10
Bohemia, three weeks later
Their cavalcade was parked at a hostel where they had ordered dark bread, cold meat and pickles, with jugs of wheat beer. The weather remained dank, more like early March than late May, and Elizabeth joined the others in accepting bowls of thick pea soup: she was recovering from a mild cold for which Mr Koch had prescribed a nightly toddy of whisky, lemon, and honey.
After Frankfurt, relations with Justina and Miss Darcy had eased. Elizabeth still slept with the maid, and travelled with Lady Selborn, but Justina and Georgiana were talking to her again. Even Darcy came to her side sometimes during walks, and they conversed like polite strangers.
Seated beside Justina and Miss Darcy, Elizabeth noticed their excited anticipation of Prague, a city they associated with Mozart. Soon they would cross squares that the composer himself had visited decades before, and attend concerts at the Royal Estates Theatre, where Mozart had conducted operas and premiered his 38 th Symphony, five years before his death in 1791.
Leaving the hostel, Justina approached Lady Selborn’s coach, where Elizabeth faced her with a lift of the eyebrows.
‘You are to grace us with your company, Lady Justina?’
‘Merely to speak with mother.’ A grin. ‘Idiot.’
They found Lady Selborn alone: her husband was riding in the grand first coach with a Prussian diplomat (to whom he had offered a lift), Lindale, and a translator. Elizabeth admired how tactfully Lady Selborn reacted to her daughter’s return—as if her lengthy defection to the Darcys had never happened.
Rain splattered against the windows, and Lady Selborn sighed.‘Again! The crops will be ruined.’
A shrug from Justina, apparently not much interested in the crops. ‘Mother, I think I will share with Lizzy again.’
‘Yes?’ Lady Selborn glanced at Elizabeth with the hint of a smile. ‘Remember we’re not in a hotel this time. Count Rosicky has offered hospitality at his palace on the river—at least for our family and servants.’
‘And the Darcys?’
‘We will see. Elizabeth, are you happy with this arrangement?’
‘I could stay in a hotel if Miss Darcy prefers the palace.’
Justina shook her head. ‘Better if we have Lizzy nearby. And Sarah.’
‘Miss Darcy is a delightful young woman, but quite shy,’ Lady Selborn said. ‘Maybe she will prefer a room to herself. Did her brother comment? He seems protective of her.’
‘He is her guardian,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Along with their cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.’
Lady Selborn’s eyebrows lifted. ‘I keep forgetting how well you know the family.’ She turned to Justina. ‘You must also be quite au fait with them by now. I noticed Mr Darcy danced with you twice at the Frühlingsball.’
Justina coloured. ‘He seemed unwilling to approach ladies outside our group, so the choice was limited.’
‘He could have asked Elizabeth.’
Justina directed an impish grin at Elizabeth. ‘Perhaps he had a reason Lizzy is keeping secret.’
‘If so,’ Lady Selborn rejoined, ‘it is none of our business.’
There was a long silence, as if the Selborns were waiting in hope of an explanation. Eventually Elizabeth asked how Lord Selborn knew Count Rosicky, so evading the topic—for the present.
The Rosicky Palace had been built by the father of the current owner on a prime site overlooking the Charles Bridge. It was in ornamental rococo style, its four wings enclosing a large drive-in courtyard with gardens at the sides. Their host Count Tomá? Rosicky was in his sixties, a traditionally attired aristocrat with flowing white hair rolled at the sides, high collar and ruff, and a face warmed by smile lines. After refreshments in a lounge off the grand entrance, he personally took them round, pointing out with pride a music room in which, in 1787, he had forced Mozart to complete a commissioned set of dances by locking him in. One hour, apparently, had sufficed: the composer was a fast worker.
The count was more interested in culture than politics, but had been included in the Bohemian delegation at the Congress of Vienna in 1814–15, where he had found much common ground with Lord Selborn. Recently widowed, he shared the palace with the family of his daughter Angelika, and a huge bevy of servants. Even so, two wings of the piano nobile (or first floor) were free for guests, with servant accommodation overhead; they included a front corridor with views of the river, and Prague Castle beyond. Here, two connected chambers had accommodated Mozart, his wife Costanza, and their three-year-old son Karl.
