The Journey (13 page)

Eventually, we reached the turn to Mr. Martin’s pig farm. Jack offered his regret at not taking us all the way to the next village. I thanked him, however, and assured him that his aid had been of great assistance to us. Mr. Darcy said little, merely nodding curtly before we resumed our journey toward Hazleden on foot.

We walked in silence, staring straight ahead until the horse and cart could no longer be heard. Only then did I chance a quick peek at Mr. Darcy’s countenance. I expected darkness and did not meet with disappointment.

His brows pulled together in a deep frown, his lips tightly pressed together. He plodded forward, each step angrily resolute. The muscle in his jaw even seemed to twitch in time with his tread. I, who cannot abide indefinite silences, finally broke the wordless tension.

“If you are angry with me, would it not hasten the resolution of our conflict if I were informed of your reasoning, for I cannot determine the cause if you will not speak.”

He took a deep breath. “Do allow me the courtesy of time sufficient to recover from this recent experience before imposing upon me for conversation.”

“Forgive me, sir, I did not mean to impose.” We continued on a short way, but I could not let it rest. “I fail to see why the benevolence of a stranger should result in your resentful manner, unless this is further manifestation of your general nature which you warned me about earlier in our acquaintance and of which I am now more than well aware.”

He stopped abruptly and turned to face me. I had already walked a few steps ahead before I noticed and turned back.

“Madam, if you had been forced to spend the last hour in far too close company with a pig the size of a small cow and endure its wild antics, not to mention its odour, your own amiable disposition might possibly be termed resentful!”

I struggled not to laugh or even smile, but his fit of pique was so petty and beneath him that I had to press my lips together to control my expression.

“You made a great sacrifice, sir. I am sure the pig will recall that leg of the journey with pleasure.”

No longer could I maintain my composure, and as my shoulders began to shake, mirth bubbled up from within, and despite all my efforts, I burst forth in laughter. Mr. Darcy turned aside, but when I did not cease after a few moments, he faced me anew.

“I rejoice that I provide you with such merriment. Are you quite finished?”

I nodded, and in truth, I endeavoured mightily to quell my laughter, but as ofttimes happens when one attempts to stifle amusement, it only added fuel to the emotion, and so I continued in helpless, embarrassing abandonment. By that time, tears streamed from my eyes, and I doubled over with the pain caused by such wild hilarity.

Mr. Darcy turned to glare at me. If I had thought earlier that fire shone forth from his eyes, it was nothing compared to now, but I simply could not stop.

I shall be eternally thankful that laughter is contagious, for it eventually cracked even Mr. Darcy’s stiff armour and he, too, began to smile and then softly laugh. Encouraged by my continuous inability to smother my response, he soon laughed aloud with me. Thus we stood beside the path, helplessly out of control for some time until slowly, sanity returned. Wiping my eyes with my hands, I marvelled at how handsome he was with his face lit up by laughter.

“Not only do I smell like the river and dirt, but now I reek of pig,” he said, which started both of us again on another riotous uproar.

“Can you not see the look of horror on Miss Bingley’s face if she were to meet up with us now?” I cried.

“At last I might be freed of her attentions, for I can hardly see her drawing near to one who looks and smells as I do.”

“Nor I, sir.”

I took a deep breath, and at length, I was able to gain control of my amusement. Yet, what relief swept over me with that spontaneous release provided by the sharing of hearty, abundant laughter! I felt at ease, as though I had slept ten hours on a fine feather bed. The old proverb flashed across my memory:
A merry heart doeth good like a medicine
.

And then as quickly as amusement overtook us, self-consciousness returned. We resumed our trek, and I did my utmost to turn my attention to the surroundings, acutely aware that once again Mr. Darcy and I had shared an intimate moment. Laughter and tears were closely tied, and it seemed that either one or the other had torn down the boundaries between us. I determined to restore those barriers as much as possible, beginning with a return to the danger of our surroundings.

“Could you overhear my conversation with young Jack, sir?”

“In between squeals.”

I smiled again, but did not give way to laughter. “So you heard what he said about this Mr. Martin, that the boy could not take us to his house, and why I would not have accepted had he offered.”

“Yes, because of his association with Morgan’s gang. To refuse would have been prudent. Even though the boy thinks the farmer has broken relations with his son, it may be unlikely. He and his cohorts could take refuge there at any time. Yes, Miss Bennet, you did well to glean that much information.”

I was pleased that he approved. “In truth, I was called upon to make up tales with such haste that I wonder at their believability.”

“Well, no one but a besotted youth would have deemed your story true. Your horse falls in a hole? And then mine falls into the river? My word, Elizabeth, we must have been riding two decrepit old nags.”

I rolled my eyes. “I am well aware that it was an insupportable story, but we have been hard pressed to come up with numerous accounts these past days. I confess that my imagination has quite run its course.”

“What I consider most bizarre and fail to comprehend is why you said we were brother and sister. Of all things — brother and sister! No one would believe that. Why not leave it as we were — husband and wife? We now have some experience enacting those roles.”

“I feared the boy might mention to acquaintances that he had picked up a husband and wife. They, in turn, might know Morgan and pass the information on to him or one of his men. I changed our names for that reason. Mary Smith, I know, is unoriginal, but as I said, my creativity has vanished.”

“I disagree. Your creative impulse is highly charged to paint
us
as brother and sister.”

“But why, sir? Our appearance is somewhat similar. We are both dark-haired and possess brown eyes. I fail to see the incomprehensibility you claim.”

Again he stopped walking and turned to me, his expression troubled. “It is just impossible! No one but that besotted youth would ever think we are in the same family. Married, yes, but never brother and sister.”

