part0019

Elizabeth settled herself comfortably into one of the large armchairs and opened her book. It was an early edition of Mr Swift’s ‘Gulliver’s Travels’ , one of her father’s favourites and a firm favourite of hers as well, for the acerbic irony could not fail to appeal to both. And yet she could barely concentrate on the small print, and her eyes and thoughts would often drift to her surroundings.

Her admiring gaze wandered once more around the warm, welcoming room, and Elizabeth smiled when she remembered Miss Bingley’s enthusiastic praise that showed no understanding of the place, merely her desire to ingratiate herself with the owner.

She had dismally failed in her endeavours, Elizabeth could easily tell, even if Miss Bingley apparently could not. Mr Darcy had received her endless compliments for his library, his estate, his sister’s accomplishments and his evenness of writing with nothing but the coldest civility. If anything, in the very beginning of their acquaintance, it was his cold impassibility to Miss Bingley’s assiduous courting that made Elizabeth dislike him less, as the trace of sarcasm colouring his response to such persistent fawning unwittingly appealed to her own like-minded nature.

Elizabeth could not help wondering what Mr Darcy would think of her increasing intimacy with his sister. Would he be displeased that she had befriended one of the Bennets, or would the distinction made on the night of the Netherfield ball still apply, between herself and Jane, as opposed to the rest of the clan? Presumably it would since, of his own free will, he had brought his sister to Netherfield to spend a fair while in Jane’s company. Nevertheless, Elizabeth still pondered what his response might be, were he to return unexpectedly from town and find her availing herself of the delights of his own library .

At Miss Darcy’s warm insistence, she had been persuaded to spend the entire day at Pemberley. They had thoroughly enjoyed their time together, comparing their musical skills or walking through the grounds chatting amicably about anything and everything, and finding each other’s company utterly delightful. Before too long, they agreed they should be ‘Elizabeth’ and ‘Georgiana’ to each other, which was no surprise, for the hours of easy camaraderie could not fail to lead them towards the intimacy of Christian names without reluctance.

Towards the end of the lovely day, Miss Darcy – Georgiana – asked her to also stay for dinner. A note was dispatched to the inn at Lambton to inform Mr and Mrs Gardiner of the slight change of plans, and then Elizabeth was urged to amuse herself in the library, while her hostess was called away for a brief conference with the housekeeper.

Elizabeth closed the book and stood to restore it to its place, then leisurely walked along the shelves, absent-mindedly perusing the spines. Georgiana was bound to return soon, so there would be no time to engross herself in any of those very tempting volumes.

She wandered towards some of the more secluded shelves, in a small alcove. It appeared they held not hefty tomes, but sketchbooks. There would be time enough to leaf through those, she thought. A glance through Georgiana’s works would occupy her time delightfully. It was indeed a pity, Elizabeth thought with an impish smile, that she was so much younger than her brother. It would have been pleasant to see earlier versions of the likeness displayed in her sitting room, but several years ago Georgiana’s drawing skills could not have done much justice to her subject matter.

Elizabeth selected one of the sketchbooks, only to find that their yellowed pages showed they could not be the product of Georgiana’s efforts, as they looked much older than her sixteen years of age.

Even to Elizabeth’s unpractised eye, the mastery of the artist was indisputable. She could recognise renditions of various views that caught the eye from Pemberley’s great windows, and the accuracy and lightness of hand and the fineness of detail were astounding. Elizabeth looked for a signature, and could decipher ‘Arabella Darcy’ in one of the corners, along with a very old date. On one of the following pages she found a likeness that gave her pause, for it reminded her greatly of Mr Darcy, although there were marked differences around the mouth and eyes. This, along with the date and the resemblance to one of the portraits in the gallery, led her to believe it must be a likeness of Mr Darcy’s father, in his youth. She wondered whether there would be one of his mother as she turned the pages, drawn by the artist’s remarkable skill.