Viewing the room in awe, Justina said, ‘You never mentioned this, mother!’
‘I was never told.’
Justina turned to her father. ‘Why?’
Lord Selborn met the count’s eye, with a shrug. ‘A musician once stayed here. What of it? All signs of his occupancy are long gone.’
Count Rosicky replied in his carefully precise English. ‘Yet past dramas do somehow inhere. Did you not feel that at Waterloo?’
‘I discerned breaches from French cannon in the farmhouse walls,’ Lord Selborn said. ‘Nothing more.’
‘It’s a question of imagination,’ Justina insisted. ‘We see what our predecessors saw. It brings us closer.’
‘Poppycock, dear.’ Lord Selborn faced Darcy. ‘What say you, sir?’
‘I tend to your way of thinking.’ Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, a gesture that Lord Selborn picked up.
‘Doubtless Miss Bennet will confute us both.’
‘On the contrary,’ Elizabeth said, ‘I see no need for taking sides. Mozart is not here. True. It is poignant to stand on the exact spot he once occupied. Also true.’
Lord Selborn grunted. ‘We’ll make a diplomat of you yet.’
Justina faced the count. ‘Then would you consider, sir, making an imaginative young lady happy by assigning me this chamber? And next door for my friend Miss Darcy?’
‘Certainly.’ He smiled with indulgent charm. ‘But a forfeit must be paid, namely, that you entertain us this evening on the pianoforte.’
Justina smiled at Georgiana. ‘Very well. If Miss Darcy is willing, we shall play a duet.’
After variable fare on the road, dinner was a delight: a regal hall, light French openers, and the warming local favourite of roast pork, dumplings and cabbage. It was a large party. Count Rosicky had extended his largesse to Messrs Lindale and Koch, as well as the Darcys. Afterwards, on a modern instrument, Justina paid her debt, playing duets with Georgiana and accompanying Rosicky’s daughter in two songs.
Seated beside Angelika at dinner, Elizabeth discovered she spoke fluent French and German as well as her native Czech—and also a little English. She had been married ten years to a Bohemian noble, Baron von Kutscha, who like Count Rosicky was well-connected politically; but her interests leaned more to the arts, especially opera. In a mixture of French and English, she announced a performance the very next day: The Marriage of Figaro, at the Royal Estates Theatre. Her family would be attending; they subscribed to a grand box overlooking the stage; the guests were welcome to join them.
While responding enthusiastically to this prospect, Elizabeth had a familiar feeling of living in a dream. A year ago she had been an impoverished child-minder. Now she was touring Europe with a family that consorted with nobility, roomed in palaces, met with political leaders, and occupied prime seats at the best theatres. Her appearance too was transformed, through the Bond Street modistes, and jewels lent by Lady Selborn. And all this because she had somehow got along with the beautiful, gifted and volatile Justina. She felt immense gratitude to the Selborns, not just for employing her, but for treating her practically like a daughter. Lord Selborn ignored her most of the time, but occasionally complimented or teased; he behaved the same way to Justina. Lady Selborn bestowed the benefit of her advice. Even feuds with Justina felt like family squabbles. And almost never had Elizabeth been left out of balls, dinners, concerts, outings to Rotten Row.
Elizabeth was aware too that during the rift with Justina, Lady Selborn had if anything taken her side. A different employer might have berated her for impertinence, or even dismissed her as no longer able to perform her duties. Perhaps their lenience was self-interested: they needed a companion for their daughter; no-one else had had any success. But leaving this aside, she felt the Selborns were by nature fair, in the proud way preached but rarely practised by the aristocracy. Noblesse oblige.
‘So, Lizzy.’ Reclining in her nightdress in a space possibly occupied by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Justina was looking pleased with life. ‘It would appear you have bewitched Mr Lindale.’
‘After such an evening, I am amazed you would descend to tittle-tattle.’
‘You spend every spare moment with him.’
‘I had little choice after you deserted me.’
