A Private Performance (13 page)

Her answer came, not like a slap, but a cold touch. “Given that you all but ordered me to seek Lady Englebury's regard, I would have thought she meant a good deal to you, at least.”

There was certain justice to the facts of her reply, but no justice at all to his feelings.

“I desired you to accept her friendship, certainly. I acknowledge that the marchioness has been of use to you, Elizabeth, to us both.”

“Fitzwilliam, perhaps the favour is to be reciprocated. It seems the marchioness wants me to be of use to her, although I cannot imagine in what capacity.”

“Be of use to her, by all means. It is for the satellites who dance attendance upon her that I feel the deepest suspicion and disapprobation.”

“How am I to have one without the others? The marchioness is very fond of her protégés, although she does not train them to lick her shoes as other titled ladies have been known to do.”

“Since I have forfeited my aunt's regard on your account, I see no justification in this attack upon her,” he said stiffly.

“I did not name her, although I own that my remark could be construed as a reference. She is a distraction just now.” She turned to him in the darkness.

“Who or what is at the core of your disapproval?” Her words knifed through the heaviness.

He thought for a moment.

“I wish to know what it is in your deportment towards Mr. Glover and Mr. Whittaker that gives them licence to take the liberties that they have.”

“Their liberties have been very minor. Are you accusing me?”

“No. That would be absurd.”

“Then what?”

The carriage gave a little jolt forward, then stopped.

Every reply he thought of seemed too preposterous to voice. How could he say that he felt the marchioness sought to take Elizabeth from him?

“I find Glover's behaviour abhorrent. Firstly, he sought to link your name with the theatre and I am sure Whittaker is his ally in that regard. Secondly, he was so undignified about it in answering that insolence from the pit. He appeared no gentleman and a complete fool.”

“‘Buffoon' was the word that came to my mind,” she said.

“Elizabeth!” He felt for her hands and raised them to his lips. She was perplexed.

‘Is this all?' she thought. Aloud, she said, “We can agree that Mr. Glover is a buffoon and Mr. Whittaker is laughable in his own way. I long to see Papa again for I cannot convey the whole impression of Peregrine and Arabella Whittaker by letter.”

He laughed, in relief. “If ever a woman was her father's daughter, it is you.”

She did not laugh with him. He fell silent, waiting.

“And what of Mrs. Courtney, Fitzwilliam? What is her crime?”

“I have no particular objection to her. I had wanted, assumed, that we would spend the summer free of all those new friends.”

“Free of my particular friends, you mean.”

“That is one conjectural position, I suppose. Elizabeth, I am withdrawing from my opposition to including Mr. and Mrs. Courtney in our party at Pemberley.” She felt too weary to respond. He continued: “I am now assured that my house will not, in future, be filled with Glovers and Whittakers.”

The carriage jerked into motion again, and this time, continued a gentle roll into the street.

She yawned.

“I am sorry to have been so tedious.”

“I am merely tired, Fitzwilliam, tired to death.”

He was silent for a moment, too shocked to speak.

“Elizabeth, are you not well?”

“I long to walk in the fresh air, and to run among the trees.”

“Have you tired of London so soon, when the season has yet to reach its zenith?”

“I have enjoyed all this dissipation immensely, but it is enough for now.”

Hope leapt up in him. “You would find the air of Derbyshire fresh indeed at this time of year.”

“I am not afraid of it. Fitzwilliam, shall we go home to Pemberley?”

“There is nothing that would give me more pleasure. Here we dine alone barely once in ten days.”

“We shall experience solitude aplenty in Derbyshire.”

“Bingley and his party will be with us in June. Can you pass the time that intervenes, with only Georgiana and your dull husband for company, until then?”

“Yes, indeed!”

If he found this reply a little lacking in flattery, he soon forgot it. She leant towards him and kissed him, a tiny kiss that pulled at his lip.

 

In the morning, he said: “We ought take in Hertfordshire and visit your parents before returning home.”

