A/N: Thank you to all of the readers who have joined TheJaneside on Facebook! Your feedback there and cheery dispositions have kept me writing! If anyone else would like to join us, the invitation still stands! BTW this was Chapter 7 before, I had to move things to make room for Jane's storyline.
XOXOX
Elizabeth Ann West
Inside the Canonbie inn, air choked with the smells of too many bodies and insufficient room for any. Elizabeth's ears rang from the cacophony of children's cries, the higher pitched voices of many ladies in distress, and the low baritones of men yelling. Most of the carriage accident victims had already reached Canonbie by the time Elizabeth and Peter arrived, still, Elizabeth elbowed her way to the front counter to speak to the innkeeper.
"I should like to rent a room, please."
"Look around you, lass, I don't be having any rooms left." The great red-bearded innkeeper patted his protruding belly as he laughed at Elizabeth's naivete.
"Sir, please. I have been injured, as well as my servant, when the mail carriage crashed and we are in most desperate need of a place to rest."
The innkeeper gave a wary eye to young Peter with the trunk, and the young woman before him, and frowned. He saw plenty of their sort come through to take care of their business and then hurry home to their mother and father for deserved reward. "It's like I said, there are many others who were just as injured or more. They arrived here first. I do not have any rooms left." The innkeeper crossed his arms over his massive chest.
Elizabeth was about to argue further and ask if the innkeeper had another solution available when she was abruptly brushed aside by a tall gentleman in a blue overcoat.
"I require my change of horses."
The voice Elizabeth heard sent shivers down her spine. "Mr. Darcy?" she said quietly and looked up at the man to her left.
Upon hearing his name, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire turned halfway around and looked down. His face paled as if he had seen a ghost.
Elizabeth furrowed her brows noticing how gaunt his cheeks had become and his handsome brown eyes nothing more than bloodshot orbs skittering around for more information.
"It cannot be." Darcy blinked and wiped his eyes. "How would you – this is?" Fitzwilliam turned around to take stock of the very crowded inn looking for anyone he recognized that might be traveling with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Spying none, he reacted to her small tug on the sleeve of his coat for his attentions.
"I am traveling alone, sir, with my uncle's servant here." Elizabeth pointed at Peter who nodded to signal he was the man she referred to in her speech.
Darcy spotted a trickle of dried blood as Elizabeth turned her head away in shame, distracting him from asking a more rational question as to why Elizabeth traveled in Scotland with her uncle's servant. Though, to even hear the question in his head, too large of a portion of Fitzwilliam Darcy dreaded the answer.
"You are hurt. Come," Darcy began to escort Elizabeth to a small empty table he could see in the far corner. "MacFigan! A word!" Darcy bellowed as the crowd seemed to part like the Red Sea for them to make it to their table. No sooner had they taken a seat than the innkeeper hustled over to the table, offering Mr. Darcy great deference.
"There appears, that is, there was a misunderstanding in the stables, sir. The team of horses reserved for your use was mistakenly let out to another traveler after the accident."
"Then I suggest you find another team of horses for my purposes. Feed and wet down the team I came with and if you fail, then I shall use them for the last fifteen miles to Broadmeadow." Ordinarily, Darcy would brook no failure of this sort from an inn he owned, but the delay afforded him time with Miss Elizabeth, and for that he privately became thankful for the mistake.
"Yes, sir, I shall see them well taken care of." The innkeeper began to shuffle away when Darcy motioned for him again.
"And bring us two bottles of wine." Darcy looked at Elizabeth as the woman flushed before him. "And two plates of stew with a trench."
The innkeeper hesitated again, grimacing. "Afraid we're out of wine, you see, much like the rooms. But Betsy made a second kettle of stew and I can bring you whisky."
Darcy nodded and the innkeeper left to see to the execution of the many instructions given to him by his employer.
"I appreciate your assistance, Mr. Darcy. But I would have been able to order for myself, you see. Peter needs to eat as well." Elizabeth motioned towards the servant now sitting on her trunk and guarding it most carefully.
Darcy's lips twisted in annoyance. "Yes, Peter. When MacFigan returns I'll tell him to throw some scraps at the boy."
Elizabeth pursed her lips at the tone of voice Mr. Darcy used. She remembered the gallant gentleman that she had horrifically misjudged and regretted the day she spurned his proposal at his aunt's estate in the springtime. In fact, it was those memories of Mr. Darcy, coupled with Elizabeth's hopes for her sister Jane, that had convinced her finding Lydia was the key to everyone's happiness. But as she sat on the hard wooden bench in a foreign county with the same proud, and rude, Mr. Darcy she experienced first in Hertfordshire, Elizabeth suddenly felt the full weight of her foolishness. She scowled as she began to cry.
"What? You should like that I invite him to sit and dine at our table?" Mr. Darcy understood the boy to be special to Elizabeth, but he could not bring himself to break bread with a servant.
