part0011

As the musicians finally took their seats, Darcy felt Georgiana’s hand excitedly press his, and he turned to smile at her, momentarily drawn from his concerns by the joy reflected in her countenance and the light in her eyes, so rarely seen since Ramsgate. It was for her benefit that they were in their box at the vast Theatre Royal of Covent Garden that night, as the playbill included Mr Handel’s much acclaimed Water Music , which Georgiana had expressed a great desire to hear.

As for himself, he would have readily forgone the doubtful pleasure. He had little inclination for Mr Brown’s Barbarossa , no patience for the Farce, and as to the music, he found the delectation dearly bought, at the price of having to make an appearance amongst people he could no longer abide. For him, the society of others had always been something to endure rather than enjoy, with a few notable exceptions, but these days he found he had little patience even with the selected few – and none at all with the rest. Even long, excruciating hours shut away with his thoughts were preferable to the strain of having to put on a performance of his own, and act his part as though nothing had changed.

A deep frown creased his brow at the thought that he would have to make the requisite calls in some of the boxes, come the intermission. The insipidity of those people grated sorely on his frayed temper and he briefly closed his eyes, weary of the endless charade. Had they always been so intolerably dull, and he had not noticed? Or was it because of her that he saw nothing now but bland sameness and facile superficiality everywhere he went?

The familiar pain twisted in his chest, and he swallowed hard. It had not left him yet. The longing. The sorrow. The agony of loss .

How long? He clenched his fists until he felt his nails digging into his palms. How long would it last? Forget her? Good Lord, if only he could!

‘And go about the business of finding that fitting match, amongst your own kind?’ a scornful thought challenged. He almost laughed – a bitter sound, suppressed at the last moment. He had not been tempted into matrimony all these six or seven years of wandering the hallowed halls of London as an eligible bachelor on the marriage mart. What insane notion made him think he would be tempted now, when his heart and every thought were no longer his to command?

Darcy raised his eyes and cast a glance around him. A vast expanse of fine silks and expensive jewellery glowed softly in the candlelight on most if not all the levels of the four-tiered performance hall. It was a very pleasing sight – but all he saw was façade and glitter, and beauty that was just skin-deep. What was he doing amongst these people, when his heart was in Hertfordshire?

‘Nay, not in Hertfordshire any longer,’ he amended. Devonshire by now, as he had suspected for a while, and one of Bingley’s letters had finally confirmed. The thought made him wince. What must she have endured since her father’s passing! She must have had as close a bond with her father as he had shared with his – perhaps an even closer one, for the Darcys were never prone to the open displays of affection he had witnessed between Mr Bennet and his favourite daughter.

He should have been at her side at a time like this! The thought of Elizabeth’s suffering tore at his heart, and even more so to envisage her enduring her relations’ self-centred and ill-judged outpourings, with no one but Bingley and his wife for comfort. He should have been there, with her. He longed to be with her, and hold her, and tell her that he would take care of everything.

He could do nothing of the sort, of course. All that was within his rights to offer was the lukewarm comfort of a near-stranger – and that would never do.

The first strains rose from the string instruments, harmonious and poignant, and Darcy leaned forward in his seat, hoping the beauty of the music would stand a chance to soothe him.

It did not. Nothing did. Not even Pemberley .

He could not bear to remain at Pemberley for above two months. He had attempted to engross himself in estate business and, for Georgiana’s sake, spend more time with her and pretend to a normality that was not there. They visited their neighbours, people he had known and respected for as long as he could remember, but there was no one whose society he would truly enjoy, nor was there anything he could do to fill the emptiness within, or remove the crushing weight of sadness that he carried everywhere he went.

Not even the Christmas season could to lift it. Christmastide had not been very cheerful at Pemberley in a number of years, as memories of celebrations from years gone by, when both his parents were alive, only served to remind him of their loss, which was why he had often endeavoured to persuade Georgiana that they should remain in town for Christmas, or spend the festive season with their Fitzwilliam relations, at their uncle’s seat in Wiltshire.

