The Curse of Land's End

by Rose Lorimer

  Mrs Hayford had led Edith to the first bedroom, but I missed her instructions.

  “See you later, Edith,” I said, hurrying my steps after Mrs Hayford as she kept walking down the corridor.

  “And that,” Mrs Hayford said pointing to another door, “will be your room, Miss Bennet. I hope it is to your liking. As Master Willi— I mean, Mr Darcy said, dinner is at seven, but if you need anything before, just pull the bell and a maid will attend you.

  She must have noticed my smile at her small lapse. “Forgive me, Miss Bennet. I have been working for the Darcy family for over thirty years. Some habits die hard.”

  Thirty years? How old is Mr Darcy? He could not be that old, could he?

  Mrs Hayford was a tiny old lady, with smart eyes, whitish hair tied up in a single bun, and impeccably dressed in a dark grey livery. She seems a very resourceful lady. “No need to apologise, Mrs Hayford. Mrs Hill, our housekeeper, also has worked for us since I was born. I perfectly understand. So you were with the family when Mr Darcy was born?”

  She opened the door, and as I entered the room I had no more words. “This is… beautiful.”

  “Yes. Mr Darcy was born two years after I joined the family.” She paused and as if measuring me, she added, “I am sure it will please Mr Darcy to know you like the room. The lilac bedroom is his favourite guest room. It was decorated by his mother, Lady Anne, who was a very accomplished lady.”

  Had he suggested to Mrs Hayford to put me in his favourite guest room?

  I stopped and turned to her. “She was?”

  “I am afraid Lady Anne died many years ago, as has Mr Darcy’s father. Very sad… Well, if you will excuse me, I will see you at dinner. Have a good rest.”

  Before I could restrain myself, I asked, “How long ago did Mr Darcy’s father pass?”

  “Five years last summer.”

  With those words she bowed and left, and my intention to make further inquires was bitterly thwarted. Mrs Hayford was too professional and loyal to indulge my curiosity any longer.

  Sitting on the comfortable bed, I thought about my brief interaction with Mr Darcy — Master William, as Mrs Hayford had tenderly called him.

  My lips twitched. Someone should forbid a single man to be so good looking. My thoughts turned to his distracting deep blue eyes again. Something in them… There was something in them. They were… sad?

  An uneasy feeling intruded on my reverie. When he shared his impression of the painting, he seemed divided, almost as if fighting against something. Odd. What could be the reason for that?

  Walking towards the window, I pulled the curtain. The street was calm and silent as a fancy neighbourhood such as Mayfair, one of the wealthiest in London, should be. Apparently, Mr Darcy had been blessed with everything anyone could ever desire.

  But then, why the discomfort? Why the sadness?

  My thoughts turned to the other man. Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to be very amiable, almost as handsome as Mr Darcy, not as tall and a little broader, probably from his life in the army. But where sadness would be acceptable, or even expected in a man used to seeing sorrow and death on the battlefield, there was just liveliness and good humour.

  Quite different from his cousin…

  What was Mr Darcy’s story?

  ***

  Mr Darcy and the colonel were already at the bottom of the stairs, waiting to escort us, both of them impeccably dressed. I was happy I had decided upon my best gown.

  Dinner would be served in the breakfast room, as there were just the four of us. The smaller room had the same standard of quality and good taste as the rest of the house. It was elegantly decorated with a beautiful combination of greens, reds and gold, mimicking an autumn day. The magnificent round mahogany table was not exactly small, easily seating six to eight people.

  After a divine meal, we went to the drawing room for tea. If I had thought the dinner had been pleasant, I confess I was not prepared for after dinner.

  For the first time — in my life — I was having a proper, intelligent and delightful conversation with not just one, but two well educated and handsome men.

  I must be in heaven!

  Trying very hard not to disclose my innermost impressions, I immersed myself in the conversation, as we talked about many artistic styles and literature.

