6
A week later, Brussels
Exhausted and excited, Elizabeth sat beside Justina and her maid in their grand coach—just one of five in Lord Selborn’s entourage. Dusk was falling after a day riding from Antwerp, where they had disembarked after a stormy sail from the Kent coast. They had at last reached the centre of Brussels, where a year before, British officers had roomed in the elite hotels prior to the Battle of Waterloo. The same rooms were now occupied by English gentry eager to experience the Grand Tour of Europe, denied them for two decades by war. France was still turbulent, but Brussels was safe and thriving—an ideal first stage.
From Lord Selborn Elizabeth had learned a little of the city’s history as it bounced back and forth under the rival claims of France and Holland. At the Congress of Vienna, which Selborn had attended, the region had been incorporated into the United Kingdom of the Netherlands, ruled by King William I, whose portfolio of titles included also Prince of Orange and Grand Duke of Luxembourg. As part of this deal, Brussels had been decreed a joint capital of the Netherlands, along with the Hague; as such it was not only a staging post but part of Lord Selborn’s mission as the British foreign secretary’s emissary.
Foreign travel was a challenge, but in such a large group, Elizabeth felt cocooned from any danger. In addition to his family, Lord Selborn had brought a dozen servants, a guide, secretaries including two translators, and two armed guards who rode beside the carriages. His most trusted aide was Mr Edmund Lindale, a charming and confident commoner who had studied History and Politics at Oxford and moved quickly up the ranks at the Foreign Office. In manner as well as looks he reminded Elizabeth of Bingley, but the similarity was superficial: beneath Lindale’s charm was a brilliant man determined to rise in the world.
Their cavalcade crossed the cobbled Place Royale before turning into the forecourt of the Hotel Metropole. Liveried servants ran out to help with their luggage, and ostlers to care for the horses. Justina clapped her hands.
‘At last! I shall sleep all day.’
‘Take two hours,’ Lady Selborn said. ‘Then dinner.’
They descended, and Elizabeth followed with the maid as Justina urged her mother into the massive foyer, regal in red and gold. Spinning round, Elizabeth was awed. A week ago she had been sitting in a plain cottage outside Meryton. Now this.
Lord Selborn had reserved a corridor of five rooms for his family and senior advisers, along with attic space for servants and guards. It had been agreed that Elizabeth would share with Justina, and she was glad to find the chamber practical as well as elegant with a wide four-poster bed, bureau, dressing table, wardrobe, balcony, commode and bidet. Sarah, their maid, helped them wash before fetching and arranging their clothes. Tea arrived with French-style pastries; afterwards they lay on top of the bedcovers. In the fading light, a small fire gave the room a warm glow. It felt to Elizabeth that she had escaped her troubles. Her family were across the channel. No-one in Brussels knew her. Her duties were hardly onerous: support Justina, while enjoying the stimulation and luxury of a tour through the great cities of northern Europe.
Refreshed, they descended to the dining room where a table was laid for six: Lord and Lady Selborn, Justina and Elizabeth, Edmund Lindale, and a London-based surgeon, Mr Johann Koch, co-opted as a translator as well as a physician. The arena was filling up, and from the buzz of conversation Elizabeth realised that French influence still held sway. Their waiter spoke English with a heavy French accent; the menu was French; so was the cuisine. Conferring with Mr Koch, Lord Selborn ordered for the whole table, and before long a series of sophisticated dishes arrived. Savoury vol au vent pastries. Clear soup. Fish with a rich buttery velouté sauce. Sirloin fillet à la royale. Two bottles each of red and white wine. Finally a speciality, the so-called pièce montée of marzipan and spun sugar mounted in the form of the hotel itself—with a bottle of sweet dessert wine as accompaniment.
At the start of the meal Lord and Lady Selborn dominated the conversation, and Elizabeth remained silent. But by the fish, people had paired off, Selborn with Koch, Justina with her mother, leaving Elizabeth facing the secretary Lindale. Although introduced in London they had never held a conversation tête-à-tête, having travelled in different carriages. It struck her that in appearance he was the paradigm of a gentleman—except too perfect, as if making an effort. The fair hair was carefully groomed, the determined chin smooth, the collar stiff and pure white, with a bow as well as a ruffle; the frock-coat black and spotless. He sat up straight, regarding her with pale blue eyes and the hint of a smile, lightening a face that would otherwise be daunting in its intelligence and glowing health.
