Pemberley (17 page)

These thoughts were sombre indeed; and Elizabeth found herself oppressed by the seemingly endless reminders of her husband's progenitors. It was as if there were no other family in England, or none of half so great an interest, at least, as the
Darcys; and that this was also likely to be true made the sense of near suffocation all the more pronounced. But that there was nothing in the world that did not find itself measured against the Darcys, and was then found wanting: this was the cause of Elizabeth's sense of oppression, and her sudden yearning for escape, for a place where she would not be known and not be judged. For was she not expected to be chatelaine of this great place, and overseer of the good of the village; and mother, too, to poor Georgiana – when she was not yet three and twenty? It was too much; and, seeing the snow had stopped falling and sun shone beyond the walls of Pemberley, Elizabeth threw on a cape and, choosing a door that led into the garden from a remote part of the house, went out.

The park was dazzling in the whiteness – and as Elizabeth followed a path made there by estate workers and not entirely covered over by the recent falls, she heard the children cry out with delight, as they were permitted to run in the snow, build men there, and throw balls which slithered the length of the icy stream and broke up against
the bank.

Elizabeth walked quickly, and was not seen by them. Soon she found herself winding up to the left, among trees; and there, in a clearing which gave a view both of the village and of Pemberley House, stood Mr Gresham, occupied in axing a tree.

Elizabeth and Mr Gresham greeted each other cordially. As the cries of the children outside the house could be heard; and their bright figures could be seen, the size of marionettes, below, she could not help but see Mr Gresham smile with pleasure at their antics; and she could not prevent herself, either, from comparing his toleration and amusement with the sterh anger of her husband at sight or sound of the Wickham and Bingley children as they ran and played. Was Mr Darcy immured in a generation, such as his aunt Lady de Bourgh's, where children must be treated with the utmost severity, must be regarded as inheritors of a title or estate, or destined for church or army – or, in the case of female children,
the hearth and the cradle – was this the cause of Darcy's rigid attitude? If so, she had married a man who belonged, truly, to the old world, and she was as far from him as if he and she dwelt on different planets. The thought made her cold. Was it a whim, stemming from his basic indifference to children, that had caused the sudden cessation of the children's party? Did he have other ideas for amusement, which conflicted with the date Elizabeth had set for the entertainment? It was too horrible to think of. Elizabeth recalled the words of Miss Bingley and Lady Catherine, of the day before. Did they know? Why should they not know? Darcy detested children; and all along they had known it, if she had not.

To break the silence, companionable enough, between them, Elizabeth asked Mr Gresham why he removed the tree – did it do any wrong there? – and then laughed at her words, the young estate carpenter joining her with a spontaneity clearly expressed in his pleasant, open features.

‘It is a birch that is half eaten away,' said Mr Gresham, ‘and the other trees will be infected by the rot. So I take away its agony! See …' And he held out a fungus, huge and of an orange-yellow colour, that would have caused anyone with a less strong stomach than Elizabeth to recoil.

‘I confess I have taken a wrong turning,' said Elizabeth, when the fungus had been hurled from the clearing by Gresham and could be heard falling into bracken and snow. ‘I thought to walk up to the tower, where the imprisoned queen went to watch the hunt – I must have gone quite another way!'

‘Yes – this is in actuality the highest point of the village,' said Gresham, gesturing to a cluster of thatched cottages just visible through the trees. ‘They are not habitable any longer; they are about to be demolished; and the remaining residents relocated further down, by the blacksmith's cottage, where you go, Mrs Darcy, to make your arrangements for this year's festivities at Pemberley.'

‘Which no longer take place,' said Elizabeth quietly. ‘So how many people have needed to remove from this place?'

‘Only two – old Mrs Benton, a widow who was put in charge of the lad when the Frenchwoman died – ‘Here Mr Gresham stopped short and coloured. ‘It was impassable here in winter, as you can see, with snow, and in spring, with mud from the stream bursting its banks when it comes down – '

‘Who,' said Elizabeth, ‘who, Mr Gresham, was the French-woman? For I have heard talk of her at the house,' she added quickly, for fear Mr Gresham would see her own colour come and go. ‘I am interested to hear more of her. She was the mother of a child – whose child?'

