Darcy had no choice but to take Elizabeth at her word, for he really did have to go. He sent his compliments to her family rather than be held up by going indoors and returned to Netherfield in a far darker humour than that in which he had left. Would that Elizabeth’s tender farewell the previous day could have been the memory he carried with him all the way to Derbyshire, rather than her brave face as she pretended his aunt’s vicious attack had not deeply mortified her. Damn his aunt! Damn her and every other woman he had thought loyal to him but who was intent on sabotaging his happiness.
“Damn thembothto hell and back.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE
A MORE URGENT AFFECTION
It was strange, to go from the heights of ecstasy—with clandestine, passionate embraces, long walks, intimate discussions, and a stream of congratulatory dinners and visits—to an existence that was all but indistinguishable from her life a year ago, before Mr Bingley let Netherfield Park. Elizabeth’s days were her own again; she came and went as she pleased, largely unnoticed by the rest of her family. One morning earlier in the week, Elizabeth had awoken with tears on her cheeks, having dreamt that the past year had itself been nothing but a dream. When Darcy’s first letter arrived, its pages filled with expressions of his esteem, she crumpled it, quite by accident, by clutching it to her breast in happiness.
The letter was not all tenderness and sentiment, however, and the news it contained far from all good. It was with a heavy heart that Elizabeth read of the many problems Darcy had discovered upon his return—though she was gratified that he took the trouble to explain them in such detail. It proved his good opinion of her understanding, and his understanding of her growing affection for Pemberley.
The issue with the building, it seemed, was the worrying discovery of what might be sinkholes somewhere much deeper beneath the foundations. The rubble being used to underpin the wall had itself become unstable, and consequently, further excavations had been instructed. Recalling the look on his face when he told her about the first few cracks, she hardly dared imagine what he must be feeling to see such damage wrought to his home.
He was less explicit about the issues arising in the servants’ ranks, which Elizabeth suspected was due to it involving some of the younger housemaids and being therefore a uniquely feminine problem. Neither the butler nor the steward had been able to resolve it either, presumably for the same reason, and Elizabeth shared Darcy’s relief that Mrs Fairlight would be at Pemberley in a fortnight to assist.
She would not like what she found when she arrived if things were half as bad as Darcy described in his letter.
Bills have gone unpaid, wage books have not been balanced, and some stores are running low. I can live with my fires not being set properly, my bed not being made, and my clothes being held hostage in the laundry. What I cannot abide is watching Pemberley’s reputation being squandered because Mrs Reynolds had not the decency to work her notice.
The housekeeper’s departure had seriously distressed his sister, also, it seemed.
Who can blame Georgiana for being hurt and confused that a previously loyal servant, whom she has known all her life, should have left without any farewell, and whilst she was present in the house?
Elizabeth wondered whether Darcy was aware that almost half of his letter was taken up with grievances against Mrs Reynolds. His anger was evident not only in what he wrote but in the deep gouges his pen had scratched in the paper beneath each word. It was obvious to her, if not to him, that he was deeply wounded by her desertion. It surprised her, even with her new knowledge of him, that he should be thus affected by the actions of a servant. She strongly suspected it would surprise him more, thus she stored the information away and hoped it would never need to be re-examined.
“Did you hear what I said, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth looked up from the path and grimaced apologetically at Kitty. “Sorry, I was miles away.”
“I said Lydia has asked me to write to her again. But I only wrote last week when you got engaged, and I do not have anything new to tell her. I think she is bored.”
“Things will improve for her when she makes some new friends.”
“Youhave had a lot of letters lately.”
“Yes, everybody has been very generous with their congratulations. Although, most of the letters were in reply to those I sent out, asking for advice about housekeepers.”
“Did you get any?”
“I did, and more than I was expecting, for none of the people I asked have one of their own. Charlotte could tell me only that the housekeeper at Rosings Park is one-and-thirty, and that is apparently young for the position—but I was pleased for the information, for if the Dread Lady Catherine approves of a younger housekeeper, who am I to argue?”
Kitty agreed, wide-eyed, having been fully apprised of and horrified by Elizabeth’s exchange with her ladyship.
“Aunt Gardiner explained about servant registries, where people looking for work can apparently list their credentials for employers to view. But then my aunt Wallis warned me in her letter not to use a registry.”
“What does Mrs Wallis know about housekeepers? She cannot have one. ’Tis only her and Mr Wallis in the house.”
“True, but she has servants. And according to her, nobody who needs to advertise themselves at a registry is good enough for Pemberley.” Affecting a silly imitation of her godmother’s voice, she added, “Only recommendation will do, apparently.”
Kitty screwed up her face in doubt. “I know she likes to know things, Lizzy, and I grant you, she may have hired a servant or two in her four hundred years, or however long she has been alive. But she cannot possibly claim to know anything about Mr Darcy’s estate.”
“I did not think so either, until she reminded me that she grew up in Castleton, which is near enough to Pemberley for her to have heard something of its size and reputation.”
“That hardly makes her an expert.”
“She did not claim to be an expert. She only advised me that such an establishment must have a queue of women wanting the position of housekeeper, and that I ought to take no one who had not worked at a senior level in a house of a similar size before. She listed seven other large country houses in the area that might have maids interested in advancing their positions—three of which I am to ignore any application from, for risk of giving offence to the mistress of a house of greater consequence than Pemberley.” With a grin, she added, “Servants from the other four are apparently mine to poach.”
“Are you supposed to just knock on the door and ask the lady of the house to hand them over?”