Once she had finished perusing the first sketchbook, Elizabeth replaced it and selected a random one, further along the shelf. She could easily recognise the artist’s hand, unmistakably the same, and there was something familiar about the scene as well, although she could not tell precisely what. She turned the page, but the sound of the opening door drew her from her employment. Elizabeth looked up and smiled at her new friend.

“I think you would appreciate that volume over there,” Elizabeth suggested, pointing towards the one she had just finished looking through. “There are some beautiful views of Pemberley, and a portrait of your father, I believe.”

“Oh, I remember these. I have not looked at them in ages. My aunt’s sketchbooks. Arabella Darcy was one of my father’s sisters. She was very skilled indeed. I wish I could draw as well as her.”

“You are not far off, you know,” Elizabeth said encouragingly, as she leafed through the volume she was holding. “Are your own sketchbooks here, somewhere?” she asked. “I would dearly like to see them, if I may.”

“They are still under lock and key in my bedchamber,” Georgiana confessed with a conscious little laugh, “although they may well finish by being displayed here, to embarrass me before future generations, particularly when they compare my efforts to my aunt’s. ”

Elizabeth turned another page and blinked, suddenly distracted. That sketch – one could almost think it depicted the valley stretching before her home. Her new home in Devonshire.

She paused for a closer look. It could not be, surely. Yet there were outstanding similarities. The same turn of the valley, the same steep slope on the right. Even the shapes of the two cedars looked familiar – two towering giants at the foot of the hill that sheltered them from the high winds of the summits.

She shook her head, dismissing the notion as fanciful. Somewhere near Pemberley there must be a valley bearing a striking resemblance to the view that had become one of her most familiar sights. It was the most plausible explanation.

Elizabeth glanced at her friend with affectionate understanding. She, too, would have treasured a glimpse into her father’s youth. She was about to offer some words of comfort, when her attention was brought back to her book.

If the previous sketch could be dismissed as a coincidence, the same could not be said of the one before her. Without a shadow of a doubt, it depicted the front elevation of Farringdon Lodge, viewed from the left side of the lawn, just beyond the azaleas.

Of course. Farringdon Park. The first sketch that caught her eye – the one that looked vaguely familiar, but she could not identify the scene – showed a garden temple at Farringdon Park, and the left wing of the house, Elizabeth could see that now. Farringdon Park? Was Georgiana related to the owners of the Park? Or to her own father’s former school-friend? It was a small world indeed.

“Did your aunt have any children?” Elizabeth pressed on, then reconsidered the reasoning behind her questions. Any children that Lady Farringdon might have had could not have bequeathed Farringdon Lodge to her own father, as they would not have been old enough to know him in his Cambridge years .

It could not have been Lord Farringdon himself, either. Although his age made him a likely candidate, Elizabeth understood that he passed away a long time ago, many years before the bequest. Perhaps it had been a younger brother then, or a cousin of his lordship’s, who had known and befriended her father, in their youth.

“Your… brother? ”

Elizabeth walked back to one of the chairs and sat, sketchbook still open in her lap, her mind blank but for one thought: Mr Darcy – the owner of the Farringdon estate was Mr Darcy .

She could not formulate an answer. Motionless, she stared unseeing at the drawing, as hazy confusion rose to rule within – disjointed snippets chasing one another in a whirl. Georgiana’s gaze dropped to follow hers.

He knew about her father’s illness – knew about the entail. He devised a stratagem that would allow them to have a roof over their heads at Farringdon, should they lose their home. Because he pitied them. And all her present comfort, and that of her mother and sisters, sprang from charity. Mr Darcy’s charity.

“Oh, where, where is my uncle?” she exclaimed.

She needed his advice more than ever, and also the reassurance she had always found in his calm, collected manner. And her aunt’s. Their wisdom, their good sense. They would help her see what she must do.

