Mr. Darcy, Vampyre

Chapter 10

The next morning saw a change in the weather. The last of the summer sunshine had disappeared, to be replaced by a misty, eerie fog. When Elizabeth stepped onto her balcony, she saw not the glorious blue sky and the glowing colours of late summer, but the white and ghostly miasma of autumn, which wrapped itself around the palaces and bridges like a choking vine. Gondolas loomed out of the mist like wraiths, appearing and disappearing beneath her with a sepulchral air, and the dolorous tolling of the Campanile’s bell seemed to come from a vast distance.

Elizabeth and Darcy were both subdued at breakfast. They ate, not in the courtyard as they had done when the weather was sunny, but in the dining room, an imposing, formal room ornamented with classical frescoes. Darcy ate little and left as soon as he had finished, saying that he had an appointment with his boot maker. At any other time, Elizabeth would have shown an interest, but she was thinking of her arrangement to meet Sophia at the Venezia Trionfante with some misgiving. It had been made on the previous evening, so that they would have an opportunity to talk over the ball, but she had no desire to go out into the fog. She consoled herself with the thought that it might clear by the time she needed to leave, but when the appointed hour came, it was as heavy as ever.

With great reluctance she donned her cloak, her bonnet, and her gloves, and she left the palazzo with Annie beside her. The courtyard seemed sad and cheerless without the sun to brighten its stones, and she noticed for the first time that the steps were crumbling and that there was green slime on the landing stage. She hesitated under the colonnade, thinking that the gondola was missing, and only realising that it was tied up in its usual place when the gondolier spoke to her. She took his hand and was glad of his assistance. It no longer seemed such an easy thing to climb into the flimsy little craft, now that the landing stage was slippery with moisture and the gondola itself was obscured by the fog, and she sat down and reclined with relief, only to sit up straight again because the cushions were damp and clammy. She looked at Annie and the two women pulled faces, then wrapped their cloaks more tightly around themselves, and peered ahead through the fog.

‘Where do you go to, Signora?’ asked the gondolier.

‘To the Venezia Trionfante,’ she said.

‘The Venezia Trionfante?’ he asked with a frown. ‘I do not know this place.’

There came a cry through the mist as another gondolier shouted a warning and a few seconds later another boat appeared.

‘Ayee! Carlo! Where is the Venezia Trionfante?’ cried her boatman.

He spoke in Italian, but Elizabeth was pleased to find that she could understand him.

‘The Venezia…? I know of no such place,’ said the other gondolier, resting on his oar and thinking.

‘It is a café,’ said Elizabeth.

‘A café!’ called out her boatman.

‘There is no such café in Ven—ah! you mean Florian’s! It has not been called the Venezia Trionfante for many, many years, not since it was first opened, I think, and that is eighty years ago! These English, they are crazy, they know nothing!’

‘Ah! Si! Florian’s! I know where it is! In the square of San Marco!’ cried Elizabeth’s boatman, thanking him, and straight away he was plying his oar, sending the gondola through the swirling mist and into the hidden waters beyond.

Buildings loomed up in front of them every time the mist parted for a few seconds, but instead of seeing the warm colours and the splendid proportions, Elizabeth saw the crumbling corners and the exposed brickwork where the plaster was falling off. The gilding was chipped and looked tawdry in the dull light. The water too seemed darker and dirtier, full of murky secrets.

The fog had still not lifted by the time she arrived at St Mark’s square. The great basilica was hidden and so was the towering Campanile. She could not see Florian’s anywhere, but she found it at last by walking all around the square, her head down and her cloak pulled firmly round her with its hood up, covering her head and face.

She went in, glad of Annie’s company, for the people looked at her with hostility and she felt awkward and out of place. When she discovered that Sophia was not there she felt even worse and she stood by the door for a moment, deciding what to do. The customers were still looking at her, some appraisingly, some suspiciously, and the waiters surveyed her with stony faces. She wished there were some women there, for Sophia had said that women were admitted to the café, but there were none at the tables; they were all men.

‘We will wait a little,’ said Elizabeth to Annie, taking a seat at an out of the way table. ‘I am sure Sophia will be here presently. I think we are perhaps rather early.’

The waiter came and Elizabeth ordered coffee.

