She and Darcy were made very welcome, and the innkeeper’s wife was soon leading Elizabeth upstairs, calling the maids as she did so, and before many minutes had passed, Elizabeth found herself in a small but pretty bedroom with a hip bath all ready and waiting for her. She was surprised at the hurry, until she saw herself in the looking glass and recoiled in horror from the sight that met her eyes. She had not brushed her hair for days and it was like a bird’s nest, tangled and matted with pieces of twig and leaf clinging to it. Her clothes looked as though they had been slept in, as indeed they had, and her face was streaked with dirt. If she had not entered the inn with Darcy, at a place where he was well-known, she was sure she would have been driven out as a vagrant.

She removed her clothes gratefully, sinking into the luxurious water with a sigh of contentment. At last, when her fingers began to crinkle, she washed her hair and stepped out of the bath. She dried herself on a fluffy towel and then sat before the fire to dry her hair.

When it was almost dry, the innkeeper’s wife entered the room with a maid behind her, bearing a bowl of soup and a large hunk of bread, and Elizabeth ate it thankfully. It was followed by a meal that was unknown to her, with a meaty sauce ladled over something neither soft nor hard, pale gold in colour, and cut into long, thin strips. She had great difficulty eating it and was glad she had elected to dine in her room, since much of the sauce ended up on her chin! But it was tasty, and when it was finished, she felt replete.

She went over to the dressing table where she brushed the tangles out of her hair and as she did so, her mind drifted back over the strange and wonderful events of the last few days.

She had thought about little on the journey across the Alps; indeed, the way had been so treacherous and so sublime that she had had little time to think of anything but picking her way amongst the crags or looking with awe at the magnificent views. But now she recalled the danger of all those at the castle and she could not put their fate from her mind.

She tried to tell herself that they would be unharmed, and that Darcy had been right when he had reassured her that all would be well, saying that the Count had survived worse. She reminded herself of the thick walls of the castle and the drawbridge and the mercenaries, but she could not be reconciled. If there had been no danger, then why had they fled, undertaking such an arduous if breathtaking journey?

She thought of the Count’s strange words, Get her away from here. It is her they will not stand for, and wondered if she could have heard them aright. Try as she might, she could not see how they made any kind of sense. And yet she and Darcy had left the castle soon afterwards. It was a riddle without an answer; another riddle without an answer, for her life was becoming increasingly full of them.

And yet her life was full of joys, too.

Now that she had left the discomforts of the journey behind, she could recall the marvellous and wonderful sights of the last few days with more and more pleasure, both the unexpected heights of the mountains and the unexpected depths of her husband’s character. She remembered his tenderness, and with quiet wonder, she recalled the expression of pure love on his face when she had woken to find him watching over her.


***

The next few days were busy with all the necessary activities attendant on their sudden arrival without any of their possessions.

The local dressmaker visited Elizabeth in her rooms and promised her some new clothes pronto. Luckily, Susa was a stop for many of the English travellers who visited Italy, and the dressmaker was used to meeting the needs of ladies who were newly arrived in the country. She knew that they required clothes in the Italian fashion, and that they required them quickly, and so she kept a store of dresses ready cut and half sewn in a variety of sizes. She arrived with three attendants who carried boxes of such dresses, and Elizabeth spent a delightful morning trying on a multitude of garments. As she viewed each one in the mirror, the dressmaker pinned and tucked and hemmed until the fit was right, and then Elizabeth stepped out of them, taking care not to scratch herself on the pins.

At last the dressmaker left, promising Elizabeth that at least one of the dresses would be ready by the following morning and that the rest would follow soon afterwards.

Darcy too needed clothes, and he had a visit from the local tailor, who fitted him out for a new wardrobe.

As they were finishing their luncheon, which they had taken in a private parlour, there was a most welcome occurrence. The innkeeper entered the room and spoke to Darcy in a torrent of Italian. Darcy replied and the innkeeper, saying, ‘Si, Signor,’ left the room.

Elizabeth looked questioningly at Darcy.

‘A messenger has just arrived. He wishes to speak to me.’

