Pride and Prescience (7 page)

Unlike Darcy, Mr. Parrish had chosen also to wear a wedding band. Elizabeth didn’t know whether the practice was common among American husbands, but Caroline made sure everyone in attendance was aware of this additional show of Parrish’s devotion. For his part, Mr. Parrish appeared to take the matrimonial spectacle in stride. According to Jane, his contribution to planning the event had been limited to selecting the wedding rings and asking Professor Randolph to stand up with him. The latter choice had caused Elizabeth mild surprise—she had not realized, while conversing with the professor at dinner, that he and Parrish had so intimate an acquaintance. Randolph appeared in high spirits, genuinely delighted by his friend’s marriage and choice of partner.

It was with relief that she watched the bridal couple quit the Pulteney Hotel, which had hosted the enormous gathering. As the guests dispersed, the Darcys indulged in a much longer and more heartfelt leave-taking of Jane and Bingley. Elizabeth and her closest sister had previously found themselves divided for months-long periods while paying individual visits to friends and relations, but this separation, with each departing for her own new, permanent situation, felt somehow more final. She knew, however, that the two couples would often visit each other’s homes.

She and Darcy spent their last London evening in Drury Lane enjoying a performance of
The Rivals.
It was an older comedy, but neither had seen it performed before, and Sheridan’s play provided a merrier conclusion to their London interlude than had Miss Bingley’s dramatic production. Now Elizabeth looked forward to collecting Georgiana from the Gardiners early the next morning and setting off for Pemberley at last. Christmas was less than a fortnight away; already, cold air nipped fingers and toes, while Yuletide sights and smells filled every shop.

She gazed out the window as their carriage wended from the theatre back to their townhouse through crowded lanes still wet from evening rain. Falling temperatures had turned the damp air into fog, which cloaked the many pedestrians and coaches in eerie greyness.

“Does London never sleep?” she asked. “This seems an extraordinary number of people filling the streets so late at night.”

“Late? The hour is just past midnight.”

“I think I prefer country hours.”

“And here I thought I had married a woman of fashion.”

She was grateful for her husband’s presence as the driver turned onto a darker, seedier road. Though the members of London’s social elite might believe they lived in their own little
beau monde,
in reality their world collided with the city’s less desirable districts and denizens at nearly every corner. Fashionable streets lay within blocks of shabbier neighborhoods, and theatregoers could not travel from a Mayfair mansion to Covent Garden or Drury Lane without entering squalid surroundings thick with sights of desperation, sounds of debauchery, and the smells of unwashed bodies and horse excrement.

Fortunately, Elizabeth saw no children begging in the dim, flickering gaslight this evening. The little ones always tugged at her heart, and not a day of their London visit had passed without Darcy stopping the carriage at her behest to press coins into small, cold hands. No, tonight more sinister figures prowled the streets: unkempt wanderers, aggressive panhandlers, scarlet women, dark-clad rogues. Even as she watched, one dagger-wielding ruffian deprived another of his purse, while twenty paces away, a woman with painted lips called out offers that left little doubt of her moral character to a group of intoxicated dandies tumbling out of a gaming hell.

She shuddered and reached forward to draw the curtain, preferring to complete the journey in isolated darkness rather
than observe more such sights from the window. No sooner had she grasped the fabric, however, than an inconceivable sight stayed her hand.

“That cannot be Caroline Bingley!” She gasped, staring at a woman walking unescorted along the dirty gutter. Unless the uneven light deceived her—surely it must!—the new Mrs. Parrish ambled toward them down the shadowed street. Despite the chilly mist, she wore no hat, no gloves, and no mantle or spencer over her short-sleeved muslin gown. Indeed, the sole accessory on her person was a bulging reticule that dangled from one arm. She strolled as if shopping on Bond Street in the broad light of day, oblivious to the peril around her.

The woman’s face, bearing, and stride in all ways matched those of the former Miss Bingley. But whyever would Caroline Parrish be walking half-dressed down a menacing London street alone on her wedding night?

“Good heavens, it
is
her.” Darcy rapped a signal to their driver. “Stay here,” he told Elizabeth as the coach slowed.

