Page 19 of Bella Darcy is on the Run

Lydia Bennet

Darcy took the letter from Elizabeth and leant against the edge of his desk as he read it over and over again. Eventually, he placed it carefully on the wood and pulled Elizabeth into his arms.

"She is safe," he said, his voice breaking. "Elizabeth, she is safe."

She looked up at him and saw tears filling his eyes. She had not seen William cry since each of their girls was born, and now those tears were so full of relief that Elizabeth immediately became a watering pot herself.

"Oh, my darling girl," she said, pressing her face against his chest. "She is the silliest creature alive and I shall scold her thoroughly, but not before I have held her and kissed her and told her just how very much we love her."

"Lydia," William said, sounding almost dazed. "Of all people. I never even considered her."

"Nor did I."

"I thought perhaps the Gardiners. Or Longbourn. Even Georgiana." He shook his head slowly. "But Lydia."

Elizabeth gave a watery laugh. "She is the most mysterious and rebellious member of my family as far as the girls are concerned. I suppose it makes a certain sort of sense."

William looked down at her for a long moment, still seeming unable to quite believe the words he had read. "She is safe and well."

"She is, my dear, dear husband."

With that, he caught Elizabeth's face between his hands and kissed her soundly. He poured all his relief and joy into it, pulling her close as though he needed to feel something solid beneath his hands after days of imagining the worst. Elizabeth wound her arms around his neck and wound her fingers into his hair, holding him just as tightly.

When they finally drew apart, Darcy rested his forehead against hers. "We leave for Cornwall at first light. All of us."

Elizabeth smiled through her tears. "Of course we do."

Chapter Eleven

The day before Lydia’s letter arrived at Pemberley, Bella woke with no idea where she was. For several long moments she lay still beneath unfamiliar bedclothes, staring at a strip of wallpaper where tiny sparrows flew across an endless blue sky. One bird appeared to be flying directly into the bedpost. She frowned at it sleepily until memories of the last few days began to return. Drab coaching inns and smoky parlours. And now, Falmouth. Even now she could hear the rumble of the sea beyond the window and the wheeling cries of gulls above.

She let out a long breath and sank back against the pillows. The room was small but pleasantly appointed with white-painted furniture and a long horizontal window which, from her prone position, showed a strip of sky punctuated with wisps of cloud. The window was ajar and the buttercup-yellow curtains stirred gently in the breeze, carrying with them the faint smell of salt. For the first time since leaving Pemberley, there was nowhere she needed to reach before nightfall, no onward journey to anticipate or fear. She had arrived at the place she had spent many days imagining, and the thought ought to have filled her with triumph.

This morning, however, she found herself thinking of home. She wondered whether it was Mama who had first gone into her room after she disappeared or whether Papa had been the one to find her miserable little note. She could picture Mina crying and Kate trying to reason everyone into calm, and the ache in her chest was so sharp that she nearly pulled the covers back over her head. Her family knew—or soon would know—where she was, she reminded herself. Aunt Lydia had written immediately. But the last few days must have been filled with heartache and worry. She was ashamed by how little time she had thought of her family as she had travelled over the miles that brought her to Falmouth.

A knock sounded at the door and Clara entered carrying a basin of hot water. "Mornin', miss. I thought you might be awake by now. Cook says breakfast's nearly ready and I thought you would be hankerin’ for a good meal. We can hardly claim to ‘ave been well fed these past days. I’ve already had coddled eggs and a cup o’ warm milk. What a treat."

Bella pushed herself upright and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "You have already been downstairs?"

"I ‘ave, miss." Clara set the basin on a dainty dressing table which was white and decorated with small blue roses and twisting vines. "Your aunt's down there with the other ladies from yesterday and enough paper to cover the road back to Derbyshire. They're all talkin’ over one another, your aunt says Parliament's happy enough to take a woman's coin but not so keen on hearin’ what she thinks, and one of the ladies is wearing trousers."

Bella had been reaching for her wrapper, but stopped with one arm halfway into the sleeve. "I beg your pardon?"

"Trousers," Clara repeated, evidently enjoying herself. "Green ones, very fine material too, if you're askin’ me. She's got some sort of long gown over the top, but they're trousers all right. I ‘ad a proper good look."

"Of course you did." Bella finished pulling on the wrapper and got out of bed. "Why is there a woman wearing green trousers in my aunt's dining room?"

Clara gave her an innocent look as she began sorting through the gowns in the small chest her aunt had provided. "Couldn't tell you, miss. I thought you'd be wanting to see it for yourself."

Bella dressed quickly in a borrowed gown that was a little over-embellished for her liking but fit well enough, and followed Clara downstairs some twenty minutes later with her hair simply dressed. Clara had no patience for "them fussy French styles" but apparently a great eye for what suited and had dressed Bella’s hair simply but most becomingly. She could hear Aunt Lydia before they reached the dining room, her unmistakable laugh rising above the murmur of female voices and the rustle of paper. By the time Bella reached the doorway, curiosity had almost displaced her worries about her family.

The dining table was concealed beneath a large quantity of paper. Plates of toast, eggs and ham were squeezed between stacks of pamphlets, folded newspapers and loose sheets covered in handwriting. Pots of preserves were crowded amongst inkpots. Aunt Lydia sat at the head of the table in a peach-coloured morning gown, her eyes bright, one hand gesturing wildly in the air and a cup of chocolate in the other. She appeared to be directing Hattie Blaine who was folding sheets into neat piles beside her breakfast plate. Amelia Gossling sat opposite, writing hurried notes in an extraordinary green garment, the likes of which Bella had never seen before. Now that Bella could see her properly, Clara had been quite correct. Beneath a long embroidered tunic of some sort were unmistakably a pair of loose silk trousers gathered at the ankle. They were embroidered in an intricate design of mustard thread and set off by silk slippers in the same shade. She noticed the lady had one long leg tucked under the other, a slipper hanging loosely from her heel. Bella had never seen a breakfast scene like it and she wasn’t sure how to proceed.

Aunt Lydia noticed her lingering in the doorway and immediately brightened. "My beautiful Bella, there you are. Come and sit down before we manage to bury the breakfast completely. There are some very good eggs amongst this chaos."

Bella came further into the room, looking from one woman to another. "What exactly are you all doing, Aunt Lydia?"

Her aunt glanced at her as though the answer ought to be obvious. "It is Monday, my dear. On Monday we attend to our pamphlets."