The Journey Home To Pemberley ~ Part Two

Good morning! This is the second post I’m sharing this month, here and at the 10^th Annual Austen in August hosted by www.thebookrat.com.

Hope you’re having fun at this great celebration of a special lady who has given us so much joy for over 200 years.

Thanks for stopping by last Friday to read the opening chapters of my upcoming book, THE JOURNEY HOME TO PEMBERLEY and huge thanks for your wonderful comments, they totally made my day!!

I’m so glad you came along to join Mr Darcy on his travels across the Lake District and commiserate with him for discovering that his journey turned out to be more eventful than he had anticipated. But fear not, the rescue party will be set up soon. And, as you’ve already guessed, the carriage that’s crawling up the hill is about to bring Elizabeth and her aunt and uncle to the inn Mr Darcy has so foolishly quitted.

If you can’t remember where we left off or if you haven’t read the opening chapters, you can find them here.

Hope you’ll enjoy the following instalment from

THE JOURNEY HOME TO PEMBERLEY

CHAPTER 1

(cont.)

“How are you faring, Lizzy? Have you had your fill of rocks and mountains yet?” Mr Gardiner’s affectionately teasing question came between sharp intakes of breath, and Elizabeth glanced up towards her uncle in time to catch his wink.

“Not by a fair margin,” she said and smiled widely, utterly in earnest, despite the gloomy weather and the strenuous ascent.

Her journey into the Lake Country with her uncle and aunt Gardiner had brought one joy after another. Astounding prospects and excellent company – what more was there to wish for? How fortunate indeed that her uncle could spend sufficient time away from his business to travel so far north!

It was only over the last ten days or so that Elizabeth’s enjoyment had been marred by the suspicion that her dearest aunt was poorly, much as Mrs Gardiner had endeavoured to conceal it. Yet she could not conceal her growing fatigue and the frequent bouts of nausea and sickness, which did not fail to raise her niece’s concern, and likewise her husband’s – that is, until she brought great happiness to both with the honest and somewhat conscious confession that she thought herself with child.

“Goodness, love, why did you not say so?” Mr Gardiner had exclaimed, in equal measure overjoyed and exasperated as, one hand still clasping Lizzy’s, his wife had nestled into his embrace. “We should have stayed at home or limited ourselves to a brief tour of Derbyshire instead.”

“Oh, it would have been a vast pity to miss all this. It will be a very long time until I can travel quite so far afield. Besides, I hardly knew it myself until we were well on our way. No matter. As for Derbyshire, you and Lizzy can tour it at your leisure while I visit my old friends in Lambton. Oh, aye, a se’nnight in the dear place will set me to rights.”

Lambton was the small village that Mrs Gardiner hailed from. Elizabeth knew as much, just as she knew that it was but five miles from Pemberley, Mr Darcy’s country home. Her aunt had casually disclosed that information.

For her part, Elizabeth had been far less forthcoming. She had revealed nothing to her aunt. She had not breathed a word of her convoluted history with that gentleman, nor had she shared her thoughts about Pemberley’s proximity to Lambton.

Yet she had thoughts aplenty on the subject, and many questions too. Did Mr Darcy keep himself to himself at Pemberley, or did he make a habit of venturing into the village that owed its prosperity to his great estate? Would they meet during her stay in Derbyshire? Would he be displeased to see her if they did? What would he do? What would he say?

It was a long time since Elizabeth had learnt to repent of the acrimony of her refusal. A long time, too, since her prejudices against him had been gradually conquered by the perusal – oft repeated – of the forthright letter he had placed into her hands on the day after their stormy encounter in the Hunsford parsonage. She had misjudged him grievously – she knew that now – and it was a wretchedly uncomfortable notion.

Likewise, shame and guilt were wretchedly uncomfortable sentiments to live with, and she had lived with them for long enough. For a hundred and twenty-one days, to be precise – ever since the agitated morning spent roaming through the Kentish countryside, when she had read and re-read Mr Darcy’s letter, and her eyes had been opened to her despicable conduct.

