It was all very different from the journeys Elizabeth had taken with her family in the past. Then, she had been subjected to all the delays and discomforts which accompanied a less luxurious style of travel. She had been packed in with six other people who had laughed and squabbled, exclaimed or complained all the way.
The coach soon left Hertfordshire behind and they began to travel in a south-easterly direction. To begin with the road was familiar to Elizabeth. She had taken the same road the previous Easter when she had visited Charlotte at Rosings Parsonage. This time, however, she did not break her journey in London but continued straight on to Kent. The coach passed through towns and villages, but for the most part, it rolled through the countryside, which was rich with autumn fruitfulness. Blackberries glistened in the hedgerows, and apple trees, laden down with fruit, grew in the fields.
Darcy said little on the journey. He appeared to be thinking about something and Elizabeth did not like to disturb him. His look, at least, was not tormented, merely abstracted, and she found herself wondering if he were prey to strange moods.
She asked herself how much she knew of him, really. She had seen him at Netherfield and Rosings, and at his home in Derbyshire, but there had always been other people present and she knew that, in company, men were not always what they were alone. She had been alone with him as they had walked through the country lanes around Longbourn after their engagement, and yet even then they had not been truly alone: there had always been a neighbour going shopping, a farmer going to market, or a servant on an errand. But now it was just the two of them and Elizabeth found herself both excited and disturbed at the prospect of learning more about him. She wondered what other new facets of his character would be revealed over the coming weeks; she also wondered what further changes of plan there might be before the end of her wedding tour.
This thought led to another and she smiled.
Darcy looked at her enquiringly.
‘I was just thinking that I seem destined never to visit the Lake District,’ she said. ‘I was meant to be going there last year with my aunt and uncle, until my uncle’s business concerns made us change our plans. And now, the plans have been changed again. I wonder if I will ever see the lakes?’
‘I promise you we will go there, but if we don’t take the chance to visit the Continent now, then it might be years before we have the chance again. Napoleon might talk of peace but I have seen men like him before, and whatever they say, they think only of war. There is a small break in the hostilities. We must make the most of it.’
The light soon began to fade. Although the day had been warm, it was October and the days ended early. Darcy pulled down the blinds in the carriage but Elizabeth, eager to see the sunset, moved to stay his hand. He continued with his work, saying that they would be warmer when the blinds were drawn. There was something in the way he said it, some unusual quality in his voice, that made her unwilling to go against him.
They travelled on in silence and Elizabeth thought, with a vague sense of unease, that this was not what she had expected. She had been looking forward to the journey, thinking it would be full of conversation and laughter, and perhaps the kind of love that marriage brought with it, but her husband seemed preoccupied. He sat with his face turned away from her and she watched him, examining his profile. It was strong, with handsome features, yet there was an air of something she could not quite place. He was the man she had married and yet different, more reserved, and she wondered if it was just because of the tiring nature of the journey or whether he were reverting to his former aloof ways.
Although she could see nothing outside the coach, Elizabeth caught the changing sounds and scents of the world beyond them as they neared the coast. The soft song of blackbirds, robins, and thrushes was replaced by the raucous cry of the gulls, and the smell of grass and flowers was replaced by the sharp tang of salt. It permeated the carriage, finding its way into Elizabeth’s nostrils and onto her lips and tongue.
The carriage, which had been rolling smoothly over muddy roads, began to jerk and jolt as it travelled over cobbles, and the clattering of the wheels added itself to the harsh sound of the seabirds. Impatient to see where they were, Elizabeth released one of the blinds, and her husband made no move to stop her.
The first thing she saw was the black bulk of Dover castle rising over the landscape. She gave a shudder because, in the darkness, it seemed like something huge and malignant, a massive guardian standing watch, but whether it was protecting or imprisoning the town she could not tell. And then she saw the cliffs. They were as white as the bone of a cuttlefish and, in the pale moonlight, they had a pulsating glow. Outlined against them were the skeletons of tall-masted ships which rose and fell with the tide. Their mooring ropes groaned and sighed as they moved, like the whisper of unquiet souls.
Then the carriage turned a corner and everything took on a more cheerful aspect. Ahead of her, Elizabeth could see an inn. There were lights blazing out from the windows and a brightly-painted sign was hanging outside. The coach rolled into the yard, where the lighted torches made it almost as bright as day. There was noise and bustle, and warmth and colour, and Elizabeth laughed at herself for the nameless fear that had gripped her as they drove into the port.
The coachman pulled the horses up and the coach rolled to a smooth halt. There were no delays or frustrations, as there were when she travelled with her family, no time wasted in trying to attract someone’s attention. Instead, as soon as the coach stopped, the horses were attended to, the door was opened, the step was let down, and the Darcys were welcomed obsequiously by the innkeeper. He escorted them into the inn, bowing repeatedly whilst enquiring after their journey and assuring them that they had stopped at the best inn in Dover.
‘There is a fire in the parlour when you are ready to dine,’ he said, ‘and I will have fires lit directly in your rooms. You may rest assured that your every comfort will be attended to.’
Darcy stopped just inside the inn.
‘You go ahead,’ he said to Elizabeth. ‘I have to go down to the harbour and arrange for our passage to France.’
‘Cannot one of the outriders make the arrangements?’ she asked.
‘I would rather do it myself,’ he said.
He made her a bow and went outside, and Elizabeth, wondering again at her husband’s unexpected actions, was shown upstairs by the innkeeper’s wife. The woman threw open the door of a well-appointed apartment and then stood aside deferentially as Elizabeth went inside. The room was bright, with sprigged curtains at the windows and a matching counterpane on the four-poster bed. There was a fireplace in the corner where one of the chambermaids was already lighting the fire, coaxing the wood into life.
The innkeeper’s wife then threw open an interconnecting door to another bedroom. The room was slightly larger and the colours were darker than in the previous room. It had obviously been fitted out for a gentleman, with solid oak furniture and paintings of ships on the walls.
‘Thank you, these will do very well,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Thank you, Ma’am.’ The innkeeper’s wife dropped a curtsey. ‘When would you like to dine?’
‘As soon as my husband returns,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Very good,’ said the woman, and with another curtsey, she withdrew.
Elizabeth lingered in what was to be Darcy’s room. The counterpane had been turned down and she imagined his head on the pillow, with his dark hair showing up against the white bed linen. She was filled with a sudden longing to touch his hair, to feel its texture beneath her fingers, and to inhale the scent of it.