, as if she weighed no more than a light coat, her protests nothing against his insistence that she sit.

"I know it is no severe injury, but this is something with which I can help; please allow me to do so. Here," he said as he settled her on an empty chair in the front vestibule. "Sit until your foot has stopped hurting, and we shall say nothing more of it. Your good father and our friend Mr Bingley will attest that this is the best course of action."

Her father let out a resigned sigh and rolled his eyes. "Very well," he stated after a moment. "The colonel is correct. You will be fine in a minute or two. Ten if you wish for more attention. I can call for salts if you desire."

"Papa!" Jane let out an indignant exclamation, and her parent tutted in response.

But Mr Bingley just glared at the colonel, for no reason that Jane could imagine.

Elizabeth and Will departed once more at dawn, the weather no better than the day before. They followed a level path along the River Usk through the Beacons to the town of Brecon, where they took a mid-day rest, and then began their slow journey northward. The mountains should have been beautiful, but too many long days and poor meals, and too few hours of sleep, rendered the splendour of the countryside meaningless. The rain grew harder as the hills grew steeper, and all too soon, Dobbin declared, in his own way, that they could go no further that day.

Will tried to coax him forward with their last apple, and Elizabeth too climbed off the bench to talk to the exhausted beast and lead him along, but it was clear they would make no more distance that day. There were no villages that could be seen ahead, and once again, no other traffic on this quiet lane that wound its way northward.

"Trees. All we see are trees." Will's voice was as tired as Dobbin's legs. "I am sorry, Elizabeth. You deserve better. Let us try to lead this fellow off the road and under some of these many trees. We have some food left, but it will be an unpleasant night."

The rain had lightened a bit, and the roads were hard packed enough not to be mud at this high point on their route. Elizabeth pulled her make-do canvas cape about her and walked down the road a few paces. Something caught her eye, and she called to Will.

"I think I see a path here, leading into the woods. It might be just wide enough for the cart. It will get us off the road, at least. Shall we see where it leads?"

Will did not answer, but grabbed the reins and managed to lead the weary horse in her direction.

The path led a few hundred yards into the trees where it opened up into a small clearing, at the back of which stood an old wooden shack, seemingly abandoned. A rough shelter leaned against it, the roof providing some protection from the rain, the two walls sheltering the space from the wind. It would do very well for Dobbin if they had to spend the night here, and there was even enough room for the cart if they pushed it up against the side.

The burble of running water suggested a stream very nearby, and a short walk behind the shack proved this to be so. It was not Milden Hall, but after two days of driving in the rain, it looked beautiful to Elizabeth's tired eyes.

Will knocked at the door, and then, when there was no response, pressed upon it. It swung open, revealing a single room, larger than Elizabeth had expected, with a table, two chairs, and two cots against one wall. There was a fireplace along the side wall closest to the door, and two shuttered windows, one facing the front and the other the back of the hut. From the dust on the floor, no one had been in the place for several months.

But what caught her attention was not the little set of shelves beside the door that held some tin plates and knives and two iron pots that would fit over the fire, nor the rough trunk by the beds that, when opened, revealed some heavy blankets, but rather, the assortment of tools lying against the corner between the window and fireplace.

"It's somebody's hunting box," Will exclaimed when he followed her gaze. "Look, a small axe, a bow and some arrows, and some traps. Rabbits, probably. Nothing dangerous, thank the heavens. We shall be safe in here until Dobbin decides to walk again. Why do you not see if you can make us comfortable for the evening, whilst I see about feeding the horse. I believe we have enough hay if he cannot find suitable grazing. Ah, there is a bucket as well. I shall try to get some water from the stream."

He took the metal pail and set off to do his chores.

There was little enough to do. The rain had, by now, stopped falling, and weak sunlight slid through the cracks in the shutters. Elizabeth threw them open to allow fresh air and light into the room, dispelling some of the dampness and the scent of old dust. There was a flint and steel knife on the shelf with the implements, and a few minutes work set a little fire burning in the hearth. The wood was a bit wet and it smoked, but it burned steadily enough for now, and they could find more logs later.

Then she shook out the blankets and draped them over the backs of the chairs to air out, before further examining the hunting equipment in the corner. This was something she knew about from time misspent in the woods (according to her mother) back at Longbourn. The bow was old but still strong and flexible, and the string needed only a bit of tightening. She fingered the few arrows and tested their tips, a smile on her face.

When Will returned a while later, it was to find her sharpening one of the knives, with the bow and arrows on the table.

"Elizabeth? What are you doing?"

She turned a beaming smile towards him. "Preparing dinner, of course."

The look on his face was enough to widen her grin. He did not seem the sort of man to be often perplexed, but the expression was eloquent.

"We have a few pieces of bread left," she explained, "which we might wish to keep for breakfast. For dinner, I hope you like roasted rabbit."