"No, of course not! He may eat in the kitchens or stable, but he must eat as well. I am afraid this is all my fault. . . "
Elizabeth was about to explain when an argument near them spilled into a crash upon their table. Without a moment's hesitation, Darcy sprung into action grasping the tussling men by the shoulders and heaving them in the opposite direction. He flanked Elizabeth with his backside and began yelling, which caused the two men fighting to cease almost immediately.
Elizabeth shook with fright as her mind refused to process any further information regarding the day. There had simply been too much. Before she could use her coat sleeve to wipe the unmentionables her crying produced, a calmer Mr. Darcy handed her a handkerchief. She accepted it without a word as he took his seat once more.
"Your father does not approve of this?" Mr. Darcy asked as casually as he could muster.
"My father? He is probably not yet aware. I left my aunt with a note this morning and convinced Peter to go with me as far as Coldstream."
"Coldstream? But that is at least a two day journey from . . . where were you coming from again?" Darcy knew Elizabeth Bennet to be an intelligent woman. If she was running away to marry a servant, a situation his rational mind found highly unlikely but his jealous heart suspected nonetheless, they needed not travel any further.
"Gretna Green." Elizabeth winced as she suddenly realized how it must look to everyone around for her to travel alone, with a servant near to her age. Why, she had not only made a dangerous decision, but made herself an utter laughingstock!
MacFigan arrived with the repast and apologized again to Mr. Darcy that he did not have a spare room. Darcy inquired about the innkeeper's quarters and the man explained another family had already paid for the privilege of the room and that he and his wife were going to sleep in the loft for the extra coinage. Ever a shrewd businessman, Mr. Darcy understood the tough position of his manager. It was only that very morning that a rider was sent ahead to arrange his personal horse train.
"Peace, I am sure this will do quite nicely and in an hour or two, my horses will be well enough for the last leg of our journey." The innkeeper raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he glared at the woman with his employer with a weary eye. Her dress and situation offered little to recommend her, but Seamus MacFigan knew when to keep his gob shut.
Elizabeth cast her eyes down to her stew and waited for the innkeeper to leave.
"You and Peter were in that carriage I saw toppled a few miles out of town? How badly are you hurt? My estate is another fifteen miles away, but the doctor here is a good man. I am sure I could take you to his home—"
"Thank you again, but no." Elizabeth's stomach protested as the smell of the venison and root vegetables reached her nose and her mouth watered. "I really should take the next carriage heading back to Gretna Green."
"The mail post? There is not another until morning. The heavy winds and rain fell two trees to the north and this carriage you were in was to do a loop in Langholm until the morrow."
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "You possess a great deal on intelligence about this place and many appear to know you well. How do you know about the trees and the post?"
Darcy laughed and dug into his stew, urging Elizabeth to do the same by nudging her spoon towards her. "My grandmother's surname was Elliot before it was Darcy. Her brother's family died, sadly, in a fire, and the estate passed to my father being he was the only living male relative." Darcy waited for Elizabeth to actually take a bite of her stew. While waiting, he poured a glass of whisky for each of them.
The stew was piping hot and Elizabeth nearly dribbled her bite before managing to save herself further embarrassment. She thought she spotted a twinkle in Mr. Darcy's eye at her near flub, but she could not be certain. "I am familiar with distant cousins inheriting."
"Yes, well, thankfully, my father and I spent many a summer here to win over the local townsfolk despite being Elliots by a maternal line. Blood is blood though . . ." Darcy trailed off as his eyes flickered to Elizabeth's left ear. He remembered now seeing signs of her injury and wished to ask more.
Anticipating the next line of questioning, Elizabeth attempted to stymie any inquiry by taking a deep gulp of the whisky.
"No, you mustn't!" Darcy tried to say, but it was too late.
The amber liquid burned her throat and produced a nauseating smoky flavor to fill her mouth. She sputtered and coughed and winced, wondering why on earth anyone would drink such a vile spirit.
"I should have asked for tea. I am so used to traveling with Richard I did not think—"
"I take the title of scatterbrained for the day, I believe." Elizabeth whispered, not quite finding her voice after nearly choking on her drink. A warmness began to spread down her chest as the whisky found its way to her core and the drink's odd power of calming initiated its effects.
"Yes, you did not fully explain to me why you were even travelling. If your aim is not to . . . that is, what brought you to Scotland, Miss Elizabeth?"
Elizabeth braved another taste of whisky, finding the effects of the drink worth the initial burn, but only a sip this time. She licked her lips and considered Fitzwilliam Darcy in the crowded, rough roadside inn and wondered if she would ever enjoy his company again once she confessed all? Still, despite hoping he might provide her aid, she would not lie to him knowing her options for safety were limited if he abandoned her at this moment.
"Prepare yourself for something very dreadful, I'm afraid."
Darcy put down his spoon and cradled his chin upon his interlaced fingers, daring Miss Elizabeth to give her worst, much as he had in Kent. The man actually smiled a half-smile, and this time, Elizabeth was certain she saw the twinkle in his eye.
"My sister Lydia has run off with Mr. Wickham."