A Peculiar Connection (9 page)

On one such day, we strolled along the lake, and I silently recalled the previous summer when I had happened upon Mr. Darcy unexpectedly, neither of us aware of the other’s presence in Derbyshire. I grew sombre thinking how much had changed since that time.

“Miss Bennet?”

“Pardon? Pray, excuse me, Colonel. What did you say?”

“Nothing of importance, but what draws you away? You appear to be in deep contemplation.”

I shook my head slightly. “Just an old memory.”

“Ah, memories haunt us at times, but I am surprised to see you so reflective out here where winter is about to give way and your beloved spring awaits, for I do remember how you loved the woods at Rosings last April.”

“I did. I spent many a happy hour exploring the paths in Lady Catherine’s park. Now, I am certain I shall never see them again.”

“Do not worry on that account. I am sure my aunt will come around when Darcy marries Anne.”

I was surprised to hear the colonel make the statement as though it were an inevitable event. “I thought Mr. Darcy did not wish to marry Miss de Bourgh.”

“He is in no hurry, but in the end, Lady Catherine will have her way. She always does.”

“How convenient for her. Then I should look forward to banishment to New South Wales, should I not, for I am sure that is her wish for me.”

He laughed and tucked my hand within the crook of his arm. “My aunt is not all that bad, Miss Bennet. She simply looks after her daughter’s interests. Is that so fierce? All of us look to our own interests, do we not?”

We said little more and soon returned to the house, but I did not care for the turn the conversation had taken or the tone of his voice.

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A week or so later, I stood in the gallery and gazed upon the portrait of Siobhan Darcy. Repeatedly, something drew me to my grandmother’s painting and to Mr. Darcy’s image. I found I could study either of them for some time without growing tired. Each viewing afforded me some detail I had overlooked before. On that particular afternoon, I heard heavy footsteps behind me and assumed it to be the colonel, for he had become my frequent companion. I turned and was surprised to see Mr. Darcy instead. Since the colonel arrived, Mr. Darcy had absented himself from my company except for meals and after dinner. I wondered at his actions, but supposed he had much business to attend concerning the estate.

“Studying your ancestors, Elizabeth?”

“Somewhat.”

He remained silent for a while, clasping his hands behind his back. We walked a bit further while I gazed up at the enormous portraits.

“That lady in the white wig is my mother’s mother, Lady Catherine Anne.”

“She bears a strong resemblance to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, does she not?”

“I believe there is a similar expression of determination about their mouths. From what my mother told me, neither of them ever tolerated being crossed.”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam tells me Lady Catherine always wins and that she will have you for a son-in-law eventually.”

A frown wrinkled his brow. “Fitzwilliam talks out of turn, and just because he speaks a word, do not depend upon it.”

“Would you have me doubt him? Surely, you do not cast aspersions upon your cousin’s honour.”

“You misunderstand. My cousin’s honour is intact. He simply speaks rubbish at times. I shall never marry Anne.”

I turned my face away to hide the smile upon my lips. Why did that please me? The bitter fact was that he would marry some day, a truth I was compelled to accept. Quickly, I walked ahead and feigned excessive interest in a portrait of three children, all boys. They sat upon a scarlet couch, their faces scrubbed and shining. The boys still wore their hair styled in curls, and all three were dressed in starched white collars and dark velvet jackets.

“Who are these children?”

“Father and his brothers.”

“The two younger appear very close in age. Which is your father?”

He pointed to the older boy on the left, and when I looked closer, I could see the promise of the man whose likeness I had seen previously. “And did he have sisters as well?”

Mr. Darcy shook his head. “Only George, Peter, and Henry Darcy survived to carry on the family name.”

“George has certainly done so, but what about the others?”

He shook his head again. “The youngest, Henry, went to sea, not necessarily by choice. At a tender age, he had already developed a somewhat questionable reputation here in Derbyshire. Even though I was a child, I was not unaware of the rows between my father and him.”

“Over his behaviour, I assume.”