He was surprised by her look of dismay. For all her love of her father, her natural affection for her mother was much tempered with embarrassment for her indelicate behaviour.

“If neglected, your mother will conclude that I do not permit you to visit her,” he said.

“I do see that, of course.” She thought for a moment. “If we delay our departure for two weeks, Jane and Bingley will be returning to
Netherfield. I am sure we will be welcome to stay with them. I shall call upon Mama every day that we are in the district. She will be content with that.”

“If you prefer then, we will stay in London, until the beginning of April.”

E
LIZABETH CAME DOWN THE STAIRS
at Netherfield, and stood in the doorway of the library.

Darcy looked up.

“Should you be out of bed, Elizabeth? You still do not look well.”

“I cannot lie down all day: I wish to walk. Will you come with me?”

It was weather that could get Elizabeth skipping, the air cool and soft on her face, leaf buds unfolding on the trees. Yet she walked quite slowly, her arm through his. He thought back and realised it must be a fortnight since she had seemed really well. Was it his imagination that her cheeks had lost fullness? She seemed to suffer an unfamiliar debility. This, with the duskiness beneath her eyes, led him to a sudden thought, so painful that fear was reflected in his expression. He stopped and looked down at her.

“You are not fearful for me?” she asked.

“For a moment, yes, I was.”

She dropped his arm and turned towards him.

“Fitzwilliam, dear, I am not ill. Just a little tired. Can you not guess?” Unconsciously she was smoothing the faultless lie of his sleeve, touching the cuff of his shirt. “I am increasing, my dear.”

A momentary confusion clouded his countenance. She looked down at her slender figure and said, laughing: “I do not display a great talent for it just yet, but I think you might see some improvement, by and by.”

“We are to have a child?”

She looked up at last. His delighted smile, which so became him, suited her more, meant more to her than whoops of joy could have from any other man.

 

When Elizabeth had not arrived at Longbourn by midday the next day, Mrs. Bennet set off at once for Netherfield, accompanied by Kitty
and Mary. Not for the first time, she looked out of the window with great satisfaction as the carriage entered the drive.

“It is an excellent prospect, and no mistake, girls. One day I hope to see each of you with an establishment equal to this.”

“What fun that would be, Mama,” cried Kitty and her mother laughed with her. Mary sniffed.

After greeting the gentlemen, they went upstairs with Jane. Mrs. Bennet sailed into Elizabeth's room, Kitty and Mary in her wake.

“Mama,” sighed Elizabeth. “How are you? Mary, Kitty.”

“Never mind our health! What is this?” said Mrs. Bennet. “You used not to lie abed all morning.” Indeed, Elizabeth, who boasted the most robust health of all five daughters, presented a sight unusual to her mother's keen eyes. She was pale, and her slenderness seemed to be wearing to thinness about her face.

“I am very tired, Mama, as I am sure anyone ought to be if they spent the last weeks in such relentless pursuit of pleasure as I have.”

“Mr. Darcy seems his normal self.” She smiled broadly. “What a delightful bed-gown! Later you must show us all your London fashions.”

“Oh, do, Lizzy,” begged Kitty.

“I care nothing for such frippery,” said Mary. She could not approve of Elizabeth's appearance, in a wrap that was near transparent, all muslin and lace. There almost appeared to be nothing beneath, if one looked closely. Her luxuriant dark curls, instead of being covered, were decorated by a tiny cap. ‘One scarcely knows where to look!' Mary thought. ‘How can a gentleman of Mr. Darcy's dignity tolerate seeing his wife in this state?'

“What is this?” Mrs. Bennet's train of thought returned to the business of her visit. She picked up the tea cup from the tray on the bed, and examined the dregs suspiciously.

Elizabeth moved to take it from her.

“It is some concoction of Wilkins's making. She delights in having me prostrate. I tell her she should have been much happier as a nursery maid.” Mrs. Bennet determined on a little private
conversation with her daughter's maid, and bustled into the dressing room in search of her.