He could not bear to remain in town this year. The knowledge that Elizabeth was less than half a day’s journey away, happily engrossed in her sisters’ wedding preparations, was more than he could tolerate with equanimity – and the thought of Bingley’s nuptials and his forthcoming happiness with the woman he loved was more than enough to drive him away.

Darcy hoped Bingley would grant his forgiveness for the slight of not standing beside him as his best man, as well as the even weightier transgression of not attending his wedding at all. But he could not bear it. The thought of waiting at the altar with his ever so fortunate friend, and seeing Elizabeth advancing down the aisle as Miss Bennet and Miss Mary’s maid of honour, knowing all the while that he would never see her coming to stand beside him as his bride, was beyond anything he felt he could endure. He had sought refuge at Pemberley then, in the vain hope that the cherished place would provide the sanctuary and succour it always had.

He sighed. Pemberley had always welcomed him on his return – from school in earlier years, from endeavours in town, even from the wretchedness of Ramsgate. He had always found his strength restored to him as he walked through its halls, or merely as he beheld the beloved house across the valley, from the top of the abrupt hill opposite, on each of his journeys home .

It had not been thus on this occasion. All that he could think of at the sight of Pemberley was that it would never have Elizabeth as its mistress.

The thought had haunted him in every chamber. Elizabeth in the music room, playing for him at the end of a delightful evening. Elizabeth across from him at the vast table entertaining their guests, or sitting down for a far more appealing intimate dinner. Elizabeth in his study, or the library, as he had imagined her that distant day at Netherfield. Elizabeth laughing with his sister, cajoling her out of her subdued spirits and teaching her to enjoy life as much as she did. Elizabeth in his vast, empty, loveless and cheerless bedchamber, brightening his life with the glow of her presence and her love…

The music soared, filling the great auditorium with the uplifting message of hope and glory that Handel’s music had brought to enthralled audiences for decades, but it brought no solace to him. Barely listening, Darcy sat staring blankly into space throughout the brilliant performance. The images he had conjured vanished into thin air – leaving just the aching weight of loss concealed behind a stony countenance.

Elizabeth drew a deep breath as she finally reached the summit, after a strenuous ascent. The Devonshire downs were rather more of a challenge than the rolling hills of Hertfordshire – and she welcomed it. She filled her lungs again with the bracing air and slowly turned around to absorb the unfamiliar beauty opening at her feet. Fresh green hues of newly-arrived spring clung to the open downs on the left, only to be contrasted by the vibrant tones of heather and gorse that richly dotted them in places, and the hanging woods on the other side drew the eye to their darker beauty. Deeper in the valleys, clusters of barely distinguishable cottages beckoned – a cheerfully welcoming sight, unlike the forbidding summits – and the tall church spires spoke of resilience and hope.

Gusts of wind tugged at her bonnet and, on impulse, Elizabeth loosened the ribbons, allowing it to fall on her back. She closed her eyes and raised her face into the wind as it swept over her and played merry havoc with her hair – but then her eyes flew open again in delighted surprise, when Kitty suddenly came to embrace her and pressed her cheek against her own .

“Dearest Lizzy,” she exclaimed with unrestrained joy, “you do look like yourself again!”

Elizabeth returned the embrace, touched by the open display of affection, as much as by the notion of how much her depression of spirits had affected those who cared for her.

She could barely repress a wince at the thought of the last months. Given her father’s progressively worsening condition some time before Christmas, the profound anguish of his loss had not found them unprepared, but that did nothing to alleviate the suffering when it eventually came to pass.

“I am happy you think so, dearest. Thank you,” she said with a smile, and Kitty looked up in surprise.

“For being such a good sister to me.”

Kitty blushed, and Elizabeth pressed her hand. They had grown very close indeed over the last few months, and that was the only blessing Elizabeth could think of.

A great change was wrought in Kitty’s temperament and manner, and she gradually became Elizabeth’s companion, rather than Lydia’s. They practised their music together, they withdrew to the stillroom to companionably go about their business, much as she used to do with Jane, and ever since the weather had taken a turn for the better, it had become their habit to go for long walks together over the high downs, which invited them from almost every window of the lodge to seek the exquisite enjoyment of their summits. And then there was the novel attraction of the sea – another welcome difference from the Hertfordshire countryside, with all its bitter-sweet recollections. From more than one summit eagerly ascended, their eyes would be caught by the seemingly endless, sparkling expanse of blue, stretching in lazy splendour at their feet as far as the horizons.

