The horse’s nervousness communicated itself to her and she began to start at the slightest sound. Her nerves were stretched so tight that they quivered like a plucked bowstring for the forest was full of noises. Leaves rustled, twigs cracked, and, every now and then, a wolf howled, sending its lonely ululations high into the air, wailing and crying like a tortured soul. Worse was the agony of expectation as she waited for the answering cry, so that it was almost a relief when it came, although it was quickly replaced with a new terror: the knowledge that the wolves were out in force and were hunting in a pack.

They rode on to the point of endurance and beyond, never stopping, until Elizabeth was dazed with weariness. Then Darcy took the reins of her horse and led it behind his, whilst she slumped in the saddle. The moon rose and fell, sliding through the darkness like a pallid spectre. It was only when she saw it fall so far that it almost reached the horizon that Elizabeth realised what it meant: they were coming out of the forest. Ahead of them the trees thinned out and there, right at the edge of the tree line, was a small hut. It was a ramshackle affair, but it beckoned her with all the allure of a palace.

She was so tired by the time they finally reached it that she fell out of the saddle and into Darcy’s waiting arms. He carried her inside and lay her down on a bed of bracken covered with soft white goat skins, and by the time she touched the ground, she was already asleep.


***

Night was followed by day, creeping into the hut like a ghost, slowly, hesitantly, but taking on strength as the darkness faded from black to grey, before mustering its courage and illuminating the small hut to reveal a cotillion of dancing dust motes and Elizabeth’s sleeping form.

She was dressed as she had been for her flight, except that Darcy had removed her bonnet to reveal her soft, tangled hair, and covered her with his coat. She looked angelic. The lines of worry had gone from her face and been replaced with the smooth calm lines of repose. Her lashes lay thickly on her cheek. It had lost some of its sun-coloured brown and was now creamily golden against the dark grey of his coat. Her hand was above the loving coverlet, the nails small and well-shaped with white crescents at the tip.

As the sun touched her cheek she stirred, but then turned over and slept again.

Her sleep was lighter this time, and she stirred more often until she emerged at last into the waking world to see Darcy sitting in front of the door, watching her.

‘You look beautiful when you sleep,’ he said.

There was something so tender in his glance that it went straight to her heart and she sat up, eager to meet the day. As she did so, the greatcoat fell away, and when she saw that he had covered her with it she felt warmed and cherished. Her aching limbs no longer mattered, nor the hard bed, nor the cold which set her breath misting in front of her. All that mattered was him.

She pushed the coat gently aside and stood up, shaking out her creased gown and stretching to release the cramps in her limbs.

‘How long have you been awake?’ she asked.

‘Long enough,’ he said.

She looked at him enquiringly.

‘Long enough to make sure you were undisturbed,’ he said.

She remembered the wolves and said, ‘We were lucky not to be attacked last night. I felt sure the wolves would set upon us.’

‘You have nothing to fear from them. I will always protect you and keep you safe,’ he replied.

‘This is not what I imagined when we set out on our wedding tour!’ she said, her natural humour reasserting itself. ‘I thought I would be waking up in an inn, with hot water and a good breakfast close to hand!’

‘I can give you the first of those, at least. There is water heating on a fire outside.’

He went outside and returned with the water in a bucket.

‘Can I drink it?’

‘Yes. Here.’

He poured some into the water canister that had been attached to the saddlebags and handed it to her. She drank it gratefully then splashed the rest of the water over herself.

His eyes followed the movement of her hands as she scooped the water out of the bucket and then watched the beads of water as they ran down her face and neck.

She dried herself as best she could on her handkerchief and then ventured outside to put it by the fire to dry. But when she saw a man by the fire she stepped back uncertainly. His face was weather-beaten and his clothes were made of the skin of the chamois which wandered sure footed in the mountains. He appeared to be a simple shepherd, but in his left hand he held a bag and, after all the alarms of the previous day, she found herself wondering if it hid a pistol or a knife. He made no threatening moves, however, and he took from the bag a loaf of dark bread and a lump of hard cheese.

‘It can’t compare with hot rolls and hot chocolate,’ said Darcy humorously, ‘but it will satisfy you, at least.’

Elizabeth took it gratefully, tasting none of it in her hunger, eating rapidly until it was all gone. She realised with dismay that she had finished it and tried to apologize, but Darcy only laughed and said that he and Jean-Paul had already eaten.

He turned and said something to the shepherd. Although they spoke in French, Elizabeth could not understand it, for it seemed to be in some kind of regional accent or dialect.

‘Are you ready to go on?’ Darcy asked her when the two men had finished speaking. ‘We are not out of danger yet. We cannot go back so we must go on; it is a good thing perhaps, for there are many things I still wish to show you. It will mean more riding and we must travel on mules: where we are going, no coach can travel and even horses cannot pick their way.’

‘Where are we going, if even horses can’t walk there?’ she asked.

‘Over the mountains,’ he said. ‘Across the Alps, over Mount Cenis, where only sure-footed beasts can tread. And then down the other side of the mountains, to Italy.’

‘Italy!’

