Longbourn's Songbird

by Beau North

  When Elizabeth relayed the news to her father that Hank Williams would be playing that night, he promised to use some of his “Darcy money” to bring the whole Bennet clan to Nashville for the weekend. She was sure that, if she looked hard enough, she would be able to pick out her mother’s Sunday hat in the crowd.

  This could not possibly be a worse idea, she thought as she heard their cue: the middle of “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry.”

  “Oh God.” She wrung her hands. “Jack, do we have any more of that gin?”

  “No time for that, Lizzie,” Jack said, not unkindly, before pushing her out onto the stage with a final warning to “Smile, damn it.”

  She blinked in the lights, relieved to find that she actually couldn’t see very much of the audience against the glare. She relaxed, putting on her most winning smile. Everyone took their places, and Elizabeth found herself standing five feet from a whip-thin man with a stooped posture and dark eyes similar to her own. His face was all planes and angles, but when he smiled, it softened the severity of his features. She wondered whether the microphones were picking up the thud of her heart beating double time.

  Jack spoke into his own microphone. “With your permission, Hank, we’d like to begin with one of yours. If you’d care to join us?”

  Elizabeth bit back the scream that tried to work its way out of her. From her first performance with the Black Mountain Family Singers, she had struggled to overcome her own feelings of inadequacy. She always thought she was good enough to sing at Meryton’s garden parties but little more. In the weeks since she started singing with Jack, she gradually began to recognize and appreciate her own talent. But nothing had prepared her for singing with Hank Williams at the Grand Ole Opry!

  A memory popped into the front of her mind: singing at the Centennial garden party at Lucas Lodge, Will Darcy standing so close to her chair she nearly bumped his hip with her elbows as she played, and the look on his face when she sang. That was well done.

  “Well, I’d be delighted, Jack,” Hank said into his own microphone. “What did you have in mind?”

  “How about ‘I Saw the Light’?”

  “How’s that sound, little lady?”

  Elizabeth realized with a start that Hank was talking to her. She beamed at him, hoping she didn’t look like a complete lunatic.

  “I believe I know all the words to that one,” she blurted into her microphone, instantly mortified. The crowd laughed, and she was gratified to see Jack give her a discreet wink before the music started.

  Contrary to what Elizabeth expected, her family was exceptionally well behaved that evening.

  ***

  As Thomas Bennet watched his little June-Bug singing her heart out onstage, he was overcome. Love and pride were pulling him apart at the seams, and when he glanced at his wife, he was gratified to see her expression a mirror of his own. He took her hand and kissed it almost reverently.

  “That’s our girl up there.”

  ***

  “You’re learning!” Anne said proudly, beaming at Charlotte from across the chessboard.

  “I am. I’m learning that you cheat.” Charlotte moved her king, capturing the black bishop.

  Anne laughed and leaned forward, planting a light, sweet kiss on Charlotte’s lips. “Only at chess.”

  They sat in Anne’s room, the only place they could be assured of any measure of privacy. Charlotte’s husband was out for the afternoon, overseeing some repairs to the church roof.

  The previous week’s storm had blown a good many shingles away to reveal the roof below, swollen and rotting. Much like him, Charlotte thought bitterly. She looked over at Anne. The heat in the upstairs bedroom had both women down to their nylon slips and Anne’s hair piled in a soft bun on top of her head.

  As unhappy as her marriage to Leland Collins was and as vile as her husband could be, Charlotte couldn’t bring herself to regret the decision to marry him. If she’d never married her husband, she never would have fallen in love with the fascinating woman sitting beside her.

  “A-ha!” Anne cried out. “You’ve left yourself open, milady.” She moved her knight over Charlotte’s pawn, effectively capturing the queen.

  “Check and mate!” Anne grinned.

  Feeling bold, Charlotte put her hand on the back of Anne’s neck, drawing her closer, planting featherlight kisses on Anne’s eyelids, her temples, the corner of her mouth… She kissed the dimple on Anne’s chin, the base of her throat, and the curve of her bare shoulder. Anne sighed happily, wrapping one arm around Charlotte’s waist, the other around her shoulders.