More delightful still, a very short distance from their home, along a narrow path that wound its way past bramble, gorse and blackthorn, there was a small secluded cove that drew their steps as often as might be. A lone slender birch rose from the arid soil, resilient and stubborn against the winds that tore relentlessly at its branches, and they sometimes sought shelter under it, Kitty and herself, or walked along the narrow strip of sand, towards the reddish cliff that closed their little cove .

It was a spot Elizabeth sought often, the restless murmur of the sea over the rounded pebbles at the water’s edge soothing the aching restlessness in her heart. Kitty nearly always joined her, and they would stroll together along the beach in hazy sunshine, listening to the waves and to the calls of seagulls – a welcome change from the noise and bustle that ruled supreme at home.

Kitty was becoming almost as fond of wide open spaces as herself, and they spent many hours exploring the beauties of Devonshire together. They rarely talked of matters of great import, and both avoided, as though by mutual agreement, to mention the most momentous of them all, but perhaps it was time for that to change.

“Come, Kitty,” Elizabeth urged with a smile. “Let us find someplace to sit.”

Holding hands, they crossed to the other side of the plateau and descended a few steps down the sunny face of the hill, until they came across a large flat stone, wide enough for both. They sat and produced a small lunch of fruit, bread and cheese from their satchels.

“I am so happy that the weather turned,” Kitty said as she finished munching on her apple. “Another morning cooped up with Mamma and Lydia, and I would have gone distracted.”

As the older sister, Elizabeth knew she ought not encourage the sentiment – but then again, disagreement or censure would not only harm their newly-established bond, but would also be shamefully hypocritical. How many times had she not said the same to Jane? How often had she not sought solace from silliness and impropriety in exactly the same fashion? It was astounding and oddly pleasant to see how much like her old self Kitty had become. So Elizabeth merely said with a smile:

“It would not have been just Mamma and Lydia, for Mrs Jennings was bound to come to call.”

“And you think that would have improved matters?”

Elizabeth laughed lightly in response. Mrs Jennings was a widow with an ample jointure, who lived for the best part of the year with her son-in-law and daughter, Sir John and Lady Middleton of Barton Park, a large and handsome residence less than three miles from Farringdon Lodge. Mrs Jennings was neither clever nor well-bred, but she had a warm heart and a cheerful disposition, and although her society was ill-suited to discerning tastes, Elizabeth was glad of the joy it brought her mother, and likewise her sister Lydia .

They were forever visiting at Barton Park, and Mrs Jennings often came to call, and the three of them would dissolve in laughter and inane conversation that would have made Elizabeth roll her eyes, had she not known better. Kitty, however, did not share her scruples. She had begun to show more discernment and real understanding, and was often unable or unwilling to conceal her disapproval of their frivolous concerns. That made her elder sister smile with amused affection, as it reminded her of her own impatience with their relations’ outbursts – in earlier, happier times, before real sorrows had taught her to disregard the trifling vexations of this world.

“You will say I have begun to sound like Jane,” Elizabeth replied with a soft chuckle, “but I cannot help liking her, Kitty. She is loud, to be sure, and far too meddlesome for comfort, but ‘tis all in good cheer and without a hint of malice. And she keeps Mamma happy.”

“In that you are right. They have become fast friends.”

“Indeed. One cannot miss the great similarities in temper and disposition.”

“Nay, nay, Lizzy, there is more to it than that. There is something else that highly recommends Mrs Jennings to Mamma’s affections.”

“And what would that be?”

“The fact that she has only two daughters, both of whom are respectably married, and she has nothing left to do now but marry off the rest of the world. Mamma is delighted to have her assistance in creditably disposing of the rest of us,” laughed Kitty, and Elizabeth could not fail to follow suit. “’Tis unkind of me, I know,” Kitty owned, “particularly as she is so welcoming, and has done so much to ease our way, and introduce us to our neighbours. But I confess I find her hard to bear at times. I thought I should scream when she kept teasing you about being so forlorn, and asking how many broken hearts you have left behind in Hertfordshire.”

