Then there were the grounds staff, who gathered beside the stables with their hats in their hands and their eyes bright and curious. They had not the judgement of the other servants. Their eyes did not see a scandal, but a hale young woman who looked like she would spend much time in the grounds. When she spoke of the beautiful driveway their smiles grew. They mentioned a few favourite parts of the gardens, and the mistress insisted on being shown them at once.
The little group walked slowly through the grounds, pointing out every fine bloom and cultivated trellis. Mrs. Darcy expressed her like of cattails and asked if there were otters on the estate. The groundsmen were delighted to answer. Within ten minutes they were making a circuit of the lake.
Mrs. Reynolds wondered why they were staying outside. The young lady was pale with weariness and surely wanted to see the inside of the house. The answer hit her like a chiming bell:Mrs. Darcy was deliberately keeping her distance, so that her husband might reunite with his sister in peace.
The housekeeper’s respect for her new mistress rose. This new warmth came with the revelation that she would be a terrible person if she permitted Mrs. Darcy to exhaust herself. After the gardener had extolled the next marvel (some kind of exotic shrub that looked much like any other bush to the housekeeper’s indifferent eye) she offered to show Mrs. Darcy the house.
“Oh, but the garden is so lovely!” the lady’s voice was bright, but she rubbed her temple idly with one hand.
“We shall not disturb the master.” Mrs. Reynolds promised softly, “I can show you straight to your room, madam, so that you can refresh yourself.”
Mrs. Darcy shot her a narrow look, but the housekeeper knew that she had guessed correctly. With a badly concealed yawn, the young lady thanked her and followed her back along the path.
“Thank you.” she said, “I would prefer they stay undisturbed. It has been too long since they saw one another. They must have much to talk about.”
Mrs. Reynolds gave her an odd look but made no reply.
Chapter 15
Elizabeth Darcy stood in the centre of her bedroom and closed her eyes. Slowly, she stretched out her arms as far as they would go, like two wings ready to take flight. Then she turned around, circle after circle, keeping her eyes tightly shut.
This could be any room. She had spun in all of them.
As a child, it had been a game. She would see how many times she could spin quickly around until, breathless and dizzy, she would topple to the floor. When she was older it became a ritual: a way to burn off her nervous energy before a gathering, or to draw in a deep breath afterwards.
In Kendal, she had done it to force herself to feel vulnerable. Her emotions had made the world grey. She needed to clear the fog away and could not find any other way to do it. Happiness was still too much of a stranger to heed her plaintive invitation. Other emotions soon came to turn the clouds into blazing daylight: confusion, when she felt lost inside her strange new life. Gentle hope for the future. Fear, still burning like a guilty secret, againsthim.
Yes, she was still afraid. She knew the man better, was even fond of him, but his shadow always followed. She loved his tenderness, but she was afraid of his sullen hours and his furiousminutes. She could not conquer the changeability which made her care for him with one breath, and pity him the next.
Guiltiest of all was her darkest fear: she was afraid of his fists, always clenched when he was angry, always trembling when he was trying to keep calm. They had never been raised against her. When Darcy was calm and amiable she knew that he would never hurt her. When he was angry, she was afraid that he had not hurt her… yet.
On the evening when she had told the staff to take the liquor out of his room, Darcy had frightened her so badly that shewantedhim to drink. She was on the point of running after the servants and snatching a bottle of brandy out of their hands. At least then the demon would be gone from his eyes. The drunkard she had met beneath the tree was pathetic and as threatening as a lamb.
As she spun, Elizabeth scrutinised her emotions and sighed. Yes, she was afraid. Afraid, lonely, and homesick.
Lizzie turned another slow circle and let herself dream. This could be her old room with the creaking bed and the chipped table where Lydia had thrown her wooden doll. Home…
Home, with her grasping mother and her blind father. Home, where happiness was just something to be thrown away. Home…
Elizabeth wrenched her eyes open, swallowing hard. The housekeeper stared back at her. Lizzie gasped in shock and lowered her arms.
“Don’t you knock?” she demanded, trying to catch her breath.
“I did, Mrs. Darcy. Several times. You didn’t answer, so I thought you were asleep. I have your boxes, ma’am.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, this time in embarrassment, and then shook herself. “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”
The servant’s pinched expression relaxed. Her voice grew noticeably warmer. “Do not trouble yourself, madam. I will tell the footmen to wait.”
“No - no. They can bring the boxes.”
“They can wait.” Mrs. Reynolds repeated firmly. Drawing a handkerchief from her sleeve, she pressed it into Elizabeth’s hand. Lizzie stared at it without comprehension, then looked up and caught sight of herself in the mirror.
Was that her? The famous beauty, Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Her eyes were shadowed and her skin was pasty. Her shoulders stooped. Even her hair looked pitiful: it was a hopeless frizz after the long journey. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and her lips trembled.
This is how Jane looked, at the end.Elizabeth realised with horror. She felt a jolt striking her in the belly. Now they both knew how it felt to live in fear. The signs had been written so clearly on her sister’s body, and now they were etched just as clearly onto her own. No wonder Mr. Darcy had called herunhappy.
“Mrs. Reynolds, I…” Elizabeth faltered and then limped into the rest of her sentence: “Thank you.”