‘Yes, Italy,’ said Darcy. ‘I think you will like it, and I have many friends there.’

‘You have many friends everywhere,’ she said.

‘When a man has lived to my age he cannot help it,’ he said sombrely. Then he cast off his low mood and said, ‘I want to take you to Venice. It is a beautiful city, full of treasures, and one you should see. You have had to endure much over the last few days but this is meant to be your wedding tour. I want it to be something you will always remember.’

‘There is no danger of me forgetting it, I do assure you!’ said Lizzy mischievously.

Darcy laughed.

‘No, I suppose there is not, but I want you to remember it for better reasons than the ones you have at present. I want you to be sorry to go home, not eager for it!’

‘Sorry to go home to Pemberley? I think that will never be. But I must confess, I would like to see something of Europe beyond wolves and forests! They will not believe me, at home, when I tell them of all my adventures.’

‘Jean-Paul is coming with us,’ said Darcy. ‘He will be our guide. Are you ready to go on?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Then we should go.’

After making some attempt to tidy her hair she set her bonnet low on her head and tied it firmly beneath her chin.

She eyed her mule with misgiving but it stood placidly whilst Darcy helped her to mount.

They waited only for Jean-Paul to gather together some food for the journey and then they set off. They moved out of the last few sheltering trees, and before long they were above the tree line altogether. All around them were the purple peaks of the Alps, bathed in hard sunshine and topped with gleaming snow. Elizabeth felt the cold and was glad of her cloak and her gloves as well as her warm boots.

She felt her spirits begin to lift despite her worries. It was impossible to be downcast amidst such magnificence, where she was surrounded on every side by the majesty of the Alps. Their travels so far had not prepared her for the sublime and terrible grandeur of the views. She soon became accustomed to her mule. The stalwart animal picked its way stubbornly yet surely over the rough and rocky paths that wound to dizzying heights as they climbed the mountains.

They passed glaciers covered in snow and thundering cataracts that plunged with a roar to the valleys below. They traversed rough bridges which had been thrown over the dreadful torrents, spanning the mighty waterfalls with their fragile strength.

They picked their way through thick drifts of snow and walked by the side of sheer precipices. They climbed through the clouds until they were above them. They stopped and looked down, seeing the clouds parting in places to reveal glimpses of dwellings and churches in the meadows far below. Then they set off again and climbed even higher, up towards the dizzying summits.

The air grew ever colder until the very waterfalls were frozen, plunging downwards in huge sheets of ice that glimmered green and white in the unclouded sunlight.

They saw no one on their way, save for a stray shepherd or two and, here and there, a hunter. Of wildlife they saw little, only the chamois who ranged over the crags and occasionally some hardy mountain cattle.

At last they began to descend, going down through the clouds, where the foggy vapour closed around them like a damp hand and where they could see nothing except the whiteness all around them. But eventually, wet and shivering, they emerged, to see the mountain track becoming wider and less steep beneath them and, far below, the green and verdant grass of the plains. The air began to grow warmer, and they felt they were leaving winter behind them and entering spring. The rocks and crags were gradually replaced with trees and grasses and then bright swathes of meadow, spotted with the greens and blues and yellows of the late wildflowers.

They stopped for a rest on a grassy slope above the mountain’s foot.

Jean-Paul turned to Darcy and said something that Elizabeth did not understand, but she understood Darcy’s reply: he was thanking Jean-Paul for all his help and bidding him adieu. Jean-Paul nodded his head in token of leave-taking and then, catching up the reins of the mules, he began to walk back up the foothills, returning to the rocky crags amongst which he made his home.

Elizabeth watched him go with regret. He had been a stalwart presence as the crossed the Alps, sure-footed and knowledgeable, and she had been grateful to him for accompanying them and showing them the way.

‘Do we walk now?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘No, it is too far for us to walk. We hire horses over there,’ said Darcy, indicating a nearby farm.

He gave her his arm and they began to walk towards it.

‘What are those places I can see in the distance?’ she asked, turning her attention to the lands that lay at the bottom of the slopes.

‘Piedmont,’ said Darcy, ‘the foot of the mountain. Beyond is Lombardy, and in the far distance you can see Turin. And beyond Turin lies Venice.’

They hired horses at the farm, hardy animals that clopped slowly through the foothills, and continued their journey with the river Doria rushing along beside them. They passed through a landscape of forests, with streams and lakes varying the view, and with castles and monasteries nestled amongst them.

At last they reached the valley, where sheep were grazing placidly. They came then to the walled town of Susa, and as they passed through the gate, Elizabeth said, ‘I never thought I would be so happy to see a town.’

Though the Alps had been sublime, the joys of hot water now awaited her, as well as a soft bed and a hot and filling meal.

They were soon at the inn. As they rode into the courtyard, there were suspicious glances from the other people there, including the grooms, who looked at the farm horses askance, but then recognition dawned on the face of one of the grooms and he called out something in Italian. The innkeeper hurried out of the inn with his wife behind him, uttering a long and excited greeting of which Elizabeth understood not a word, but she understood his smiling face and his bow and his wave towards the open door.

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.