‘But he is attractive, do you not agree? And charming, considering he comes from the nouveau-riche.’
‘Oh yes, and how many factory owners have you met?’
‘None.’
‘Then your opinion would seem to lack a firm basis.’
‘I suppose you have met hundreds.’
‘A few, at my uncle’s house. And like the gentry, some are agreeable, some not. The only substantial difference is that whereas our class inherits wealth, they earn it. Which I would see as a point in their favour.’
Justina threw her a wicked grin. ‘You didn’t inherit much wealth, Lizzy Bennet.’
‘True, that’s why I have to earn my living by putting up with you.’
Justina strangled a laugh. ‘What a relief to be back! I had to tread so carefully with Georgiana.’
‘You’ve been kind to her since Cologne.’
‘Not because of anything you said.’
‘Of course. I never thought that for a moment.’
‘I was wondering …’ Justina hesitated, looking more serious. ‘About her brother.’
Elizabeth flinched, but replied evenly, ‘Yes?’
‘I made the mistake of taking seriously what you said in regard to his character.’
‘I said nothing particular.’
‘You hinted he was untrustworthy.’
‘I said you should judge for yourself.’
‘Which I have done, and can find no fault worth remarking. Yes, he is taciturn. But gentlemanly, generous, intelligent, and subtly humorous—in addition to his more obvious assets. Mother thinks …’
She broke off, colouring, and Elizabeth tried to avoid her voice shaking as she said softly, ‘Yes?’
‘Oh, you know.’ Justina threw up her hands. ‘The sort of thing mothers always say. Genuinely good men are rare. Handsome, wealthy ones even rarer. And opportunities are not always repeated.’
Elizabeth nodded. ‘Sentiments echoed by my mother, with emphasis on wealthy.’
Justina faced her. ‘Look, I know we quarrel, but I think we care for one another, and although you act like an idiot most of the time, I value your judgement. So yes, Mr Darcy has been attentive to me. He seems a kind and honourable man. His sister thinks he is a saint. My parents esteem him. In short, everyone praises him with one exception. Seriously, Lizzy. Why?’
Elizabeth thought awhile. ‘I don’t want the reason generally known.’
‘I won’t tell.’
‘You did last time. To Miss Darcy, of all people.’
Justina nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’
Elizabeth paused, shaken by the apology—from Justina a minor miracle. This information obviously mattered to her, suggesting she had feelings for Darcy.
How to respond? There should be no harm in revealing Darcy’s role in separating Jane from Bingley, and its main motive, his disdain for her family. Regarding Wickham she felt less sure. True, Wickham had described in convincing detail Darcy’s refusal to grant him the living; Darcy, in contrast, had offered only vague censure. Mr Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends. Whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain . But the sequel had borne out this low opinion, and if anything increased Elizabeth’s bitterness. If Darcy had been aware that Wickham was a villain, why had he satisfied himself with hints rather than explicit warnings? A word in Mr Bennet’s ear would have sufficed. Yet he had remained aloof, concerned only with protecting his own reputation.
None of this, however, could be confided without admitting the so-called ‘elopement’ with Lydia that had disgraced her family.
‘Well, Lizzy?’ Justina said.
Elizabeth sighed. ‘All right. I will trust you. It has to do with my sister Jane, and a gentleman you recently met, Mr Bingley …’
She explained, Justina listening with a frown of concentration.
‘And you are sure of this, Lizzy? You had it from a reliable source?’
‘From the gentleman himself. I confronted Mr Darcy when we met by chance on his aunt’s estate, and he admitted it all, not apologetically, but with pride.’
‘Then I understand your anger. But can you not see Mr Darcy’s viewpoint? His criticisms of your family are hardly surprising, given what you have told me about your mother and younger sisters. And he was merely giving advice. Mr Bingley was not obliged to follow it.’
Elizabeth nodded, unable to refute this logically, while utterly rejecting it emotionally. ‘I beg you, Justina, say nothing of this to the Darcys.’
‘I promise.’
They talked a little of plans for the morrow, as rain spattered against the window. Prague, people said, was beautiful. If only they could be blessed by a few days of sunshine.