“Oh yes, madam. I was stillroom maid then, but I used to see him about the place. Handsome lad he was, even then and so sweet natured. I don’t think I ever heard him say a cross word.”
“Then perhaps you can tell me why he went to sea so very young. I confess I have always wondered.”
Mrs Reynolds pursed her lips. “I don’t hold with gossip, ma’am, as well you know,” she said. “And they do say you should never speak ill of the dead.” It was obvious to Elizabeth that she was only waiting to be persuaded, so she did her best.
“Well,” said Mrs Reynolds after several minutes of appeal to her knowledge of the family, “Mr Darcy—old Mr Darcy that is—was never what you’d call an affectionate man. I don’t mean he was cruel or vicious, not like Mr George—God rest his soul—just not tender or considerate to his family or anyone else for that matter. He was one of those men—Mr Tanner of High Farm is another—who don’t need any pleasure or comfort or affection in their lives. And don’t see why anyone else needs them either.” She settled back in her chair and got confidential.
“Someone offered Master Fitzwilliam a place on a ship, so off he had to go, for all Lady Anne was heartbroken. He was terribly severe with Mr George too—had to be always moiling at his books, no hunting, no going to assemblies, no going to London. It was hardly a surprise he cut loose as soon as he could.”
“And my husband’s mother? I’ve seen her portrait upstairs; what was she like?”
Mrs Reynolds considered. “She was beautiful, but…well, she was sad. The marriage was not of her choosing, and he was not the husband for her. She should have had someone gentle and good-humoured, and he was neither. She loved her boys though. I used to see her sitting at that very desk, writing to Master Fitzwilliam and drawing him little pictures.” Then, obviously thinking she had said too much, she added, “Now, about the music room, do you want me to send for the piano tuner?”
Haymaking came and went, and still there was no news. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lord Matlock visited and expressed their surprise at how much had been done. She continued to write her letters and send them off, but no reply came, and she scoured the newspapers for word from the Mediterranean.
She did receive one strange letter, however, from the office of the Bishop of Derby. It requested Mr Darcy to appoint someone else to the living at Kympton in view of the
...absence of the previous appointee who, I understand, has not been seen for several months, having left on a visit to London and not returned. All enquiries in the capital have produced no news as to his whereabouts, and the bishop feels that it is inadvisable to leave the parish without spiritual direction.
Elizabeth’s own inquiries at Kympton revealed that no one had seen the Reverend Mr Wickham for some time, and the potboy at the King George in Lambton told Anderssen that no one had seen him since ‘he climbed into the London coach in one of they driving coats with the extra shoulder cloaks’. Although that sounded an awful lot like the ‘driving coat’ who had taken part in the attack in Hatfield, Elizabeth decided that there was no way to be certain and, in the meantime, they would continue to take precautions. This meant that, although she greatly disliked it, either Anderssen or Haslam followed at a distance every time she walked in the woods.
She was returned from one such walk when she saw an express rider galloping towards the house. She picked up her skirts and ran as fast as she could, arriving in the great hall to see Mrs Reynolds paying off the rider. It was indeed a letter in her husband’s dear, familiar writing. She hurried into the libraryand sank down on the window seat to read it. She tore open the cover and thought her heart would stop. It beganDear Madam.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The letter was headedAboard HMSAchilles, Gibraltar.
May I first express my profound gratitude for your manifold kindnesses to my sister and her mother? And for the highly effective measures you have taken to ensure their safety and comfort. I am also mindful of the debt I owe you with regard to Pemberley. It would indeed grieve me to know that my boyhood home had been allowed to decay and that the people connected with it were suffering from the deficiencies of my family.
Her breath seemed to have become thick and difficult to draw. How could he talk of gratitude after so many months of silence between them? She read on.
My recent mission was attended with that lack of success that I so often prophesied, and the Achilles is currently undergoing further repair at Gibraltar. I regret I was unable to call in at Malta to visit Mr Bennet; however, a shipmate who was recently in Valletta assures me of his continuing good health, having seen him making one of aparty to visit some ruins in the interior of the island. I rejoice that I have been able to repay some of your kindness in this manner.
As for myself, I am returning to England only briefly before taking command of the frigate HMS Vanguard, one of the new heavy frigates built on the American model. It is unlikely that I will return to England for some time.
In that connexion it occurs to me that, with the recent death of my unfortunate brother, the matter of my sister’s custody is no longer at issue and, since our marriage was never consummated…
She could read no further through her tears and was obliged to leave off and search for a handkerchief. Finding none, she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and continued.
… since our marriage was never consummated, it is possible, and indeed incumbent upon me, to release you from an arrangement whose utility is now dubious. Your recent letters have demonstrated that a lady of your ability will never lack for admirers, and I am sure you will soon be able to embark upon a marriage in every way more suitable. There is, of course, no question of repaying the settlement made upon you, which will, I hope, enable you to embark upon a new sphere of life.
On receipt of your agreement, I will write to the earl and request him to take Georgiana and her mother into his household. I regret that the estrangement between my brother and my Fitzwilliam relations prevented such an arrangement before you and I were obliged to take such drastic measures to preserve her. Your Mr Lester seems a gentleman admirably placed to undertake theadministration of the estate, reporting to Lord Matlock where appropriate. I understand from your letter that my uncle was prepared to act in this manner before your arrival rendered his assistance unnecessary. However, it would be most ungenerous of me to expect you to continue as you have when you must be desirous of your own establishment.
Mere words cannot express my consciousness of your forbearance to date, and it is for this reason that I will not and cannot demand anything further of you. I understand that it will be necessary to make a declaration before the appropriate ecclesiastical authorities, and I await only your written consent to make the necessary preliminary enquiries.
I remain, madam, your humble and obedient servant,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
For the first time in her life, she thought she might faint. There was a tingling sensation in her face and hands, and darkness seemed to be gathering at the edges of her mind. This could not be true. She bent forward and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. She could not think. She could barely breathe for the weight pressing on her chest.
There was a noise. Someone was knocking. She had to clear her throat before she could bid the person enter. It was Mrs Reynolds, looking concerned. “Are you all right, ma’am?” she asked nervously. “Anderssen says he heard you call out, and I’ve been knocking for some while.”
Elizabeth’s thoughts seemed to have slowed, and it felt like several minutes passed before she could answer. “I am not feeling very well,” she said. “I believe I will go and lie down for a while. There is no need to alarm Miss Darcy.” She was conscious that her voice sounded strained, but there was nothing shecould do about that. She got to her feet, and some part of her was surprised they would bear her. Walking like a woman three times her age, she slowly made her way upstairs and lay down on the bed in her new room, blind to its comfort and beauty. Her thoughts had settled down to a dull roaring noise like the sea, which gradually drowned out all conscious attempts to make sense of what she had read. She slept.
It was almost dark when she awoke, and she was dimly conscious that a door had just closed—Georgiana, no doubt, checking that she was well. There was a heavy weight on her thoughts, and it was several minutes before she could bring herself to rise and wash her face. Maria came in when she rang and was touchingly glad to see her up and about, and Elizabeth had no doubt that the news would soon be spread downstairs.
According to Aunt Philips’s clock, which cut a decidedly plebeian figure in her new rooms, it was almost time for supper, and she hoped Georgiana or perhaps Mrs Reynolds had seen to its ordering. For herself, the mere thought of food was nauseating, but she knew she must make the attempt for the sake of those who depended upon her. The memory that they might not so depend for much longer struck like a knife, making her gasp.
