7. Whither Shall We Wander?

CHAPTER 7

Whither Shall We Wander?

B y the time the sky was fully bright, Darcy and Elizabeth had put five miles or more between them and Milden Hall, and—hopefully—George Wickham. They spoke little, but when Elizabeth reached into the basket and pulled out a soft roll to offer him, Darcy took it with gratitude. Gratitude for Mrs Abbot's thoughtfulness and care, gratitude for another day out of Wickham's clutches, and, oddly, gratitude for this young lady seated beside him, delicately chewing on her own breakfast.

An added responsibility she might be, and he would certainly make better time without her, but her presence lightened his load, even though it added to hers. He glanced at her now, as if for the first time. He had distractedly considered her somewhat pretty the previous day, but the benefit of a reasonable sleep and a calmer mind now allowed him to refine his thoughts. A few errant chestnut ringlets escaped the confines of the large bonnet she wore atop her head, framing expressive brows over fine, thickly lashed eyes. Were they brown or dark green? Suddenly he longed to know, to see them smiling at him in the glory of full sunlight.

But his eyes lingered on her lips, plump and rosy pink, with a cupid's bow and a curve at the bottom that seemed shaped to smile. Even in repose, her expression was one of concealed satisfaction, and his own mouth began to twitch into a shy grin in response, despite the desperate circumstances under which they now found themselves. It would be too easy to fall into an easy friendship with his unsought companion. But he recalled then those same lips spewing invectives upon him only the previous morning, and he schooled his thoughts.

Still, she was a balm at this moment with her calm presence and soft smile, and when Darcy turned to her and uttered a simple "Thank you," they both knew it was not only for the food.

"Where are we going now?" Elizabeth asked after another mile or so. "You were watching the sun yesterday to head north, but now, from what I see, we are travelling west, and perhaps a bit south."

Pleasant company, and observant. He was pleased once more that she was here. What would he have made of her, he wondered, had they met in more conventional circumstances? Perhaps over tea, or at a ball. But no! He scoffed at the very notion. She had said her father was a gentleman; therefore, they might be equals in official rank. But in the eyes of society, he was as far above her as a bishop to a church mouse. She, from what he had seen and heard, associated with minor gentry and wealthy tradesmen in a small market town near nowhere. He, on the other hand, dined with dukes and bishops, and called an earl his grandfather.

He doubted he would ever have found himself in company with her, let alone lower himself to form an acquaintance. The loss, he realised with a shudder, would have been entirely his.

Perhaps there was something to crawling out of inn windows and hiding in a muck cart that put new perspectives on one's place in the world. Considering how he appeared yesterday, it was a miracle that Elizabeth had deigned to speak to him at all!

But speak to him she did, and she was now awaiting his answer to her question about the direction of their path.

"You are correct; we are heading southwest. I have been considering what I know of George Wickham, and what he expects me to do. He remembered Julian Strand as well as I did and judged that his home might be my first attempt at refuge. He will likewise guess that I deem heading northward to Pemberley in Derbyshire too predictable, and therefore will consider other places I might go. Of course, that makes Pemberley an option after all, but it is still too risky, for he may have his minions lying in wait along the route."

Wickham had his fingers in many pies, most of them rotten. He knew the sort who would set upon a stranger for the pure pleasure of it. Darcy shook off that thought with a mental shudder.

"My other chosen destination, he will consider, and the one which is my ultimate goal, is my uncle's hunting lodge in the north of Wales. It is there that we are going."

Elizabeth gave him a look that, had she been his governess, would have sent him back to his desk to repeat his work. "As you mentioned yesterday. Then why, sir, are we travelling south?"

"You are too clever for me, Miss Bennet. Wickham will assume we will take the most direct route there, and will wait for me along the way, I am certain. But as a young man I spent some summers tramping through Wales with my cousin before he took his commission, and this, Wickham does not know. I learned to love the countryside and I found my paths through the hills and the vales. If we go south now and come up through the valleys, he will not find us. Therefore, instead of passing by Birmingham, I propose heading towards Gloucester and then towards the Brecons before turning northward again, perhaps at Abergavenny."

Elizabeth blinked. "That will take us a great deal of time."

"I can think of no alternative. There are lesser-travelled paths and diversions that we will take, and he cannot watch them all; therefore, knowing him, he will watch none. I would not have you come to harm." He spoke more warmly than he should—indeed, he was often said to be cold and aloof—but something about her warmed his soul. It must, he reckoned, be their joint peril. "You are no wilting daisy. You are made of tougher stuff than that. I will do what I can to keep you comfortable."

"And I will not complain as some do when my creature comforts are less than I would like to expect. I suspect I may surprise you, Will. Very well. We have no choice, so let us ride."

They travelled with grim determination that day. The borrowed conveyance was surprisingly agile on the rough country lanes. The wagon was lighter than the carriage and held almost no cargo other than Darcy and Elizabeth and the few belongings they could carry out of Milden Hall. Dobbin seemed to have no problems pulling it along, one tireless mile after the next.

