The True Darcy Spirit. Elizabeth Aston

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      She had arrived at Parker Street in Covent Garden in quite a different mood to that of the present. Their departure from Bath had been sudden and thrilling, slipping out from Laura Place at midnight, the door left on the latch for her by a reluctant Petifer, with the few things she could bring with her hastily made into a bundle.

      She had left a note for Mrs. Cathcart, saying that she was bound for Gretna Green; this she had laid on her own pillow, knowing that by the time it was discovered in the morning, she and James would be many miles on their way northwards.

      It was not until the first raptures of their journey had abated, that Cassandra had discovered they were not heading for the border.

      “On reflection, my love,” James had said, “I came to the conclusion that we are better off in London. It will be harder for them to trace or follow us, you know, and after all we do not wish to be hauled back like a pair of school runaways. In London, we may make our plans without any fear of interference.”

      Cassandra would willingly have accepted a suggestion that they set off for the steppes or the wilds of Turkestan, if that had been what James wanted. He was older than she was, and much more experienced in the ways of the world. And the last thing she wanted was to find Mrs. Cathcart banging on an inn door on the road to Scotland, summoning her for retribution and separating her from James.

      She asked whether they could be married so easily in London, since she was underage, but he smiled at her tenderly, and said that anything could be arranged in London, she was to leave it all to him. It might take a little time to arrange, but as long as they were together, what did a few days matter?

      “We had best tell Mrs. Dodd that we are married, however,” he said. “I do not suppose you have a ring you could wear, no, of course not. We must stop and purchase one, only I am very short of funds just at present. It’s a dashed nuisance.”

      “I have my mother’s wedding ring,” Cassandra said. “Will Mrs. Dodd believe that you are married, with no announcement of an engagement or a wedding?”

      “She is used to my impulsive ways, and when she meets you, she will love you as much as I do, and not ask any awkward questions, you need have no fears on that score.”

      Mrs. Dodd did not seem exactly enthusiastic over their arrival, but she was obviously fond of James, if suspicious of Cassandra. “You’re in a scrape, James, and too old for me to get you out of it as I used to when you were a little boy. You may have the best bedchamber, you and the new Mrs. Eyre.”

      Even if there was a hint of sarcasm in Mrs. Dodd’s voice, it warmed Cassandra’s heart to be called Mrs. Eyre. And an idyllic night of love with her beloved James made her care even less when and how their marriage was to take place. She was living for the moment, and these moments were filled with rapture and happiness. In the daytime, they strolled arm in arm about London, exploring and laughing together. He told her tales of his nautical life, and she hung on his every word. She gave him all her money, although it seemed sadly depleted; she must have spent more in Bath than she had thought.

      “It’s only a temporary difficulty,” James said. “I shall come back from Ireland with full pockets, and this will last us meanwhile.”

      Cassandra could not bear to be parted from him. “Must you go to Ireland?”

      “I wouldn’t leave you dear heart, not for an hour, if it were not necessary. My godfather has not been well for some years, and he looks forward to my visits, I cannot disappoint him. And you know, he has named me in his will, I do not want to incur his displeasure. I shall leave on Tuesday, and be back by that day se’ennight, if I travel fast.”

      What a fool she had been, how wrapped up in her love and in James! Cassandra looked about the best bedchamber with an aching sadness; how could she imagine that her dream could shatter in such a way?

      “Shall we be married when you return from Ireland?” she had asked him.

      “I have it all in hand, do not concern yourself about it.” He gave her a hearty kiss. “I am going to leave you in here for an hour, no more, for I have some business to conduct, and Mrs. Dodd has given me the use of her parlour. I beg you will not stir from here, do not come downstairs, for I would not have you seen.”

      “Is this business with someone I know?” she asked in a teasing voice.

      “No, why should it be? Of course not. What put such an idea in your head?”

      “Do not snap at me, it was a remark, I do not mean to meddle in your private affairs.”

      “My affairs are your affairs, but in matters of business, you know, one deals face-to-face, and does better with no distractions.” Another kiss, and he was gone, shutting the door firmly behind him.

      The room overlooked a small yard, in which grew a mulberry tree. Cassandra opened the casement as wide as it would go and sat herself down on the wide window seat with her sketching book, happy to spend an hour catching the exact shape of a leaf, and, more difficult, the movement of the leaves in the slight breeze.

      It was a hot day. The sun shone down on the garden, and the sounds of London, the city that was never still, never quiet, were all around her. She could hear voices, someone singing a popular catch, someone bawling out the details of sweetmeats he had to sell, a groom talking to a horse. Closer now, that was James’s voice, coming up from the room below; the window downstairs must be open, too. She smiled, just the timbre of his voice made her feel warm inside.

      She stiffened, as another voice reached her ears. An all too familiar voice. No, it couldn’t be, it was impossible, it was another man who sounded the same, that was all. She kneeled on the window seat and leant out as far as she could. James and whoever he was with had moved closer to the window downstairs, now she could hear them more clearly.

      Good God, she was not mistaken. Mr. Partington was there, downstairs, talking to James. He had traced her, how was it possible? Her heart was thumping, and she bit her lip, should she run downstairs, be at James’s side?

      Her reason, striking with cold clarity, told her that this was no unforeseen encounter. James had known that Mr. Partington was coming. There had been an appointment, her stepfather was expected, this was no sudden discovery.

      No, she cried to herself, inside her head, no, that wasn’t right. James had gone down to see someone else, and then, out of the blue, in had walked Mr. Partington.

      Nonsense, said her reason, and now her ears confirmed it. She could hear what they were saying; Mr. Partington had raised his voice, was almost shouting at James. Who seemed to be keeping his temper admirably, but what was he saying?

      She sat and listened numbly, unable to take in James’s betrayal. Yes, he would marry her, but if, and only if…and not until he had assurances, written settlements, lawyers’ letters, stating that Cassandra came to him with a fortune. With, in fact, twenty thousand pounds. Yes, they were living together as man and wife; no, he would not be stigmatised as a rogue, for he would let it be known that Miss Darcy had made all the running, had fallen so desperately in love with him that she would live with him upon any terms. Her name would be dragged through the mud, not his, for that was the way of the world.

      Horror crept over Cassandra. This could not be James speaking, her merry, open-hearted, kind James.

      Only it was. There it was. He didn’t mind whether he married her or not, but he could not marry a woman without money, so, if she had no fortune, then she СКАЧАТЬ