She had been compelled to own that vanity had blinded her into driving away reason and unquestioningly believing Mr Wickham’s falsehoods because he had flattered her with his attentions, while Mr Darcy had offended her with his distant air and one uncivil comment. And her opinion of both men had been coloured by conceit and prejudice.

It was mortifying in the extreme to see that she had so woefully departed from the common sense she prided herself on, and had made no use at all of her discernment.

In fact, it was that profound mortification which drove her to revisit Mr Darcy’s letter many times – too many – in an endeavour to find excuses for her blameable conduct in his objectionable manner. She dwelled on every sentence that spoke of his high-handedness, of his haughtiness and injured pride – and stopped bringing the letter out of its hiding place only when she learnt to read between the lines and saw that it also spoke of injured feelings.

But by then it was too late. She already knew it by heart. She no longer needed to have the bold and even script before her. The words were indelibly etched into her mind. And they resurfaced time and time again, perversely insistent, to remind her of the sentiments she had unconsciously inspired, and dull her resentment at the way in which those sentiments had been expressed.

When Mr Darcy had offered marriage in the most insulting fashion and had not scrupled to declare he had come to love her against his will, against his reason and even against his character, nothing could subdue her overwhelming anger and resentment. Yet anger and resentment could no longer rule her, once she had grown ashamed of her own conduct and had allowed herself to feel compassion for Mr Darcy and his disappointed hopes.

If there was a way to offer a sincere apology for the unwarranted accusations she had heaped upon him and for the harshness of her manner, she would gladly take it. But it was highly unlikely she would have that opportunity, even if they did meet in Lambton. How was one to broach such a difficult topic during what must surely be a brief encounter, and moreover in company?

Elizabeth sighed, then forced herself to dismiss questions to which she had no answer, and instead attend her aunt, who earnestly entreated:

“Pray do not fret, Edward, I beg you. I am overjoyed, despite the timing. As for the nausea, it will not last. You know it will not. Otherwise I am perfectly fine, you must believe me. Truly, I am well – better than well – and I am enjoying our tour of the Lakes immensely.”

Despite her assurances and frequent protestations, they slowed their pace considerably for the remainder of their stay in the Lake Country. They travelled in very short instalments, allowed her plenty of time to rest, and steadfastly kept her from every untoward exertion.

Such was the case now. Neither Elizabeth nor her uncle would hear of Mrs Gardiner leaving the carriage when the coachman regretfully informed them that the exhausted team would scarce be able to negotiate the exceedingly steep stretch ahead, and asked them to kindly countenance lightening the burden and covering the next two hundred yards on foot. Thus, Mrs Gardiner’s protests were once more overridden. She remained seated while Wells, the coachman, walked alongside the poor beasts and coaxed them on their way, and his master and the master’s niece followed close behind him.

Not long now. Not long till the summit of the pass. An inn stood there – that, the aged Mr Wells knew of old. Small and unpretentious, but a most welcome sight for the weary traveller – unless it had fallen into disrepair and had been abandoned over the many years since he had last driven a coach along this road. But nay, praise be, he could see smoke rising from the chimneys. Clicking his tongue at the chestnut roans struggling uphill beside him, Mr Wells readily acknowledged that this was the most welcome sight of all.

* * * *

They had barely resumed their seats, within the carriage and without, when a bright fork of lightning flashed across the sky, followed all too soon by an almighty clap of thunder. To everyone’s good fortune, Mr Wells was skilled and his team too weary to run wild in fright, so the equipage steadily continued on its way towards the inn and pulled up at the entrance without mishap. The scattered raindrops that had pattered softly on the carriage top for the final part of the ascent had by now turned into a veritable downpour – sheets of rain slanting this way and that under the force of fierce gusts of wind – so they were jolly glad of shelter once they had scurried in.

The common room was low-ceilinged, small and warm, albeit a little smoky, for the wind kept blowing down the chimney. An appealing scent of victuals hung in the air too – which, Mrs Gardiner quietly imparted with a self-conscious smile, made her feel vaguely nauseated but also downright famished.

