Consequences (6 page)

Elizabeth, whose astonishment had been growing by the word, thought in bewilderment,
Can this be Mr. Darcy?

Elizabeth listened, perturbed and confused at hearing such a flattering portrayal, which was in such direct contradiction to her own views. She wanted to hear more, for such praise from a respectable woman had shaken her own firm convictions, but further information was not forthcoming as the housekeeper went on to describe the many fine features of the rooms through which they walked.

Her uncle unwittingly obliged her, being highly amused by Mrs. Reynolds’s excessive commendations of her employers. He had no notion of the interest of his niece, attributing such praise by the older woman to the kind of family prejudice common among long-serving servants, and he soon brought the conversation back to this topic. Mrs. Reynolds was quite willing to return to the subject, and she dwelt on her master’s many merits as they proceeded up the great staircase and down the spacious lobby above.

Though she tried her best to conceal her interest, Elizabeth followed every word in rapt fascination, marvelling anew at the amiable light in which the housekeeper’s testimony painted the man she would have previously considered the most arrogant and disdainful of her acquaintance.

Something is clearly amiss
, she thought in consternation,
in either my understanding or the understanding of this woman who has known him since he was a mere four years old!

Her aunt walked by her side and whispered, “This fine account of Mr. Darcy is not quite consistent with his behaviour to our poor friend.”

Elizabeth was unwilling to repeat what she knew of Mr. Wickham from Mr. Darcy’s letter and could only manage a limp response that they might have been deceived, a response that did little to gratify her aunt’s curiosity. Since she could think of no way in which to satisfy her aunt, Elizabeth thought it well to be silent on this question.

When they reached the spacious lobby above, Mrs. Reynolds showed them into a very pretty sitting room. “This room has only recently been completely done over for Miss Darcy. She happened to mention she found it quite pleasing before she left Pemberley in the spring, and my master privately gave orders to have it fitted up for her pleasure before they return.”

“He is certainly a good brother,” said Elizabeth weakly, turning away towards one of the windows to again conceal her discomposure from her relatives as well as the housekeeper.

“I am sure she will be delighted when she sees the room tomorrow,” enthused Mrs. Reynolds. “This is always the way with him—whatever can give his sister any pleasure is sure to be done in a moment. There is nothing he would not do for her.”

By this time, little remained to be shown the visitors. The picture-gallery contained many fine paintings, but Elizabeth knew little of art and found more of interest in some crayon drawings done by Miss Darcy and displayed on several easels. She stayed to look at them while her aunt and uncle were shown the several guest apartments that were almost the last of the tour.

As they walked along the gallery on the way to the stairs, Mrs. Reynolds pointed out the many family portraits lining the walls. Since she had no knowledge of the Darcy family, Elizabeth’s interest was not piqued; she was interested in only one portrait, and she walked on by herself until she found it at last.

The familiar features of Mr. Darcy looked back at her from the large portrait, and Elizabeth marvelled at the likeness captured by the painter. He looked somewhat reserved, as she had so often seen him, but he also wore a slight smile she remembered sometimes seeing when he looked at her. She looked earnestly at the portrait for several minutes, and her emotions where awhirl as she tried to discern whether she or the artist had the better insight into his character. Knowing now where his affections had pointed, her agitation was too extreme, and she could not bear further introspection and walked away.

Meanwhile, her aunt and uncle were making their way down the line of portraits, listening attentively to Mrs. Reynolds. As they got closer to her, Elizabeth walked back to join them as they came to a halt before Mr. Darcy’s portrait.

“This excellent rendition of my master was made during his father’s lifetime, and the elder Mr. Darcy thought it captured the essence of his son perfectly. It was very difficult for the artist to complete since young Mr. Darcy was very self-conscious about posing, and only the importuning of his father, who was quite ill by that time, was sufficient to allow the artist to finish it.”