In England she would have enjoyed looking at the people who sat and talked or watching the world go by, but some of those in the café carried with them an air of danger, and she looked down, not wanting to meet their eyes. She looked instead at her coffee, stirring it with its silver spoon. It was with relief that she heard Sophia arrive at last. Looking up, she saw Sophia being greeted warmly by the waiters and many of the customers, and the café, at once took on a more cheerful air.

‘Ah, Elizabeth, I am sorry I have kept you waiting, I was delayed,’ Sophia said. ‘Maria and I, we have been to the see the sick and the dying, to give them succour, and we were delayed on our return by the fog. Nothing is moving quickly in Venice this morning, not the people in the streets nor the gondolas in the canals; it is all travelling warily, hesitantly, and with good reason, for a misstep can lead to disaster in such weather, with the city so full of canals. It is the change of season. In summer we have the sun and this year it has lasted long, but now, today, it is autumn and the mists they have come down like a shroud.’

‘Is it often foggy here?’ asked Elizabeth.

‘But yes, and in the winter it is worse; we have snow. The cold winds, they blow down from the mountains, and the canals, they freeze. But never mind, we are in the Trionfante, what care we for fog or ice or snow? You did not have any trouble finding it, I hope?’

‘To begin with, yes. My gondolier had to ask where the Trionfante was. He couldn’t find it until we realised it was called Florian’s now,’ said Elizabeth.

Sophia paused.

‘Ah, yes,’ she said. ‘Florian’s. Of course. He was the patron many years ago, and the café became known by his name, I had forgotten. It is a wonderful place, is it not?’

‘Ye—es,’ said Elizabeth.

‘You do not like it? But ah, I see it in your eyes, you are afraid of some of the people. They whisper in the corners do they not?’

‘Yes. They look like they are plotting,’ said Elizabeth, with a smile to show that she knew such a thought was ridiculous.

But Sophia treated her remarks seriously.

‘Yes, they are plotting. They want to put an end to the French; they want Venice to return to what she once was. But how can we return to what has gone?’ she asked sombrely.

Elizabeth had the feeling that she was speaking of something more personal than the fate of Venice and did not interrupt her thoughts by a reply; indeed, she was sure that Sophia wanted none.

‘The glory, it has passed,’ Sophia went on, looking round the room. ‘The great days, they have gone. There is no place in the world now for our kind,’ she said, turning suddenly to look at Elizabeth. ‘Not unless we will take it, and take it with much blood. There are those who will do so, but me, I find I love my fellow man too much and I cannot end his life, not even to restore what has been lost. But without great ruthlessness, glory fades and strength is gone.’

Elizabeth’s mood, already low, became lower still. There was a darkness lurking beneath the gilding of the city and Venice had lost its appeal. She did not quite know how or when it had happened, but now, instead of beauty, she saw only decay. Sophia’s face, so bright the day before, now seemed tired, and her conversation now seemed more macabre.

Seeming to sense something of Elizabeth’s drooping spirits, Sophia made an effort to lighten the conversation and she began to talk about the ball.

‘You were a great success last night. “The English bride” was spoken of everywhere. We Italians, we have a passion for romance, and your marriage to Darcy is just the sort of thing we like: two people separated by a great gulf coming together with love triumphing over all. It is a thing that does not often happen, and when it does we celebrate it, no matter how hard the future might be. Your dress, it was remarked upon, and how well it suited you, and how surprised everyone was when you removed your mask.’

Elizabeth did her best to respond but could not recapture her enthusiasm for either Venice or the ball, and she was glad when both she and Sophia finished their coffee so that they could say goodbye. She set out again with Annie, returning to the Darcy palazzo in no better spirits than she had left it.

The fog had lifted a little by the time she and Annie arrived, but the cloud was still low and the light was dim. Elizabeth went up the stone steps in the courtyard with Annie behind her and then into the great hall, to find that Darcy had returned from his own morning appointments.

‘Did you enjoy yourself?’ he asked, as she entered. ‘Was Sophia full of talk of the ball?’

‘Yes, she was,’ said Elizabeth, ignoring his first question.

She thought how different it was, talking of the ball with Sophia, instead of talking over the balls at Meryton with Jane and Charlotte. In England, there had been pleasure in reliving every moment, good or bad, whereas here there had only been weariness.

As she removed her cloak, Elizabeth felt a long way from home. The sights which had so delighted her only a few weeks before were now unsettlingly foreign, and she could muster little enthusiasm when Darcy reminded her they would be attending a conversazione that evening.