Elizabeth clasped her hand in silent gratitude, and Kitty raised her eyes to meet her sister’s.

“Lizzy…?” she whispered tentatively, then gathered her courage and pressed on. “Are you…? You look better now, much better than I have seen you in a long time. Do you think… you will be well again?”

“Oh, Kitty!” exclaimed Elizabeth, touched by her concern. “I… I know not, but… I hope I will. ”

“’Tis just that… you have been so strong. You hardly ever said a word about… Papa, and everything. You threw yourself into every detail of our removal from Longbourn, and none of us did more than you to establish us in our new home, but when the work was done, there was nothing left—”

She stopped abruptly, unwilling to continue, but her sister finished her thought for her with a wistful smile.

“Nothing left to hide behind,” Elizabeth said, and Kitty nodded.

It was true. She had deliberately sought to involve herself in everything, regardless of how tedious or trifling, because the momentous task of sorting through their personal possessions and deciding what should be brought along when they left Longbourn had somewhat helped keep the agony at bay.

After steadfast insistence, Elizabeth had finally carried her point and persuaded her family to agree to a very swift removal. Within a month of Mr Bennet’s passing, they had left Hertfordshire behind and settled at Farringdon Lodge, a handsome building near the coast, some ten miles south of Exeter. Although smaller than Longbourn, Farringdon was a great deal better appointed and in a beautiful location. A lovely house with smooth, elegant lines, and extensive views over the surrounding downs.

It was a time of great upheaval, and Elizabeth had thrown herself into every detail again, grateful for the employment. But as soon as hard work had given way to an easily-kept routine, her tenuous defences had irrevocably crumbled, and the weeks that followed were ones of great dejection for her. Hard as she tried, she could neither rouse herself, nor conceal her pain, and Kitty was distraught to witness the silent suffering she could not allay.

“Were you sorry to leave Longbourn so soon?” Elizabeth asked suddenly. “Mr Collins was surprisingly thoughtful. He told me time and again that we were welcome to stay for as long as we needed.”

“No doubt under Mary’s influence.”

“No doubt. Would you have liked to tarry longer, though?”

“No,” Kitty replied firmly. “There was nothing to be found there but the grief of refreshed recollections.”

“Aye, that was exactly how I felt. I could not bear it. Under a misfortune such as this, assistance is impossible; condolence, insufferable. I was wild to be away from everything, to a place where people would not feel they must condole with me at every turn. ”

“I know. This is why I supported you in declining Jane’s offer.”

Warmly seconded by her husband, Jane had pleaded with her mother and sisters to come and stay at Netherfield for a while, but Elizabeth had been adamant in her refusal. The separation from her dearest sister was very hard to bear, after the best part of two decades of sharing every secret, every thought. But Jane had her own life now, and a different allegiance – and as for herself, Elizabeth felt she desperately needed to turn a new leaf.

“I, for one, could not bear to remain in the neighbourhood for long enough to see our cousin taking Papa’s place,” Kitty confessed quietly, “and you must have felt it just as keenly.”

Elizabeth pressed her hand again and Kitty added:

“I think the change of scene was good for Mamma and Lydia as well, much as it had vexed them that we would not relent on the subject of living at Netherfield. They were both so taken with the notion. But then, poor Jane and Charles! Mamma would have taxed even their proverbial patience, for she would have been unstoppable in interfering with every detail of their arrangements.”

“Heaven forbid. One more reason why it was very good for her to settle at Farringdon and be mistress of her own home once again.”

“Although, for all intents and purposes, you are the mistress of Farringdon Lodge,” Kitty replied with a smile.

It was true, in a way. Mrs Bennet was happy to preside over their table, as was her due, but decided that since she had neither the head, nor the patience for figures, she would gladly leave it to Elizabeth to take over Mr Bennet’s role in managing their affairs. It was not a difficult task. Their income was on the par with what Longbourn had once afforded them, and quite sufficient for a small household of ladies with little opportunity for extravagant expense.

As a result, neither for the first time, nor the last, Elizabeth found herself blessing the memory of the unknown gentleman, her father’s friend, who had made all their present comfort possible.

