“It is astonishing!”
“Perhaps from this distance,” she could hear the faint smile in his voice. “A nearer view might render it less remarkable.”
“Ah! There you are, the pragmatic one again. It shall not work, for I am determined to be pleased and, therefore, most certain of being found so. However,” she squinted and tilted her head, “itwouldlook far more convincing at dusk.”
There was the softest hint of laughter in her ear. “Come, Miss Elizabeth,” he touched her arm with his free hand, “let us turn from the main path just before the last of the three archways. There is a smaller path there, and you will be spared the shattering of your pleasant illusion by too close an appraisal. Perhaps we could admire the golden statue of Aurora or simply take in the trees.”
He was walking more beside her now, the better to point out all the items she might find of interest, and she almost felt it would have been more comfortable for her to take his arm as they walked. Her last vestiges of decorum checked her, but she did not object to the fact that she did not have to turn so far to ask her questions of him. It was amusing, too, to find from the corner of her eye that their gazes seemed to be united, seeking the same objects wherever they turned.
“Is that another walkway there, through the trees?” she wondered aloud. She did not need to point, for he had been looking that way with interest as well. The path was some distance through the thicket and far narrower than the one on which they walked. Any less daylight than they presently enjoyed would have rendered it almost invisible from their position.
A low noise sounded in his throat. “We will not be viewing that path. It is one of the Dark Walks that border the Gardens, venueswhere certain illicit doings are known to take place. It would be… inadvisable for us to venture there.”
“Ah.” She could not help a faint blush, for indeed, she had already seen two or three women of uncertain age who appeared to have been wearing a deal too much rouge. Their purpose painfully clear, she tried her best to put them from her mind. These last weeks, that subject had become a touch too real for her, and a woman’s security, far more fragile than she had formerly wished to believe. Her own virtue, if her little pleasure tour were ever discovered, troubled her far less than it should have, had not other matters already sunken lower than she might have imagined they could ever do.
“There is the hermitage,” her companion announced, distracting her from her guilty musings. “Would you like to have your fortune told?”
She looked back with a quizzical frown. “You do not believe in that superstition, do you?”
“You must not mock the hands of Fate,” he informed her seriously. “But you can learn its will, for the modest sum of a sixpence.”
“Then, by all means, let us learn what destiny lies ahead.”
He guided her, most chivalrously, to a small, dank-looking hovel which had been arranged to look as if some forest-dwelling hermit had made it for his home. The humble door stood ajar, and within the false abode, a very convincingly costumed individual puttered about. Just outside the door were positioned some roughly carved seats, and into one of these, he helped her settle to wait.
The hermit took no notice of them for at least two minutes, keeping up the act of poring studiously over what appeared to be a crumbling old tome, and mumbling something unintelligible. She almost began to grow annoyed with his intentional delay, for it was clear he had seen them, but just before she would have spoken aloud, she saw William’s hand moving at his knee in a calming gesture. “Patience,” he whispered. “It is all a part of the amusement.”
At last, the old man stretched, rose, shuffled out of his door, and took in their presence with a convincing degree of surprise. “Ahhh,” he sighed, his eyes seeming to mist over when he looked at Elizabeth, “what elusive fortune has brought thee hither?”
Elizabeth drew out her coin and dropped it into the bowl he had so nonchalantly carried out of the house. He pretended not to notice, his eyes rolling back into his head as he stumbled to a ragged chair himself and deposited the bowl on the ground. He held out his hand, and when she hesitated, he became agitated and grunted his displeasure. She glanced at William, who nodded, and gave her gloved hand into the crusty fingers of the hermit.
“Mmm,” he mumbled. “Ah. Ohhhh.” He groaned as if he were in pain, and his brow furrowed. Then his eyes flew open, and he stared hard at her. “Thou art more than thou appearest!” he gasped. He closed his eyes and sought her other hand, and a grimace crossed his features.
Elizabeth rolled uncertain eyes toward William, but he was leaning intently forward, apparently enjoying the performance.
“Eeee,” the old eccentric continued, “a treasure too well guarded is never found. That which thou seekest is before thee even now. Lift up thine head; never lookest thee down. Faint not, nor touch’d by shame art thou; thine dearest wish shall come round.”
His hand dropped hers, and he drew back in a stretch as if waking from a long nap. Elizabeth turned a bewildered expression upon her companion, feeling as if she had just paid good coin to hear the made-up ramblings of a crazy old man. William’s own brows were quirking in similar confusion, and he lifted one shoulder as if to say that he, too, was baffled. He began to rise to assist her to her feet when a withered finger shot straight into his face.
Elizabeth jerked back in amazement, wondering precisely how her stately companion would perceive this bit of theatrics. It seemed that he was as astonished as she, for he tumbled back into his seat, his dark eyes wide.
“The fall!” the hermit almost shrieked. “Hard it is when cast down thou art from artifice and pride! Seekest thou not pleasing lips and hands that lie. Woe upon thee, if thou learnest not, for verily the price is thine love and life!”
Elizabeth felt her hand snatched in unequivocal demand for removal, and the next second, he was pulling her to her feet and down the path, away from the wheedling howls of the backwoods prophet.
Wilson stared once more at the note his master had hastily scrawled on a bit of… bakery parchment? Wherever had Mr Darcy found that? Matters must have turned badly for him indeed if he was draughting such disgracefully penned missives and secreting them into boot boxes. And Vauxhall? The man must have lost his senses!
Then again, perhaps not, for if Wilson were astonished at Mr Darcy’s present whereabouts, all others would think it an outright falsehood. And who was this in his company…Miss… Eliza? No. He squinted, trying to smooth the paper, but some grease still clinging to the sweet-smelling parchment had smudged the writing as it was folded. He tilted his head and made out the rest of the name.Eliza Benwick. There were some more words blurred, but he could make out a few here and there.Cannot… home… Uncle… witness… 23 Gracechurch… inform… whereabouts… Edward Gardiner… send word… escort home… do not… until I send… Please advise… Lady Catherine.
Wilson blinked and scratched his head. He read the note at least twice more, only making out about two more words.Evening… compromise.
Whatever that meant. He sighed, turning the note sideways as if he hoped it would make it easier to read. Clearly, Mr Darcy was requesting him to contact this Edward Gardiner person on Gracechurch Street, and for a mercy, the address was intact. Healso seemed to desire that a messenger be sent to him directly at the Gardens, but if he had listed a place where he might be found, Wilson could not read it. Surely, however, Mr Darcy would be watching out for such a man and would make himself easy to locate. Wilson secreted himself in the semi-seclusion of Mr Darcy’s dressing chambers, on a small little desk kept for his own purposes, and checked his pen.
Dear Mr Gardiner,
My master, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of 16 Grosvenor Square, desires me to send word on his behalf that he is presently in company with Miss Eliza Benwick at Vauxhall Gardens. I believe she is known to you and may perhaps be awaiting your arrival, or simply wishing to assure you of her safety while in the presence of other companions.
I do apologise for the shock such a note must give you, sir, and I wish I could be more concise as to the details of why the lady wishes for you to be informed. My master’s note to me was damaged and only partly legible, but he would not have made such a strange request were it not of some import. I obey to the best of my ability. If you are the guardian of such a young lady, as I believe his note must have implied, I can only assure you that my master is a man of honour and seeks to inform you out of goodwill and sound intentions.
