The Darcy Cousins (41 page)

MONICA FAIRVIEW

of us. What have our impractical notions brought us but unhappiness? I am resolved to be more sensible from now on."

She was silent. Georgiana heard the horse's hooves as they struck the ground, the distant mooing of cows, and the sudden cry of a hawk as it rose up through the air.

"Channing is not such a bad person, and I think I understand him," said Clarissa. "We will rub together well enough."

Georgiana shook her head. "He is not for you," she said, thinking of Mrs Moffet. "You do not know him as well as you think. You would grow tired of him in a week."

Clarissa did not reply.

They came to a high point on the road. The village of Hunsford lay before them, the small spire of the church visible against the sky.

"Let us ride past Rosings," said Clarissa on impulse. "I want to see the place where I spent those miserable first weeks when I first came to England."

"I had no idea then that you were so miserable," remarked Georgiana. "You certainly concealed it well."

"I fooled you, did I not?" said Clarissa with a grin. "But then, you did not know me at the time. So I suppose I was not so very clever."

Georgiana examined her cousin closely. She could tell nothing from her profile--she looked as she always did. Was there perhaps more of a stubborn edge to her jaw? It was impossible to say.

"And now?" said Georgiana, wanting to know. "Are you miserable now?"

Clarissa looked down at the mare's mane. It took her awhile to answer.

"I am not happy. The news about Parker still rankles. But I think I left him such a long time ago, that the news did not hit me as hard as I expected. Boston seems so far away, as does Parker, in 374

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many ways. It seems like another world, in some way less real than this one. I do not mean to say that I feel no pain. It is just that the pain is not overwhelming." She looked up and gave her cousin a twisted smile. "I plan to survive."

Georgiana nodded. "Yes. Though it is difficult to believe at first, one does survive. But you must promise meanwhile to do nothing foolish. Like marrying Channing, for example."

Clarissa nodded. "Very well. I will not marry Channing. Are you satisfied?"

It was Georgiana's turn to nod.

A small phaeton and ponies emerged from the side road, some way ahead of them. It passed through the center of the village and took the left fork--onto the road that led to Rosings.

"Oh, look!" cried Clarissa. "There is Anne's phaeton! With Mrs Jenkinson and--is that Anne? How can that be possible? Could she have decided to return?"

Georgiana peered at the distant carriage. It was too far away to identify the passengers, but there was no doubting the carriage.

They had been seen in it often enough.

The very possibility that Anne could have given up her freedom and returned to her mother threw Georgiana into despondency.

Of the three of them, she had thought at least Anne had found what she wished. How could things have gone so wrong for all of them?

"But why? It does not make sense."

"Let us catch up with her and ask her," said Clarissa.

"Oh, Clarissa, will you never learn? If she has returned to Rosings, we will have to leave her to her own devices."

"I have no intention of inciting her to rebellion," said Clarissa derisively. "I just want to discover what happened and why she 375

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decided to come back. I am motivated by curiosity alone, not by a desire for reform."

"Well, I am glad of that, at least," said Georgiana. "If you promise me you will not try to convince her to run away, I will allow you to come with me to meet her carriage."

"You can neither allow me nor prevent me," said Clarissa. "But you need not worry. I will not interfere. What would be the point, in any case? She would only come back again.

As they drew closer to the little phaeton, Georgiana observed Mrs Jenkinson wrapping a shawl solicitously around Anne's shoulders.

"How can she endure all those shawls in September?" she remarked. "You remember at the school? She did not have a single one."

"I suppose if you are sickly, you feel the cold more. You are not as resistant to sudden draughts," said Clarissa. "It was you who told me that. There is a nip in the air."

They had almost caught up with the carriage.

"Anne!" shouted Clarissa. "Wait for us!"

Georgiana expected the carriage to slow down or even stop, but it continued on its way, completely oblivious.

"Wait!" she cried.

"Anne!" they shouted together, hoping that by combining voices they could be heard more clearly.

Anne did not turn round. Mrs Jennings, however, looked back at them and sent them a look of such intense dislike that Georgiana reigned in her horse.

"Anne?" said Clarissa.

Georgiana wanted to cry. Could it be that Anne had reverted so much to her older self that she did not even want talk to them?

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The carriage started to turn through the gate to move up the road that led to the entrance.

They could see Anne clearly now.

"Oh, Lord!" exclaimed Clarissa, falling back.

Georgiana too fell back. She could scarcely believe her eyes.

It was not Anne who was in the carriage, wrapped in shawls. It was Lady Catherine.

On Sunday, everyone but Georgiana set out to attend church.

Georgiana stayed behind, pleading a digestive ailment. She did not know how they could all go to church so calmly when it was very likely there would be an exceedingly embarrassing scene. It was all very awkward indeed. For where were the Darcys going to sit?

Would Lady Catherine allow them to sit in her pew, when she was not on talking terms with them? Or would they be forced to sit with Mrs Gatley? The whole congregation would be agog with curiosity.

This was her main reason, she told herself, for not wishing to go. She did not want to have to face the whispers and suggestions of the whole congregation. But there were other and, if one wished to be honest, more compelling reasons not to go. She could not bear to go back to the same church and revisit that first day when she had met Mr Gatley. She remembered only too well his eyes upon her then. She had suspected at the time that he was judgemental, and events had proved her right.

Once everyone left, she set herself the goal of reading ten pages.

It was a worthy goal and soon achieved. Except that she turned page after page, without having grasped a word of the content.

Finally, she threw down the book and decided that her best course was to take some air in the garden.

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The last person in the world--the very last person in the world--she could have expected to see was Mr Gatley. Yet there he was, descending from his barouche and climbing the stairs to the house laboriously, his head down.

He had not seen her.