  All my efforts were for nothing because my enthusiasm overflowed. This time, however, I was rewarded when I noticed that as we chatted, Mr Darcy’s reticent and aloof behaviour, which Charles had mentioned on many occasions, was long forgotten, and his relaxed and entertaining side started to show. For some reason, he kept calling me ‘Miss Elizabeth’ instead of ‘Miss Bennet’ as was my right after Jane’s marriage. In a secret way, it pleased me. Soon, his charm and interest entranced me beyond words.

  “So, Miss Elizabeth, should I conclude you are not just fond of mathematics and philosophy, but also literature, art and poetry? That is quite a singular combination for a young lady nowadays. Do you not agree, Richard? I do not think I have ever met a lady with such taste,” he said in a thoughtful tone.

  “Indeed, Darcy. Quite peculiar.”

  I blushed, but was not sure if Mr Darcy was pleased or just surprised.

  He held back a smile, then added, “Are you familiar with Dr Samuel Johnson’s work? ‘Where there is no education, as in savage countries, men will have the upper hand of women’. Is that what you believe?”

  I bit my lower lip at the challenge. “Assuming England is not a savage country, I would prefer to say that ‘Men know that women are an over-match for them, and therefore they choose the weakest or most ignorant. If they did not think so, they never could be afraid of women knowing as much as themselves’.”

  Mr Darcy and the colonel burst out in loud laugher.

  “Very well said, Miss Bennet,” the colonel said, drying his eyes.

  “To whom do we owe the gratitude for such a delightful upbringing, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr Darcy asked, recomposing himself.

  And then, it happened. The old wound was touched. My smile faded a little, taking with it part of the happiness of the last hour. I managed a weak smile, lowering my gaze. In that moment, I could not face them. “To my father, Mr Darcy. He is the one who always encouraged me to pursue subjects that were more to my taste than those of…” society’s suffocating imposition, “women.”

  Trying desperately to change the subject, I turned to Mr Darcy and, putting on my most charming voice, I asked, “Do you mind if I ask a personal question?”

  For a fraction of a second, he seemed worried. “Well, it depends.”

  “Oh, no. It is not anything too personal or embarrassing, I assure you. I just wanted to know,” I continued before he could reject my request. “Why do you call your cousin by his Christian name, while he calls you by your surname?”

  The two cousins exchanged glances and laughed again.

  My strategy to change subjects worked perfectly, and their reaction delighted me. I cannot say why, but it made me feel happy to see Mr Darcy relaxed, enjoying the conversation.

  “Do you know my cousin’s Christian name, Miss Bennet?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked me.

  I frowned and after a short consideration I smiled. “Fitzwilliam!” I answered, remembering his letter to Papa.

  “Precisely. Can you imagine the confusion of calling your cousin by your own surname?”

  “So, is it exactly the same name? I mean, the same spelling? I thought—”

  “No, Miss Elizabeth. You are perfectly correct,” Mr Darcy intervened. “My Christian name is my mother’s maiden name. I never asked her why she and my father decided upon this name. I can only guess that being the name of an old and traditional family — my grandfather was the former Earl of Matlock, a title which now belongs to my uncle, Richard’s father — it was her way to keep the connection. Although Darcy is an old and prestigious name, reminiscent of the time of the Norman invasion, my father’s family was never titled. Indirectly, it is the only connection left to
me after all these years since she passed away.”

  To my great regret, a shadow of sadness covered his handsome features for a moment before he raised his chin and continued smiling. His eyes, however, could not deny what was happening inside him.

  Mr Darcy stood up. “I think it is best for us all to retire early. We have some long and tiring days ahead. Miss Elizabeth, Miss Wiley, may we escort you upstairs?”

  Edith! I have forgotten about her!

  Chapter 6

  Darcy

  So far, our journey to Penzance had been bearable, to my utter surprise. Despite being mid-January, the weather had been clement. Sometimes it was a little windy, but mostly dry, which was a blessing considering the length of our journey. With the help of some acquaintances from the club, I had found the best places to stop — which, for me, consisted of resting the horses, stretching our legs and having a cup of tea to warm us up, or ordering some meals and hastily bidding the ladies and Richard a good night. No conversation.