‘You are not feeling ill?’ he asked, looking at her searchingly. ‘Because if you are, we don’t have to go.’

‘No, of course not, I am perfectly well. I am a little tired, that’s all. I will have a rest this afternoon and then I am sure I will enjoy myself.’

Her hopeful pronouncement did not in fact come to pass. There was a crush at the conversazione and the air was stale. In warmer weather the windows had been open, but now that the weather had changed, the windows were firmly closed. The noise grated on her ears and the atmosphere was oppressive. She saw Giuseppe, who bowed to her across the room, and she caught sight of Sophia and Alfonse, but there were a lot of faces she did not know. The thought of meeting so many more new people was daunting and, for the first time on her wedding tour, Elizabeth wished herself back in her room with the curtains drawn. She withdrew to a corner, where Darcy soon found her. He noticed at once that she looked pale, and when she confessed that she had a headache, he said, ‘It’s hot in here. I will fetch you something to drink.’

She watched him threading his way through the throng whilst she sank down gratefully on a sofa. One of the gentlemen happened to glance in her direction at that moment and walked over to her, saying, ‘Forgive me, Signorina, but you seem to be unwell. Is there anything I can get for you?’

She managed a smile of sorts and made an effort to speak cheerfully.

‘No, thank you, I am quite well, I assure you.’

‘You do not look it. You are overcome by the heat, I think. You will allow me to fetch you some refreshment?’

‘That is very kind of you, but it won’t be necessary. My husband has gone to fetch me a drink.’

‘Your husband? Ah, Signorina—I beg your pardon, Signora—you cut me to the quick. Such a vision of loveliness should not be married, she should be as free as the air to inspire all men with her beauty.’

Elizabeth laughed.

‘You are amused rather than flattered?’ he asked in surprise, but then his eyebrows lowered and he smiled. ‘But, of course, you are English! They are very prosaic the English, and not at all romantic.’

‘I assure you we are very romantic, with the right man.’

‘And your husband is the right man? He is a thousand times fortunate.’

‘You must meet him,’ said Elizabeth, seeing Darcy coming towards them. ‘Darcy, this gentleman noticed that I was out of sorts and he was good enough to offer to fetch me some refreshment.’

She took the drink that Darcy held out to her and sipped it slowly.

‘Darcy?’ enquired the gentleman in surprise. ‘Not Darcy of Pemberley, in Derbyshire, in England?’

His accent made the familiar names sound strange and exotic, and Elizabeth wondered if her country would seem as exotic to the Venetians as their city seemed to her.

‘Yes,’ said Darcy.

He did not seem surprised that even here his name was known to strangers.

‘But this is wonderful. Never did I think to meet you, but here you are! We have friends in common. Your cousin—I think?—Colonel Fitzwilliam and I have known each other for many years. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Prince Ficenzi.’

Elizabeth did not know how she should respond to the introduction, whether she should make some special mark of recognition of his title, but she was saved from her ignorance by the Prince saying to her, ‘Do not, I beg you, rise from your seat; you must recover yourself.’

He complimented Elizabeth on her newly married status, saying that Colonel Fitzwilliam had mentioned the wedding to him, and he complimented Darcy on his beautiful wife. Then he talked engagingly about the occasion on which he had met Colonel Fitzwilliam.

‘It was near my home in a more southern part of Italy, close to Rome. It is a beautiful place, better than Venice, I think, though I would not say so to any of my friends here! We have the great loveliness of the sea, but we have other things besides. There is water, which my friends in Venice have, but also we have hills and mountains, which my friends in Venice do not. We have walks through the countryside—Ah!’ he broke off, seeing Elizabeth’s reaction, ‘you like to walk through the countryside?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I do.’

At that moment, the thought of walking along a country lane had a great appeal and she longed even more for home.

‘Then I beg of you, you will visit me,’ he said. ‘I have a villa there. It is so beautiful now. My garden is one of the finest in Italy. The seasons they are kinder to us near Rome than they are in Venice. We do not get such cold winds or fogs or the snows of winter. Our flowers are all blooming still and our air is full of the scent of them; not like here, where the air is not so good. The canals, they are intriguing, but the smell sometimes it is not of the best,’ he said, pulling a comical face. ‘I think you will enjoy the countryside. It is magnificent and yet at the same time it is—how do you English say it?—homely.’