“O, Lizzy, how I should adore to wear something like this,” said Kitty, stroking her sister's sleeve.

“That would hardly be appropriate in your situation, Kitty,” replied Elizabeth, drawing her arm away.

“I am determined to have such things when I am married.”

“I certainly should not,” put in Mary. “A wife has a sacred duty to always encourage her husband's thoughts to adhere to a lofty sphere.”

“Get the husband first; then tell Lizzy how it's done!” said Kitty. Miss Bennet did not dignify this impudence with an answer.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Bennet had hedged Wilkins about with questions, and by her evasive answers had satisfied herself. Returning, she flapped her handkerchief at her maiden daughters.

“Out! Out you go!” she cried, shooing them out like two puppies, then sat on the bed.

“Lizzy!” she cried. “You are a good, clever girl!” She kissed her soundly. “Married five months and breeding before either of your married sisters!” Elizabeth was all but stifled in a warm embrace. She pulled away.

“Mama, please allow me to breathe.”

“Mr. Darcy will be very pleased with you, Lizzy, as I am myself. Ha! ‘Breeding', I cannot hear enough of the word.”

“I am very happy to be the cause of this delight, Mama, but I would fain not have my success broadcast, at this early time.”

“There is no point in all this secrecy, Lizzy,” she declared. “You have no idea of how changed you appear. Many ladies will suspect at once.”

“Pray, Mama, do not embarrass me before my husband and Miss Darcy.”

Mrs. Bennet turned a high colour. “Embarrass you, Lizzy? Why should I embarrass my own child? You always were excessively delicate!”

“I beg pardon, madam, if I have caused you pain.”

“You always did disappoint me, Lizzy. I am proud enough of the match you have made, and proud, too, that you are doing your duty in trying to provide your husband with an heir. You might enter my pleasure a little, and not constantly tear my poor nerves to shreds with your superiority.”

Elizabeth sighed and set about the invalid's duty of comforting the visitor.

 

While Mrs. Bennet had received a shock at Elizabeth's words, the nonsense of them was sufficient to buoy up her spirits. She returned to Longbourn in fine form.

Her husband was established in the quiet of his library.

“Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet! Such news!” she cried, bursting in at the door. “She is expecting. I knew it as soon as I received that note this morning.”

“Who is expecting, Mrs. Bennet, and what does she expect? In your excitement, you do not complete your news.”

“Why, Lizzy, of course. She is breeding. Fancy her being the first of the three; I never would have guessed it. Of course, it is very important for her, much more so than for her sisters.”

“How so, Mrs. Bennet?”

“You are tiresome, Mr. Bennet. Mr. Darcy must have an heir, so the sooner Lizzy has a son the better. This first must be a son, followed by one or two more, to insure against the loss of the first. Then I shall have no worries on her account.”

“Madam,” replied her husband, “for how many years did we hope for a son? How many lamentations have I heard on the subject these twenty years? I will hear no talk of grandsons. I will not have my daughter worried on this subject.”

“Lizzy worried? It is she who worries me. She was mighty high with me, her own mother! I scarce had opportunity to speak.”

“How fortunate for her. Now, if you please, I will have my library to myself.”

T
WO DAY'S REST
, some fresh air and exercise saw Elizabeth much recovered. Their two weeks in Hertfordshire passed with compensations to outweigh the disadvantages.

Anyone who assumed that Darcy's pleasure in his expected parenthood lay solely in the hope of an heir mistook the case. In his, at times, overbearing care of his friends, he had been practising for fatherhood for years. Elizabeth felt an unfamiliar fragility of spirit as well as body, which Darcy did his best to ameliorate with every kindness. Mrs. Bennet was able, with the authority of her experience, to assure her daughter that her sensibility would not last long. This was a pleasing comfort to Elizabeth, who did not relish the thought of being added permanently to her husband's list of ‘children'.