“I wholeheartedly agree, but I do not relish having to wrestle the purse strings from Mamma every time she thinks we ought to spend more on some frippery or another. ”

Kitty echoed the light laughter; then, raising their faces towards the early April sun, they fell silent for a while to enjoy the tranquillity around them.

“I wonder if Jane is pleased with Scarborough,” Kitty mused. “It was good of Charles to delay their proposed tour in the North and come to us instead.”

Merely weeks after the Bennets’ removal from Longbourn, Mr and Mrs Bingley had visited them in Devonshire, as Jane would not rest easy until she could see for herself where and how they were settled, and how her dear family was submitting to the change. Their stay was shorter than they would have liked, for Mr Bingley’s relations in Scarborough were impatient to meet his new wife, but it was a delight to see Jane again, so soon after they were parted, show her their new home, and reassure her that they were settled as snugly as could be.

“Indeed,” Elizabeth said. “But then our brother is the epitome of kindness. I am truly happy for Jane. She could not have done better.”

“Would it not be lovely if he could purchase an estate in Devonshire, rather than extend the lease of Netherfield?”

“Oh? Have you heard of any such estate coming up for sale?”

“No, I was only wishing there was. But I should ask Mrs Jennings. Whatever she does not know about the concerns of every neighbour in a ten-mile radius is not worth knowing.”

“Kitty!” giggled Elizabeth, privately conceding it was probably true. They sat together for a little while longer in companionable silence, enjoying the warmth, the view, and their new-found camaraderie, until Elizabeth suddenly suggested: “We should return, do you not think?”

Kitty agreed, so Elizabeth donned her bonnet, and they began to retrace their steps towards the lodge. They leisurely descended into the valley, until they found the Delaford bridleway, which led them to the lane coming from Barton. As soon as they rounded the first bend in the road, they noticed a gentleman riding in their direction. Having recognised them, he dismounted and advanced to pay his respects.

“Good morning, Colonel,” Elizabeth and Kitty greeted him with undisguised pleasure, and he bowed to both.

“Ladies. Have you been visiting at the Park?” he asked, a trace of well-bred surprise in his voice, which Elizabeth did not fail to catch, and it brought a smile to her lips .

They had been acquainted long enough for the Colonel to know that, of the Bennet ladies, it was not the pair of them, but Mrs Bennet and Lydia who were most keen about calling at Barton Park.

“No, Sir,” she replied. “My sister and I went for a long walk over the downs this morning.”

“And have you enjoyed it?”

“Very much. Devonshire is a beautiful country.”

“I assume you are now returning home?”

Elizabeth confirmed, and the Colonel asked permission to escort them, which was readily granted. Of all their new acquaintances, few were those whom Elizabeth had grown to esteem and whose company she valued, but Colonel Brandon was decidedly among them. A handsome gentleman of about five-and-thirty, he was a close friend of Sir John’s, which was rather astonishing, for they were not in the least alike. While Sir John was gregarious, the Colonel was grave and quiet, and had little interest in his friend’s pursuits, which were mainly centred on hunting, shooting, and organising as many balls and parties as could be.

The Colonel was much better informed, and thus able to hold a sensible conversation. That, along with his subdued manner, made him a welcome antidote to some of their new neighbours’ senseless frivolity. In the early weeks of her life in Devonshire, Elizabeth’s dejected spirits had often made her impatient with Mrs Jennings’ and Sir John’s empty cheerfulness, and she had found in him a pleasant companion, who would not intrude upon her notice with misplaced jokes and impertinent innuendo. They would discuss books and art, people and places, the world as it was and the world as it used to be, for the Colonel was not only well-read and well-travelled, but also a man of excellent understanding, and once he chose to overcome his reserve, his conversation was both enjoyable and stimulating.

For his part, Brandon could not fail to be drawn by Elizabeth’s manner, her intelligent discourse and dry sense of humour, in such sharp contrast to what the others had to offer. Thus, a decided preference for each other’s company gradually emerged, which delighted Mrs Bennet, and likewise Mrs Jennings. The latter very soon declared it would be an excellent match, for he was rich and she was handsome, and from then on she often found a great many witty things to say to both of them about their supposed attachment .

