Chapter Thirty

Elizabeth did not find it easy to sleep despite being very tired when she retired. Mr. Darcy had kindly arranged for the hotel owner to provide her with a white cotton gown to sleep in, and she was relieved that she did not have to sleep in her dress, and the bed was comfortable, but still the unfamiliar sounds of the sea and the birds kept her awake. She spent some time sitting at her window looking out across the promenade and down the beach to the water which at night time was an inky blue apart from where a nearly full moon sent shiny white patterns across it.

She was deeply concerned for Georgiana, hoping that wherever she was she was safe. She wondered why she had left the room at the house in Bruton Street. It hadn't been very pleasant, but Georgiana had said in her letter that she did not have very much money. Perhaps she was somewhere with Wickham. She could only hope that she was safe.

When it was first light, Elizabeth washed and dressed and decided to go for a walk alone along the promenade. She knew that Mr. Darcy would not look favourably on such a behaviour, but she hoped he would understand. She needed some fresh air, and she wanted to look at the sea. For a moment she wished her father was still alive. She knew he had spent some of his childhood near the sea on the east coast and he had spoken about it with great fondness.

Despite the earliness of the hour, there were still quite a lot of people around, though no one took any notice of her. Some fishermen were getting ready to sail out to sea and were battling with nets and calling to each other about the weather. It was going to be another fine day.

Elizabeth stopped for a moment and sat down on a seat. She could understand why Georgiana had been so happy here and wanted to capture it down on paper….

A thought struck her. Of course. How could she have been so foolish. She quickly stood up and walked back to the hotel as fast as she could.

Mr. Darcy was coming down the stairs into the front hall.

"Miss Bennet… I have been looking for you."

"I have been out," she said very quickly. "Mr. Darcy, did you hear any word of Georgiana last night?"

"Nothing." His tone sounded despairing. "In one of the taverns, I heard about a man. It might have been Wickham. There had been some fight over money. I stayed but he did not come in, but I will try and go back later."

"It may not matter. I have thought of something," said Elizabeth.

Mr. Darcy looked around to see if anyone was close enough to hear their conversation, but there were no guests around and the servants were busy about their duties, cleaning at the start of the day. "What is it? Tell me at once."

"Georgiana told me about a woman she met here. She is an artist and she met her on the promenade. I had forgotten about her."

"Who is this woman?"

Elizabeth felt guilty that she had not paid greater attention. She could not remember all the details. "I can't remember other than Georgiana said she was famous. Her name is Mary something."

Darcy looked sceptical. "Are you sure that Georgiana said she was famous?"

Elizabeth tried not to resent his tone. "Yes, I am certain. Now let me think… Oh yes, she said something about her being one of the founders or a member of some type of academy…. Mary Marlborough, Mosel?

Mr. Darcy was startled. "Was it Mary Moser by any chance?"

"You have heard of her? Georgiana gave the impression you had no interest in art."

"Perhaps my sister does not know quite as much as she thinks about me," said Mr. Darcy. "Miss Bennet, I cannot claim to have extensive knowledge on this subject, but my mother was a keen artist and I have some miniatures she did. After she died my father would never allow them to be displayed. But that is not important right now. If Mary Moser is in Ramsgate, perhaps we can locate her."

For the first time since they had arrived in Ramsgate, some of the strain had disappeared from Mr. Darcy's face and Elizabeth felt a little guilty that she had not remembered to tell him before.

Mr. Darcy insisted they had some breakfast before they set off looking for Mary Moser. He asked the servants who waited on them if they had heard of the famous artist but they looked perplexed and all declared they had not heard of her. "You should try the promenade," suggested one. "Sometimes there are artists drawing. One of them may know your friend."

Mr. Darcy agreed they might, and as soon as they had finished breakfast, Elizabeth went to fetch her coat and bonnet and joined him in the hallway of the hotel.

"I hope we are not too late if they are to be married today," said Elizabeth carefully.

"We do not even know if they are still in the area. If Wickham knows I am in the area he will have taken her away. He would not want to make the same mistake twice and I shall never see her again."

"Yes, you will," said Elizabeth who was determined to be as cheerful as possible.

As they walked along the promenade there were several artists, and Mr. Darcy went over and inquired about Mary Moser. One knew her but didn't have any idea where she lived. It was only on the fourth person they saw that they received a favourable reply.

"Old Mary. Yes, she was here earlier in the week, but I have not seen her for several days," said a cheerful young man, who had an easel and a paint box and was exactly depicting the edge of the promenade with the steps leading down to the beach and the golden sand. "I'm not certain exactly where she lives, but it's somewhere along Crofton Walk, I think… just ask when you get there, someone will know her or her husband."

Mr. Darcy thanked the man, pressed a coin in his hand which the young man did not want to accept, and they were walking once more in the direction he had given.

"Would you prefer to pick up a coach?" Mr. Darcy asked of Elizabeth.