‘Mrs Darcy, I cannot answer,' said Gresham, ‘I am not cognisant of the facts. I give you my word on it.'

‘Would the child be a boy of about six years old?' said Elizabeth. ‘When did the Frenchwoman die, Mr Gresham?'

‘It must be three years ago or thereabouts,' said Mr Gresham, who now looked very miserable indeed.

Elizabeth was back at the house in time to go to her room and change, in preparation for dinner. She lay instead a long time on her bed, before deciding she must go and see how her infant nephew and his mother fared. To find Jane, as she did, in radiant good spirits, with Charles hovering at her side – and then departing for the orangery, to bring blossom to a room already fragrant with the lilies Mr Darcy had sent up from the greenhouses; to see the happiness between the pair at the birth of their son, was healing to Elizabeth, for she put the welfare of her sister above her own, and had often declared that, if Jane were ever to suffer in life, the sufferings of her younger sister would be greater still, at the injustice of it.

She had so lately been in great pain that it was a wonder to Elizabeth to see Jane in the full bloom of her beauty and health; and when Charles had left to go and play a game with little Emily – it was to be a form of hide-and-seek, for which Pemberley was perfect – Elizabeth sat in a sofa at the end of the bed and poured out all that was now in her heart. It was the contrary of the life she had now, this calm tranquillity and domestic delight, such as was enjoyed by her sister and Charles Bingley. It was wrong of her, she knew, when Jane must be fatigued from giving birth – but she had such need of her. ‘Oh, dear Jane, forgive me – but I am bewildered by all that I have learnt – and you should rest, you should give all you have to the child and not to your wretched sister, as I am selfish enough to ask.'

‘Hush, Lizzy,' said Jane, ‘there is room enough for me to love you both – and look, he sleeps! Tell me what has befallen you.' And, in a tone that was more grave, ‘I trust our father was not
right, when he expressed incredulity at your intention of marrying Mr Darcy! I do not think so – for I have seen you happy together – but it is not easy. No, I see that. He has his pride still, and all favour of his office, and fawning courtiers in anyone he meets, to keep him proud. You
have
softened him, Lizzy; but when Lady Catherine comes – and, for all you have kept from me, I imagine dreadful scenes with her and Mama – he is put on his pinnacle again and he finds he has lost the way to come down from it.'

Elizabeth here told the tale – of Georgiana's shame at siding with Miss Bingley – ‘and I believe there was something else, which she did not have the courage to tell me. I believe Miss Bingley put her up to letting out the secret of the Frenchwoman, with the purpose of upsetting me,' said Elizabeth with a sigh. ‘Tell me, Jane – did
you
ever hear of a Frenchwoman – did Charles ever speak of such a woman, living here in the village?'

‘No, never,' said Jane. ‘You know, Lizzy, it is not like Mr Darcy to hide something of this kind; I cannot believe a word of it.'

‘But the child,' cried Elizabeth. ‘I saw him distinctly – he had a child with him, in the village. And now Mr Gresham tells me this Frenchwoman had a child, and died three years back. Oh, Jane she was his love! He lost her, he has the child who can never be to him what he most craves. It is for this that Darcy detests children – his heart is broken, that is why!'

‘Elizabeth!' said Jane, who was most concerned now at the distracted air of her sister, and the certainty of her pronouncements. ‘Can you recollect that once you believed all you were told of Mr Darcy by a son of his late father's steward, Mr Wickham?'

‘Yes – '

‘Mr Gresham has not the character of George Wickham, I am convinced; but he is also the son of the steward: who can tell what
his
motives may be, in telling you secrets from the past of Pemberley? You judged once too quickly, Lizzy – must you again?'

‘You are right,' said Elizabeth, after a pause. ‘You are wise as ever, my sweet Jane. Yet – my thoughts are in turmoil – why
cannot I ask him outright? What is it in his nature that would frown so on this, that I would feel banished from his affections at once? Oh, if only I could talk to our father of this, Jane, and hear what he has to say – '

‘You know he would make a jest of it,' said Jane, ‘and you would not find it easy to laugh this time, for your future is bound up with Darcy, and not with him. Reserve your judgement, if you can – and the truth will emerge – for it has a way of doing so.'