Over the years, Mrs Jennings had derived great entertainment from teasing some young friend or another about possible suitors and probable weddings. Yet, to her disappointment, in this instance she was afforded little satisfaction. After meeting her first comments with amused incredulity, both Elizabeth and Colonel Brandon remained perfectly indifferent to her raillery, and obliged neither with protestations nor with telling blushes. But Mrs Jennings was not easily disheartened, and despite the lack of encouragement, her wit continued to flow long.

“It appears you were in the right, we do have company,” Kitty said to her sister as they approached the house, and the sound of Mrs Jennings’ merry laughter and Sir John’s deep voice could be heard through the open windows of the parlour. Both greeted them with exclamations of pleasure when they made their way within.

“Ah, and the Colonel, too,” Mrs Jennings exclaimed, with a wide smile and a knowing glance in Elizabeth’s direction. “Did you join the ladies on their walk by accident or by design, Sir?”

“Neither, Ma’am,” the gentleman replied, unperturbed. “I merely had the pleasure of encountering Miss Bennet and Miss Catherine when they were on their way back to the lodge.”

“And what a pleasure it must have been, eh, Brandon?” Sir John decided to join his mother-in-law in what they both regarded as subtle raillery. “Well, young ladies,” Sir John resumed, “I am happy you are here, for I have great news, which I have already shared with your mother and sister. I have just received a letter from my cousin, Mrs Dashwood of Norland Park. She and her daughters are in the same position as yourselves, as they have recently lost Mr Dashwood to an unexpected illness,” he added, making Elizabeth wince. It was just as well that Sir John was kindness personified, for tact was not his forte. “They must quit their home in favour of Mr Dashwood’s son from a previous marriage, and I wrote to offer them Barton Cottage. I meant to do so ever since I heard their sad news, but with your family settled in the area, it added fresh incentive. I am pleased to tell you that I managed to persuade them to remove from Norland a great deal sooner than intended, so they should arrive some time before Easter. I daresay you will be fast friends.”

“Aye, Easter is uncommonly late this year,” Mrs Bennet remarked, not really attending .

She was not best-pleased to hear of more young ladies settling in the area. It would have been a different matter if they came with a brother or two for, after all, one could not know too many young gentlemen. Her daughters’ prospects would be damaged, to be sure, for there were not many eligible bachelors to go around. Colonel Brandon was one, and she would be delighted to see him engaged to any of her girls, especially darling Lydia. But although in raptures to hear he was a colonel, Lydia lost all interest when she learned he was retired from active service. Elizabeth could secure him, though, but she should make haste about it, lest one of the new girls catch his fancy.

Mrs Bennet took another sip of tea and shrugged. Well, be that as it may. It would be good to have all her daughters married and settled, but it was no longer such a pressing matter, now that they had Farringdon. It was smaller than Longbourn and in the middle of nowhere, but at least they would never lose it to an entail and become destitute.

Mrs Bennet never had great curiosity regarding their mysterious benefactor. Knowing that she and her daughters had a roof over their heads and a comfortable income was enough. The subject intrigued Elizabeth vastly more. Over the intervening months, she had attempted to gather some intelligence about the previous owner of the lodge, but even Mrs Jennings, who made it her business to know everybody else’s, could not be of much assistance in the matter. All she knew was that it had once been part of the Farringdon estate, which was leased to the Todds after Lady Farringdon’s demise. Elizabeth’s acquaintance with the Todds was not on the same level of intimacy as with Mrs Jennings, nor were they as disposed as the good lady to talk about private concerns. Yet even as their acquaintance progressed, they could not supply more. Elizabeth eventually learned from the eldest Miss Todd that the lease was controlled by some London attorneys, and that her family knew nothing about the current owner, and very little about the history of the estate.

When applied to, Colonel Brandon could not be of assistance either. While in active service, he had been out of the country for too long to keep abreast of his neighbours’ affairs. Thus, in the end Elizabeth had to let the matter drop, and she told herself that if their father’s friend had so keenly desired to keep his anonymity, then respecting their benefactor’s final wishes was the least she could do.