"Oh no, sir. I have always enjoyed walking."

It turned out that Elizabeth found herself walking a lot further than expected. Mary Moser's cottage was quite difficult to find. Twice they took a wrong turning in the unfamiliar streets, but at last a kindly stranger showed them a narrow break in a tall stone wall and assured them that the artist's cottage could be found through there down a narrow winding lane. It was rough, with lots of tiny stones, and Elizabeth found them digging uncomfortably into her boots. She wondered why anyone would want to live in such a place. They followed the lane down and down until suddenly they reached a grey stone cottage set in a wild overgrown garden. As they went up the path, Elizabeth stopped to examine an unusual bell-like flower in the palest of yellows that she had never seen before. She would have liked to ask Mr. Darcy if he knew what it was, but he was already knocking on the front door with his cane.

Elizabeth was relieved when they heard voices and a door opened. She left the flowers and joined Mr. Darcy at his side. A maid with bright red hair stared at them both in a very unfriendly fashion and was about to speak when someone called from inside.

"Whoever it is, Peg, tell them to go away."

"Is this Mrs. Moser's house?" asked Mr. Darcy.

The maid looked over her shoulder and then nodded.

Mr. Darcy held out his card to the maid. "Please tell Mrs. Moser I am looking for word of my sister, Georgiana Darcy."

The maid took the card and shut the door. Moments later it opened again and an elderly lady was standing there. Elizabeth had no doubt they had found Mary Moser. The lady's white hair was pinned in a messy bun that was falling down, she wore an apron which was covered in paint, and had a brush in her hand. However, the most startling thing about her was the large purple bruise on the side of her face.

"So you are Georgiana's brother."

"I am indeed, madam. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. This is Georgiana's friend, Miss Bennet."

The woman sighed. "You had better come in."

They walked into the small parlour. It was unlike any Elizabeth had seen. The room was not meant for comfort, there was paint and canvasses everywhere. Mary Moser pointed them to a couple of chairs, but they ignored them. Elizabeth was concerned she might get paint on her dress.

"You are Mary Moser, aren't you?" asked Darcy.

"Yes, I am. I suppose you want to know where Georgiana is?"

"Indeed I do."

Elizabeth could see that Mr. Darcy was struggling to remain calm.

Mary Moser put her paintbrush in a pail on the floor and then turned to them, her expression grim. "She is not here if that's what you're hoping. She has been here everyday painting, until Wickham turned up."

Mr. Darcy looked bleak. "You know him."

Mary Moser laughed harshly. "Oh yes, I know him. Who do you think gave me this?" she asked pointing at the bruise on her face.

"Wickham did that?"

"Doubt him, do you?" Mary Moser sounded angry. "He's always been a bad 'un. He's a distant cousin of mine, though his family and mine have had nothing to do with each other for years. His mother died giving birth to him and his father dumped him. His father went to prison and was killed in a fight there. I expect he got what he deserved."

"But what about Wickham?" asked Darcy.

"I don't know what happened to him. I heard he was living with a well-to-do family, but no one knew and no one cared. Trouble. He's like his father." Mary gentle touched her bruised cheek. Elizabeth felt sorry for her. It was very wrong of Wickham to have hit her.

"I meant, do you know where he is now?"

"No… He was turning his charm on Georgiana. They're getting married today. I tried to tell her he was no good, and that's why he took her away from here. He doesn't want to miss out on her fortune, I'm sure."

"Do you know what time the wedding is to take place?" asked Mr. Darcy in an agitated voice.

"No… I wasn't interested. I told him never to come back again."

Elizabeth was shocked. So they were too late.

"And you have no idea where they might wed?"

"St Michael's, perhaps. It's the nearest from here, but he's a wily character, he may have taken her away from here."

"Quickly. Tell me where is St Michael's?" asked Mr. Darcy.

"Go back up the lane. You will see the spire. Anyone will tell you where it is."

Mr. Darcy didn't even stay long enough to thank Mary Moser for the information, he was out of the house, through the garden and striding up the lane at a great rate. Elizabeth followed, staying only long enough to say, "Thank you. I hope we're not too late," before hurrying after him.

"Mr. Darcy," she called as she tried to catch him up.

Mr. Darcy stopped. "I am sorry, Miss Bennet. I am anxious to stop this wedding. I must get to Georgiana as quickly as possible. Would you like to return to the hotel and I can go on alone?"

"No, Mr. Darcy. Let us make haste." Elizabeth refused his arm and they set off again. She could not run, but she picked up her skirt and did her best to keep up with his long strides. She was soon running short of breath and a little line of sweat appeared on her forehead, but she was determined not to delay him and followed him in his wake. She was grateful for a moment's rest when Mr. Darcy stopped to ask for directions. It gave her time to catch her breath before they set off again and at last they saw the church. They rushed past someone tending the graves to the open door and Mr. Darcy bounded up the stairs two at a time and disappeared inside, leaving Elizabeth to follow.