Page 17 of Bella Darcy is on the Run

"Yes, indeed," said the taller, more slender woman, who was dressed in a fabulous purple concoction the likes of which Bella had never seen. She appeared to be wearing some sort of turban, shot through with silver thread, but Bella did not have time to meditate on the fashion choices of her aunt's guests.

Aunt Lydia caught hold of her hand, pulled her towards the nearest chair and practically pushed her into it. "Now," she said, sitting opposite her with her eyes shining. "Tell me everything."

Bella told her story in fits and starts, and her small audience allowed her to run on uninterrupted, other than the occasional gasp of surprise or "Oh, dear me," from Aunt Lydia. When she finally came to the end of her tale, Bella clasped her hands in her lap and kept her eyes downcast, unable to bear what the response might be.

What if Aunt Lydia threw her out? Or put her on the first carriage back north? It would all have been for naught.

Eventually, Aunt Lydia jumped to her feet and began pacing up and down the room.

"Oh, Lizzie will have your guts for garters, and she will most likely have mine too. And your papa! Oh, Mr Darcy must be going out of his mind. I suspect he has men searching the whole of Derbyshire." She stopped and pressed a hand to her chest. "Oh, my dear Bella, you will have caused so much worry. We must send an express at once to let them know that you are here and well. Safely with me. Though your papa may not regard that state of affairs as all that safe."

She looked at Bella with wide-eyed bewilderment. "Why would you do it? It is lovely to see you, of course, my dear, but I am sure we could have arranged some way of meeting by rather more traditional means."

"I had to escape." Bella twisted her hands together. "I do not know how to explain it. It felt as though there was a mighty pressure pushing down on me, and if I did not take myself away, if I did not find my own sort of adventure, then I would simply be swallowed up by Pemberley and all its responsibilities. I love my mother and father and my sisters more than anything on this earth. I just needed a little something that was only for me."

"Well, I suppose I can understand that," said Aunt Lydia, her expression softening. "But I know better than most that taking a foolish action in response to the emotion of the moment can lead to very dark consequences." Her face changed then, some of the liveliness leaving it. "You are safe and well, and we must give thanks for that. But, Bella, anything could have happened to you travelling alone. You must have encountered some..." She stopped and shook her head firmly. "No. I do not wish to know. Just tell me you are well. You are uninjured and unmolested and you are well."

"I am well," Bella said. "And I know my actions have been irrational. I know Mama and Papa will be furious." She hesitated. "I only hoped you might understand. My family have told me very little about you, really, but I came to believe that you were a woman who did things your own way. I thought perhaps..." She faltered, suddenly embarrassed by how childish it all sounded. "I do not know what I thought. I suppose I believed that if I could get to you, I might understand a little more of the world and find some of the freedom I have been craving."

"Well, I dare say we can show you a little of Falmouth at least," said the smaller, rounder woman, whom Bella had now come to understand was Miss Hattie Blaine, with a cackle of laughter that seemed quite at odds with her small frame. "It is freedom of a sort, I suppose."

"Particularly if you enjoy the smell of fish," added Mrs Amelia Gossling, the taller of the two, gleefully.

Aunt Lydia waved a hand distractedly in the direction of her friends. "Yes, yes, of course. But first we must sort out somewhere for you to sleep. And thank goodness you had that girl with you. She looks as though she knows what she is about, at least." She frowned. "I have not had anyone in the guest rooms for an age. They are probably as dusty as a tomb!"

At that moment, the maid entered carrying a tray loaded with tea things.

"Set it down, Mary, and have the blue room aired and prepared for my niece, Miss Bella Dar..."

"Bennet," Bella interrupted quickly. "Miss Bella Bennet."

Aunt Lydia looked at her, wide-eyed. "Very well, then. Miss Bella Bennet is come to stay. And we shall also need a room made ready for her maid. I believe there is a chamber in the servants' quarters after Sally's departure. Please make sure everything is comfortable for our guests, and tell Cook there will be another to dine, although I daresay she has probably worked that out for herself."

Mary bobbed a curtsey and departed.

As she left the room, Lydia lifted her hand to her mouth and added in something of a stage whisper, "And before you look puzzled, I am Mrs Bennet these days.I have left both Wickham the man and Wickham the name long behind me.”

Her aunt clapped her hands together as if signalling an end to the topic. "Oh, look at me. I scarcely know what to do first. I must gather my writing things immediately and send word to Lizzie, and then we shall talk more, my dear. I suppose we have a great deal to catch up on."

Chapter Ten

Elizabeth Darcy sat in the large study at Pemberley and tried very hard not to cry. It had been seven days since she had last seen her daughter Bella in the flesh, and with every passing hour she became more certain that something terrible had befallen her. Her husband had arranged search parties, and they had traced Bella as far as an inn in Ashbourne, but beyond there the trail had run cold. It seemed that no matter how many men they sent out or how hard her husband searched, they could find no trace of their vulnerable and headstrong eldest daughter.

Elizabeth had not cried since they had first found the note in Bella's bedroom, nor in the days that followed. She had kept herself busy with the search, repeating over and over that Bella would soon be back in her arms until the words became a mantra, something to keep her upright as the hours and days ticked by. She had comforted her two younger daughters and tried to remain strong for her husband, even as the strain showed in every line of his face. She did not think he had slept more than a few hours since the search began, and she knew he would never stop looking for their beloved daughter.

The study where she sat was large and comfortable, the walls panelled with old, well-polished wood. Her husband's great desk dominated the room, while the smaller one she had commandeered shortly after becoming mistress of Pemberley stood nearby. They had learnt in the early days of their marriage that being close together, even when occupied by separate tasks, soothed them both, and she would often sit and write letters or see to household matters while he attended to estate business. The companionable silence bringing them comfort.

When the girls were small, the study had become their sanctuary of an evening, the fire blazing in the large stone fireplace as they curled together on the sofa and spoke of everything and nothing. Elizabeth had been so tired when the children were tiny that she would often fall asleep with her head on William's shoulder or in his lap, and he would guide her gently upstairs to bed, where he would hold her or make love to her with infinite tenderness. He had always been her harbour in every storm. She was no longer certain this was a storm they could weather.

If something had happened to Bella, Elizabeth would never forgive herself, and she knew Fitzwilliam would never forgive himself either. They had known their daughter chafed against the responsibilities being placed upon her, but neither of them had taken her unhappiness seriously enough. They had both thought she would eventually fall into line. What would Elizabeth have done at twenty, with her whole life laid out before her in a way that gave her little to no choice for anything else? She knew herself too well for that. She would have fought against it with everything she had.

A small comfort was that Bella had been seen travelling with a companion, a young woman acting as her maid. The knowledge that she was not entirely alone provided the smallest flicker of hope in Elizabeth's increasingly desolate heart.

The study door suddenly swung open and struck the wall, rousing her from her thoughts. Fitzwilliam strode in, followed closely by her brother-in-law Charles. Both men looked exhausted. Their clothes were rumpled, their hair disordered and their faces creased with worry.

"Please sit for a moment," Elizabeth said, rising quickly. "I shall have some food brought. Tea and brandy and sandwiches. Just sit, William. Truly, you must. You look as though you may fall down where you stand."

"Elizabeth," he whispered, though her name came out more like a prayer. He did not look at her. "I cannot. I will not."