“I do not know when you shall receive your first allowance from the king. Keep it well hidden, for there are thieves everywhere.”
“I love you, Papa.”
He kissed her hand. “God be with you, Elizabeth.”
The black carriage waiting in the lane was not the same as the one Sir Reginald had arrived in the week before; it was smaller, and there was no crest on the door. He had explained to Papa that his orders were to travel without drawing undue notice. The horses stamped and snorted in the cold, their breath forming great clouds of vapour, while the coachman adjusted their harnesses. Beside the carriage, a woman in a severe travelling cloak was conferring with the driver in low, authoritative tones. It must be Mrs. Hobart, the companion Sir Reginald had brought back from London to see Elizabeth safely north.
Mrs. Hobart looked up as Elizabeth approached. She was a woman perhaps a little younger than Sir Reginald, with steel-grey hair pulled back in an uncompromising arrangement and sharp blue eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. Her expression was perfectly polite and perfectly impersonal.
“Your Royal Highness,” she said with a small curtsy, her voice carrying the crisp accents of a genteel education. “We should be off.”
Elizabeth turned for one last look at Longbourn, the familiar windows glowing warmly in the grey morning light, Jane’s hand raised in farewell, Mary watching solemnly, Kitty smiling, Lydia waving so energetically she nearly dropped her shawl. Her father stood in the doorway, his expression carefully composed, while her mother dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.
She climbed into the carriage, assisted by Sir Reginald, and sat upon the well-cushioned seat. Mrs. Hobart followed.
Elizabeth lifted a hand in farewell.
The door closed with a decisive thud, the wheels began to turn, and Longbourn receded into the distance.
Villages appeared and vanished like candle flames. Occasionally, Elizabeth glimpsed figures moving about their daily tasks: women hanging laundry despite the bitter air, men leading cattle to shelter, children playing in cottage gardens. She wondered what they might think of the carriage passing their quiet homes.
Sir Reginald read and Mrs. Hobart spoke only when required, spending most of her time sleeping or observing the world outside the window with a detached air. Elizabeth did not object to the silence. It allowed her to gaze upon the passing countryside and imagine the grandparents she had never met. What might they look like? Would they regard her as family or merely as a curiosity to be displayed at court?
“Mrs. Hobart,” she said at length, “might I ask what you know of the royal household? I confess I am quite ignorant of what will be expected of me.”
This topic made the woman’s reticence fall away. “I know a fair deal, for my family lived in Thurnia for most of my life.” She glanced at Sir Reginald. “I suppose it is how Sir Reginald knew I would be the right woman for this position.”
He nodded without looking up.
“Their Majesties maintain a court of modest size but considerable dignity,” Mrs. Hobart continued. “You will find the protocols less elaborate than those of larger kingdoms, but no less important for that. Your education will begin immediately upon your arrival.”
“Education in what, precisely?”
“Languages, history, deportment, the management of a royal household. You will need to understand the political situation both within Thurnia and with neighbouring kingdoms. There will be lessons in music and drawing, naturally, and instruction in the conduct expected of a royal princess.”
Elizabeth felt a flutter of apprehension. “It sounds quite comprehensive.”
“It is necessary,” Mrs. Hobart replied matter-of-factly. “You cannot represent the crown adequately without proper preparation. I trust you will apply yourself diligently to your studies?”
“I have always been fond of learning,” Elizabeth said, though she wondered privately whether she would find royal education as engaging as what she had learned from her masters and in Papa’s library.
The first night’s inn was small but clean, its common room warmed by a cheerful fire and filled with the comfortable sounds of ordinary travellers. Elizabeth dined beside the fire, exchanging only polite remarks with hertravelling companions before Sir Reginald whispered something to Mrs. Hobart and the woman firmly escorted her to her chamber. Mrs. Hobart had insisted upon inspecting the accommodations personally, pronouncing them adequate but then warning Elizabeth against venturing downstairs unaccompanied.
“One never knows what manner of persons frequent such establishments,” she declared, as though the perfectly respectable inn were a den of iniquity. She took out a handkerchief and dabbed at her nose. “Young ladies of your station cannot be too careful.”
That night Elizabeth wrote a brief note to Jane, describing the frost upon the fields and the pale winter moon visible from her window. She kept it deliberately light, mentioning nothing of her growing apprehension about the life that awaited her. On the second night, she added an anecdote about a particularly fine meat pie and a maid who told stories about her naval brother.
She kept the notes brief; too many words might tempt her to sentiment, and sentiment, she feared, might tempt her to tears.
By the end of their third day, the clouds hung low and heavy, grey as pewter, and the wind blew hard enough to make the carriage windows rattle in their frames. Sir Reginald had taken his horse earlier in the morning and ridden ahead, saying that he had to meet someone to discuss details about the rest of their journey. Elizabeth drew her pelisse closer and watched as the first flakes of snow began to fall, small and tentative at first, then thickening into a steady curtain of white.
Mrs. Hobart frowned at the weather. “This will slow our progress considerably. I do hope Sir Reginald has reached the inn and is not riding in this weather.”
Elizabeth glanced out again and sat upright. “There is something in the road ahead.”
The driver slowed the horses to a walk. Through the veil of snow, a scene emerged: an overturned cart and its contents, barrels, by the look of them, were half scattered, half collected on the side of the road; a horse stamping and snorting in distress; several men moving quickly among the wreckage. She could smell spirits of some kind, which had been spilt from the broken casks. One man was helping another from the ground, his attention focused entirely on getting him out of the road.
“Someone may be injured,” Elizabeth exclaimed, her hand moving instinctively to the window to open it and speak to the coachman. “We must stop and offer assistance.”