Darcy's Redemption

by M. A. Sandiford

  She slipped in and found a seat. Intent on the score, Georgiana did not look up. Her hands flew over the keyboard in a level of proficiency Elizabeth had witnessed only at concerts. A complicated arpeggio sequence went awry and the pianist finally turned round.

  ‘Oh, good morning! I’m sorry …’

  ‘What amazing music!’

  ‘It’s Chopin, a new Ballade. I love it, but parts are very difficult.’

  Elizabeth advanced for a closer view of the grand piano. ‘The instrument is remarkable.’

  ‘William had it delivered specially from Paris. It’s made by the Pleyel firm favoured by Chopin himself.’ She pointed at the mechanism. ‘The felt on the hammers allows a broader range, from a whisper, to a volume that shakes the whole room. Some call it vulgar, but for Beethoven and Chopin it’s perfect.’ She moved over. ‘Would you like to try?’

  Smiling, Elizabeth joined Georgiana on the long stool. The Ballade was so daunting she made no attempt to play even a bar, but launched into an Irish air called The Last Rose of Summer which she recalled playing and singing at Rosings. This time she did not sing; she wanted to listen to the instrument.

  Georgiana clapped. ‘Shall we try together? I have duets suitable for sight-reading.’

  The stool opened into a box for keeping sheet music. Georgiana pulled out a booklet of short party pieces, and offered her partner the easier upper part. Hesitant at first, Elizabeth was soon lost in enjoyment. Aided by the fine pianoforte, and Georgiana’s steadiness, her own performance was raised to a new level. She was surprised too by the relaxed gaiety with which Georgiana played. And this was the proud Miss Darcy! Once, Georgiana pretended to daydream, and mechanically played a chord over and over even though it no longer fitted the tune.

  They finished a military march with a flourish, to find the gentlemen had joined them. Darcy, flushed with exercise, was standing at the doorway beside a dapper gentleman who would presumably be Mr Molyneux.

  Darcy introduced Georgiana’s husband, who bowed to Elizabeth with enthusiasm.

  ‘So I come face to face with the famous EB!’

  ‘Then you would be PM,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I loved your sketch of your daughter.’

  ‘If that is all the compliments,’ Darcy said gravely, ‘we may adjourn for breakfast.’

  The meal was so lavish that Elizabeth wondered whether it was designed to impress. Soft-boiled eggs and crescent-shaped rolls called kipferl were supplemented by dishes of devilled kidneys and cauliflower cheese—all this in addition to bowls of fruit and jugs of coffee. The family had no intention of letting her leave: her day was planned out already. A stroll by the Serpentine. Rotten Row at the fashionable hour. Concert in the evening.

  ‘And after lunch?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘No respite,’ Philip Molyneux said. ‘You will sit so that I can capture your likeness.’

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. ‘A portrait?’

  ‘Of a kind. Have you heard of drawing with light?’

  Georgiana explained, ‘It means the recording on paper of an image seen through a camera obscura.’

  ‘All my life,’ Molyneux continued, ‘I have sought a way of preserving a scene as it is presented to my eye at a given moment. Art may come close, but an element of subjectivity distorts the image. We see not what is there, but what we expect to be there, or even what we would like to be there.’

  Elizabeth gasped. ‘So the picture of your daughter that hangs in her chamber …’

  ‘Is a photogenic drawing,’ Molyneux said. ‘I am trying to extend methods of my friend Mr Fox Talbot. The idea is to coat paper with a chemical solution that darkens on exposure to light. In a camera obscura, a sharp image results, but with dark and light reversed. By shining bright light through this image, on to another sheet similarly prepared, the original scene is recovered.’

  ‘Except,’ smiled Darcy, ‘that on exposure to daylight, the whole image turns black.’

  ‘That would be true,’ Molyneux said, ‘were it not for a further stage of fixing, after which the paper is no longer darkened by light …’

  ‘But slowly whitens instead,’ Darcy said, ‘so that over a period of months the picture disappears altogether.’

  ‘And all that remains is a dirty yellow piece of paper,’ Georgiana added.

  Elizabeth smiled, enjoying their enthusiasm. ‘All right, I’ve been warned. It is like life: all beauty fades. But what is required of me?’

  ‘Only that you sit still,’ Molyneux said. ‘Very still, for fifteen minutes, or ten if the sun is out.’

  ‘Which explains why we have no pictures of the boys,’ Georgiana said.

  Next on the agenda was an outing to the park, but Elizabeth had begun to take fright. She drew Darcy aside, and said softly, ‘I think I should remain behind.’

  ‘You are afraid of being recognised?’