In an endeavour to save appearances, and also for her new friend’s sake, at first she had agreed to escort Miss Darcy to the music room, as originally planned. Yet she could not play, and was grateful to Georgiana for offering to do so. The beautiful music could not soothe her. Nothing could. She could only think of what had been unravelled in the library.

Mr Darcy had given them a home, and the means to live in reasonable comfort. Why? Why would he do so? Why would he take it upon himself to support her relations? So that the responsibility would not fall on his less wealthy friend? So that his dear friend Mr Bingley would be spared the burden and mortification of his newly-acquired connections?

Elizabeth flinched and clasped her hands together until her fingers hurt. Yet such pain was nothing to the knowledge that Mr Darcy had striven to put the greatest possible distance between the Bennets and his own circle. Only Cornwall was further away from both Pemberley and Netherfield, and perhaps he would have relegated them there if he could, she thought bitterly, fresh tears coming to her eyes .

The utter folly of hoping they would renew their acquaintance! The inexcusable folly of wishing she could get to know him better. He clearly had no expectations of the kind.

Despite her best efforts, she could not rally her spirits over her remaining time at Pemberley, and found it utterly beyond her to keep up the pretence during dinner. She begged to be excused, pleading a sudden headache, but was convinced that Georgiana must have seen it for the pitiful excuse that it was.

‘No wonder, after the display in the library,’ she thought, ashamed of her weakness, wishing she had been able to conceal her struggles from Miss Darcy.

Regardless, Georgiana remained the most accommodating and amiable hostess. Little as she might have credited the excuse, she entreated Elizabeth to rest in a guest-chamber until her headache abated, and it was only when the suggestion was civilly but insistently declined that a conveyance was ordered, to take her to Lambton. But Miss Darcy would brook no opposition at least in one regard: she personally saw her to the carriage, and as the door was opened and the step lowered, she impulsively came to hold Elizabeth’s hands.

“I wish you did not feel you had to leave, and I hope we will meet again before long. It was a great pleasure to make your acquaintance. I hope you will be well, and soon.”

Elizabeth could only give a wan smile in return, tears welling in her eyes as she took her seat within. Miss Darcy was a delightful young lady, and it pained her to know that any future encounter would be strained beyond endurance. The tears were kept in check with a determined effort until the last fond farewell, but as soon as Miss Darcy disappeared from sight, the will to stem them vanished too, and they ran freely in the privacy of the carriage, as the smart team of matching greys were hastening at a brisk pace towards Lambton.

A refuge was found in their lodgings at the inn, but no form of solace, and Elizabeth could only pace back and forth in their private parlour, her distress extreme, and likewise her impatience for the return of her relations.

It was several long hours until their voices were heard down the corridor. She ran to open the door for them and her pale, tear-stained face made them start with shock and concern .

“Lizzy! Whatever is the matter, my dear? What news from home?” asked her uncle, as her aunt took her arm and led her to sit back at the table. Mrs Gardiner then sat on a nearby chair and, holding her niece’s hand, urged her to tell them what had distressed her so.

Elizabeth pressed her aunt’s hand and glanced up at her uncle. His air, and the look of quiet determination in his eyes, forcefully reminded her of Mr Darcy, that day long ago at Netherfield, just as he had made her think of Mr Gardiner at the time.

The association brought fresh tears to her eyes. He had become one of the few gentlemen she unreservedly esteemed, she could see it now. Had she even come to love him, despite her determined efforts to the contrary?

Such thoughts were not likely to help stem her tears. Quite the opposite, for they were in vain. She did not have his respect, nor could she have his love. All she had was his pity. And it burned with the scorching flames of shame.

“I wish it were,” Elizabeth said tiredly, “but I cannot see how. The Farringdon estate belongs to Mr Darcy. His London attorneys had drawn the bequest. ‘Tis too much for a coincidence.”