He could not have said anything more calculated to appeal to Elizabeth at that moment.

‘I would love to come, if…?’ she said, turning to Darcy.

‘Then it is settled,’ said the Prince with a gallant bow, ‘for who can refuse a lady?’

Darcy, at least, could not, and the arrangements were soon made.

Whether it was the refreshing drink or the thought of leaving Venice, Elizabeth did not know, but her headache had all but disappeared by the time the Prince left them in order to mingle with the other guests, and she found that she was able to take part in the conversations and show an interest in the lives of her fellow guests, which would have been impossible for her half an hour earlier.

The palazzo was full of bustle as the Darcys made their preparations for departure. Elizabeth’s room was awash with boxes, and as Annie packed her clothes, Elizabeth assembled her paper, ink, and quills and put them into her travelling writing desk. Downstairs, Darcy made sure that the travelling arrangements had been carried out to his satisfaction and at last they were ready to go. As Elizabeth stepped into the gondola for the last time, she thought how glad she had been to arrive, but also how glad she was to be leaving Venice behind.

The Darcy coach had been sent round to Italy by sea and it was waiting for them outside the city. It was a welcome sight, with its sleek black exterior, its shining carriage lamps, and its four matched carriage horses. As soon as she saw the horses, Elizabeth realised how much she had missed them. Horses were a large part of her everyday life in Hertfordshire, even though she herself did not choose to ride. They were used to pull the plough on the home farms, her friends and neighbours rode them as they went about their daily business or used them to pull their carriages, and the officers proudly showed off their animals’ paces. In Venice she had not seen a single one and she had missed the smell of them, the sight of them and the sound of them, both their familiar snorting and the comforting clop of their hooves.

The boxes were soon loaded and Darcy handed Elizabeth inside. She took her place on the forward-facing seat with pleasure, inhaling the welcoming smell of leather and seeing all the familiar details, from the silk of the window blinds to the loops of the hanging straps, with the delight of someone meeting old friends.

The coachman clicked to the horses and the coach began to move. Behind it, the coach containing Darcy’s valet, Annie, and many more boxes also began to roll forward as the whole entourage headed south. The weather gradually improved, becoming warmer, and the view from the window was of a softer, rolling countryside. After the constant sight of buildings and squares and streets and canals, how welcome it was to Elizabeth! The olive groves and citrus trees, some with a few last fruits on their branches, were a reminder of a slower pace of life, and the views were of space and distance. No longer was the horizon a few feet from her face, but miles and miles away across acres of rolling hillsides, fields, and valleys.

‘You have been to Rome before, I suppose?’ asked Elizabeth.

Her spirits had risen since leaving Venice and Darcy seemed in a happier mood, too.

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Is there anywhere you have not been?’ she teased him.

‘China!’ he said, and then added, ‘yet.’

‘Perhaps we will go there one day,’ she said.

‘Would you like to go?’

‘I think, for the moment, I am content to remain in Europe. It has enough new sights to satisfy me, sometimes too many! I am glad to be in the country again.’

‘Would you like to ride?’ he asked.

Elizabeth’s mare had made the sea voyage with the Darcy coach and was now trotting along behind them, together with Darcy’s own mount.

‘Yes, I think I would.’

Darcy knocked on the roof of the carriage and it began to slow, pulling up before it had gone much further.

‘I should have worn my habit,’ said Elizabeth as he handed her out.

‘There is no one to see you here, only me, and I cannot fault your appearance,’ he said with a smile.

Her mare’s reins were untethered from the back of the coach, as were the reins of Darcy’s horse, and he helped her to mount before mounting himself. The coach set off again and they rode beside it, keeping to the highway when it was bordered by walls but riding over the fields when they could, enjoying the freshness of the wind as it blew past their faces.

They rode intermittently as they travelled south, returning to the carriage when Elizabeth was tired or when showers made it unenjoyable, until at last they neared Rome. They passed by a pine forest that filled the air with a clean, sweet scent and beyond it they could see the Mediterranean Sea. The water was a deep and vibrant blue, changing shade where the water grew deeper, and stretching into the distance, where it met the horizon in a barely perceptible line of differing shades of azure.

The coachman had been given directions to the villa but even so he had to stop a number of times and ask the way.