The thief Elizabeth had seen earlier, a ragged youth of perhaps fifteen, spotted Caroline’s unguarded handbag. He darted toward her, snatching the reticule as he passed. But the strings of the overstuffed bag became wrapped around her wrist. The force of the swiping attempt spun her round, at last making her sensible of her surroundings. She cried out as she struggled with the criminal, but she did not let go of the reticule.

Darcy leapt out of the still-moving carriage. “He has a knife!” Elizabeth warned, but her words proved unnecessary. The criminal, malice radiating from every line of his dirty, pockmarked face, already brandished the weapon in his bony hand. It glinted in the stuttering light.

“Leave this lady alone.” Darcy, his back to Elizabeth, faced the ruffian. Her heart hammered so loudly in her ears that she scarcely heard his words. Nearby chatter died as people turned their attention to the evening’s latest entertainment.

The young rogue ceased his struggle with Miss Bingley to take Darcy’s measure. Darcy made no move forward, but drew himself up to his full height, over a foot taller than his adversary. She could imagine the forbidding expression on her husband’s face—the piercing gaze, the impassive jaw. She had seen it before. But would it carry the same power on a dark, dangerous street that it did in a drawing room?

It did, thank heaven. The would-be purse snatcher spat on the ground in an impotent display of resistance, then darted into the mist.

Elizabeth released breath she hadn’t realized she held. Praise God the thief had been so young—she doubted even Darcy could have subdued an older criminal with the force of his presence alone. As her husband whisked their friend into the carriage, the surrounding cacophony of begging and bawdiness resumed as if nothing had happened. Indeed, by the standards of these witnesses, nothing had.

Their coachman quickly set the horses in motion. To Elizabeth it seemed they couldn’t move fast enough. Once the scene behind them melted into the fog, Darcy directed the driver to Mr. Parrish’s townhouse.

The incident had shaken Caroline, but otherwise, as far as could be discerned inside the dark coach, had left her physically unharmed. She sat stiffly beside Elizabeth, clutching the reticule in her lap, and nodded in mute acceptance at Darcy’s offer of his cloak.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Parrish?” Darcy asked.

She did not answer, but rather gazed straight ahead as if she hadn’t heard the question.

“Mrs. Parrish?” Darcy echoed. She merely pulled the cloak farther round her shoulders.

“Caroline?” Elizabeth tried. Though the two women had never been intimate enough to use their Christian names, she thought perhaps the new bride had not yet grown
accustomed to being addressed by her married name.

Mrs. Parrish at last responded. She turned toward Elizabeth and stared at her as if trying to remember something. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” she said finally. Then she looked at the coach’s third passenger. “Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth regarded her in shocked silence. Had it really taken her that long to realize who they were? The robbery attempt must have unsettled her more than was visible.

Darcy leaned forward. “Mrs. Parrish, did that thief harm you?”

She shook her head slowly. “No, I just . . . No.” She straightened in her seat, as if remembering her posture. Her chin recovered its usual tilt. “Thank you, though, for interceding.”

Elizabeth waited, hoping Caroline would now offer some explanation of what she had been doing on the street in the first place. Where was her husband? Had the couple gone out together and become separated? Had she fled their house—the marriage? This was all so exceedingly strange.

When no account appeared forthcoming, she ventured the subject herself. “We were surprised to see you as we passed. Does Mr. Parrish wait for you at home?”

Caroline raised a hand to her temple. “Forgive me, Mrs. Darcy,” she said, her voice as haughty as ever. “I feel a headache coming on.”

The remark silenced Elizabeth as effectively as it no doubt had been intended. She withdrew into the corner of the carriage, the rebuff having smothered all sympathy toward her seatmate. In the year or so she’d known Caroline Bingley Parrish, she’d never aspired to enter the woman’s confidence, never wished to number her among intimate friends. But really! When concerned acquaintances rescued one from robbery and who-knows-what-other harm, some word of explanation seemed a not-unreasonable expectation.

She was tempted to leave Mrs. Parrish and her “headache”
to face alone whatever predicament had led to her midnight stroll. Obviously, Elizabeth’s concern was neither solicited nor welcome. Yet she sensed something different about tonight’s rudeness—that it stemmed not, as usual, from disdain toward herself, but from a desire to keep some private anxiety private. For that she could not fault her.