  It was afternoon on the second day travelling, so we stopped at an inn at the top of a hill. After unpacking some of my things — I was travelling without my valet — I went downstairs to meet the others for a meal. A large window facing west caught my attention. The beautiful landscape extended up to where the sun was hiding behind the hills in a glorious sunset. The glow of pinks, oranges and blues spreading across the sky was breathtaking.

  A muffled shout startled me and I lowered my eyes to a more ordinary event. From my position on the second floor, I could see that two men were having a quarrel, if their gestures were any indication. The discussion became more intense and one of them pushed the other. The second man fell and something round rolled from his bag. The first man grabbed it and ran.

  Such a scene would have intrigued me had I not felt Elizabeth’s presence behind me.

  I did not move. I could not turn and find her eyes on me. Frozen in that pathetic position, pretending I had not noticed her there, I only hoped she would go away.

  Eventually, she did, and I confess, I felt sorry for it.

  That, unfortunately, was a good example of how I behaved during that torturous trip. As I predicted, I was a horrible companion.

  Miss Wiley was not much better, which left almost all the conversation up to Richard and Miss Elizabeth as I had resigned myself to merely sit — be it inside the carriage or at the table for a meal — and observe how they could talk so easily about everything.

  Ignoring Richard, I focused my attention on Miss Elizabeth, shamefully trying to find some fault in her behaviour. My secret intention was to stem the unsuitable admiration I found myself nurturing for her. It seemed too much for a lady to be kind, handsome and intelligent. She loved art, history, poetry, politics! She could speak French at a good level, loved long walks, sing and play the pianoforte. Not all of those well, she had admitted, but I really doubted it.

  To my complete annoyance, and despite her modest upbringing as a country gentlewoman, she was exactly what I had always envisioned in a wife. How could a woman possess so many extraordinary qualities and still be single? Perhaps her modern perspective of women being intellectually equal to men could be seen as a flaw on her character. But I could not. I had seen too much of the world to believe women to be less than men — especially in cunning ways. I had had my own share of it.

  By afternoon on our third day, I started to feel truly irritated and could not keep my temper any longer. To avoid any conversation, I pretended to be sleeping and hoped they could stop talking, giving me some time of silence.

  Alas. Instead, they started to whisper.

  As we had changed positions for this leg of the journey, Richard sat facing Miss Elizabeth, and to continue their conversation without disturbing my ‘sleep’ — or Miss Wiley’s, as the lady's voice was never heard — both of them leaned forward, their heads almost touching.

  I dropped my head against the window and kept my arms crossed over my chest. My legs, thank goodness, were stretched in front of me beside Miss Wiley, who being much smaller than Miss Elizabeth, allowed me to extend them without touching the silent lady. I needed to keep reminding myself Miss Elizabeth’s interests were not my business — even if this ‘business’ was my cousin.

  For some time, my attempts to control my annoyance were successful, and for about an hour I could barely hear them. Until I heard Miss Elizabeth mentioning my name.

  “…I know you said Mr Darcy was happy to have us. But Colonel, please tell me, is he going through any kind of… problem? I cannot think of a reason for a man to behave in such a strange way. I do not want to pry, but I would be more comfortable knowing… it is not our presence that is causing him such uneasiness.”

  A moment of silence followed, and I was at the point of intervening when Richard spoke again. “Although it is not my place to say more, I can confirm your perception is correct. The last six months have been very difficult for my cousin, especially these last two. I would even say they were the most difficult months of his life since his parents’ premature deaths. He is a good man and did not deserve it. But please, Miss Bennet, I would be much obliged if you could overlook his behaviour and just accept him for what he is, at the moment.”

  I could not hear her reply — if there was one. Either they stopped talking or their voices were too low for me to hear. But I was content with Richard. He had reassured her and bought me more time before I could ruin my reputation once and for all in her eyes.

  My reputation in her eyes.

  That thought scared me. Apparently, I cared for her good opinion more than I was inclined to admit.