“Father said Henry would never listen to reason, that he was determined to live life as he wished, and Father feared it would take a tragedy to bring him to his senses. My father’s will reigned just as strong as his brother’s, however, and at his insistence, Henry left Pemberley to make his way within His Majesty’s service. He was already eighteen, almost too old to begin training, but my father prevailed and secured him a position. I assume my uncle eventually reformed his wild ways, for in time, he began to apply himself, and years later, he reached the rank of admiral. He even married a respectable woman of means some years his senior, but she never delivered a healthy child. She is a widow now and resides in Bath.”

“His early days sound like those of Mr. Wickham.”

Mr. Darcy grimaced. “I often wondered whether Father favoured Wickham because he reminded him of his young brother.”

I did not wish to remain on the subject of Mr. Wickham. “And Peter, the middle child?”

“He was studious, quiet, and excelled in his studies at Cambridge. He chose another life altogether.”

“And shall you tell me about it?”

He walked ahead until he reached the end of the great hall, whereupon he opened a door and indicated I should follow. He began to climb a narrow back staircase that lay just inside the landing, and I, of course, scampered after him.

“Sir? Will you answer my question and also tell me where we are going?”

“In good time, Elizabeth.”

The attics proved to be Mr. Darcy’s destination. An extravagant number of objects filled the room we entered, from boxes stacked to the ceiling to dressmakers’ forms to countless trunks covered in dust and cobwebs. He pushed aside an assortment of rubbish from a chair, pulled a trunk close by, and indicated I should sit.

“I promised you a search for the woman who gave you birth, so let us commence.”

He placed a valise on a small table nearby and motioned for me to have a seat and open it. When I hesitated, he grabbed an old rag and wiped down the chair. “Forgive me. I failed to allow for the dirt. I shall order a thorough cleaning first thing on the morrow.”

I sat down and attempted to open the latch. “It seems this one is locked.”

“A good sign. Perchance it contains secrets.” He smiled before he grabbed a hammer and struck the lock until it popped open. I swallowed and leaned forward to begin the quest.

Hours later, our hands and clothing were coated in dirt. I had sneezed repeatedly and blown my nose until I felt certain it was now swollen to twice its normal size, yet we had found nothing to enlighten us. Both of us had combed through letters, journals, accounts, various mementos, and relics that meant nothing to us but must have been precious indeed to the Darcy ancestors.

I blew at a stray lock of hair that had loosened and persisted in falling over my left eye. Wiping my hands on the dirty cloth, I allowed a sigh to escape. It seemed an impossible task. Why had we ever thought to engage in this undertaking? Just then, I felt Mr. Darcy’s hand under my chin.

“You look an absolute fright.” He tucked the unruly curl behind my ear. After pulling forth his handkerchief, he began to rub my forehead. “What a great amount of dirt you have on your face! You could not look worse if you had swept the chimneys.”

“Your own attire, sir, is nothing of which to boast. Are you turning prematurely grey or donning a wig made of cobwebs?” I began to squirm as he rubbed harder and playfully slapped away his hand. “Leave my dirt where it is, and see to your own.”

He ignored my plea, turned my face upward, and attacked the smudges again. “Do not be impertinent. I am attempting to clean the mess you have made.”

“I made? Who brought me up here, I might ask? And you, sir, really should look to your own interests. Your clothes are downright foul.” I began to swipe at the dust on his shoulders but succeeded only in causing us both to sneeze.

“You are right, Elizabeth. We must leave this place. Why, your petticoats are six inches deep in dirt, at least.” He spoke in a mocking tone, and we both began to laugh.

“Can you imagine the horror on Miss Bingley’s face if she were privy to our soiled clothing?”

“Her reproof echoes in my ears: ‘I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition.’ How disgusting we are! Come, let us give up for today and repair to our chambers.”

I continued to giggle as I followed him to the door, and we climbed down the stairs. It struck me that we had been more at ease with each other in the attic than at any time since we had been told we were brother and sister.

Upon opening the door to the gallery, we came face to face with Colonel Fitzwilliam. The shocked expression he wore made me laugh anew.

“So here you are! I thought you had left the county, for I have searched the grounds and the house. I did not think to check the attics. My word, Darcy, what have you two been up to?”

