I have opened dear Papa’s great atlas of the world, but the map of Ireland therein contains too little detail to identify where you are. I discovered Mullingar in County Westmeath, but there is little else. Perhaps, dear brother, you could send a map showing the line of the Royal Canal from Dublin to Thomastown—I so wish to enjoy every moment of your explorations.
Just the day before your ever-so-welcome letter arrived, I had the pleasantest surprise with the arrival of a shining lacquered coach, pulled by four horses with postilions, the crest of Child & Co. on the door. I had already met the lady in London, through our Aunt Alice, so it was a most welcome reunion. We have resolved to call each other by our Christian names, for though it is a little forward, we so enjoyed each other’s company in Town, and are to be together for several months here at Pemberley. I trust you do not disapprove too strongly of such intimacy, for Elizabeth is such a kind and generous person. I think, if you were to meet her, you would find that she is everything charming and proper.
The spring planting is well underway, and Baxter tells me there is no need for concern, that all is in hand. Of course, before you left—oh, I miss you so!—the countryside was already turning green with new growth. Now the roses indear Mama’s garden have begun to bloom. Elizabeth and I had intended to attend to our letters first, but the garden called to her, for she exclaimed she had never seen such a display. I do believe she has fallen in love with just a little piece of Pemberley already.
My lessons progress, though Mrs. Younge is less conversant with the modern languages than I. Elizabeth has fluency in French and says she possesses just enough Italian to be dangerous. ‘Never let me order beverages in Rome,’ she said, ‘for you are just as likely to be served Aqua Tofana, a deadly poison, as Acqua Pura, merely filtered water!’ See, already my spirits are lifting—she is so lively and cheerful.
You must tell me everything, for life at Pemberley is very dull compared to your adventures. This afternoon, Elizabeth has asked that we might make a little tour of the estate. She does not ride, so I thought to take out the little phaeton. Of course, we will have a groom attend us—Elizabeth insists, as is only proper.
Bless you as you blessed me,
Your loving sister, Georgiana.
Darcy carefully folded the letter. He would read it again in the morning, before his day was taken up with the canal. Her letter had been included in a sealed packet forwarded from the company office in Dublin. The direction had been clearly written, and the whole journey had taken only four days from Pemberley to his hotel in Thomastown. Likely, Georgiana had it sent by special messenger to Liverpool—so very thoughtful.
What a pleasing coincidence that Georgiana was already acquainted with Mrs. Elizabeth Bennet, wife of Child’s representative; likely Lady Jersey had chosen Bennet with this in mind, though his understanding of estate accounts was by far the more important consideration. With such a quickturnaround in letters between Thomastown and Pemberley, there would likely be no want of news from either side of the Irish Sea.
Georgiana was certainly in good spirits, and she was blessed indeed to have such an easy relationship with Mrs. Bennet. The lady’s presence was likely to make up for any deficiency in Mrs. Younge’s companionship, though the latter’s references had been glowing—did they not state she was accomplished in all the modern languages? Still, of little consequence. Hah!Aqua Tofana, indeed! He was in dire need of that substance, or similar; already several landowners were refusing to sell their land along the line of the canal—notwithstanding the Act of Parliament enforcing the sale for a fair price—and some rabble-rousers were still creating trouble, even though the navvies had been paid their wages in arrears. He could hear their raucous laughter echoing from the public bar, their pennies and shillings disappearing with alacrity into the tankards ofbene bowse—good beer.
* * *
Chapter 12
Pemberley, May 1813
From: F. Darcy, Royal Canal Co.
To: E. Bennet, Child & Co.
Bennet,
It was indeed welcome to receive your letter, delivered to Thomastown just ten days after my dispatch to Pemberley. Communication between Ireland and Derbyshire has become so easy—I daresay we communicate with greater efficiency than the normal mails between Pemberley and London. I beg leave to apologise, for if I appear too brief in expressing myself in the following, it is because the affairs of the Royal Canal now consume my fullest attention, both day and night.
Of immediate concern was ensuring the workmen received their arrears, for many had returned to their farms to assist in the sowing and were reluctant to return unless paid. There is a great shortage of coin in Ireland, as you no doubt know. It was fortunate indeed that in ‘97 my father had struck copper and silver tokens to pay the labourers and mill workers at Pemberley during a similar coin shortage in England. Thus was born thePemberley Penny—penny, halfpenny, and farthing struck in copper, together with threepenny, sixpenny, and shilling struck in silver. The Bank of Ireland examined these and declared the tokens legal tender in payment for labour on the canal, though I am obliged to exchange them for notes whenever five pounds’ worth or more are tendered.