The Prince had called it a villa, and Elizabeth had no idea what to expect, whether it would be a small gentleman’s residence or a vast estate, but at last they saw it in the distance. The villa was three storeys high, but it gave the impression of being a low building because it was so vast. It was symmetrical, with tall arched windows and balconies adorning the façade. As she and Darcy turned into the gates, they found themselves travelling through formal gardens. On either side of the impressive driveway there were flowerbeds laid out in rectangles and squares. The flowerbeds were edged with low hedging and filled with flowers which bloomed as profusely as if it were August and not November. The whole was a riot of colour: pink and red and orange, backed with splashes of green.

The flowerbeds were divided by gravel walkways which were raked to a smooth surface. Where the paths crossed, fountains played. They were adorned with statues of mythical figures, mermaids and griffins and satyrs, which threw water into the air. The statues’ faces were turned towards the spray, and they seemed to watch it as it hung at its exuberant apex for a moment before descending as a shower of brilliant diamonds, winking and sparkling in the sunlight.

‘I never knew anything like this existed,’ said Elizabeth, as she let down the window in order to get a better view. ‘Last November I was looking at the rain in Hertfordshire and now here I am, in the midst of all this beauty, at the same time of year.’

Darcy smiled with the whole of him. His joy in her pleasure was tangible, filling the carriage with energy, like the after effects of a thunder storm.

And indeed, Elizabeth felt as though she had weathered a storm. The dark dreams were behind her and a few weeks of light-hearted pleasure in the villa were just what she needed.

The carriage wheels crunched over the gravel drive and they drew nearer and nearer to the villa with every turn of the wheels. When Elizabeth could tear her eyes away from the gardens she turned her attention to the villa itself. Its entranceway was on the first floor, and it was approached by two flights of steps, one leading up from the east and one leading up from the west and then meeting on a terrace in the middle.

The carriage came to a halt and liveried footmen flooded down the steps to form a living avenue of purple and gold, through which came the Prince. He was dressed in cloth of gold and looked at home amongst all the splendours of his home, but he welcomed them warmly, without ostentation, and led them up the east flight of steps to the front door.

As they reached the terrace, Elizabeth saw that its roof was supported by marble columns, around which sculpted sirens were entwined. Elizabeth was reminded of her first visit to Rosings with its many splendours, though Rosings paled beside the villa, and she wondered what Mr Collins would make of it. She imagined him walking in front of her and telling her about the weight of the columns, the size of the sculptures, the number of windows, and reciting an account of what the glazing had originally cost.

‘Something has amused you?’ asked the Prince.

‘Not really—well, yes. I have a friend whose husband is impressed by large houses. I was just imagining his reaction to the villa.’

‘Ah! Yes, we have such people in Italy. You, yourself, are not impressed.’

‘On the contrary, I am,’ said Elizabeth, looking around her as they entered the hall and admiring the frescoes, the marble statues, and the paintings. ‘It’s a truly remarkable home and very beautiful.’

‘But you do not admire it as vocally as your friend. Nor, I think, as obsequiously?’

There was humour in his voice.

‘No,’ she admitted, thinking, That would be impossible!

‘Besides, you have a beautiful home of your own. I hear that Pemberley is very fine.’

‘Yes, it is,’ said Elizabeth, with a glance at Darcy. ‘And full of memories.’

‘Already? But how can that be? I understood that this was your wedding tour? But ah! You visited it before your wedding, of course.’

‘Elizabeth came there with her aunt and uncle,’ said Darcy. ‘Not very often, but they are days that neither of us will ever forget.’

Elizabeth smiled at him and they shared a private moment as they remembered the occasion when she had unexpectedly met him again. It had been a moment full of awkwardness and embarrassment but nonetheless exquisite for all that—full of apprehension and yet full of hope, too.

‘I pray you will treat the villa as your home,’ said the Prince. ‘There is a fine library and a music room, and I beg you will use them at any time. You will find a great deal of company in the villa, for I have many guests, and I hope you will find them amusing and entertaining. You will meet some of your countrymen here, as well as people from all over Europe and beyond.’

Having made them thoroughly welcome he left them to the housekeeper, who inclined her head respectfully and then showed them to their apartment. The rooms were elegant and fresh, with marble-topped furniture everywhere and huge ornate mirrors on every wall. Elizabeth saw that her dress had become disordered and she repaired the damage before going downstairs.

She found the other guests, as well as Darcy and the Prince, in the garden. The heat of the day had gone and there was a cooling breeze which made walking out of doors a delight.