“I am training Elizabeth to be an upstairs maid,” Mr. Darcy said with a straight face. “If she will not accept a dowry, she must earn her keep in some manner.”

The colonel raised his eyebrows. “I have never before observed you instruct your servants with such detail.”

“Nonsense. I always personally see to it that my servants know the correct procedures.”

“Even upstairs maids?”

“Especially upstairs maids.”

I could not refrain from laughing aloud.

“And how did Miss Bennet do? Did she take to instruction well?”

“Like she was born to it. You see for yourself that she can more than adequately cover herself in dirt.”

“Indeed.” Colonel Fitzwilliam walked back and forth, shaking his head at us.

Without even a glance in my direction, Mr. Darcy barked an order. “That will be all, Elizabeth. Tell my man to draw me a bath, and you may take time from your duties to change your frock.”

“Yes, sir,” I said as I curtseyed, then hurried down the hall.
Mr. Darcy can laugh at himself!
For some reason, the thought made me happy all over, and I felt my spirits begin to lift.

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Within a few days, my spirits tumbled down with a thud.

The time arrived for my first instruction in riding a horse. Of course, I had ridden before at Longbourn, but only as a child perched behind Jane upon the back of an old nag who would take barely a step or two before stopping. It took incessant urging from us to make the animal move more than a short distance. Thus, one could understand why I looked upon the art of riding with less than breathless anticipation. I sought to dissuade Mr. Darcy from the attempt, but he would not hear of it, and the colonel’s encouragement spurred his efforts.

Thus, one morning, I found myself sitting gingerly upon the back of a beautiful chestnut mare while a young groom led the horse round and round the stable yard. All the while, Mr. Darcy and the colonel admonished me with more commands than I could comprehend, much less obey.

After numerous walks around and around, I thought I at last had achieved some dignity in my posture. I finally allowed my eyes to rise from the ground far below. I straightened my back, and I held my head up. Just as I congratulated myself on my progress, Colonel Fitzwilliam ordered the groom to have the animal trot. The horse, naturally, kicked up her heels and followed the boy’s lead. I lurched forward, grabbed the horse’s mane, and screamed.

“No, Fitzwilliam!” Mr. Darcy cried. “She is not yet ready.”

“Nonsense! She will never learn until she is exposed. Sit up straight, Miss Bennet. Do not pull the horse’s mane; hold the reins.”

My screams must have alarmed the animal, for it seemed to me that she ran even faster. As for holding the reins, I could not find them, perhaps because I screwed my eyes shut upon first view of the ground rushing by at unbelievable speed. I remember not how long the horse trotted around the stable yard but only the relief I felt when she, at last, was slowed to a halt. I opened my eyes to see Mr. Darcy’s outstretched arms, and without a moment’s hesitation, I slipped down into his waiting embrace.

“You are trembling.” He led me to a nearby bench and bade me sit. “Fetch the lady a glass of water.” Within moments, a servant returned with a beaker.

As I sipped the cool water, I saw the colonel approach. He swished his riding crop back and forth in the air as he walked. “Darcy, do not coddle your cousin. She will never learn unless you are firm. As soon as she has had her drink, she must try again.”

My heart rose up into my throat at the thought, and I swallowed the water with difficulty.

“A word, Richard,” Mr. Darcy said.

The colonel followed him a distance away where I could no longer hear their conversation with clarity. I saw what appeared to be a heated argument with much flapping about of arms, pointing of fingers, and other animated gestures. At length, the colonel turned and stalked back to the house. Mr. Darcy called the groom to saddle his horse, a great beauty, black and sleek, but taller than a giraffe in my eyes. He then motioned for me to join him beside the animal. My mouth fell open in dismay, and the glass of water slipped from my hands and down the front of my dress.

“Oh!” I jumped up and began to dab at the cold, wet spots with my gloved hands.

“John, a towel.” Mr. Darcy arrived at my side with the necessary cloth before I could even look up. “Now, see what you have done. Is there no hope for you, Elizabeth?”

He shook his head in dismay and began to wipe my dress with the towel. He stopped in mid-stride when he reached my bosom, as though he just then realized what he was doing. “You…finish the task.”