‘You are enjoying the meal?’ she said.
‘Immensely.’ He replied seriously, as if her banal sally was the most interesting question he had ever been asked. ‘We are fortunate to travel with gentlemen who know what to order. I note that like me, you are taking small portions.’
‘There are roasts and desserts to come, and my petite female frame can hold only so much.’
A smile. ‘I hesitate to contradict you, Miss Bennet, but it has been my experience that any human frame will accept whatever is stuffed or poured into it. With consequences that I for one prefer to avoid.’
Elizabeth laughed. ‘My father used to say that there are two classes of people in the world, those that eat far too much, and those that eat far too little.’
‘The rich and the poor?’ Lindale nodded. ‘A neat aphorism. He sounds a wise and witty companion.’
‘He was both. But sadly with us no longer.’
‘I’m sorry. I knew only that your family had fallen on hard times.’
‘We are relatively poor.’ She shrugged. ‘Yet here I am, in this grand hotel.’
‘Oh fortune, thou art fickle.’ He smiled. ‘I fear I misquote.’
‘I hope fortune has been kinder to you, Mr Lindale.’
‘So far.’ He became serious. ‘We never lacked for food, but as a child I experienced genteel poverty. My father was a clockmaker in Manchester until he met an investor eager to build a small cotton mill. They copied Arkwright’s spinning frame and grew quickly after its patent was denied in court.’ He spread his hands. ‘So here I am, the beneficiary of my father’s ingenuity and hard work, hoping to succeed in my turn.’
‘Did your father teach you the business?’
‘My mind is ill suited to engineering. When I inherit—not soon, I hope—my family’s share will be sold and I will seek a modest country estate.’
‘Like that on which I used to live. We have met in the middle, Mr Lindale. You are on your way up; I am on my way down.’
‘Fate is fickle. A year hence, who can say?’
‘True.’ Elizabeth sighed as a huge silver platter arrived bearing the roast, drenched in rich gravy and ringed by root vegetables. ‘Here we go again.’
‘So, dear Lizzy!’ Justina had swapped places with Edmund Lindale. ‘What have you been talking about?’
‘Nothing you would be interested in.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Music was not mentioned. Nor were you.’
Justina forced a smile. ‘One of these days, Lizzy Bennet, you will go too far.’
‘I’m sorry. Let me see. We were talking of our past ups and downs.’
‘He didn’t lecture you on European affairs?’
Elizabeth shook her head. ‘I’d be rather interested if he did .’
‘You’ve had months listening to father.’
‘Yes, but to really understand I’d have to ask elementary questions. Which would be humiliating.’
Justina nodded slowly. ‘I know what you mean. Shall we take another helping of the pièce montée?’
‘I’ve had too much already.’
‘Nonsense. You ate only a chimney.’ Justina reached for the dessert, and cut a slice. ‘Try the attic.’
‘You have it.’
‘I shall.’ Justina bit into the marzipan, looking across the dining room, and rose with a gasp. ‘How extraordinary!’
‘What now?’
‘Someone I know. We have the same piano teacher, Signor Forlani, and meet occasionally when he has soirées at his house. I wonder what she’s doing here!’
Elizabeth turned and with horror recognised the young lady she had noticed at Almack’s—the same soft features and fair hair, the gown a darker blue. Hardly able to speak, she asked huskily, ‘Her name?’
‘Miss Darcy. Georgiana.’
Elizabeth stood to get a better view. Georgiana Darcy was seated next to another lady, facing two gentlemen, one of whom was tall, with dark hair …
‘Let’s go over!’ Justina jumped up. ‘I’ll introduce you.’
‘I’m not sure …’
‘Come on, Lizzy!’
Realising that this time she could not escape, Elizabeth steeled herself. Almost certainly the man was Darcy. She would have to admit their acquaintance, exchange polite formalities, and survive two or three embarrassing days until they went their separate ways.
After whispering to her mother, Justina led the way over the plush red carpet. Elizabeth kept her eye on the taller man, but his companion too was disturbingly familiar. Justina waved, Miss Darcy looked up with a gasp, and the cat was out of the bag. The gentlemen swivelled round, and Elizabeth stumbled as she recognised not only Darcy—but Bingley.