Aha, now I saw his reasoning! I turned on my heel and began to pick up the pace, outdistancing him in an instant. “I understand your meaning, sir. You need not insult me further.”

He hastened to catch up with me, which did not take long, as his long stride could make two of mine at any given moment. “Insult you? In what manner?”

“Evidently, you consider it degrading for anyone to think we are part of the same family! Do not worry, sir. No one would ever call you a Bennet!”

“You mistake my meaning! I meant no disparagement toward your family. If I had, do you think I would have earlier represented us as married?”

“One sometimes marries beneath oneself. That is more excusable than being born into such a family. I do not wish to discuss it further.”

“I do. I shall not have you think ill of me.”

“What I think of you is of little consequence. As long as that
besotted
youth believed me, we are secure. And on that subject, why ever should you describe him in that manner not once, but twice?”

“Because any fool could see that he could not tear himself from your fine eyes.”

“My fine eyes!”

“Yes,” Mr. Darcy said quietly, looking away. “I have described them thus myself in times past.”

I was shocked at his disclosure. When and to whom could he have spoken of my eyes?

We did not return to the subject, however, for at that moment, we heard movement behind us. In the far distance, a rider-less horse approached, obviously lame, for its limp was pronounced.

United in thought, we hastened back to the perimeter of the wood, seeking its concealment. The poor horse continued on until it stood directly in our line of vision. Still saddled and bridled, a huge, red gash tore across its left foreleg.

“Wait here,” Mr. Darcy cautioned before gingerly approaching the animal. I kept a watchful eye up and down the path but saw no one following the horse. Nervous and scared, the creature would not allow Mr. Darcy too near, and after several unsuccessful attempts, he gave up and returned.

“She’s been shot,” he said, shaking his head. “There is nothing I can do for her without a weapon.”

“Shot! But who would — where is her owner?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “’Tis a dark portion of the country in which we are stranded, Elizabeth. Who knows what happened to the horse or its rider?”

I watched the wretched animal limp a few more steps, saddened that we did not have the means to end its suffering. Suddenly, something appeared familiar. I peered more closely, and my heart turned over.

“Mr. Darcy, does not that horse look like the one Morgan rode?”

He narrowed his eyes, following my gaze. “Morgan! Why do you say that?”

“Look below the saddle. A black feather like the one he wore in his hat is caught beneath the strap.”

He cautioned me to wait and once again walked toward the animal. Although unable to draw close enough to grab the feather, when he returned, he confirmed that my suspicions were correct.

“That means Morgan may be shot as well if the horse is his. It also means there is a high possibility that he and his men are in this vicinity. We must return deeper into the wood.”

Catching my hand, he pushed his way into the labyrinth of undergrowth, and we disappeared into the depth of the timber. How long we scrambled through the woodland, I know not. At length, my legs began to ache, and my blistered feet burned. For some reason, I began to sense a slight shortness of breath.

“Mr. Darcy, can we be climbing a hill?”

He nodded. “A marginal one, it seems. Unusual, for most of this land has been flat except for that small knoll near the highwaymen’s cabin.”

“May we rest a moment, sir?”

He stopped and looked around before answering. When still, I was struck by the silence. Not a leaf fluttered, bird chirped, nor creature scurried through the grass.

“We must proceed,” he whispered. “It is too quiet. We must find a place to hide.”

We struggled on through the wildwood, our breathing growing more laboured with each step. Not a doubt remained by then that we were ascending an incline. When I feared that I could not take another step, Mr. Darcy finally stopped short.

“Remain here,” he said. “Let me scout out what lies ahead within that clearing.”

We had come upon a break in the vegetation. There the land was rockier, filled with large stones and slight open spaces. I watched him advance into the glen and then climb up a slight cliff, disappearing around its curved precipice.

I recall how dry my throat felt — whether because I had nothing to drink for hours or because of the trepidation I felt at no longer having Mr. Darcy within sight, I know not — but I cannot think of that time without remembering the ache in my throat. What would I have done if he did not return, if he fell off that cliff, if he met with one of Morgan’s highwaymen on the other side?

As I have always preferred to dwell on the positive, I willed myself to find suitable distractions. Surveying the surrounding coppice, I determined to count the variety of flora in which I stood. Beech and chestnut trees intermingled between the oaks with a plentiful supply of hawthorn interspersed here and there, as well. Examining the branches a bit closer, I spied a tangle of vines wound around the limbs of several shrubs. I stepped closer and was thrilled to spy remnants of once thick clusters of berries hanging therein.

Blackberries! My mouth watered, and hunger awakened at thought of the succulent, juicy fruit. Carefully, I reached into the maze of vines and began to pick the few berries overlooked by birds and creatures of the forest.

I had rarely tasted anything that gave me greater pleasure. I ate until my hunger was somewhat assuaged and then plunged deeper into the shrubs to collect fruit for Mr. Darcy. Without pail or basket, I was compelled to lift my skirt to hold the precious treasure. So entrenched was I in pursuit of the delicious food, that he returned unbeknownst to me.

“What a lovely sight,” he said.

I looked up immediately and found myself overjoyed to see his face. “I did not hear you. Yes, look at the riches I have discovered! Lovely is the perfect adjective.”

He looked quizzical. “Riches?”

“Blackberries!” I held my skirt forward to display the bounty.

“Ah, I did not see them. Excellent, Miss Bennet. I do believe you have happened upon the final portion of this season’s fruit.” He took a handful from my skirt and popped a good portion into his mouth. “But let us proceed. I have discovered a rough haven for the night.”