The early hours in country society were welcome to her. She could not keep her news from Jane, especially as her mother knew, and then, of course, Georgiana could not be left out. Bingley must know, to spare him anxiety. Dear Charles could hardly be more happy if it were he becoming a father.

 

Elizabeth delighted in the time she could spend with her father. How they laughed over the follies of the world of the Ton. Even poor Lord Reerdon came in for some harmless mockery, but Mr. Whittaker's affected ennui and the foolery of Mr. Glover upon the stage afforded him the most amusement.

“Papa,” she bent to whisper close to his ear, “I believe Mr. Darcy was a little jealous of my success with those fine gentlemen.” He chuckled.

“Ha! Jealous of a popinjay and a buffoon! What fools love makes of us all! I hope you put his mind at rest, Lizzy.”

“I would not have him suffer for a moment.”

Mrs. Bennet did not need to spend much time actually with Elizabeth to take pleasure in her visit. She had the satisfaction of
seeing her daughter given precedence, at dinners and parties everywhere in the district. She delighted in hearing mention of the names of some of her daughter's new friends, although she had not the patience to hear of the Foxwells and others such. “Tell me about the lords and their ladies, Lizzy!” she cried.

To her mother's disappointment, Elizabeth and Darcy passed up the opportunity to attend the Assembly at Meryton, although the Bingleys happily went along. The local populace whispered sympathetically that poor Mrs. Darcy, always so fond of dancing, must often miss out now, having married such a husband.

 

On their last evening in Hertfordshire, the Bennets and their friends the Lucases were all invited to dine at Netherfield. Sir William Lucas had been elevated to a knighthood for oratory services to the Crown. He had given up his business and established himself as a gentleman. Lady Lucas was Mrs. Bennet's particular friend.

During the first course, Darcy had the task of entertaining Lady Lucas, and given that lady's self-effacing reticence and his own reserve, not much jollity could be anticipated between them.

Elizabeth had the privilege of Sir William as her dinner partner. He pestered her with questions about her London experiences, eager for information about her friend, the marchioness. (The word ‘marchioness' was like honey on his tongue.) He was bewildered to find that she had never once been to the Assembly at St. James Court.

“After being presented at His Highness's drawing room by a countess, you would need no further assistance, you know, or I might have come to London myself to introduce you at the Assembly.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Thank you for your kindness, Sir William. However, it was not timidity that kept me from the Assembly.”

“Ah, Mr. Darcy is not fond of dancing, I recollect. Perhaps you felt disinclined to press him on the subject.”

“Sir, I believe I should not have found the necessity to press Mr. Darcy if I earnestly desired to go there. I did not go because we have
been so occupied with other dissipations that I welcomed any rare chance to stay at home.”

“Indeed, I have heard of some of these entertainments, Mrs. Darcy, not the least, your meeting with the Regent. It was at a private party?”

The word ‘Regent' caught the attention of the other diners.

“Yes, we are close friends already. We had a long conversation, three or four sentences at least.”

“It is a good beginning. Perhaps other opportunities will arise.” Little phrases flitted in his mind, such as, ‘my friend, Mrs. Darcy, a favourite with His Highness, you know …'

Elizabeth interrupted his pleasant musings.

“Pray do not wish such trials upon me, Sir William. I had not understood the royal ears to be so delicately attuned. Conversation is not enjoyable when one's every word must be carefully weighed.”

Bingley laughed and turned to Darcy and said:

“The topic is Elizabeth and the Prince of Wales.”

Darcy explained, “Mrs. Darcy made a little joke with His Highness and felt that this was regarded with excessive amazement by the company.”

“Lizzy!” expostulated Mrs. Bennet.

“Ha! Ha!” cried Mr. Bennet.

Their fellow diners waited, in various emotional states ranging from the utmost tension in Sir William to obliviousness in the elderly vicar of Meryton, who had nodded off.