A nearby sideboard saved her; she managed to grab the edge and avoid a fall. Everyone seemed to have frozen, except Bingley, who ran over with arms outstretched.
‘Miss Elizabeth! You are unhurt?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’ She bowed, feeling a spreading blush. ‘I hope you are, ah, well …’
‘Never better! Remember Darcy?’
She turned to that gentleman, who stepped forward and acknowledged her with a stiff bow.
‘Miss Bennet.’ His expression was like stone, with not a hint of a smile. ‘This is most unexpected. I am gratified to find you looking so well.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ She replied with equal coldness. ‘You are in good health?’
‘I am. And your family …’ He broke off, as if recalling what had befallen the Bennets.
‘As well as can be expected.’
His lip curled in what might have been pain or disgust, but recovering he said, ‘Pray allow me to present my sister.’
‘But we have met already, at Almack’s,’ Miss Darcy said cheerfully. ‘Miss Bennet outshone us all.’
Elizabeth bowed to Miss Darcy, who had come to join Justina. ‘I think that accolade belongs to you.’
‘I’m sure you both danced beautifully,’ Bingley said. He took Elizabeth’s arm and guided her to the other lady. ‘May I present my wife. Eleanor, this is Miss Bennet.’
Elizabeth caught her breath at this further surprise, and studied with great attention a gentle-looking woman with fine dark-blonde hair similar to Jane’s, and a handsome but rather squarer face.
‘Delighted to meet you, Mrs Bingley.’
The lady replied shyly, and Elizabeth, with mixed feelings, found nothing to dislike: quite the contrary.
Eventually Justina joined them, and drawing Elizabeth away, whispered, ‘Well, Lizzy, you are a sly one! You never mentioned you knew Mr Darcy.’
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘His sister introduced us at Almack’s. Rather handsome with that brooding gaze, like Byron’s Childe Harold.’
‘I suppose. I don’t know the poem.’
Justina pointed across the dining room. ‘We had better present Mr Darcy’s party to my father and mother.’
They had moved to a lounge and divided on gender lines, the men quaffing port and speaking no doubt of great affairs of state, the ladies comparing travel notes. Elizabeth, head spinning, refused wine, but shared a pot of mint tea with Miss Darcy.
Lady Selborn had sat beside Mrs Bingley on a divan, and was graciously tutoring the awed young lady in the ways of the continental haut ton . This left Elizabeth and Miss Darcy in a huddle with Justina, who seemed mostly occupied with the gentlemen in general and Darcy in particular.
‘Lord Selborn looks impressed by your brother,’ Justina said to Miss Darcy. ‘I wonder they have not met before.’
‘We don’t stay long in town,’ Miss Darcy said. ‘William, my brother I mean, prefers our Derbyshire estate, Pemberley.’ She looked at Elizabeth. ‘Do you know it?’
‘I passed nearby once. Lambton.’
‘Why, that is but five miles! What a pity you did not visit. You would have been most welcome, I’m sure.’
I don’t think so, Elizabeth thought, and she was searching for a suitable reply when Justina said, ‘What are your plans, Miss Darcy? We are bound for Prague and Vienna.’
Miss Darcy’s face fell. ‘I would love to see Vienna, but my brother is set on Italy. A steamboat service is starting on the Rhine. It will take us upriver towards Switzerland, from where we can take the St Gotthard Pass to Italy.’
‘How wonderful to cross mountains!’ Justina said. ‘But our itinerary is fixed, since my father has business in the German Confederation.’
Miss Darcy sighed. ‘I’ve heard Prague is beautiful, with concerts and recitals every day.’
‘Then persuade Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley to come with us to Vienna!’ Justina cried. ‘Would it not be fine, Lizzy?’
Elizabeth froze, shaken. She had no fear of contradicting Justina, but to insult Miss Darcy was unthinkable. Trying to muster enthusiasm, she said, ‘Delightful, but we can hardly expect Mr Darcy to adapt his itinerary just to please us.’
‘My brother was hoping to explore Venice, Florence and Rome,’ Miss Darcy said.
‘Why not go to Vienna first?’ Justina said.
Elizabeth remained silent, praying that Darcy would insist on his original plan.