They found small inns in smaller villages to take refreshments and allow the horse his rest, and avoided the busier roads. It was not the fastest Darcy had ever travelled, but he was willing to sacrifice speed for security, and Elizabeth was of the same mind. More than once, he offered to send another missive to her family, but she declined.

"If we send a letter, they might be able to trace our route, and if Mr Wickham finds out about it, we will none of us be safe. I must leave them ignorant for a while longer, as much as their certain worry pains me."

Once more, her clear thinking and sensible nature impressed him where, had they met on the floor of a ballroom, he would have deemed her of too little consequence to offer more than the coldest of nods.

Their conversation, still very much that of strangers, was sporadic and essentially limited to the practicalities of their situation, but Elizabeth proved not unpleasant company, and the day passed without incident.

The first real difficulty along their journey came that evening.

They had been sitting under a tree near a stream, allowing Dobbin to rest and have some water. It was starting to grow dark, and the discussion concerned where to sleep that night. They had seen no villages for a while, nor was there any suggestion that one might be near. The lane they travelled was all but deserted, and Darcy began to fear he had chosen a road that somehow avoided all places where they might find accommodation for the night.

"If we turn northward, we are sure to come across a more important road." He scanned the horizon, willing the rumble of distant carriages into existence, but to his disappointment.

"Is that wise?" Elizabeth asked. "If you wish to travel southward to avoid Mr Wickham's notice, should we not go that direction instead?"

Darcy consulted a map he had in his mind, wishing he had paid more attention to his schoolmasters so long ago. "If we go too far south, we will end up in Cornwall rather than Wales. Our direction had best remain westward, until we come to Cheltenham or Gloucester." He took a deep breath, but it failed to provide the answers he sought.

"Shall we continue onward, then, and hope to find a village?" Elizabeth asked. "Oh! Here comes somebody down the lane. He might help us."

Indeed, a farmer was approaching, one of the few people they had seen since turning onto this country road. At their call, he pulled his pony to a stop, and dismounted from the cart it pulled.

"‘Evenin'," he greeted them. "Help you? Fine night ‘twill be, at that. No rain."

He walked over and leaned against one of the trees, clearly expecting some conversation.

Reserved by nature, Darcy was ready to say a coolly polite word to the man and send him on his way, but Elizabeth was a different sort of person, fashioned for society, and she met the farmer's greeting with a wide grin and introduced herself.

"I'm Lizzy," she said with a winning smile. "This is Will. We are travelling to…" she paused for a moment, "We are off to visit Will's uncle over in Wales."

Darcy allowed himself to smile. Every word was true, no matter how the man would understand them. Clever lass, she was. He sat back and allowed Elizabeth to conduct the conversation, praising the beautiful countryside, lamenting the long journey ahead of them, and wondering if the farmer had an idea of where they might spend the night.

He was as friendly as men get, and before long was chatting with them as if they had been friends these last twenty years.

"Follow me, then," he said after a while. "You're nice folks, and we don't get much new company. My wife will like to meet you, and we can find you a place to sleep. ‘Tis not too far, only around those trees."

Such words were music to Darcy's ears, until the farmer—who had introduced himself as John Neeler—added, "The barn is nice and warm this time of year, and there's a couple of cots in the loft if you don't like sleeping on the hay."

Darcy stared at the man as if he had grown three heads. What was this? Fitzwilliam Darcy, invited to sleep on the hay? He, the master of Pemberley, grandson to an earl, and one of the wealthiest men in Derbyshire, offered a cot in a barn? Did this man not know who he was? He was about to open his mouth to utter something that would certainly cause the greatest offence, when once more Elizabeth laid a gentle hand upon his to still his words, as she gratefully accepted the kind invitation.

"Our clothing, Will," she whispered to him while his mouth still hung open in shock.

At that, Darcy did glance down to see himself as he looked now, not as he imagined himself. Clad as he was in rough trousers, an old linen shirt, a long loose neckcloth more akin to a scarf than a cravat, a shapeless waistcoat and equally shapeless loose coat, and wide-brimmed straw hat, he looked much like Farmer John, a man of the fields rather than of the town. Elizabeth, likewise, wore the simpler garb of a country lass: a yellow blouse, a dark petticoat, a short apron-like garment over a billowing skirt, a colourful kerchief, and a straw bonnet, with a scarlet cloak tossed onto the bench of the cart. How different this was from the elegant pale gowns of society. It quite completed the picture of a field hand and his lass out for a drive. What John Neeler made of their upper-class accents, Darcy could not guess, but the man likely thought them to come from nearer London, where all manner of strange things could be imagined.

Elizabeth still held Darcy's hand in hers, and she gave it a squeeze before releasing it, a gesture that Farmer John noticed by his grin. "Well, follow me, then, folks. Just a half-mile that way, and we turn."

They were met at the entrance to the small stone farmhouse by the farmer's wife, as friendly as her husband.

"Company!" she exclaimed with a broad smile. "There's always good food in exchange for good conversation. I've pie ready to bake, and I can make another as easy as it comes. Welcome."

Darcy followed John around to the barn to tend to the horses for the night, and when they returned to the house, it was to find Elizabeth chatting happily with their hostess as she rolled out pastry and chopped vegetables.