The innkeeper and a lanky lad rushed out to see to their belongings and their carriage, then took Mr Gardiner’s coachman to the servants’ quarters for his well-deserved sustenance and rest, while the innkeeper’s wife saw to their comfort. Tea and buttered fruit-bread were swiftly brought to their table by the fire, soon to be followed by cold meats, cheese, a meat pie, and a large bowl of something that looked either like a very thick broth or a stew swimming in rich gravy. At the sight of it, Mrs Gardiner winced, assailed by fresh nausea, but she cautiously sampled it and declared it delicious. With a warm smile over her poised spoon, her niece readily agreed.

Elizabeth was helping herself to cold beef and mustard when the sound of hoofbeats and loud, frantic neighs distracted her from that delectable pursuit. It seemingly drew everyone’s notice, too. Shaking his head and muttering something that Elizabeth could not catch, the innkeeper stood from his corner to open the door at the back and called down the corridor that led to the kitchen and the servants’ quarters:

“Simon, me lad, ye’re needed outside. He’s back, like I told ye. His horse’ll want seeing to.”

“I’ll go brew fresh tea,” his wife said, moving past him quite swiftly for one of such ample girth.

“Ye do that, me lovely,” her husband grinned, “but I’d wager he’ll be after summat stronger,” he said as he fetched a bottle of brandy and a glass, as if to show his meaning. “Ye’d best go up an’ light the fire in another chamber,” he added, setting the bottle and the glass on a nearby table. Then he glanced towards his guests and offered by way of explanation, “Looks like we’ll have more company tonight.”

“Oh?” said Mr Gardiner.

“Aye. A young gent. He broke his journey here, but he were in a mighty rush to push forth to Ambleside. Told him he’d better stay with us for the night an’ travel in the morning. He wouldn’t hear of it, but the storm must’ve brought him round to me way of thinking,” he said drolly and picked up the glass to polish it with a rather dubious-looking cloth.

Yet when the front door opened, it was not to admit a young gentleman in need of warmth and brandy, but the innkeeper’s lanky servant. Wide-eyed, he anxiously blurted out:

“The horse came back by hisself, Mr Jonas. Covered in foam, he is. Crazed wi’ fright, too. Can’t get hold of him, he won’t let me touch him. No sign of the gent. Reckon he’s been thrown off.”

“Hell’s teeth,” the innkeeper grunted, then promptly apologised. “Beg pardon, ma’am – miss. ‘Tis just that I could’ve done without going out in this foul weather to look for young gents with more coin than sense.”

Mr Gardiner dropped his napkin on the table and stood.

“Do you need assistance?”

“Would ye come along, sorr? Thank ye kindly. Aye, come if ye would, an’ mayhap fetch yer man as well. Who knows what we’ll find?” he muttered, and turned towards his wife who had rushed back from the kitchen and now stood beside him. “Fetch us some lanterns, Moll, will ye, gal? It’ll be growing dark soon. An’ a quilt or summat. An’ me flask. Not too fine, the stuff that’s in it, but it still puts fire in the belly. He’ll need it, I reckon. He’ll be wet through an’ chilled to the bone.”

* * * *

Silence fell, once the men had left. Between them, the innkeeper, his lad and Mr Gardiner’s coachman must have subdued the runaway horse, for Elizabeth and her aunt could no longer hear frenzied neighs, nor clattering of hooves. All that could be heard was the soft crackle of the fire, old timbers creaking on the floor above as the innkeeper’s wife went about her business, and the storm still raging out of doors.

Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner did not speak much. They sipped their tea and listened out for voices and the sound of footsteps. But the only voice and footsteps were Mistress Moll’s, when she came down to ask if they were warm enough and if there was aught that she could fetch them.

It seemed like an age until they could hear deeper voices, some sort of a clatter and the sound of shuffling feet. Elizabeth and her aunt sat up, and a moment later the main door was thrown open wide. The rescue party lumbered in, and thankfully their search had not been in vain. Between them, they carried some sort of dark sturdy cloth – a cloak? – holding a corner each. A large, seemingly heavy and frightfully limp form lay in the makeshift hammock.

