Page 18 of Affectations of Candour

CHAPTER NINE

Mostly everyone’s equilibrium had been restored after Miss Darcy and Miss Althea’s cheerful piece, and the two performers were applauded and lauded as though theirs had been the grandest musical performance ever heard.

Wishing Miss Hughes’s profound vocals had been included in the adulation, Elizabeth felt the dried tears remaining upon her cheeks and was caught surreptitiously brushing them away.

“Are you well, Miss Bennet?” Mr Darcy had leant in.

“Yes, I am, thank you. But I really should go and comfort Miss Hughes.” She started to rise from her chair.

Miss Baker approached. “You stay, dear, and entertain Mr Darcy. I shall ensure my niece is not suffering unduly, although Miss Taylor is, no doubt, comforting her as we speak.” She left then, after saying she would be back shortly.

“I do not require entertaining, Miss Bennet. If you would rather go⁠—”

“No. She has her aunt and her lady’s maid. I might just be in the way.”

“Going to Miss Hughes’s rescue during her performance was, and is, worthy of commendation. It is evident you are very good to her, and I know you are a caring sister because you demonstrated that at Netherfield.” Mr Darcy shuffled his feet. “I was hoping, wondering, whether you and I might continue our debates throughout the summer.”

Her strongest sensation was astonishment that he should be so intent on further sparring with her, and Elizabeth was at first very little inclined to agree. She was not in Wyman’s Cove for any other reason than to comfort Miss Hughes. Still, if such an opportunity presented itself, she supposed she could oblige the gentleman. “If you wish. But I am not in Somerset to seek the company of others nor to be entertained. I am here for Miss Hughes, and she is in half-mourning and may not be much in company. And do you not have guests with whom you wish to spend your time?”

“I am here primarily for Georgiana, but that does not preclude associating with our closest neighbours.”

“Is Miss Darcy ill, sir? She appears in truly excellent health.” Elizabeth’s tone quickly turned from concerned to arch. “Your sister is neither too slender nor too heavy. She displays no pallor, nor is her complexion unhealthily tanned.”

“I take your meaning, madam. Georgiana is well, but she had a…a disappointment last summer at another seashore. It affected her greatly, and I am trying to banish unpleasant memories and replace them with happier ones here.”

“That is truly admirable, sir, and I apologise for being flippant about the dear girl’s health. If there ever is anything I may do to⁠—”

He grinned. “You could amuse Georgiana by debating with me. Tell me, is she presently watching us?”

Elizabeth peeked and was surprised to see that his sister was, indeed, doing so. “She just smiled at me, so yes.”

“Georgiana and her friend have made a ridiculous wager about…something, and already my sister is happier than I have seen her in nearly a twelvemonth. She wishes to befriend you.” Hurriedly, he added, “And the Bakers and their niece, of course. Georgiana, Miss Althea, and, if I am not mistaken, Miss Hughes are all of an age and have suffered the loss of at least one parent. They may find solace and friendship with one another not just for this summer but for a lifetime.”

“Speaking for myself, I would very much like to further my acquaintance with Miss Darcy and the Miss Wrights.” And, most surprisingly, with you. You are so different from how I remembered. “I cannot speak for Miss Hughes, but I assume she will readily agree.”

“Excellent. I do not plan to host any grand events at Strandsmere, but perhaps a picnic could be arranged. I do have something special in mind for August, and everyone in the cove will be welcome to attend.”

Her attention drifting to the doorway, Elizabeth listened with only half an ear because Miss Hughes and her aunt had just walked in.

Mr Darcy jumped to his feet. “Miss Hughes, please accept my belated appreciation of your moving performance of The Last Rose of Summer. Ladies and gentlemen,” he called out, “please join me in a round of applause for Miss Bridget Hughes.”

Everyone, even the Wrights, complied, with Elizabeth clapping loudest of all.

The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, Mr Baker set off to watch while their factotum—or Tom-of-all-trades, as they called him—carried out his employer’s brilliant notion to have the rusty gate hinges treated with abrasives and oil. Miss Baker was busy with household accounts and consequently was not there to witness the result of her machination.

Their niece had gone for a solitary walk.

With nothing pressing to do, Elizabeth went back to her bedchamber, which was perfect in its simplicity with a small armoire, a patchwork quilt, dainty flowered paper, and a vase of kidney vetch. For the second time she tried to finish the pedantic letter her younger sister had written to her. Although it imparted little in the way of news from Longbourn, it contained much unwanted advice for Miss Hughes regarding death being not an end but a passage to eternal life. Mary wrote,

You should encourage Miss Hughes to see her parents’ deaths as joyful release not just a cause for despair. Also…

The letter remained unread in its entirety and was returned to Elizabeth’s rosewood escritoire, which sat upon a table by the window, high above the cliff. From there, she espied someone on the steps leading to the beach. Miss Hughes. With elbows resting upon the hand-rail, the young lady seemed to be lost in thought, gazing across the Channel. Thinking her friend might wish to remain alone, Elizabeth was about to turn aside but noticed Miss Hughes wiping away tears. After fetching one of her own clean handkerchiefs, she hurried from the house.

Boot heels clacking on creaking wooden steps, she approached. “Miss Hughes, are you well?” There was no answer. “Would you prefer company or to be alone?”

“Stay, please.” The young lady’s eyes, as she turned, were red-rimmed. “Oh, my dear friend, I should be content. I know I should. The Bakers are lovely, and they have given me so much—a home, a better dowry, an inheritance. But I want what I cannot have. I want my parents back. And I would give everything I own, or will own, for more time with them. A year, a month, a se’nnight, a day, even just one hour. I want to throw my arms round them and tell them how much they mean to me. I want to ask questions only they can answer and to attentively listen this time to whatever they might wish to impart.” A sob escaped, and she dabbed at her eyes with a wet, wadded handkerchief.

As Miss Hughes sniffed back tears and stared across the water, Elizabeth wrapped her in an embrace from behind, resting her chin upon the girl’s shoulder. “It is perfectly understandable for you to be discontent and sad, and it is permissible to cry. Here.” Reaching round, she handed her the dry handkerchief. “I thought you might need this.”