Hmmm… he had thought her rather lacking in practical skills, but she seemed to know what she was about. Perhaps she had one or two more accomplishments than painting tables.

They were soon joined by four young men, all wide and tall like their father, just now coming in from the fields. Each was pleasant and polite, but the house was full. This, then, explained the invitation to sleep in the barn. This was no fine inn at a busy crossroads, nor a wealthy man's sprawling house in the midst of his parkland. There, in another time and place, Darcy would have expected some youngsters of the family to give up their rooms for the guests in favour of smaller quarters; perhaps the poor cousin could sleep in the nursery for a night or two. But this was no such establishment. These were hard-working people who lived off the sweat of their brows, with no luxuries to offer to the strangers they had generously offered to house for a night, and they likely considered the barn to be perfectly acceptable accommodations for two others of their class.

The barn would do, and he would be grateful.

And, he decided, he was. When one has everything, one expects so much. When one has nothing, the slightest gift is a luxury. How quickly his attitudes had changed.

Soon enough, it was time to retire. Farmer John showed them the ladder up to the loft, said his goodnights, and departed.

Darcy had never felt so awkward in his life, despite a childhood of never quite finding his place in society. The magnitude of this situation was staggering, and he did not quite know what to do. He and Elizabeth had been alone, for two whole days, as they drove along silent country lanes. But that was different. They had been in an open carriage—or cart, to be precise, although the distinction was immaterial—and that breached no boundaries of propriety.

Now, for the first time, they were truly alone, in a quiet and private place, away from the eyes of the world. No matter that there was no one around to observe and chastise them. He knew. Everything he had been taught shouted at him from the depths of his conscience.

There was no chaperone, no beneficent guardian ensuring that decorum was preserved along with everybody's reputation and virtue. Now, for the first time, they felt alone together, or—rather—he did. A glance at Elizabeth showed her discomfort as well, for she was fussing with something in the corner and decidedly not looking at him.

There was, he considered, something particularly intimate about sleeping, that was not a part of sitting on the box of an open carriage. At night, when the sun had set and there was no light, the protective armour of everyday clothing was stripped away, leaving the soul as bare as the body.

Would Elizabeth sleep in her clothes, or change into a shift? What would he do? Mrs Abbot had shoved an old nightshirt into the sack she thrust at him, and he wondered if Elizabeth had taken along a night rail as well. Now, it seemed, was when he would find out. If he dared do anything other than stand here, paralysed into motionlessness.

Elizabeth broke the silence. "I suppose I ought to go up and see what we need. It is almost dark and we have no light, nor would I want an open flame in a barn." Her voice was flat. Without another word, she climbed the ladder with sure and practised movements.

"There are three low cots," she called down from the loft, sounding a bit more her usual self, "with straw-stuffed mattresses. They might be used for field hands during harvest, for they look quite abandoned for now. We will need the blankets from the wagon."

"Blankets. Yes. Of course."

Grateful for something to do, Darcy went in search of the necessary items and managed to pass them up to Elizabeth before attempting the climb. When he hoisted himself into the loft, Elizabeth was already under her blanket on the cot the furthest away. She must have made herself ready for bed whilst he was at the cart. Of the two other cots, she had laid the blanket on the one closest to where he now stood, leaving the middle one empty. He could not see what she was wearing, but now he had his own decisions to make.

It was dark enough that he must look, to her, like nothing but a moving shadow, as she was little more than a shadow to him. Still, he felt as if he were standing on a stage, being illuminated by a thousand lamps. His face burned hot, and had he a mirror, he knew his reflection would glow red with embarrassment. He must, at least, remove his coat and boots, and he wished desperately not to have to sleep in these trousers. He stood motionless with indecision and anxiety.

"I shall roll over and stare at the wall whilst you undress." Elizabeth's voice filtered through the growing darkness. "I believe I can trust you to be a gentleman. We might be forced into further, similar proximity over the course of our flight."

In quick motions, he slithered out of the least comfortable items of clothing and hurried under the blanket. What was he to do now? Engage in pleasant conversation? Pretend she was not there? Sing a lullaby?

Again, Elizabeth settled his worry with her quiet words. "Do not be uneasy, Will. It is strange, I know. We will grow accustomed to this."

"You deserve better than this, Elizabeth. You are a gentleman's daughter, not a farmhand." And it was true. She had offered not one word of complaint. What other woman of his acquaintance would have borne so willingly these rustic conditions?

Her response confirmed his estimation of her. "We are warm and safe, and our bellies are full. A great many people cannot claim even these comforts. And after we leave, should Mr Wickham chance by and inquire after us, our host will remember only a farmer and his wife out on a drive to visit an uncle in a distant village."

Wife? They thought she was his wife? That momentary panic subsided in an instant. Of course, else they never would have offered this space to them. And, as he contemplated the matter, he found the notion did not bother him quite so much.

"Sleep well, Will."

"And you, Elizabeth."

But although he slept long and deep after the exhaustion of the day, he was always aware that she was so very close.