Page 131 of Bitterness of Spirit & The Painting

Her voice and her hands were trembling with distress as she tried to explain. Darcy smiled at her kindly and took her hands in his.

“Mrs Clarke, please listen to me for a moment, would you?”

She paused and nodded, still tearful.

“I know my mother loved this place and she came here for treatment for many, many years.”

“Yes. When my parents were still alive…”

“I am sorry I have not visited you lately, but I would like to do so now and in the future. I could rent a room somewhere else, but I would rather stay here if you approve of it. My sister might join me later, so…would you accept my help in hiring some more staff and restoring the house? Perhaps Jenny, Abby or Tom have some relatives that need employment? They might begin today, if possible. I will need a room for myself and rooms for my valet and my coachmen. My friend, Mr Bingley, will join me tomorrow—so he will need accommodation too. I may stay at an inn tonight if it is easier that way. And while I am here, I will gladly offer my support to restore the house to its former splendour. My servants will help too.”

With every word, Mrs Clarke’s expression changed and her distress increased. She listened in disbelief, blinking repeatedly, struggling to breathe.

“Would that be acceptable?” he asked softly.

“But… Mr Darcy, why… This is… I cannot accept. I would never be able to repay you. I might not live so long and—”

“Mrs Clarke, all I wish is to see this place as I remember it, and as my mother loved it. There is nothing to repay since it is I who wish to make all these changes. It is my request, so I will be responsible for it. It will be worth it to know that my sister and I have a place where we can enjoy the sea and our family memories. That is … if it is not too much trouble for you, of course.”

“Mr Darcy! My dear Mr Darcy, how can I thank you? If I could only…I cannot believe it...If only…”

She was about to kiss his hand, but he startled and withdrew it in haste.

“Mrs Clarke, if you want to thank me, let us fetch Jenny, Abby and Tom; I will call my valet too and let us proceed with the arrangements. Never speak of gratitude or repayment again.”

His voice was harsher than he intended, but it helped the lady to regain her composure and jolted her out of the paralysis caused by her astonishment. She wiped her tears while she called for the servants, gathering them around the table, together with Darcy’s valet and the two coachmen. Everyone started to talk excitedly and chaotically.

“I will take a short walk if my help is not needed,” Darcy said.

“Oh no, I mean yes! Of course, you may go, sir. We will take care of everything. And we will prepare dinner ready for your return,” Mrs Clarke replied, her face and voice animated.

He was about to leave the house when she called to him again.

“Mr Darcy! One more question, sir. Would you like to stay in the chamber that Lady Anne usually occupied? Or would you prefer another one? We will clean a room for you right away, sir!”

Darcy hesitated a moment. “My mother’s room will be fine,” he replied.

A short while later, he was walking towards the beach, with a strange tightness in his chest. It pained him to see the cottage in such a state and he felt grateful he could do something to remedy it. Abandoning Mrs Clarke would be like a betrayal of his mother’s memory and he regretted that he had never made enquiries about her in all those years.

He glanced back. Just as he had noticed on his arrival, from a distance the cottage looked even more like a ruin—like a glimpse of the past that had returned to demand its rights. He had come there precisely in search of the past and he could not allow it to vanish into the dust.

Darcy’s thoughts were disturbed by the sound of a pianoforte. Somewhere nearby, someone was performing in a most praiseworthy manner.

The contrast between the sound of the music and that of loud, lively voices was distressing, and he looked around, trying to ascertain which of the houses it was coming from. He felt intrigued yet nervous, without any good reason, so he turned back towards the house, the music following him. The person who played was doing so with equal mastery and feeling, proving they were not only talented but also fond of music. Just like his mother, his sister—and Elizabeth.

This last thought offered him the answer to why he felt so anxious. It was because of her, of course—as it always was—adding yet more grief to his turmoil.

With his musings changing from one minute to the next, he saddled one of his horses and mounted, galloping along a path out of Brighton. Soon enough, the sound of music, voices, and people all disappeared. But his torment did not—quite the contrary. With the soft summer breeze blowing in his face, the tumult inside him increased.

After a while, Darcy discovered a narrow path that led from the main road through a grove, down towards the shore. It was a completely secluded place, several miles away from the last house on the road out of the town, where the sea met the shore in a bay with restless waves. There, he stopped and allowed his horse to rest, while he sat down in the shade of a tree. In front of him, there was nothing but the endlessness of the sea, meeting the skyline.

He had been in Brighton for only a few hours and was already questioning his decision. What did he expect to accomplish? And to what purpose? Stirring up the past meant betraying his mother’s dying wish; she asked him to burn the painting just as it was, with all the letters hidden within it. That was what he had to do. The only honourable thing. He needed to know nothing further and to act in no other way!

The only fortunate outcome of his presence in Brighton was the opportunity to help Mrs Clarke. Once the house was properly restored, perhaps Georgiana would like to visit it too. His sister had always loved the sea—apparently an inheritance from their mother—but after the tragic events at Ramsgate, he was uncertain she would agree to visit the sea again soon—if ever.

His reflections over Georgiana caused Darcy’s thoughts to travel to Wickham again—and from him back to Elizabeth. Everything took his thoughts back to Elizabeth—always.

Trying to calm himself, he closed his eyes and leant against the tree, listening to the sound of the waves until he lost track of time.