  Chapter 7

  Elizabeth

  The journey from London to Cornwall was the strangest and more frustrating event of my entire life! I admit. I have neither travelled too often nor that far, but I have had some opportunities to travel with my uncle and aunt Gardiner in the last years. Despite that, nothing had prepared me for what I was about to experience when we left London behind.

  At first, the idea of travelling filled my soul with excitement. Spending three days with two intelligent and handsome gentlemen, crossing the country toward the wild and perilous southwest. What could be more exciting? But as the bare winter fields replaced buildings and crowds of the town, I noticed my dreams were to be bitterly thwarted. Mr Darcy was beyond puzzling. His mood could swing from the extreme of attention and politeness, to complete aloofness and sometimes even indifference. Brooding and sombre silence replaced the conversation and light banter for which I longed.

  On our second day, Mr Darcy ignored me completely. We had stopped at an inn for the night. The day had been a beautiful one, and from the window of my room I could see the sky promised an astonishing sunset. I ran downstairs full of enthusiasm. I had noticed one of the big windows was facing full west when we first entered the place.

  And there he was facing the window; imposing and handsome, and alone; his hands together behind his straight and stiff back. I approached carefully, not sure he would welcome my intrusion. I did not need to wait long. He ignored me. Utterly and completely. He did not move a muscle, not even to grimace at me, or show me, in any other way, his discontent.

  I hated to admit it, but it hurt me. I was not looking for something extraordinary like a smile, but being ignored like that, as if I were invisible? I turned on my heels and forgot all about the sunset, hoping the next couple of days were faster than those unpleasant ones before.

  Back to the carriage on the following day, I could not control my frustration any longer and commented on the occurrence with the colonel, inquiring about the possible cause for Mr Darcy’s behaviour. Could it be that I was being ignored for being… unpleasant? Disagreeable? Annoying? Too outspoken? The silence which followed my question concerned me excessively. But before my agony could choke me, the colonel just said, “Although it is not my right to say, I am afraid your perception is correct.”

  Surprisingly, his words caused me an unexpected relief. It was not becau
se of me Mr Darcy was behaving in that way, but because he had his personal reasons — which had nothing to do with me.

  “The last six months were very difficult for my cousin,” the colonel had said.

  I could not avoid turning my head and looking at Mr Darcy, sitting in that corner, arms crossed across his chest, legs stretched in front of him, his whole countenance marked by a scowl as if he resented the entire world. What, for goodness’ sake, could turn an honourable man — the man Charles had talked so much about — into someone so bitter… and aloof?

  “… I would even say the most difficult months of his life since his parents’ deaths…”

  Both his parents were dead, and he was going through a difficult time. That information provided the light I needed to form my final impression of Mr Darcy. If I could remove all I had considered initially as unexplained aloofness, and replace it by sadness, all his behaviour, all of his mood swings and contradictions, Mr Darcy would be a very different person. “… He is a good man and did not deserve it.”

  The colonel’s words kept resounding in my memory, “… since his parents’ deaths.” It was not his parents’ deaths that was causing him to behave in that way, but something that had occurred in these last six months.

  Our meeting in his drawing room, the very occasion when I had seen Mr Darcy for the first time, came back to me. “… Bingley wrote to me about his wonderful news. Unfortunately, I was detained in the north with some unpleasant business…” He had been in the north when Charles and Jane were married. Was that ‘unpleasant business’ what had caused him such damage? “Unfortunately, my sister Georgiana, who was expected to accompany us on this trip, is currently in Scotland,” he had written Papa in his letter.

  Whatever had caused him this great pain, the event seemed connected to his sister. But what could it be?

  I raised my eyes and found the colonel still talking about something that, in my momentary distraction, I had missed. He smiled, and I knew he took pity on me for my lapse in attention. Edith was not helpful either. When she was not sleeping, she was quiet and never took part in the conversation. Not even a stone could be more silent. For this reason, the burden of keeping the conversation alive had fallen on me and the colonel. And bless him, he was up to the challenge.