Elizabeth said, “I made a comment about a comic song we had heard; the Regent seemed to appreciate it. He said I was to come to the Assembly, and he would give orders to ensure I have plenty of partners. He waved his hand vaguely behind him at his waiting lords, one of whom actually got out a notebook. I thanked him for his very great kindness and said, ‘However, if I cannot find any for myself, perhaps I don't deserve them.' There was the most horrible silence, for about ten minutes.”

“Fifteen seconds perhaps,” said Darcy.

“It seemed longer.”

“They passed slowly.”

“We are led to believe that the royal wits are prodigious, but it took him a good time to begin to laugh. At once sixty people felt it was the funniest remark they had ever heard. I cannot tell you how relieved I felt. I feared they would stand me in the corner.” She looked at her husband. “Should you have disowned me if they did?”

“I should have stood there with you,” he replied, with his little bow.

“I believe you would.”

Sir William's daughter, Maria, spoke up, “Should they have stood you in the corner, Lizzy, I mean Mrs. Darcy? How dreadful!”

On that note, the ladies rose to retire to the drawing room and Elizabeth faltered, and caught hold of the back of her chair.

“Elizabeth?” Darcy was at her side at once. She smiled.

“Might I be permitted to trip?”

Once out of the room, she whispered:

“Jane, dear, help me.” Jane put her arm around her sister's waist and helped her into the drawing room.

“Lizzy, what is the matter?” said Mrs. Bennet.

“I feel a little faint, Mama.”

Cushions were piled onto the end of the sofa, and Mrs. Bennet fussed Elizabeth onto them.

“Kitty! Bring my smelling salts!”

“Here they are, Mama,” cried Kitty, putting them beneath her mother's nose.

“Stupid girl!” said her mother. “They are for Lizzy!”

Elizabeth pushed away her sister's hand; and Kitty flounced off to the other side of the room.

“Mama, please do not fuss so,” cried Elizabeth. “I am a little tired, that is all. I will go up to my room.”

It came again: that pain, a dull ache pushing into her back. Her mother's face filled her view, the eyes searching. Elizabeth turned her face aside.

Across the room, Georgiana sat with Mary. She longed to go to Elizabeth, but she was unsure of her place there.

“You must not move, darling girl,” cried Mrs. Bennet. “We have sent for your maid. Is there any pain?”

Elizabeth closed her eyes.

“There is! I know it!”

“Mama, pray do not fuss so. Where is Wilkins?”

“I am here, madam.” Wilkins had not been able to get around Mrs. Bennet, as she bent over the sofa.

“What are you standing there for, woman? Do something!” shrieked Mrs. Bennet. Jane put her hand gently on her mother's arm.

“Dearest Mama, please come and sit down. You are agitating your nerves.”

“My nerves! What care I for them at this time!” said Mrs. Bennet, quite out of character in her fears.

“Help me upstairs please, Wilkins,” said Elizabeth.

“Madam, you must not attempt to walk.”

“Wilkins, send for Mr. Darcy.” The maid moved towards the door.

“What nonsense is this? What use can he be, dearest child?” said Mrs. Bennet.

“Jane.” Elizabeth reached out her hand to her sister. “I want Fitzwilliam.”

“Wilkins has sent a footman for him.”

“Dear heart, what is the matter?” His presence, his nearness, one hand on hers, the other caressing her hair: all gave her comfort. He gave no sign of the shock he received at her skin nearly as white as her gown.

Her voice was a whisper: “I am afraid.”

His mother-in-law leapt from her chair and cried: “Mr. Darcy, there is still hope, but she must not get up.” Waving her handkerchief, she attempted to shoo him from the sofa, but he was long impervious to such control.

“Madam, pray sit down, calm yourself. You are causing Elizabeth further alarm.”

Mrs. Bennet turned huffily away, flapping her lace.

He bent over the sofa. Elizabeth put her arms around his neck; and he carried her up to her room.

