Elizabeth braced herself for the most horrid moment of her life. He was about to tell her, in front of her family, that she was not welcome at Pemberley.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, struggling to catch his breath. “Forgive me for being in such haste before. I have just come from the road, and I wished to change my coat.” He looked around. “But surely you are not leaving?”
“I believe we should, sir,” she replied with cold dignity.
But in the end, they did not leave Pemberley for another hour at least. Mr. Darcy, with warmth and enthusiasm, made them welcome. He asked to be introduced to her relations in trade, spoke to them as equals, readily made conversation, and offered to show them his trout stream after waving off a gardener who was poised to do so. Mr. Darcy’s manners astonished her, but he surprised her even more when he humbly asked for permission to introduce his sister to Elizabeth, explaining that she would arrive on the morrow with a party consisting of Mr. Bingley and his sisters.
Upon the whole, Elizabeth left Pemberley in a state that was close to one of her mother’s famous nervous collapses. She could not grasp the how or why of it, but Mr. Darcy did not appear to hate her as much as he should. That evening, Mrs. Gardiner had the temerity to bring up the subject of Mr. Darcy.
“Mr. Darcy did not impress me as being so awfully proud or disagreeable, Elizabeth.”
“No, Aunt,” Elizabeth snapped before standing abruptly and going to her room. She could hardly bear her own reflections in this vein, much less endure the remarks of her family suggesting that she might have misjudged the man.
Just after eleven the following morning, the earliest a polite morning call could be paid, Mr. Darcy arrived at the Lambton Inn with his sister. This mark of attention impressed upon Elizabeth the gentleman’s determination to be civil, and much of her agitation of the previous day was eclipsed by her equal determination to be pleasant and civil in return. She instantly comprehended that she could do Mr. Darcy no greater kindness than to be kind to his sister. He clearly doted on her, and the girl, contrary to Mr. Wickham’s unflattering characterization of her arrogance, was cripplingly shy.
Elizabeth’s heart swelled as she went forward, took the young lady’s hands in hers, and began to overwhelm her with warmth and friendly conversation. The strategy worked. Miss Darcy finally looked up, encountered Elizabeth’s twinkling dark eyes, and relaxed. By the end of the visit, Elizabeth knew without question they would get on famously given half a chance, and she was cautiously pleased that her aunt and uncle accepted the Darcys’ invitation to dinner.
Even the arrival of Charles Bingley, all amiable enthusiasm and pointed inquiries after Jane, could not rob Elizabeth of her twinges of breathless excitement. She greeted Mr. Bingley warmly, and her resentment against him for abandoning her sister did not thrive. How could any feeling but heart flutterings survive the frankly tender look on Mr. Darcy’s face as he stood watching her? She had never blushed so much in all her life.
Chapter 9
Horsham, West Sussex…
After two nights on the Worthing Road, Bill heroically pulled his cart containing Lydia all the way to Horsham. Parch had stopped twice as they neared the bustle of the town to step down and ask directions. Lydia was too dazed to do anything but limply hold the reins of their donkey. She was starving, having subsisted for days on rations of a single potato a day, pump water, and one tiny leg of a half-grown rabbit that Parch had clubbed as it scrambled out of its hole in a fallow field. Parch had eaten the rest of the rabbit and said she was lucky to get what he gave her since she was too stupid to be useful. He had shaken his head in disgust when he finally realized she did not know how to skin the poor thing, and he grumbled, in his nearly incoherent way, something to the effect that he did not deserve the punishment of tending to her.
Still, he had tended to her, protected her, and had been in the act of delivering her to safety, so Lydia sat benumbed by exhaustion as they wove through the busy streets and came to a stop before a plain brick building with a black door. She followed Parch to the door, and they, in turn, followed a porter to a small, sparsely furnished room.
Expecting to be greeted by a kind and interested representative of the magistrate responsible for Horsham and its environs, it took Lydia a quarter of an hour to finally understand that she was being signed in as a tenant in a workhouse.
“When is the magistrate coming, Mr. Parch?” she asked in a fading voice.
“Ain’t comin’. This be a ’ouse.”
“Well, it might be a house, but I have never seen one like it. If the magistrate is not coming to see me, who is to come to me?”
“’Spose the keeper’ll be ?ere in a bit.”
“The keeper? What do you mean: akeeper?”
“Warden. The gov’nor.”
“The governor? The governor of what Mr. Parch? Really, I do not have any idea where you have brought me!” she concluded irritably.
He sighed and said, “A ‘ouse. A work’ouse, you daft girl.”
“A—a workhouse Mr. Parch?” she asked in a most pitiful voice. “You did not say aworkhouse. You could not have said so.”
When he shrugged, her heart began to pound. “A workhouse?! But, how could you?”
He shrugged again and looked at the ground. “Can’t keep ?at fed, girl. This be the Methody ?ouse. Thems not so bad as the parish, so’s I ’ear.”
Momentarily overcome by terror, Lydia felt her knees crumple, and she stumbled toward a wooden chair. A man in a black coat and a woman in a black dress appeared and looked down at her. She did not have the strength to rise and only vaguely heard Parch speaking to them in a mumble before he left her for good.
“I am Mr. Perkins,” said the darkly clothed man. “I am in charge of this house. This is Mrs. Hart. She is the matron of the women’s wing. Now,” he said, seating himself at the table and pulling forward a sheaf of paper and an ink stand, “what is your name?”
“Lydia Bennet,” she whispered, shrinking into her chair.
“You must speak up, girl, and say ‘sir’ when you talk to the parson,” Mrs. Hart said crisply. “Otherwise, the door is there, and you may fend for yourself.”