The fact did, however, set one’s mind to wondering what could so trouble a woman who, twelve hours earlier, had declared herself the happiest, most fortunate bride in all England. A glance at Darcy’s face revealed that he, too, knew not what to make of their companion’s behavior. He started to speak, stopped, then began once more. “Mrs. Parrish, is
everything
quite all right?”

Caroline met his gaze. For a moment, confusion clouded her countenance, and she looked as if she might confide in Darcy. But then her features smoothed and she tilted her chin once more.

“Yes, Mr. Darcy. Quite.”

Mrs. Parrish asked to be dropped off at her door, but Darcy insisted on escorting her into the house. Elizabeth concurred, curious to witness the bridegroom’s reaction to his wandering wife’s homecoming.

Upon opening the door, the butler stepped back, unable to conceal his surprise at the sight of his new mistress standing on the stoop. “Madam! I thought you were within.”

Caroline walked past him without a word and climbed the stairs to the drawing room.

“Is Mr. Parrish at home?” Darcy asked.

“Yes—at least, I believe so.”

“Summon him.”

The butler escorted Elizabeth and Darcy to the drawing room, then continued up to the second story. Caroline waited inside, her back to the door.

It was a good-size room, with furnishings that reflected
French taste. While Elizabeth knew the style was not of Parrish’s choosing but his landlord’s, the elegant pieces adorned with boulle marquetry and brass inlay seemed well suited to both master and new mistress. A few ornamental items, such as a small wooden statue of an eagle and a heavy earthenware vase, contrasted but did not clash with the main décor. The accents reminded Elizabeth of the American objects she had seen in Professor Randolph’s exhibit. She wondered if these mementos of home had been gifts from the archeologist.

Rapid strides on the stairs soon brought Mr. Parrish to them. He raked a hand through elevated locks of hair; his shirt, coat, and breeches appeared hastily donned. His face betrayed utter astonishment. Obviously, their arrival had roused him from bed. “Mr. and Mrs. Darcy.” He acknowledged them with a brief bow before quickly moving to his wife’s side.

“Caroline?” When she did not immediately turn around, he laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, Frederick!” Mrs. Parrish spoke so softly that Elizabeth heard only with difficulty. “I’ve had such a fright.”

His expression became still more confused, but he drew her into his arms. “Whatever has happened, you’re safe now, my love.” Despite the presence of the Darcys, Caroline did not resist the tender display. Elizabeth surmised she was still in a state of shock over the robbery attempt.

Nevertheless, the embrace disconcerted their guests. Elizabeth and Darcy averted their gazes, suddenly seized by a compelling mutual interest in a painting that hung above the fireplace. The illustration depicted a large white classically inspired mansion, situated atop a graceful hill, surrounded by magnolia trees and great oaks with Spanish moss cascading from them. Four columns encompassed the two-story house on each side and supported wide porches on both levels. Deep green ivy and bright pink roses climbed the columns to wind through the rails of the veranda balustrade. An engraved
plate centered at the bottom of the frame read
Mont Joyau
.

Frederick Parrish’s plantation appeared an idyllic, peaceful place. Elizabeth wondered whether he regretted its impending sale. Only the strongest affections toward a spouse could induce her to relinquish such a home. The spelling, she noted, differed from her previous assumption. She would have to ask Darcy about the accuracy of her translation sometime when she wasn’t struggling to eavesdrop on a conversation in which she pretended no interest. Unfortunately, she could make out little more than assorted whispered endearments.

She stole a glance at the couple. The embrace had ended, but Caroline yet leaned on her husband’s arm for support. “I don’t know what came over me—”

“Hush, sweetheart,” he murmured, slipping Darcy’s cloak from her shoulders and folding it over the back of a chair. “We’ll sort it out in the morning. You should rest now.” He cleared his throat, signaling that the Darcys could curtail their spontaneous art appreciation. “Pray excuse me while I attend my wife to her chamber.”

“Of course.” Darcy donned his hat, which in the confusion of their arrival the butler had neglected to take. “We’ve intruded on your privacy too long as it is.”

“No—not at all! I am most grateful for your interest in Caroline’s welfare.” In the foyer below, the grandfather clock struck half-past one. “I know the hour grows late, but if I might presume upon your kindness further I would like to speak with you before you leave. Meanwhile, my man will see to your comfort.”