Count No Evil （Incremental） #2
After two miles, Charlotte slowed from a near run to a fast walk.
It was a pace the younger Elizabeth Bennet would have used to devour the miles, but Charlotte had not moved at such a speed for many years, nor did she ordinarily prefer to.
She had caught her dress on a rock, leaving it looking even worse than before, but at least she was now aware enough to avoid future obstacles.
After three miles, Charlotte finally stopped talking to herself like a madwoman, though she could not revert to her ordinary silence.
She walked up a slight incline; her watch indicated she had been gone for around an hour.
She was on a path she had never seen before, but she knew the way to Pemberley and travelled towards it like an arrow fired from a bow.
In her distress, she was well aware that the route away from this horrid man lay through Pemberley and back to her own life.
Mr Darcy would see her to where she needed to go.
After four miles, Charlotte started walking through a more attended part of the park, which she had heard was ten miles around.
The path joined the carriageway, and started climbing up a small hill, with well-groomed and tended trees on both sides, and even some obviously cultivated flowers here and there.
The carriageway wound upward towards a small promontory, and Charlotte slowed down even more, but continued relentlessly towards Pemberley and freedom from that horrid man.
After five miles, Charlotte reached the top of a small hill.
As she crested it, she encountered a wide spot where carriages on the way to Pemberley obviously stopped; doubtless, it was a fine vantage point.
She crossed to the promontory’s far side at a pace slightly more ladylike, and as she reached the edge, she beheld Pemberley itself.
Having arrived at night all those months ago, and gone directly to the hunting lodge, she had never actually seen the main house.
The view was breathtaking, and soothing enough to calm her violent mood. She had quieted sufficiently to be satisfied she had only knocked the colonel unconscious, whereas for most of the previous five miles she had wished she had killed him.
Charlotte stood stock-still for a moment, staring at the prospect long enough for her spirits to improve and her anger toward the colonel to abate.
She was delighted. She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste.
Yes, there was no doubt, Pemberley was magnificent!
Mr Darcy had some right to whatever pride he possessed.
His ancestors had done remarkably well for themselves, and from everything she could see, he appeared a diligent and conscientious master. Not all great estates were so lucky.
The spot where she stood was not the very top of the hill, and Charlotte noticed a small climb right next to the overlook.
It was steep, but barely manageable, leading to a secluded shelf some thirty or forty feet up.
Charlotte climbed the ledge, snagging her dress only two more times.
She tore enough of her petticoat on a passing rock that she once again started to scream in frustration, but instead simply pulled the garment off and left it there.
When she finally reached the top, she went to the very edge, closed her eyes, and let the sunshine warm her face and the breeze blow her hair.
As far from propriety as possible, she threw her bonnet over the edge, pulled the pins out of her hair to let it fall, then sat with her feet hanging over the precipice, staring at Pemberley as the sun neared the horizon.
~~~
After she sat on the cliffside for one hour, Charlotte had almost managed to sort out the idea that it really did not matter if she had tried for treble the time the general requested out of honour, duty, or stubbornness.
In the end, the only two things that mattered were that she had given it her best effort, and she had failed.
After she sat on the cliffside for two hours, she began to decide which direction she would go when she descended.
She sat staring at her hands in contemplation for many moments.
She pictured in her mind exactly what she would do.
She would climb down the cliffside exactly as she had ascended.
She would take one last look at Pemberley from the spot where she had first viewed it.
Then she would turn and walk back the way she had come until she reached the carriageway.
Once there, she might turn to her left towards Pemberley, and she would be at the main house within the hour.
She knew that if she ever got to Pemberley itself, it would only be because she had finally given up.
If she followed her right hand, she would turn back down the path, return to the lodge, and see if she could work out some other way to finish her duty; or at least delay her capitulation.
After she sat on the cliffside for three hours, she decided that she was both wool-gathering and starting to get quite hungry, though not hungry enough to leave yet. Her last meal had been when she broke her fast, much earlier in the day.