The innkeepers prefer these tokens to those bearing the image of King George, for they are struck sharp and clear, and the base metal is worth more than their face value. The bullion chest was brought up from Dublin by special barge, accompanied by a troop of militia, and is now closely guarded in the strongroom. Word spread quickly that payment for work on the canal was to be made in coin—not notes redeemable only at the company store. Thus, as many men as we can safely employ have returned from the fields. Now, it is only required to set them to useful work—if only it were so easy.
I had not reckoned with the large area I must cover, with workers spread over many miles of the canal. Already, I have had to rebuke the carters—those men who bring essential materials to the workings: stone from the quarries, timber for lock gates, and so on. They were using narrow-wheeled carts, which were speedier and more manoeuvrable than sixteen-inch, broad-wheeled wagons, but tore into the country lanes and, in league with the torrential rains of Ireland, converted them into an impassable quagmire. After I had finally convinced the carters to use the proper wagons, I then spent yet more time pacifying the farmers and cottagers, who abused me for the destruction of their roads. It was necessary to assign a gang to repair these—yet more unnecessary expense.
Mr. Rennie has drawn up designs for the eight locks of this section—locks eighteen to twenty-five. Already the footings are being dug, and the stonework cut. As with all Scots engineers, he is a very intelligent man, but exceedingly difficult to work with—if I am forthright, then he is as blunt as a blacksmith’s hammer.
In my pride, Bennet, I had thought that managing a large estate such as Pemberley was enough for any man, yet overseeing the building of a canal is such a great endeavour that I scarce know whether I have competence enough for thetask. Each night I retire to my cot, weary to my bones, only for the next day to bring forth further problems in addition to those remaining from the day before.
Pray that I do not overtax you with my troubles, but there is no other who understands that this enterprise—a canal spanning half of Ireland—is more than a great construction; my heritage, Pemberley, is held ransom to it. Take care of my home, for I have entrusted you with its security and, perhaps more precious to me, the well-being of my sister. Of course, she is not your direct concern, but I am glad you are there.
I am indebted to you,
Darcy.
Both Elizabeth and Georgiana were taking tea on the terrace overlooking the garden when Winthrop brought them the mail. She broke the seal on the large packet, handing Georgiana the letter addressed to her. Darcy had included the canal accounts for the past week, and Elizabeth carefully placed them in her folio for later review. The accounts would tell the complete story, detailing all the major expenses. He had also included a letter addressed toBennet, his hand well-formed, sloping forward, always precise. Yet she saw that his pen often slipped; sometimes the ink was faint, as though he had forgotten to dip his pen—a sign, perhaps, of fatigue—working late into the night.
Georgiana laughed at some observation her brother had made. “Oh, Elizabeth,” she cried. “William describes the most ridiculous conveyance, ajaunting car, where the passengers sit with their backs to each other and their legs hanging over the side. Can you imagine travelling in such a vehicle? I should, likely as not, fall off, particularly when it runs over a rut. What a wonderful time he must be having to see such oddities!”
Elizabeth felt like a fraud. Mr. Darcy had confided in her—in reality, he had confided in Child & Co.—he had confided the stress he was under in supervising the completion of the canal. Doubly so, for if the construction failed, or the expense grew too large, then Pemberley itself was at risk. She looked across the beautiful gardens; beyond was the graceful home park, deer and sheep peacefully grazing. Could anyone give up such a place? She had been only here a scant few weeks, and had already begun to fall in love with it. “Oh, Lizzy! You foolish girl—for, once this time is past, you must return to London. Please, guard your heart, my dear, and your integrity—for if Mr. Darcy were to fail, then the bank would, with all the law on its side, break up the estate to recover its investment. If that were the case, you would be complicit in his, and Georgiana’s, desolation.”
She set aside both letter and accounts, determined not to let her spirits be overcome by a future that was, as yet, uncertain and unmade. “It is not for me to decide the fate of Pemberley, but only to act with honesty where my duty lies,” she mused, but the words rang hollow.
Georgiana, still clutching her letter, had grown quiet, her gaze fixed on the distant peaks. “Elizabeth,” she said at last, “do you think my brother will succeed? While his letter is full of cheerful anecdotes, I fear he is keeping the truth from me.” She sounded so young, so entirely unlike the composed young lady she appeared to the world.