Despite her perturbed state of mind, Elizabeth could not deny she felt more warmth towards the object of the portrait than had ever been the case during the whole of their acquaintance, even after she comprehended how cruelly she had maligned him when she took Mr. Wickham’s part against him. She recognized her uncle’s amusement at the strength of Mrs. Reynolds’s praises, but she did not agree with him. To her, the commendation bestowed by an intelligent servant was high praise indeed. At Mrs. Reynolds stage of life, she had no reason to speak so warmly to day-visitors like themselves. Elizabeth thought it represented an honest expression by a woman who knew the man well and obviously respected and loved him.

In addition, she had never before realized the burdens Mr. Darcy bore. He was a brother, a guardian, a landlord, and a master of a considerable estate upon which many people were dependent. She wondered of how much evil or good might be within the power of such a man, and if he was who she had been certain he was, the preponderance must be expected to be heavily on the side of evil. Yet such was obviously not the case—such a conclusion could not be reached after hearing such favourable testimony to his character.

As she took one last look at the portrait before following her aunt and uncle to the stairs, it seemed his eyes fixed on her with such intensity that a shiver went down her spine. To have been regarded so favourably by such a man could not but induce a deeper sentiment of gratitude than she had ever before felt. As she turned away, she was conscious she no longer regarded his expression as one of cool reserve; instead, his smile transmitted an emotion of warmth that softened the impropriety of his expression.

Having viewed all the public areas of the house, her party returned downstairs and thanked Mrs. Reynolds for her kindness. “It was my pleasure, I am sure,” she replied, accepting the folded square of paper from Mr. Gardiner containing the usual gratuity for the tour. “Now, here is the gardener, who will be your guide through the wilds beyond these walls. These old legs are no longer sufficient to such challenges.”

Mr. Gardiner thanked her again, and all of them followed the gardener across the lawn towards the river. Elizabeth turned back to look again at the house, which occasioned a question by her uncle on the date when it was built. However, the gardener was not cognizant of this information, and they continued on to a beautiful walk on the bank of the river. Everything they saw was delightful, whether it was the design of the walk, with the many artfully planted shrubs and hedges that lined the walk, or the finely wooded forest they were approaching. Elizabeth thought all they saw was a fit complement to the style and elegance of the house.

After entering the woods, they ascended some of the higher grounds from which there were so many charming views of the valley, the opposite hills, and the long range of woods. The vistas were so attractive Mr. Gardiner expressed a wish of going round the whole park, but the charm of the idea was lessened when the gardener told them it was ten miles round the whole park. With a laugh, they all agreed to the gardener’s suggestion to keep to the accustomed circuit. Before too much longer, however, they reached a point in the path where they were able to perceive their distance from the house. Elizabeth greatly desired to explore further, but her aunt demurred.

“I can go no further, Mr. Gardiner,” she said. “I am not, as you well know, a great walker like our niece, and the most important concern in my mind is to return to the carriage as quickly as possible.”

“I am sorry, aunt, I did not . . .” started Elizabeth contritely, but Mrs. Gardiner laughed and laid a hand on her arm.

“Do not concern yourself, my dear. Your energy is to your credit, and Pemberley is even grander than I was told. I can easily understand how it would attract you, but I am simply unable to continue. If I might have the loan of your arm, Mr. Gardiner, I would be greatly pleased to go back.”

Though Elizabeth longed to further explore the windings beside the stream and the wood bordering it, she was obliged to submit, and they took their way towards the house on the opposite side of the river. Still, Mr. Gardiner slowed their progress somewhat, for he often stopped when he noticed the appearance of some trout in the water. He was very fond of fishing, though he was seldom able to indulge his taste for the sport. Eventually, they returned to the house and their carriage, and it was not much longer before they were on their way back to Lambton.

Soon after she was seated in the carriage, Mrs. Gardiner was refreshed enough to desire conversation, and she and her husband found many observations to exchange on what they saw and heard. Not only were the house and grounds found charming and beautiful, but they also were much impressed by Mrs. Reynolds’ testimony with respect to her master.