The sunset was a gorgeous array of reds, oranges, and violets, as if Pemberley were so important to the world that the sun itself felt compelled to honour its presence. Charlotte just sat there, wondering what to do.
After she sat on the cliffside for four hours, watching the last rays of the sun disappear, she finally concluded that she must descend, pick the appropriate hand, and meet her fate.
With a heavy sigh, she climbed slowly to her knees, very nearly falling off the edge of the cliff (which would have forestalled any need for decision), and worked her way over to climb back down.
Even without her petticoat, climbing down was far harder than climbing up.
Had she asked the young Lizzy Bennett before she lost her eyesight, she might have been told as much, but this was not something Charlotte already knew.
She eventually reached the bottom with only a stumble or two, stood, dusted herself off, turned, and returned to her original viewpoint to make her decision.
“Mr Darcy!”
“Miss Lucas.”
Why was she surprised to find Mr Darcy waiting? A servant had doubtless taken a horse to Pemberley many hours earlier, and the gentleman likely knew exactly where she was the whole time.
What was surprising was that he stood on the ground as if he had been there since the dawn of time, content to wait until the end of it.
He showed no impatience, no reserve, no sign of distress.
Looking down, she noticed a few tracks in the dust indicating he had been there quite some time.
His vantage point commanded a good view of her seat on the cliffside, yet he had been gentleman enough to leave her to her ruminations.
The simple courtesy of doing nothing might have been the nicest thing anybody had done for her in some time, and she was very appreciative.
“I apologise for taking up so much of your day, but I appreciate that you left me to my own devices. I required… reflection.”
“There is no need to thank me. You have done far more than anybody asked, you have done it well and with aplomb, and frankly, that you only injured my cousin instead of killing him is very much to your credit. Nobody heard the very last conversation, but Salina and Barrow have overheard enough to know he is a difficult patient.”
Charlotte nodded in understanding and waited anxiously. Mr Darcy seemed a very patient man, in no hurry to go rattling on like other young men, so he gave her a few minutes.
When she was not inclined to speak, he finally asked, “Miss Lucas, you have done all that anybody asked. If you come to Pemberley tonight, I will see you delivered wherever you need to go.”
Charlotte nodded in appreciation, but apparently, he was not finished.
“You need go nowhere at all. You are welcome at Pemberley for as long as you choose to stay.”
Looking at the man, Charlotte felt a surge of appreciation.
He had done much for Jane, and for the small service she had provided his cousin, he would allow her to stay at Pemberley for years if she chose, or happily introduce her to other men of standing.
He was not the man for her, certainly, but he was very much a man for some woman.
He might even have been a good match for Lizzy, had she not gone to America.
“I had decided upon the cliff face that I would come to this spot, and choose left or right. Left for Pemberley, home, and defeat; right to return to the lodge and try once more.”
Mr Darcy walked directly to her and very forwardly took hold of both hands. Propriety be damned; neither wore gloves. In fact, she was dirty, sweaty, and tired, wearing neither petticoat, intact dress, hair pins, nor bonnet—but she felt they had an understanding.
They stood staring at each other for a few moments. A bond of friendship had built over the previous months of visits, letters, and endless fretting about his cousin. It was obvious he simply awaited her decision to know how to act.
At last, Charlotte released her left hand, squeezed his right in a gesture of comfort more appropriate for a lover, and looked right, towards the hunting lodge.
Mr Darcy nodded acceptance, with an expression indicating he would have accepted either choice.
Ever the gentleman, he offered his arm and led her to the carriageway.
When they reached a particular point, he removed his hat and waved it.
Minutes later, a groom rode up with a small phaeton.
The gentleman handed the lady up, casually mentioned his groom was a man to be trusted with silence, carefully covered her lap with the rug, climbed beside her, and snapped the whip, bearing her back to her next encounter with her duty, her destiny, her unfinished task, the bane of her existence.
~~~