He laid her on the bed. Wilkins was close behind him, and followed by the chambermaid. Superfluous, he went out and waited in the corridor.

There Jane found him five minutes later.

She said, “I have persuaded my mother to rest in the drawing room, but she says she will not leave without seeing Elizabeth settled.”

“Then you had best prepare a bedroom for her, Jane. Elizabeth will never be settled while her mother has hysterics at her side.”

“Mama means well. It is the excess of her affection for her children that makes her so readily excited over us.”

He bowed. She looked into his eyes, and saw there a complexity of emotion that she could not entirely fathom. However, she recognised a certain warmth towards herself, saw the utter futility of trying to influence his decision. She touched his arm.

“I hope you will not be too disappointed if …”

He shrugged. The door opened and Wilkins held it open for Darcy to come in.

He gestured for Jane to precede him.

“I will come in a moment,” she said.

He sat by the bed and held Elizabeth's hand.

“Think only of your own recovery.” Her eyes pricked with tears. He kissed them, first one then the other.

There was a knock so soft it must be Jane. Wilkins spoke to her at the door, quite bold enough to keep her out, and Jane quite unassuming enough to let her.

“Is that my sister? Let me see her.”

“Lizzy, dearest, our guests are leaving. They all charge me with their kindest wishes. Mama desires to see you.”

“I cannot bear it.”

“I will tell her then.” She hesitated. “What shall I say?”

Darcy stood up. “No task for you, Jane. Allow me to speak to her.”

“Mr. Darcy, you could tell her that Elizabeth is … almost asleep.”

“It would not be the truth.”

They watched him out of the room. The sisters looked at each other.

“He will not injure her feelings, Lizzy, do you think?”

“He is almost certain to. He does not do so intentionally. He feels so awkward with her.”

He exercised such diplomacy as he possessed, but Mrs. Bennet's insistence upon seeing her child brought forth a flat refusal on his part to allow her to see Elizabeth until the morning. Mrs. Bennet left in high dudgeon, and Mr. Bennet had to bear with her all the way home.

 

The night wore away and, with it, Elizabeth's hopes. All the care of those dearest to her could not save the tiny scrap of a Darcy.

Even as she awoke, she felt aching pressure against her heart, before she remembered the cause. Darcy was with her as she drank her tea.

“Try not to be too disappointed, my love,” he said, in an unconscious echo of Jane. “You are but one and twenty and we have been married less than half a year.”

Perhaps this logic ought to have stopped her tears, but they slid out, hotly. He took out his handkerchief and dried them, and those that followed. She sniffed the faint masculine cologne that was part of the smell of him. She put her hand against his cheek. She vaguely thought of what luxury this was, to give way. She thought that even the utmost grief might be bearable with his devotion. She blinked away her tears, unable to voice her feelings. She wiped her eyes, and smiled at her own foolishness.

 

Knowing how her mother would be fretting, Jane sent a note very early to Longbourn, advising her mother of Elizabeth's disappointment. Mrs. Bennet set off again for Netherfield, with feelings very different from those with which she had come two weeks before.

Miss Bennet accompanied her mother on a visit to Elizabeth. She had arisen early to mark out some passages in the Bible and in two or three volumes of sermons, which she brought along for her sister's comfort and edification.

Mrs. Bennet stayed with Elizabeth long enough to assure her that she would be breeding again in no time and that these common events cannot be helped. It was fortunate, indeed, that Elizabeth had long learnt not to take her mother's pronouncements too much to heart; her devoted parent added that it was very likely all Elizabeth's own fault for running about so much. Having dispensed that comfort, she left the room to give Wilkins the benefit of her wisdom. Then Mary began to give her sister the benefit of hers.

Jane was in her sitting room, giving the morning's instructions to her housekeeper, when Wilkins begged leave to interrupt.

“Madam, I wish you would come. My mistress is most upset between the two of them.”

“Of whom are you speaking, Wilkins?”