Elizabeth soon felt at home. The Prince gave her a glass of wine, which he took from the tray of one of the footmen who wandered the grounds with refreshments, and introduced her to a dozen English guests, several of whom knew Hertfordshire. To her surprise, one of them, Sir Edward Bartholomew, knew Sir William Lucas, as they had been knighted at the same time.

‘I remember it well,’ he said. ‘These very knees have knelt before the King, and these very shoulders have felt the touch of his sword as he dubbed me Sir Edward Bartholomew. I have never known a prouder moment than when he invested me with my insignia. I was nothing but a humble shopkeeper until my knighthood, Mrs Darcy, I never thought I would rise to such heights.’

‘But we all thought it,’ said his wife loyally. Turning to Elizabeth, she said, ‘Sir Edward has made a great contribution to our neighbourhood and his mayoralty was exemplary. Everyone said so.’

Sir Edward smiled modestly and said that it was nothing, adding, ‘Sir William Lucas feels as I do, that it is an honour to serve our country and that we are amply rewarded by this recognition of our services. His family are well, I hope? His wife and his charming daughters?’

‘We met them all in London,’ Lady Bartholomew explained, ‘or at least we met the older children. The others were felt to be too young to understand the honour being bestowed on their father.’

‘Yes, they are all well,’ said Elizabeth, as she sipped her wine. ‘His eldest daughter, Charlotte, is now married. She married a relation of mine, a Mr Collins, who is a clergyman in Kent.’

Lady Bartholomew looked surprised, but quickly hid her astonishment and said, ‘I am very pleased to hear it. She was a most sensible and agreeable young woman. She is not settled too far from home, I hope?’

‘My husband thinks it is an easy distance, but I think not, for it is nearly fifty miles,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Little more than half a day’s journey on good roads,’ said Darcy.

‘Ah, good roads, how I long for some!’ said another Englishwoman, Mrs Prestin. ‘We seem to have been jolted this way and that ever since leaving England.’

The other guests joined in the conversation, the French and Italians declaring that travelling was far easier in their own countries than anywhere else, and one, a Monsieur Repar, claiming humorously that he had been overset three times in his carriage when visiting England.

‘It is good to hear you laughing,’ said the Prince, coming up beside Elizabeth. ‘I knew you would love my home. I am honoured to have you here, and your husband, too. I like very much the English, and any friend of Colonel Fitzwilliam is always welcome here.’

In the warm, balmy air, Elizabeth felt her spirits revive. She and Darcy were able to take advantage of a lull in the conversation to drift away from the different groups and walk by themselves through the gardens, where the whiteness of the gravel paths contrasted with the scarlet flowers and the sea’s clear blue.

‘Happy?’ asked Darcy.

‘Yes, very,’ said Lizzy, taking his arm.

‘I thought, when we were in Venice, that you might want to go home.’

‘Perhaps I did, but I feel differently now. I don’t suppose we will ever come so far again so let us make the most of it whilst we are here.’

As one of the footmen walked past she attempted to put her glass, now empty, on his tray, but he turned away at the last moment and the glass fell to the ground where it broke into pieces.

Elizabeth gave an exclamation of annoyance and bent down to pick up the glass before one of the other guests should tread on it, but Darcy, bending down beside her with preternatural speed, said urgently, ‘Don’t!’

He caught her hand and jerked it back, but the action pulled her fingers over the jagged edge and a spurt of blood gushed from the wound in a fountain of brilliant scarlet. She felt a terrible energy in him, and he began to tremble.

‘Go inside at once!’ he said, standing up and backing away from her. ‘Have your maid bind your wound. Now!’

‘It’s nothing,’ she said, perplexed, as she stood up. ‘Only give me your handkerchief, that is all I need.’

‘Come,’ said Lady Bartholomew, who had seen the accident and who had approached to help. ‘Your husband is right. In this hot climate any wound, no matter how small, can soon go bad.’ In a lower voice she said to Elizabeth, ‘It often happens this way, many gentleman cannot stand the sight of blood. They are often very squeamish. Humour your husband in this. He will not want to appear weak in front of the other guests.’

Elizabeth allowed Lady Bartholomew to lead her away, but as she went into the villa she felt a sense of alarm and profound unease, for the look on Darcy’s face had not been squeamish. It had been ravenous.