  “I love, love…” Anne said gasping before Charlotte captured her mouth in a deep kiss, the chessboard falling to the floor with a clatter.

  ***

  August 1949

  Mountain Dance & Folk Festival

  Grove Park, Lambton, North Carolina

  “This is better, isn’t it?” Georgiana asked her brother as they took their seats, moving into the shade. He would only respond with a noncommittal grunt. The Darcys sponsored the Mountain Folk Festival every year as their mother had before them, but they had never actually attended. This year was their first time, and though Darcy preferred jazz to bluegrass, he was willing to endure the afternoon for his sister’s sake.

  It had started with a list, written by Georgiana and approved by both of them—a list of small challenges designed to expose them more to the world around them, making them more accessible and knowledgeable of people outside their exclusive circle. It had been difficult but ultimately rewarding. They started by attending church services in Lambton together as their family had done before Anne Darcy’s death.

  Georgiana became involved with the small community of Jewish refugees that had come to work in Darcy’s furniture factory. When she heard they had nowhere to worship and no rabbi, she started a fund for their temple. She wrote countless letters on their behalf, searching for their loved ones lost. It was heartbreaking work. After hearing some of their stories, Georgiana would thank them and offer what comfort she could, knowing that she would lock herself in her room and cry herself to sleep later. Every problem she had in her life felt small and indulgent in the face of such suffering.

  One of the items on their list was to actually attend the events their family sponsored, and they both decided that a folk music festival could be a harmless way to fill that obligation. Now Darcy was having doubts.

  “Why are we here, again?” he grumbled. “You don’t even like this kind of music.”

  “I like some of it. And we’re here because we promised each other we’d try new things, like acting like normal people for once.”

  “We are normal people.”

  “No,” she said more quietly so only he could hear her, “we’re not. We’re a couple of spoiled, rich kids who live so isolated that we’ve lost all talent for society. Besides, we’ve heard some good music today.”

  She hoped her enthusiasm would be enough to turn around her brother’s mood. “And I hear nothing but raves about the next group.” She looked at the program again. “Jack Burchette and the Black Mountain Family Singers. I think they’re local, Will.”

  “Most likely. Lambton is lousy with Burchettes. Let me see that.” He plucked the program from her hands and bent over to read it, wanting to look busy.

  After several hours, he learned that when he did not seem occupied in some way, people were constantly coming up and speaking to him. He had shaken hands with the mayor, two ministers, Father Mulligan, the principal of Lambton High (who thanked him for all the new baseball equipment) and every single geezer in the Lambton Rotary Club.

  He was mentally exhausted, and his forced smile was beginning to hurt. He thought it was better to stare at the program as if he were deep in thought than to be outright rude. Bent over the program, he allowed his mind to wander freely.

  His thoughts may have started with trying to decide whether or not to tear down the old cider house or refurbishing Pemberley’s west wing,
but as always, it ended up at the same place: a flash of white through the dark woods, a pair of eyes like liquid ink.

  It had been four long months since he had seen Elizabeth—riding away on the back of Richard’s motorcycle. At first, the days had gone by with a dull, agonizing slowness. He threw himself into his work, paying special attention to the cotton harvest at Longbourn, making sure the farm had the best of everything. He could do that much to honor her at least.

  He put off going back for the harvest. His biggest fear was that she would turn away from him or greet him with cool, forced politeness. He wanted to give her the time she needed. Her words to Richard still struck him. I’m choosing myself. She was so brave! He knew he loved her now more than ever.

  Caught up as he was, it seemed perfectly natural that he should hear her voice moments later, richer and sweeter than he had ever heard before.

  Don’t you see that lonesome dove

  Flying from pine to pine

  He’s mourning for his own true love

  Just like I mourn for mine

  His head snapped up, looking towards the stage. He honed in on her with uncanny accuracy, not that she was difficult to find. She wore a cream-colored dress he had never seen before, and her hair was cut shorter and styled in such a way that made her look less like a girl and more like a woman.

