As they neared the approach to Maynooth, Darcy rose and stepped out onto the narrow deck, breathing in the sharp, peaty air. The Palladian country seat of the Duke of Leinster, Carton House, stood proudly in the distance, half-shrouded by the late morning mist. The horses slowed at a signal from the driver, and the fly-boat drifted gently to a halt beside a small stone quay, where a pair of children waved at the passengers. Darcy tipped his hat in return, struck by the quiet dignity of the countryside,and the realisation that the canal, for all its excess, had already begun to reshape the lives of those who lived along its banks.
No hackney was to be found at Maynooth, and Darcy, rather against his inclination, was obliged to accept a place upon a farm cart, the property of a farmer who had just delivered his sacks of potatoes to the harbour for conveyance to Dublin by trade-boat. Darcy sat on the bench next to the farmer, Croft perched on the tailgate.
“You send your potatoes by canal—why not by road?” Darcy enquired, as the cart made its slow progress along the lane toward Carton House.
“Aye, sir, I once used the road,” the farmer replied, “but they say the canal’s the surest way—leastways, that’s the word his lordship at the castle gives us. An’ at a halfpenny the ton, sure it might be the cheapest road as well. I’m gatherin’ the praties from all the farms roundabout—‘tis all his lordship’s ground, so it is—and sendin’ the lot off to Dublin by the trader’s boat.”
The 2nd Duke had been an influential subscriber to the Royal Canal Company, having lent his name and purse to it at its inception in 1789; his son, the 3rd Duke, now occupied Carton House. Without his favour, Darcy knew, the completion of the canal to Mullingar would prove a difficult undertaking, especially as certain parcels of land along the intended route remained to be purchased.
“Darcy, did you say? The old Duke spoke of a George Darcy—a sharp fellow, he said, who owned a considerable estate in Derbyshire.” The present Duke was a young gentleman, having succeeded to the title in 1804, at the age of sixteen.
“My father, Your Grace. It is owing to his investment in the Royal Canal that I find myself now in Ireland.”
“Ah, the canal—cursed, some say, or haunted! For none of the boatmen will moor at the thirteenth lock, Deey Bridge. Butthen, they are Irish, so perhaps we ought not be astonished. Yet I presume, Mr. Darcy, you have not travelled all this way merely to take tea with me?”
Darcy explained the matter of the call on the shares, and his consequent need to raise funds by means of a lien upon Pemberley—Child & Co. having insisted that he oversee the completion of the canal from Thomastown to Mullingar.
“Lady Jersey is a most formidable woman,” the Duke observed with a laugh. “I had the pleasure of meeting her once at Almack’s—she very nearly refused me entrance! Not, I must add, because of my pantaloons, but because the clock had just struck eleven, and no one may enter after the hour. ‘Your Grace,’ she said, ‘you are a minute too late.’ I fumbled for my watch, set the hand back, and declared, ‘Not at all, my lady—see, it is five minutes before the hour. Surely you would not doubt the word of a Duke?’ She laughed, and I was admitted. But poor General Wellesley, who had come later from the same dinner, was not so fortunate.”
“Formidable, indeed, yet fair,” Darcy replied, finding himself much disposed to like the Duke, whose easy manners and good humour were so reminiscent of his friend, Charles Bingley. “I venture to hope, Your Grace, that you might lend me your support in completing the line. Your influence would be of the greatest service, not only in persuading any obstinate landowners to accept fair compensation, as Parliament has decreed, but also in lending authority to my presence. I suspect most of the masons, carpenters, and navvies will hardly relish the oversight of an Englishman.”
Their conversation continued in a spirit of genuine warmth well into the afternoon. Darcy was graciously invited to remain overnight at Carton House; and on the following morning, having enjoyed both the Duke’s table and his company, he setout once more by fly-boat for Thomastown, well contented with his visit and the prospect of future cooperation.
* * *
Chapter 9
Pemberley, March 1813
The park was very large, and Elizabeth, with great anticipation, could hardly wait to see Pemberley House. The carriage gradually ascended for half a mile, until she found herself at the top of a considerable hill, where the wood ceased and she caught sight of the house situated on the opposite side of a gentle valley. She had the coach stop so she could take in the view—this was the place where she would live for the next three months, all being well in Ireland.
She smiled when Jarvis and Tom, the coachman and under-coachman, took advantage of the pause to give the carriage a final polish—the black lacquered surface shining in the late morning sun, two postilions holding the horses steady.
“Tilly, you must see the house!” called Elizabeth to her maid. “I suspect you’ll have scant opportunity to climb so high once we’ve established ourselves there.”
“Oh, Miss Elizabeth, would you look at that! What a grand sight it is. And to think we’ll be calling it home—why, my mum’ll scarce believe it. Imagine me, living in a house so fine!”
“Well, Tilly,” said Elizabeth. “I’ve been in many fine houses in London, but never to live in one. My uncle’s house in Gracechurch Street would fit many times over inside Pemberley. As I spoke of it on the journey, you, James our footman, and I are guests of Miss Darcy, so you should expect a certain respect. But it is we who impose on them, and they may resent our intrusion into the household. ‘Tis best to tread lightly, untilwe find our place. While the Gardiners refer to me asMiss Elizabeth, please speak only ofMrs. Elizabeth—for that is how I am known at Child & Co.”
They descended the hill, crossed the bridge, and drove to the door. James handed her down, and, with some apprehension, Elizabeth was admitted into the hall.
“Ma’am, you are from Child & Co.?” Winthrop, the butler, looked beyond her to the carriage. The bank’s crest was on the door; two coachmen, postilions, a footman, and a maid waited beside it. The carriage door had been closed—certainly no further passengers were alighting. “We were expecting Mr. Adkins and his wife.”
“My apologies, Mr…?” Elizabeth paused, for the butler had not introduced himself.
“Winthrop, ma’am. I am the Pemberley butler.”
“Very pleased to meet you, Winthrop. Mr. Adkins was unable to travel, and I have come in his place. There was no purpose in sending an express—it was a fast trip from London, the roads dry and the bank’s equipage is first class.”
Elizabeth handed the butler her card. “I should like to present my credentials to the mistress or the steward, at the earliest opportunity. If they are at home, I would be pleased to meet with them now—the journey from the last post-house was short, and there is no need to refresh myself.”
Winthrop took the card—Mrs. E. Bennet, Private Secretary, Child & Co., City of London. He looked to the lady, who was wearing an elegant travelling gown, standing with the quiet assurance of a person who was accustomed to dealing with houses of rank. She was uncommonly handsome, and Winthrop was immediately drawn to her very fine eyes, sparkling with intelligence and good humour.
“If you will excuse me, ma’am. I shall enquire as to whether Miss Darcy is at home.”
Shortly afterwards, Elizabeth was ushered into a drawing-room decorated with a delicate blue floral wallpaper, with two large panelled windows overlooking the park beyond.
“Oh, Miss Elizabeth!” cried Miss Darcy, standing abruptly, rushing to take Elizabeth’s hands. “Whatever do you here? This is so unexpected!”