She sighed. They had contrived to start a new life in Devonshire. Make new friends, take roots. The friends would be missed, missed very badly indeed, and she dreaded telling her mother and sisters that their present comfort was not rightfully theirs. But it could not be helped.

“You know you are welcome to come and stay with us for as long as you wish,” Mr Gardiner resumed with determination, still holding her hand. “Fear not, a satisfactory arrangement will be found. Bingley will want to have his say in the matter— ”

“Goodness!” Elizabeth exclaimed with a start. “Jane! And Charles! They are such close friends with Mr Darcy. Putting this strain on their connection would grieve them dreadfully. Charles especially, and through him, my sister. Do they have to be told?”

“Lizzy, you are not being sensible,” Mr Gardiner admonished gently. “Of course they have to be told. Neither of them would appreciate such attempts to protect them. Rest assured my dear, I have every confidence that your brother can look after his own. But he need not distress himself at the thought of an unpleasant discussion with Mr Darcy – and neither should you. I will gladly take that office upon myself,” Mr Gardiner added with unprecedented sternness, privately thinking of the disreputable connotations society would hasten to attach to Mr Darcy’s gesture if, heaven forbid, it should ever become public knowledge. With considerable effort, he refrained from mentioning his concern to his wife, for the time being at least. The delicate subject could hardly be broached in their niece’s presence.

“Indeed,” Mrs Gardiner replied with a telling glance, the sort of wordless communication that had often passed between them in their long and happy marriage, easily giving him to understand that she had already grasped the point he had not made, before she began to comment on the other, and sensibly advised, “But I believe you should be neither surprised nor excessively put out if Mr Bingley insists it be left to him. After all, he and Mr Darcy have known each other for a great many years.”

“My dearest girl,” her aunt said with great gentleness, bringing an arm about her shoulders. “Pray do not distress yourself so. It is unfortunate, to be sure, to find yourself devoid of all the security you were assured of—”

That morning they were equal – he was a gentleman, she was a gentleman’s daughter. The disparity in their stations was great indeed, but their chance encounter in town had been a most agreeable surprise, and there was no denying that the intelligence acquired from Jane, that he had been sufficiently interested in her pursuits to inquire ‘most particularly’ about her, was… very attractive.

Elizabeth had sought to live by last autumn’s decision to avoid raising her own expectations and making herself unhappy over him. Yet until now there had been some hope of an interest on Mr Darcy’s part, and it had gratified her even more, once her visit to Pemberley had showed her sides of him she never knew existed. Mrs Reynolds’ commendations, Georgiana’s devotion, all the little snippets here and there, showing him to be a considerate master, a good landlord, an attentive and loving brother, had only raised him in her esteem, and worked to create a rather irresistible picture.

She had begun to comprehend that he might be the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It was a union that must have been to the advantage of both. By her ease and liveliness, his disposition might have been softened, his manners improved, and from his judgement, information and knowledge of the world, she would have received benefit of even greater importance.

Yet that was nothing but a distant dream that had brightened up her morning – and the difference between then and now was devastating. It was exactly calculated to make her understand her sentiments; and never had she seen more clearly that she had come to love him, than at that precise moment, when all love must be in vain.

“It was – is – humiliating beyond measure!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

“We might find Mr Darcy’s gesture officious and more than a little insulting, but there is no doubt that my brother would have been very distressed by his concern for you all. You are right, Madeleine. With this thought, perhaps we can all find it in us to be less incensed at the man’s high-handed interference.”

Elizabeth smiled weakly at her uncle, not altogether certain whether that was intended as a sally, or spoken in earnest. Her aunt and uncle were in the right. The wretched business had been a comfort to her father, had brought him peace of mind – and for that Elizabeth could find it in her heart to be grateful.

Before too long, all that could be said on the subject was already said, and there was little for them to do but prepare for the night. They readily decided they had no interest in continuing on their tour, when such pressing and weighty matters were awaiting resolution. They would depart as early as possible in the morning, and return to Netherfield.