She froze like a hare caught in the glare of a lantern. Her mind told her she ought to run away, quickly, but her feet clung stubbornly to the hard marble surface they were standing on.

When she finally managed to tear one of them from the ground's pull, he looked up. It was too late.

A spark lit his eyes, and he took a quick step upwards, towards her.

"Miss Darcy."

"Mr Gatley."

Appropriate bows and curtsies followed.

"I did not expect to see you here," he stated.

"Nor I you," said Georgiana.

"It is my home, you know," he said gently.

"I know."

"I expected everyone would be at church," he said, as if that explained everything.

"I was not feeling well." This was her explanation.

"I have come down from Town," he said. "I came to pick up some papers."

"Ah," she answered.

He had not told her what she wanted to know.

"So you are not staying?" she asked, the words squeezing past her lips.

"No."

And that was that. That "no"--a single syllable--slammed the door on a brief hope that had foolishly sprung up inside her. Her 378

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lips trembled, and she controlled the betraying tremble by raising her hand to her mouth and pretending to yawn.

"Very well, Mr Gatley," she said finally, pleased that her voice did not tremble even though her lips did. "I will not delay you on your quest. I suppose you must ride back to London immediately."

"Yes, immediately."

She waved her hand in the direction of the garden. "I was going to take a walk," she said and set out quickly, just in case she said something very unwise, for she wanted to ask him to stay. But that would not do at all. It would be very foolish, extremely foolish, and it would earn her the rebuff that she deserved. For it was he, after all, who had wronged her, and if he had not discovered that by now--well, she was not about to enlighten him.

Only when she reached the safety of the garden--where she could retreat behind the hedges and become invisible--only then did she recall that she had not bid him goodbye.

Clarissa found her in the garden some time later, sitting on a wrought-iron bench and kicking up a cloud of dust with her feet.

"I have news," said Clarissa.

Georgiana looked up dully.

"Aren't you going to ask me what it is?" said Clarissa.

"Very well. What news do you have, Clarissa?"

"Lady Catherine was not in church! She did not show up!

Which was excellent for us, of course, since it avoided a great deal of awkwardness. Even Robert was worried. I was very nervous all the way there, for I could see what a problem it would be if we did not sit with Lady Catherine. It would be announcing to the world that something was wrong. I wonder that Darcy chose to 379

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go to church at all. Perhaps he did it to make a point, so that Lady Catherine could understand more fully what she was doing. At the end, she did not come, so all was well."

Georgiana tried to evoke some interest in Clarissa's story, but her mind had become very listless.

"And the sermon was so dull I do not think a single person stayed awake," said Clarissa. "Without Lady Catherine to inspire him, Mr Collins has little to say for himself. I still do not understand how preachers can be appointed based on patronage and not on piety."

"It is a gentleman's occupation," said Georgiana indifferently.

"It requires study and knowledge of the classical tongues. To be qualified, you have to know those at least." She was not interested in a discussion with Clarissa about English clergy, but she could tell from the militant look in Clarissa's eye that it was not a topic she was willing to abandon easily. "Can we have this discussion later? I prefer to enjoy some peace in the garden."

"Watch out, Georgiana. You are becoming quite dull again."

She broke off and peered intently at Georgiana. "You look quite strange. Are you unwell?"

"That was precisely why I did not go to church," said Georgiana bitingly.

"No it was not," replied Clarissa. "You did not look like this when I left this morning. Something has happened since."

She continued to examine Georgiana intently. "You have seen Mr Gatley. Nothing else could have given you that look."

Georgiana groaned. "Just leave me alone."

"I will not leave you alone," said Clarissa. "At least not until you tell me what happened. I have to admit that your news is far superior to mine."

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"You do not even know my news," said Georgiana, amused in spite of herself.

"Exactly. That is what makes it exciting."

She settled on a bench, patted the space next to her for Georgiana to sit down, and prepared to listen.

Gatley cursed himself for being a fool.

He had intended to stay. That excuse of the papers--as if anyone could believe that he would ride all the way from London just to pick up some papers--was the best he could think of on the spur of the moment. It would take Miss Darcy no more than a few moments to realise that he could easily have sent for them rather than coming himself.

He had intended to stay. That is, until he saw her, standing at the top of the stairs, looking dazzlingly pretty in a simple muslin dress, and then his courage had failed him.

Not that he was a coward. But he knew that if he stayed, he would not be able to stick to his resolve, which was to set aside any lingering feelings he may have for her, as he had done so far very successfully, and to move on to a new phase of his life.

His coachman, Oskins, would think him quite mad. He had already made more than one veiled reference to how his master had never been the same since that blow on the head. Now he would have even more reason to think so. He had only last week returned to London from Warwickshire. He had informed the man that very morning that they would be staying several days in Kent.

Well, Oskins's opinion was not going to stand in his way.

He gave orders to leave. His servants--including his valet, who was not going to believe that Gatley had dragged him all the way 381

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from London for a mere hour's stay--barely had a few minutes to down some ale and food. Then it was straight back to London, without a word of explanation.

He would stop along the way and stay overnight at an inn. It would give everyone--the horses as well--a chance to recover.

As the carriage pulled out, he remembered that his mother would be returning from church about this time. He put his head out of the window and ordered Oskins to go full speed. The horses plunged forward, and the carriage hurtled down the road. He leaned back against the squabs, satisfied. The last thing he wanted to happen was to run into his mother. There would be no escape for him then.

He had to avoid Georgiana. She was wrong for him, wrong in every way.

If only she had not stood there at the top of the stairs, with something in her eyes that twisted his heart. If only he had had time to compose himself and to prepare himself for the encounter until they returned from church. Then he could have been spared this headlong flight back to London. For a flight by any other name was still a flight.