The Zephyr

Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

THE QUAGMIRE

W ith Mary and Kitty engaged to distract my mother and upon her discovery of my absence to claim ignorance as to where I was, I ordered June and July hitched to the Zephyr. Mr Hill pursed his lips in disapproval, but before he could speak outright against my going out in such poor weather, I anticipated him.

“I am aware, Hill, but needs must.” Unconsciously, he threw a dour glance up towards the attic dormer and called Charlie from the kitchen to help him with the horses.

I then made my way through the mud and a few precarious stretches where I felt the wheels sinking, pulled downward as if by nefarious hands. This required the horses to pull much harder than they usually would. In consequence and through both trial and instinct, I learnt that it was much better to send us through these patches at a brisk, steady pace to lessen the risk of coming to a dismal stand in a pit of mud.

At last, I rounded the notorious bend and made for the cut in the woods, but there I did come to a stand. One look into the dim interior of Lindbury and I saw the track was an impassable pond of liquified clay and slime pits full of the rotting leaves from last autumn. There was nothing for it but to wait where I was, but even the side of the road was a precarious place for horses to stand overlong. Thus, I clicked the reins and directed them to a high spot I could see ahead, and there we sat, idiotishly , to quote John Lucas, on the road.

Five minutes had likely passed, though I felt I had made my horses stand still for an hour, and I, having nothing better to do, gave leave to every anxiety to trample around unchecked in my head . He will not come. I misread his cryptic message somehow. His carriage, being much heavier than mine, is stuck in one of the infamous ditches of Hertfordshire .

Then he topped the rise, wisely atop a horse and at a gallop which instantly erased all my doubt as to his constancy.

“Forgive me,” he said, panting.

“Oh, I have not waited long,” I replied, unable to suppress the enormous smile that must have creased my face.

“I meant for my choice of a place to meet. I cannot think why I did not consider it would be impossible for you to drive in there. But where might we speak?” he asked, looking around him intently.

“We must speak here, Mr Darcy. I have little time and a great deal to explain.”

He did not dismount. Instead, he angled his horse to come alongside me and simply asked, “What has happened?”

In a few sparse strokes, I painted a picture of the impossible corner into which I had backed myself. He stared at me throughout, his face alternating between confusion, concern, intensity, and then justifiable fury.

“He had the audacity to come to Longbourn? The insolent?—”

“Yes, yes. But I have a plan, only I need you to make it a viable one, sir.”

Again, he stared at me in silence as I spoke at length of the details of my plan, and again his face betrayed him. He scowled, he pondered, he listened, he scowled again.

“You cannot wonder that I cannot agree to this,” he ultimately said.

“I do not wonder that you do not want to agree to it, but this is how it must be done,” I countered.

“I could simply come?—”

“And what? March the lady out the front door? Explain to my father that I wrote to you to come here and do what he refuses to do? I am neither prepared to answer his questions, nor am I amenable to fending off any more speculation where you and I are concerned. As it is, I had to counter an offer of the protection of marriage from John Lucas, for he believed my reputation had become irredeemable because of you. He pitied me.”

“That pup!”

“Hm. I have told you he is my friend, sir, and he was most sincere. But his relief upon being told we would not suit was rather unflattering. The case is, I do not regret what was said of me, for the talk never once came around to my sister Lydia. Still, I have no heart for any more of my father’s displeasure, for I have had a great deal to bear this past week.”

“I do not doubt it,” he said gravely .

There we sat, our horses lightly fidgeting at being forced to stand, even as the rain began again.

“Might you help me, then?” I asked, water dripping from my bonnet.

“Day after tomorrow at noon,” he said. “But you must leave Wickham to me.”

“Forgive me, but no. I will give you no such leave if it means you are to soil your hands with the fate of such a person. I would never forgive myself, Mr Darcy, if that were to be the case.”

“Do not think me ungrateful, but I do not need your protection.”

“Oh, but you do, sir,” I replied with a touch of the overarching sweetness I felt for him. “Men, you see, must occasionally be rescued from their allegiance to duty in service to a woman’s common sense.”

Against his will, he smiled. “If it were not raining, and if I were not convinced you are happiest when you have cause to be intractable, I would resist you at all cost. But you are wet and chilled besides, and we are, of all the inconvenient places for a parley, in the middle of a public road.” His jaw hardened, and he looked away before turning back to me. “Very well. If you promise to arm yourself, I promise I will not dirty my own hands.”

“On your honour?”

“Give me your hand,” he said gravely, and when I did so, though my glove was wet and splattered with dirt, he kissed it solemnly before saying, “Upon my honour.” Then he asked, “Do you have a pistol?”

“No, but I have my whip and if his horse gets within my range, I shall flick him and cause him to bolt.”

“There is a great deal that could go awry. What if?— ”

“We do not have the luxury of avoiding every risk, sir. I am not completely helpless. Might you trust me a little?”

“That I have agreed to this at all speaks to my faith in you,” he said resignedly.

I smiled sadly to see how much his decision had cost him. I, too, had grave misgivings, but my determination yet prevailed. “I must go,” I said kindly. “You know how grateful I am to you, do you not?”

“I do not believe I do. We must certainly meet again so that you may freely assure me I have not been ill-used.”

“Certainly, sir. Which mud puddle might you choose for our rendezvous ? ”

“You will find out soon enough,” he said with a tender smile.

He turned his horse to follow me over the bridge, past the fallow beet fields, and then, tipping his hat when I took the lane that led to Meryton, he whipped his horse to a gallop and thundered down the road that led towards London.