The men gingerly placed their burden on the floor and released the corners of the cloak.

Elizabeth’s eyes widened, and she leapt to her feet with a loud gasp.

“Good heavens! Mr Darcy?”

CHAPTER 2

Alive! He was alive, praise be. She was absolutely certain she had seen his eyelids flutter at the sound of her shocked outburst. They had, had they not? They must have. He must be alive!

A groan clarified the matter beyond a shadow of a doubt, and Elizabeth sighed in profound relief. Then concern mounted yet again. The relief was perhaps premature, since she had no notion how badly he was injured.

The question burst out of its own volition:

“How is he?”

Vexingly, the innkeeper ignored the pressing matter to focus on the inconsequential.

“So, ye know him, then? Ah. So much the better.”

Brow furrowed, Elizabeth could not imagine why the man should think so, and for her part, she disagreed. It was wrong perhaps, and vastly uncharitable, but she still wished she saw a stranger lying there instead of Mr Darcy.

She did not have the leisure to explore that thought. With another groan, he stirred, thus commanding her attention. Yet her anxious scrutiny was not rewarded with any sign that he might be regaining consciousness. Quite the opposite. Eyes closed, he exhaled sharply and his head rolled to one side.

“No!” she might have cried in horror at his stillness and the sudden lack of tension in his frame, had she not seen his hand twitch and reach sideways, before he drew it back with another sigh.

The short-lived horror gave way to a fresh wave of compassion when, reassured she had not heard Mr Darcy breathe his last, Elizabeth could dwell on the less distressing matter – the gash that was revealed when he turned his head. The light fell on it fully now, and another shocked gasp left her lips. Still bleeding profusely, it stretched from the hairline to his temple.

“So much blood,” she said in a pained whisper, and her voice gathered strength as she clasped her hands together and firmly added, “It must be stemmed! This injury should be seen to and—”

“Ne’er ye fear, miss,” the innkeeper spoke up. “I’ve seen worse in young bucks who knew no better than to pounce upon each other with their fists an’ trade blows in a fit of passion. I’d wager ye haven’t had much cause to witness the like, so take it from me, such is the way with brows. The skin around the eye is easily split, an’ then it bleeds at length an’ freely, but it ain’t nothing to fret over. Looks worse than it is,” he said and shrugged with an air of indifference that could only serve to raise Elizabeth’s ire.

She pressed her lips together, seeking to subdue both her flaring anger and the nausea brought by the wisdom he had just imparted, yet Mr Timms unwittingly hampered her in that endeavour when he continued:

“I’d say the young gent has more severe troubles than a gash an’ a few streaks of blood. He must’ve taken a blow to his head, an’ it knocked his sense right out of him, if he ever had any. I reckon he’s done some mischief to his shoulder, too. He groaned something fierce every time we touched it.”

Mr Gardiner made to speak, yet his niece failed to notice as she rushed to have her say.

“He needs a physician,” she declared, but Old Jonas snorted.

“That’s as may be, but he won’t be getting one, not tonight. The nearest is in Ambleside, an’ even if I were mad enough to send Simon to fetch him, I’d wager he won’t be prevailed upon to brave the Struggle.”

Mr Gardiner cast a puzzled glance towards their host.

“The Struggle?” he asked.

“That’s what they call this stretch of road,” Mr Timms explained. “The doctor won’t come all the way up here tonight. Not in this weather.”

“But he must!” Elizabeth insisted. “He will be amply compensated for his troubles, I assure you.”

Old Jonas gave a perfunctory nod.

“Aye, I gathered the young gent is a man of means—”

“He is,” Elizabeth cut the hesitant innkeeper off. “But that is neither here nor there. We would be prepared to ensure the physician’s requirements are met until Mr— Until the gentleman recovers. Will we not, Uncle?” she asked, and her glance grew entreating as she darted her eyes to Mr Gardiner.

“I expect so,” the latter tentatively replied. “But Lizzy, our host is in the right. It might be difficult to fetch a medical man tonight, not to mention it could take many hours. We had better hasten to give Mr Darcy succour ourselves.”