‘Has he come from the castle?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘We will soon find out,’ said Darcy, throwing down his napkin.

He left the table and walked over to the fireplace, where he stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

The innkeeper returned and behind him was the messenger, a dishevelled young man of vigorous aspect who turned his hat in his hand.

‘Ah, Signor Darcy!’ he said, as he entered the room, adding something which Elizabeth could not understand.

He handed a letter to Darcy.

‘It is from the Count,’ said Darcy to Elizabeth as he broke the seal and tore the letter open. ‘The messenger has travelled night and day over the mountains, accompanied by two of the Count’s mercenaries, to bring it to us.’

Elizabeth went over to him and stood at his shoulder, eager to see what the letter had to say, but when Darcy unfolded it she saw that it was written in Italian. The handwriting was thin and spidery, and covered many pages.

‘Well?’ she asked impatiently as Darcy’s eyes scanned the first page.

‘The castle is safe,’ said Darcy, still reading.

‘Thank goodness!’ said Elizabeth with a sigh of relief.

She had feared the worst, and the message was a great comfort to her.

‘There was a brief skirmish when some of the locals managed to swarm through the postern gate and started setting fire to the flags and carts in the courtyard,’ Darcy continued, ‘but the mercenaries dealt with the situation quickly and the danger was soon past. The fires were doused and no lasting damage was sustained.’ He put the first page to the back of the sheaf and continued to read the second page. ‘Several of the mercenaries were injured, as well as one of the Count’s footmen, similarly some of the villagers took hurt, but there were no deaths and no serious injuries.’

‘And Annie?’ asked Elizabeth, looking over his shoulder and trying to see Annie’s name somewhere on the page.

He turned to the third page, and Elizabeth pointed to her maid’s name.

‘Annie is safe,’ said Darcy. ‘She begs the Count to inform you that she will pack your dresses carefully and give your letter to the messenger to post.’ He stopped talking, the better to read, and then when he had finished the letter, he folded it and gave his full attention to Elizabeth. He smiled. ‘They will all be with us soon, I think. The Count has already made arrangements for our retinue to be escorted over the mountains.’

‘The coach will not be able to follow us,’ said Elizabeth, remembering the precipitous paths and the narrow bridges across the ravines.

‘No, the coach will have to be sent round by sea, as will some of the larger and heavier items, but the Count’s men will carry most of our things across the mountains.’

‘Will we wait for them here?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘I think not,’ said Darcy. ‘They will travel more slowly than we have done because there are more of them and also because they will be carrying baggage, which will slow them down. I do not want to delay our journey. We can hire outriders here to accompany us. I will tell the Count what route we will be taking so that our entourage will be able to find us more easily when they cross the mountains. Perhaps they might even find us before we embark for Venice.’

He said something to the messenger and then went over to the side of the room where there was a writing desk. He sat down and, dipping the quill into the ink, he pulled a piece of paper towards him and wrote a note in a flowing hand.

‘How even your writing is, Mr Darcy, and how fast you write!’ Elizabeth teased him.

He smiled.

‘On the contrary, my writing is uncommonly slow!’ he replied.

‘It is a world away from Netherfield, is it not?’ asked Elizabeth, as she looked around the inn, with its homely pine table and pine benches, and to the view of the mountains beyond.

‘Yes, it is,’ said Darcy, pausing to look around him before continuing to sand his letter. ‘But not an unwelcome change, I hope.’

‘No, not at all. I am enjoying seeing more of the world.’

Darcy folded the letter as soon as the ink was dry and then he sealed it, pressing his ring into the wax to leave the Darcy imprint. He gave it to the messenger, who tucked it into a pocket inside his tailcoat, then he said something to the man in Italian, to which the messenger replied before bowing and departing.

‘There is no reason for us to stay in Susa,’ said Darcy. ‘Once our clothes are ready, we will travel on. I am longing to show you Venice and the palazzo.’

‘Palazzo?’ asked Elizabeth. ‘Do you mean a palace?’ she asked in astonishment. ‘We stayed with a count in the Alps, are we now going to stay with a prince?’