Charles here came in and said that dinner was in the banqueting-room tonight – as Darcy had ordered it so – and that he must dine with the company and would be up presently to see his wife and infant son. ‘There has been no repeat of the snow, at least' – for Charles was sensible to the difficulties that were Elizabeth's lot, as hostess of this party – ‘and the carriage will take the Gardiners and the Wickhams to Rowsley in the morning. As for Colonel Kitchiner, I escort him to the main road, where he may get the stagecoach to Manchester.'

‘And what of Mama?' enquired Jane, as she lifted the sleeping baby into her arms. ‘Will she permit this?'

‘Mrs Bennet is engaged in preparations for the New Year's Ball,' said Charles, smiling; ‘and she has asked Mr Darcy that Colonel Kitchiner should come to Pemberley for that; permission which has kindly been given.'

‘So all is well,' said Jane, smiling up at her husband.

Elizabeth did not know how she would get through the dinner. The banqueting-room she and Darcy had never sat in when alone, not even on the rare occasions when neighbours were invited to Pemberley. The candelabra on the long, polished table, the immensity of the room, with high leaded windows, the chandeliers which threw shadows on the trees and swards, ruched dresses and silk breeches of the ancestors portrayed on the walls, combined to give her a sense of nausea, of dizziness: if it were not for Mrs Bennet's speaking of her affliction over twenty years, she would have said that she truly suffered from her nerves. There was so much to ponder, to fear. One minute, it seemed to Elizabeth, her future lay in ruins, the next that she dreamt the whole thing and would be happy with Darcy again tonight – for was he not back safely from his journey to Matlock in the snow? And his ill humour was gone; he laughed with his sister and Miss Bingley; and was even civil to the colonel.

For all this, Elizabeth could not forget the words of Mr Gresham; her imagination was haunted by the Frenchwoman; her thoughts ran so loud in her head, she thought she spoke them: ‘Three years since she died! He came to Hertfordshire, when Charles Bingley rented Netherfield, soon after his heart was broken! Little wonder he had no desire to meet the belles of the country; hardly surprising that he cared so little for me at first, that he did not go to the trouble of asking for an introduction! Yes, he saw my fine eyes; later, he came to like my spirit, for I would not fawn on him, as all the others did who hoped to wed him, to reign as queen in his court. But as a man would prefer the company of another man – who would not make eyes at him,
presume on his affections when he could feel nothing. His heart taken up with the tragedy of the mother of his child!'

Caroline Bingley, on seeing Elizabeth as far as she could be, in her thoughts, from the assembled company – and therefore vulnerable – looked down the length of the table and remarked, ‘It seems to be the time dear Lizzy is accustomed to go to bed at night – for she has left us for the Land of Nod, I swear it!'

At this, Miss Bingley laid her hand over Mr Darcy's and laughed heartily; but Elizabeth could see that Darcy frowned and pulled his hand away: Miss Bingley presumed too much.

‘We would all go to bed at sundown when we were very young, would we not, Georgiana?' said Miss Bingley, who seemed now to wish to present herself as a considerably younger woman than she in fact was. ‘When we played Hunt the Thimble here, Fitzwilliam, and you joined in – do you not recall how sleepy the poor child became – and I was so overcome with weariness too that Nurse had perforce to carry us off to bed?'

Mr Darcy professed that he had no memory of this episode whatever.

‘How can that be?' cried Miss Bingley, who was disconcerted at this. ‘Tell me, Lizzy' – and here she raised her voice again, so the other diners had no choice but to fall silent. ‘Have you observed that Mr Darcy is grown very forgetful since your marriage?'

Georgiana snickered at this, and Elizabeth found no difficulty in giving her reply.

‘No, I have detected no absence of mind. But I have noted one fact, in general, and I am surprised that it has evaded your attention.'

‘What fact?'

‘That there are those who, on attaining maturity, put childish things behind them,' said Elizabeth gravely. ‘And there are those who never attain maturity and dwell for ever in their childhood for want of anything else to occupy their minds.'