However, their questions to Elizabeth went mostly unanswered, since she was deep in melancholy reflections concerning all of her acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. She was remembering how wrong she had been concerning Mr. Wickham and even partly with respect to Jane and Mr. Bingley. Could she have been as wrong about his “haughty arrogance” and his “selfish disdain for the feelings of others”? She had lost much of her previous certitude by now, and she was so exceedingly troubled that she scarcely noticed the scenery outside the carriage, including the magnificent stallion idly cropping grass along the path to the house.

***

Darcy instantly observed the sudden change in the gait of Marlborough just after he turned in at the lodge, and he quickly reined in the large stallion. He lost no time in vaulting from the saddle, and it took only a few moments observation to ascertain the problem lay with the horse’s left foreleg. Marlborough, hand-fed by Darcy since he was a colt, offered no resistance as his lord and master bent the hoof up to examine it. A single glance was enough to bring a seldom used but heartfelt imprecation from Darcy. Somehow, a rock, standing at exactly the wrong angle as the hoof struck the ground, embedded its sharp edge into the softer, inner part of the hoof. While it was the work of a moment to remove the offending rock, Darcy realized he would not be riding his favourite horse any more that day or for any number of days to come.

Darcy muttered another oath as he led the horse off the road over to a stand of grass. He knew the injury to Marlborough was his fault, for he had been pushing faster than he should, especially at the end of the morning’s ride when he was so close to home. But he was impatient, which seemed to be all too common these days. His impatience originated in the desolate gloom that was his constant companion and had been since that horrible day in Kent, the same despondency that accompanied him to London and stubbornly refused to lift over the past months. Though he knew the reason for the melancholy, he did not know the cure, and he need only close his eyes to see Elizabeth’s flashing ones and hear her condemnatory tone as she informed him he was “the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”

But such self-reproach could serve no useful purpose, and Darcy tethered Marlborough in the grass to graze before he walked back toward the lodge. He intended to send Simpson to Pemberley to bring out the groom and another mount, but the lodge keeper was absent on an errand into Lambton. Hence, Darcy settled for sending Simpson’s eldest son, who instantly vanished out the back door toward one of the several shortcuts to the house. Meanwhile, Mrs. Simpson seemed more than pleased to brew him a pot of coffee. Darcy’s preference for coffee over tea was well known, and most of his tenants kept a small store of coffee on hand in case he desired a cup while visiting.

Now, as he sat sipping from the steaming cup while sitting at Mrs. Simpson’s table, he heard a vehicle coming along the road from Pemberley. He only glimpsed the carriage through the window as it turned out of the drive to the house and onto the road to Lambton, but a glimpse was enough to realize the vehicle was not one he recognized from the neighbourhood. From its modest size, it was probably a rented carriage, and given that it came from the direction of the house, he imagined a party of day-trippers must have been visiting the house and grounds. He was relieved he had not happened onto them, for making pleasantries with strangers had never been a strong point and was even less so these days.

Gloomily, he forced himself to stop thinking along those lines and to appreciate the coffee, which was really, quite excellent.

Chapter 3

“We are the authors of our own disasters.”

—Latin proverb

Friday, August 7, 1812

A few days later, while her aunt and uncle walked out, a pair of long-awaited letters from Jane were delivered to the inn, and Elizabeth remained behind to read them. Rather than the usual light news she expected, Jane related the devastating intelligence of Lydia’s elopement with Mr. Wickham, and thus began the period Elizabeth and Jane later remembered as “The Nightmare Time.” In May, before her trip to Derbyshire with her aunt and uncle, Elizabeth argued forcefully that Lydia should not be allowed to go to Brighton—that it was dangerous and unwise because of her youngest sister’s wildness and lack of maturity. But her father, as usual, thought only of avoiding the turmoil Lydia would generate if he opposed her. He never before exerted himself to curb Lydia’s outrageous and thoughtless conduct, and he had not done so on this occasion. Now, the whole family was faced with utter ruin. Who would ever be interested in or even take notice of four sisters from such a disgraced family?