Elizabeth reached across, taking Georgiana’s hand in hers. “I believe that Mr. Darcy will do all that can be done—and more. He is not the sort of man to give up what he loves, nor to abandon his duty.”
* * *
They sat together for some moments in companionable silence, until they were interrupted by the man Elizabeth least wished to see.
“Miss Darcy, Mrs. Elizabeth, what a lovely scene to enjoy on such a pleasant day.” Mr. Wickham came forward from around the house, stepping briskly along the gravelled path.
“Mr. Wickham, we have not seen you for some days—we’ve so missed your company.” Georgiana gave him a broad smile. “Please take tea with us. We have just finished reading letters from William.”
“And how does he fare? Does he intend to stay much longer? For he has been away for above six weeks.” Wickham sat while Georgiana poured tea from a fresh pot, which had just that moment been placed on the table by a footman. Wickham’s eyes fell on Elizabeth’s folio, where she kept the accounts for the Royal Canal; beneath was another with Pemberley’s accounts for the past month. There was nothing to reveal, yet he cast her a studied smile.
“Oh, he did not say when he should return,” replied Georgiana, glancing quickly at Elizabeth. “William seems to be enjoying himself immensely. He described a jaunting car—have you heard of it? For certainly, I have seen nothing like it in England.”
“Is that a cart where the passengers sit sideways? I was told of such, but have never seen one.”
The conversation moved on. After a short while, Mrs. Younge joined them. Elizabeth had received no reply to her enquiry to the bank’s agent, apart from a brief note saying that their investigator would attend to the matter as soon as he had returned from Manchester. Thus, she ensured that her address to the gentleman was civil, even though his manner unsettled her. He seemed, perhaps, too much at ease with Mrs. Younge,though they claimed a previous acquaintance, which likely explained their familiarity.
“If you will excuse me,” she said, as she needed to read the accounts before replying to Mr. Darcy. “I have some letters to attend to. Perhaps later, we could take the walk by the far side of the lake. I am told it is very beautiful, and the woods adjacent are exceedingly fine.”
She returned to her room and sat at the writing desk, looking across the park. Taking her folio, she withdrew a sheet upon which the canal expenses were listed for the past week. She again noted how even was Darcy’s writing, yet in places the letters were ill-formed where his pen needed sharpening; some entries were rushed, as though he tired of the exercise. She imagined him laying down his pen, untying his cravat, removing his Hessians before retiring to his bed. She blushed, to entertain such an image of a man she had only met once before! When she had first met him, he was staring out a window onto Fleet Street, morning light casting his brow into deep furrows. Child & Co. was his last hope: that Lady Jersey would lend him money enough to save Pemberley. Only to discover that the job was scarcely done, only begun—worse, he now doubted his ability to complete the work, that his endeavours were, perchance, for nought.
She completed her study of the accounts, making brief notes for inclusion in her report to Lady Jersey. Looking up, she was surprised to see Georgiana, Mrs. Younge, and Mr. Wickham walking across the grass towards the lake. She was certain they had acknowledged her suggestion that they take a walk later that afternoon. Slightly annoyed, she watched Mrs. Younge turn and walk back towards the house. Mr. Wickham and Georgiana walked on; she placed her hand upon his arm, then they weregone across the narrow footbridge and entered the woods, leaving the lake behind.
Elizabeth’s sense of unease deepened as she watched the pair disappear into the shadows. The sight of Georgiana leaning on Mr. Wickham’s arm gave her a moment of worry she could not easily dismiss. She drew her shawl more tightly about her shoulders, trying to reason with herself—that it was not her concern. Yet had not Mr. Darcy entrusted her—as Child’s agent—with Georgiana’s safety?
She turned back to her papers, but her gaze strayed to the window again and again. The ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece grew louder with every passing minute. Unable to concentrate, Elizabeth rose from her chair and paced the length of her chamber. After a moment’s indecision, she resolved to join them by the lake, if only to ease her mind. With a last glance at the unfinished accounts, she slipped swiftly from the room.
“Mrs. Bennet, a moment of your time.” Baxter spoke to her as she crossed the vestibule. “My apologies, ma’am, but something urgent has arisen. It would be best if you could assist me with the matter.”
Elizabeth looked worriedly to the door, beyond which Georgiana was being escorted without a chaperone along the path in the woods. Winthrop, who had been attending to the household correspondence, came from the butler’s room.
“May I assist you, ma’am? I noticed that Miss Darcy has gone out without her pelisse. The weather, so very fine this morning, may chance upon rain early in the afternoon. Perchance I should send a footman to take it to her, then see her safely returned to the house.”
So, Winthrop had also noticed Miss Darcy walk out with Wickham—ever discreet, he had discerned Elizabeth’s concern. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Winthrop. Being only newlyarrived in Derbyshire, I have little feel for the weather; but certainly, a shower may come upon us very unexpectedly—a common occurrence in my home county, Hertfordshire.” She laughed. They both knew there was nary a cloud in the sky, apart from a few tendrils of white mist perched high above the peaks. Elizabeth relaxed; her concern for Georgiana was being taken care of as best they could.
She lent her attention to the steward. “Baxter, what matter is it that cannot wait? Surely, after all these years, there is little to disrupt the steady pace of Pemberley’s spring planting.”
He led her to the study, where a large map of the estate had been laid out.
“This is the southeast corner,” he said. “It’s an old boundary dispute—raised every year. With Mr. Darcy gone, both tenants feel they have an opportunity to secure the boundary in their favour.”
“I am not a land agent,” said Elizabeth with some exasperation. “Surely the solution Mr. Darcy arrived at last year will suffice?” She looked at the map, the boundaries clearly marked, except for one line, which was sketched rather than solid.
“The master’s solution was a fence, ma’am. But a winter flood pulled some posts from the ground. Now they are disputing the line, for the survey pegs were also washed away.”
“And I suppose they expect the estate to pay for a new survey, when common sense would place the new fence along the line of the old one. It seems, Baxter, that the desire for land steals any man’s reason. And the urgency? This appears to be a problem that Mr. Darcy can solve when he returns.”
“It’s the sowing,” said Baxter, shaking his head. “’Tis a fair spit of land between the fence and the copse—if it’s disputed, then neither of them will plant it—and, for sure, they’ll not share, for fear of giving the other man an advantage.”
“Please retrieve their leases. If I am to help, I need to understand the grounds for their dispute, likely unrecognised until a son or cousin inherited, and wished for a little more land than he had already got. I’m sure you are a busy man; please do not let me delay you. I will read the survey reports and leasehold terms. Perhaps in an hour—mayhap a little longer—we will have a solution. If not, I suggest we tie them to two of Pemberley’s strongest horses and quarter them, as was done to Sir Thomas Percy, who led rebellion against Henry VIII. That, at least, will resolve the issue until the next generation.”
As she studied the lease agreements, Winthrop entered the study carrying a tray. “I thought you may wish for some refreshment, Mrs. Bennet,” he said, setting the tray on the desk. “Cook also included some lemon biscuits.”
“Oh, they are my favourites—can you please thank her. Indeed, I am in great need of tea. I fear a megrim coming on—the leaseholds are written in law French, a language so old even William the Conqueror would struggle to understand it.”
Winthrop paused before leaving the room. “Miss Darcy has returned, and is in the music room. Mr. Wickham requested the gig take him to Lambton.”
Elizabeth looked up. “The gig? I wonder whether he has a horse—I can understand his walking from Lambton to Pemberley if one is inclined to enjoy nature, but most gentlemen prefer riding, and stabling a horse with the extra expense of having it exercised seems to be rather wasteful.”