  Come back, come back, my own true love

  And stay awhile with me

  If ever I’ve had a friend in this world

  You’ve been a friend to me

  And yet, there in her hair was that telltale yellow ribbon. His father always liked to say, “God is in the details,” and it was that bit of ribbon that quickly brought him to his feet.

  “There’s your goddamned terminal velocity at work,” he muttered, heart pounding in his chest. He was helplessly, joyfully pulled in towards her, the center of his gravity.

  “William?” Georgiana looked up at him in surprise.

  “I’ll be right back, Georgie.” Try as he might he couldn’t keep the tremor from his voice. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  He sped off towards the stage, dodging people left and right, unconcerned with the chatter that seemed to follow his every move. He did not care whether he looked a fool. Elizabeth was there, and he would not stop until he was standing in front of her. He had no idea what he would say; he only knew that his heart was stirring inside him for the first time in months, urging him on the way it had the day of the accident. Only this time, he obeyed.

  His eyes returned to her again and again, rejoicing at the very sight of her, reveling in the sound of her voice. He was near the stage when his foot caught a tree root and he fell like an old pine. He felt a sharp pain and a wet heat go up his forearm. Blood was already soaking through the sleeve of his shirt.

  “Damn it,” he cursed under his breath, ripping the sleeve up to the elbow. A long, ugly gash ran up the length of his arm from wrist to elbow. The culprit lay glinting in the sun, a broken beer bottle.

  “William!” He turned to see Georgiana, out of breath, standing behind him. “I’ll go get the doctor!”

  She turned and ran before he could snap at her for leaving her seat. People were looking at him—the great, proud master of Pemberley on his knees and bleeding. He looked through the crowd, desperate to find an emissary. It was then that he saw Mrs. Alice Goodman, the mayor’s wife, hurrying towards him.

  “Mr. Darcy! Are you quite all right?”

  “My sister has gone to fetch the doctor. I’ll be fine, ma’am,” he said reassuring her. Every few seconds his eyes went back to the stage, making certain he was not dreaming.

  Mrs. Goodman looked at him in concern. She did not know him well, but well enough to find his behavior unusual. “Is there anything I can get you in the meantime? Do you need a glass of water?”

  “No, no water. But I do need a big favor from you.”

  ***

  Elizabeth walked offstage, eager to explore the festival and the picturesque little town of Lambton. She could see why Maddie and Jack had such fond memories of the place they grew up. It was one of the loveliest towns Elizabeth had ever seen.

  She spotted her aunt standing to the side with a stylish older woman who seemed to be assessing her with an amused glint in her eyes.

  “Lizzie, I’d like you to meet Alice Goodman. Alice is an old school friend of mine, and her husband is the mayor of Lambton. Alice, this is my niece Elizabeth Bennet.” Mrs. Goodman pulled Elizabeth into a warm hug, which Elizabeth always considered to be the handshake of southern matrons.

  “So nice to meet you, Miss Alice. I’m already in love with your town.” Her choice of words seemed to further amuse the other woman.

  “Thank you, Miss Bennet. We’re rather fond of it. And let me just congratulate you on your performance. You have a lovely voice.”

  “Elizabeth, Alice has come to deliver a message to you.” The careful way Maddie eyed her made Elizabeth nervous.

  “It seems we have one more acquaintance in common besides your aunt, Miss Bennet. Mr. Darcy is here today and would very much like to see you again before you leave.”

  “Mr. Darcy? Here?” Elizabeth paled. “Where is he?”

  “He had a little accident while you were on stage. One of our doctors is patching him up now. He said that, if it’s convenient for you, he will meet you here in a half hour. He also asked if he could introduce you to his sister.”

  This was a remarkably toned-down version from what he actually said which was more like, “Sit on her if she tries to leave.”

  “His sister?” Elizabeth swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She looked at her aunt who only smiled knowingly.

  “I…um…Yes. You can tell Mr. Darcy that it would be…convenient for me to meet with him and Miss Darcy.”