Elizabeth could not argue against the eminently sensible suggestion. Nor could Jonas Timms, who nodded with vigour.

“Aye. He needs to be in a warm bed for a start, an’ out of them wet clothes, or he’ll catch his death. He’s soaked through, I’d say. He must’ve been lying in the rain for a goodly while. Let’s cart him up, then. Ye’ve got the chamber warmed an’ ready, haven’t ye, Moll?”

His wife rolled her eyes.

“Need ye ask?” she muttered. “What do ye reckon I’ve been doing while ye were out, sitting here twiddling me thumbs? Oh, have some sense, will ye?” she remonstrated with her husband. “The wet things should come off here, not when he’s in his bed, or else he’ll lie in damp an’ muddy bedsheets, an’ what use is that to any man?” Mistress Moll grumbled as she crouched down beside her insensible guest and began to unfasten the buttons of his coat.

Old Jonas rubbed his stubbly chin and grimaced in agreement.

“Not just a pretty face, are ye, me lass?” he grinned and, barely mollified, his wife shook her head as she went about her task, doubtlessly knowing full well that it had been many years since her countenance could have been described as pretty. “Simon, don’t stand there gawking,” Old Jonas went on to instruct the lad. “Go an’ see if there’s dry garments to be found in the gent’s saddlebags. Like as not, they’ll be wet too an’ we’ll have to get him summat of ourn to wear, but bring the saddlebags in, anyroads.”

“And we shall need bandages for the headwound,” Mrs Gardiner spoke for the first time in many minutes. “There will be something of that nature in my medicine chest, but not enough. Some of the muslin we bought in Keswick might have to be sacrificed for a better cause. What say you, Lizzy? It will serve, if we cut it in strips.”

But Elizabeth made no answer. She scarce heard her aunt calling her name, her eyes and full attention drawn to Mistress Moll’s handiwork, when the innkeeper’s wife sought to ease the tight-fitting coat over Mr Darcy’s shoulder, which made him wince and groan.

“Oh, pray have a care, ma’am,” she urged the older woman, and neglected to chastise herself for such unseemly daring even when Mistress Moll cast a glance over her shoulder and chortled mildly.

“Doing me best, miss,” she said. “Depend upon it, I’m doing me best.”

The belated rosy tint crept into Elizabeth’s cheeks only when her aunt came to press her arm and said gently but firmly, “I need you upstairs, Lizzy. Do come.”

Her amiable and well-bred aunt knew better than to say she should not stand there gawking, as Old Jonas had told Simon, but the unspoken message was there, nonetheless: she had no business keeping watch over the innkeeper’s wife while the good woman was divesting Mr Darcy of his wet apparel.

Elizabeth’s blush deepened as the message finally sunk in. She looked away and nodded.

Mrs Gardiner pressed her arm again and turned towards their hosts.

“Pray tell me, which way to our chambers? And is there a large pair of scissors I might borrow?”

“If ye go up, ma’am, ‘tis the last chamber on yer right, an’ we’ve readied the ‘un across from yourn for the young miss. Me man’ll show ye. An’ Jonas, fetch the large pair of scissors for the lady, will ye? Fetch me a pair an’ all. The smallest. An’ me little sharp knife, the ‘un I keep for peeling spuds. I’ll have to cut along the seam, if need be. With any luck, I shan’t be driven to ruin this fine coat, but we’ll need to cut the gent out of it if his shoulder’s dislodged or his arm broken.”

Elizabeth flinched, but made no protest when her aunt bade her go up to look for the newly purchased muslin and said she would follow shortly with the pair of scissors. It was a small comfort to learn that Mistress Moll knew her business and, as promised, would do her best to avoid inflicting unnecessary pain.

© Joana Starnes 2019

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Thanks for stopping by to read the second excerpt from The Journey Home To Pemberley, and I hope you’d like to share your thoughts – they’re much appreciated!!

Thanks again for visiting, and while you’re waiting for the next excerpt I hope you’ll have lots of fun at the 10^th Annual Austen In August at www.thebookrat.com.