Carrie Bebris - Pride and Prescience

His expression became still more confused, but he drew her into his arms. “Whatever has happened, you’re safe now, my love.” Despite the presence of the Darcys, Caroline did not resist the tender display. Elizabeth surmised she was still in a state of shock over the robbery attempt.

Nevertheless, the embrace disconcerted their guests. Elizabeth and Darcy averted their gazes, suddenly seized by a compelling mutual interest in a painting that hung above the fireplace. The illustration depicted a large white classically inspired mansion, situated atop a graceful hill, surrounded by magnolia trees and great oaks with Spanish moss cascading from them. Four columns encompassed the two-story house on each side and supported wide porches on both levels. Deep green ivy and bright pink roses climbed the columns to wind through the rails of the veranda balustrade. An engraved plate centered at the bottom of the frame read Mont Joyau .

Frederick Parrish’s plantation appeared an idyllic, peaceful place. Elizabeth wondered whether he regretted its impending sale. Only the strongest affections toward a spouse could induce her to relinquish such a home. The spelling, she noted, differed from her previous assumption. She would have to ask Darcy about the accuracy of her translation sometime when she wasn’t struggling to eavesdrop on a conversation in which she pretended no interest. Unfortunately, she could make out little more than assorted whispered endearments.

She stole a glance at the couple. The embrace had ended, but Caroline yet leaned on her husband’s arm for support. “I don’t know what came over me—”

“Hush, sweetheart,” he murmured, slipping Darcy’s cloak from her shoulders and folding it over the back of a chair. “We’ll sort it out in the morning. You should rest now.” He cleared his throat, signaling that the Darcys could curtail their spontaneous art appreciation. “Pray excuse me while I attend my wife to her chamber.”

“Of course.” Darcy donned his hat, which in the confusion of their arrival the butler had neglected to take. “We’ve intruded on your privacy too long as it is.”

“No — not at all! I am most grateful for your interest in Caroline’s welfare.” In the foyer below, the grandfather clock struck half-past one. “I know the hour grows late, but if I might presume upon your kindness further I would like to speak with you before you leave. Meanwhile, my man will see to your comfort.”

The butler, apologizing for his forgotten duties, collected their cloaks and Darcy’s hat while Parrish escorted Caroline upstairs. Elizabeth easily forgave the domestic’s earlier oversight — the reunion had made her and Darcy self-conscious about the propriety of their own presence; the scene had hardly needed a servant in the audience as well.

Now alone in the drawing room, the two of them regarded each other with all the astonishment they’d labored to suppress. “What do you suppose she was doing?” Elizabeth asked.

Darcy shook his head. “I cannot begin to guess. She seemed relieved to return, so I do not think she was running away.”

“Then what errand called her out?” She could not imagine any business so vital that it needed to be conducted on one’s wedding night. Yet something more than a handkerchief and a few coins had swollen the sides of Mrs. Parrish’s reticule — something important enough to be remembered while half her clothes had been forgotten; important enough that she had risked her safety rather than surrender it to a thief. What could the small handbag have contained? Elizabeth glanced to the part of the room where Caroline had stood, hoping perhaps it had been left behind, but the owner had taken the reticule upstairs with her. Just as well — she could never have so boldly invaded the woman’s privacy.

Elizabeth also wondered how Parrish had failed to realize his bride’s absence. Though society couples commonly maintained separate chambers, Darcy had not left her bed on their wedding night, or any night since. She’d like to think that if she’d slipped out of the house for a moonlight stroll, her new husband would have noticed. The Parrishes seemed equally attached to one another. Surely the marriage had been consummated? Miss Bingley had never struck her as a warm person, but the embrace the couple had just shared suggested the bride was comfortable receiving physical affection from her husband. Elizabeth dismissed any conjecture that fear of marital duties might have inspired Caroline’s flight. What, then, had compelled her to rise from bed for a midnight promenade through London?

The butler returned with wine. He set the tray on a small table behind the sofa and poured two glasses from a crystal decanter. Elizabeth and Darcy accepted the glasses but declined his offer of other refreshment. As soon as the servant departed, Darcy rose and moved about the room, his mind apparently too agitated for the rest of him to relax.

“Her manner, when we first discovered her…” he said. “She is usually so self-possessed.”

“She almost seemed not to know us at first. And then she called me ‘Miss Bennet.’ Do you think it was merely shock from the robbery attempt?”

“Perhaps. She is fortunate that you sighted her when you did. A woman alone on that street…” Delicacy prevented him from finishing the sentence, but he did not need to. She realized full well that Caroline Parrish could have suffered a worse fate than the loss of her reticule.

Mr. Parrish’s return suspended further speculation. His face reflected bewilderment equal to their own; lines of care marred his smooth features. “She’s resting now.” He poured himself a glass of wine and swallowed a fortifying draught. “Said she suffers from a headache, so I didn’t want to badger her for details. But can you tell me what happened? The last I knew, Caroline was asleep in this house. How came my wife to be with you tonight?”

“We saw her walking down Bow Street as we drove home from Drury Lane,” Darcy said.

“Bow Street? Good God! Bow Street? By herself? At this hour?” Parrish combed his hair with unsteady fingers. Apparently, even the American knew the dangers of that district, so infamous that it had inspired the establishment of investigators known as the Bow Street Runners in an attempt to deter crime. “When I think what could have befallen her — what nearly did, for she told me someone tried to rob her?”

“Mr. Darcy intervened. As far as we can tell, she was not hurt.”

“Thank heaven you arrived when you did! Sir, please know that you shall always have my deepest gratitude. As do you, Mrs. Darcy. Caroline is fortunate in your friendship.”

“We are glad to have been of use,” Darcy said.

Mr. Parrish set his glass on the tray and lifted the decanter to refill it. “Did she say anything to explain why she was on that street — any street — in the first place?” His countenance, which had been so happily animated only that morning, now appeared grave.

Darcy declined Parrish’s gestured offer of more wine. “No. She volunteered no account, and we did not press her for one.”

“How did she seem? Was she — was she quite herself?”

Elizabeth searched for words to accurately describe Caroline’s state without further alarming the distressed bridegroom. “When I first saw her, before the robbery attempt, she appeared… unaware of the circumstances in which she had placed herself. She progressed steadily down the road, but her gait held no sense of purpose.” In her experience, Caroline Bingley did nothing — even take a turn about the room — without purpose. “Afterward, in the carriage, she seemed shaken by her encounter with the thief, but otherwise acted herself.”

Parrish nodded pensively and looked to Darcy. “This was your observation as well?”