  She was angry with herself for being unable to master the simple task of completing a sentence. She wondered how she could face him now that she was just starting to regain some of her shattered confidence. Would one short meeting unravel all that she had managed to build?

  The months since she last saw him had given her time to come to a few truths. She cared for Will Darcy a great deal. If she was being honest with herself, she had to admit that she had loved him and loved him still. He was a man who, despite his cool and refined outer appearance, had a passionate nature that could rival her own. No one, not even Richard, had ever stoked the fire that burned in her the way he did. She knew deep down that they would have suited each other in every possible way. Marriage to such a man would not have been a hardship or a burden but a source of such happiness that she would never have a moment’s regret.

  Only the memory of his interlude with Caroline Bingley had kept Elizabeth at bay. Caroline was a beautiful woman, and Elizabeth had no doubt that she had long since accomplished her great campaign for Mr. Darcy’s affections. Only, why then would he want to see me?

  “Damn him,” she muttered under her breath, digging her compact out of her purse to check her hair.

  ***

  Union Station

  Washington, D.C.

  The next train didn’t leave for New York for another fourteen hours, giving Richard plenty of time to make a foolish decision.

  It was exactly what he was in the mood for after the day he’d spent.

  He’d found the Fitzwilliam house in Annapolis too empty for him. Every corner was haunted by the ghosts of his father and brother. Richard spent the previous night rifling through his father’s room, drunkenly emptying the contents of the admiral’s bureau onto the floor. It had been painfully satisfying, pawing through what few letters and trinkets the old man had saved over the years. That morning, he’d woken up on the floor with a pounding head and an overwhelming urge to see his mother, whom he hadn’t visited in years.

  He’d driven into D.C. and signed in at the front desk at St. Agatha’s. I hope you’re happy, James, he thought as they led him back to her room.

  A riding accident was to blame for damaging his mother and
driving his father away permanently. When he was seven years old, Richard was thrown from his beloved horse Pilgrim who’d been spooked by a snake in the grass. Richard remembered the exact sound of his collarbone breaking, his mother calling his name as she rushed over, unmindful of the still-kicking horse. That was the end of Dottie Fitzwilliam as they’d known her.

  After the doctors gave them the news, Admiral Fitzwilliam took his Winchester and blew a hole in Pilgrim’s head. Richard cried in his sickbed while James held his hands over Richard’s ears. Sing a song, Richie. Sing as loud as you can, and it’ll all be over. Richard sang through his tears, but even then, he still heard the pop of his father’s rifle.

  Dottie was much the same as she was the last time Richard had seen her, slack-jawed and vacant-eyed. Her eyes slid over him with no more recognition for him than she had for the walls around her.

  “Hello, Ma,” he said as he kissed her white hair, cropped close now. It didn’t grow around the shiny, crescent-shaped scar above her temple. That part of her head was misshapen and slightly caved in. He sat in the room’s only other chair and found her empty silence strangely comforting. They sat that way for hours, each lost in their own world.

  Now looking around the bar, Richard tried to hide his distaste. There was a time in his life when a good time had come as easily to him as breathing. Now he had to work at it.

  Women had always interested him, amused him, fascinated him. To him, they were all so unique: each a soft, beautiful lady but different from the next…or so he believed at the time. Looking at the artificial, sad-eyed creatures he saw there, he knew he couldn’t have been more wrong. They were all the same, save one.

  He looked over at the bar. There was a girl sitting alone, her tumble of dark hair making him stop in his tracks. Her eyes, a watery gray, lit up at his apparent interest. He smiled politely, moving quickly away from her. She wasn’t what he needed.

  I am done with brunettes, he swore silently.

  He sidled in next to a pretty blonde woman, who gave him a hint of a smile and a nod. She was a good-looking woman, despite the signs of age that were beginning to show around her eyes and mouth. She turned to open her purse, allowing him a moment to give her a discreet once-over. She straightened, opening a silver cigarette case and putting one to her pouty, red lips. He was ready with his lighter in his hand, and she smiled gratefully at him as she drew close enough to light the end of her cigarette.