  ‘You must see it from the Sibley family’s perspective. I come from an immoral family. If I am seen with a gentleman, inferences are drawn.’ Another thought struck her. ‘Which means we should reconsider our plan for bringing Lydia to England. If Fredo finds out, you will be placed in the most embarrassing position.’

  Elizabeth felt wretched at rejecting Darcy’s offer. She feared he would be offended, but instead he said calmly, ‘There is no urgency, so we can reflect further. As to our morning outing, may I suggest we employ a stratagem to ensure you are not recognised?’

  ‘Namely?’

  ‘We have a chest containing items for dressing up. It is used for charades, or acting out scenes from plays.’

  Elizabeth laughed. ‘Am I to be a princess? A pirate?’

  ‘A wig should suffice, since people pay most attention to hair colour.’

  Ten minutes later Elizabeth studied herself in the mirror, silver-haired, in fashionable dress and hat. The effect was so startling that any remaining worries were silenced. No-one would recognise this woman as herself.

  The park was a five minute walk away, and before long their party divided, the Molyneuxs a little ahead, leaving Elizabeth on Darcy’s left arm, while he sported a cane in the other hand. To parade with Darcy was so piquant that Elizabeth was reluctant to start a conversation: she wanted to savour the moment. Passers-by greeted him, and heads turned to ascertain who this new friend might be. But she felt secure in her disguise.

  ‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘I was so pre-occupied with my own reputation that I forgot about yours.’

  ‘The conventions are more relaxed for a gentleman.’

  ‘But what if someone is introduced to me?’

  ‘We will have to invent a plausible visitor from afar. A Russian countess, perhaps.’

  They reached a broad path beside the lake, shaded by a row of lime trees.

  ‘Are you still in touch with the Bingleys?’ she asked.

  He hesitated, aware no doubt that this would be a sensitive topic. ‘Charles has an estate thirty miles from Pemberley, so we meet often.’ He looked at her. ‘You knew he was married?’

  ‘No, although it is hardly surprising.’

  ‘Took his time, but tied the knot a year after I married Arethusa.’

  ‘So Mr Bingley followed your lead in matrimony, as in most other things?’ Elizabeth said slyly.

  ‘He remains as before: good-humoured, accommodating. There were tensions once, for reasons you can guess, but he forgave me.’

  ‘What sort of person is his wife?’

  ‘Vanessa is calm, pleasant, pretty. They have four children at the last count.’ Darcy smiled. ‘I thought he might marry Arethusa’s vivacious sister Susannah, but in the end he showed good judgement. Vanessa steadies him.’

  Elizabeth nodded sadly: Vanessa Bingley sounded a lot like Jane. ‘Why do they avoid London?’

  ‘He says it is too crowded, although that never bothered him before. I think the real purpose has been to protect his wife from Caroline and Louisa. Vanessa’s family, like Charles’s, gained its wealth through industry. Her father is a succe
ssful cotton mill owner.’ Darcy met Elizabeth’s eye. ‘You can probably guess Caroline’s reaction to that. Mind you, her own stock has fallen since the Great Reform Act. She used to live in Mayfair, near Grosvenor Street.’

  Elizabeth shivered: she had not weighed the risk of a chance meeting with the former Miss Bingley. ‘And now?’

  ‘They had to move south of the river after her husband lost most of his fortune. Trevelyan was Member of Parliament for a rotten borough where he was elected by a mere dozen votes. When the Act became law he lost his seat, and was accused of exploiting his ministerial position to favour his private investments. Only reparations and a substantial fine kept him out of prison.’ Darcy smiled. ‘I believe Charles helped bail him out, which is ironic.’

  ‘And so like Mr Bingley.’

  ‘Yes, Charles has more generosity than common sense, if you want my frank opinion.’

  Elizabeth threw him a teasing glance. ‘Frank opinions are usually unpleasant, I have found. Your aunt was a case in point.’

  ‘Lady Catherine is no longer with us, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Elizabeth coloured. ‘And Miss de Bourgh? Colonel Fitzwilliam?’

  Darcy sighed. ‘Cousin Anne never regained her health. If only we could have persuaded her to walk in the fresh air and build up her strength. But no, she stayed indoors, took potions that did her no good, and gradually faded. It was a blow my aunt never recovered from; the following year she too passed away.’

  ‘What happened to Rosings?’

  He smiled. ‘Lady Catherine intended to leave it to me, provided I married Anne, but when I got engaged to Arethusa she redrafted her will in favour of her brother, the earl. Accordingly it was he that inherited, and upon his death the estate passed to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s brother—who also inherited Matlock, of course.’

  ‘And what of the colonel?’

  ‘Fitz carried on soldiering after distinguishing himself at Waterloo. He seemed a confirmed bachelor. But a tragic accident transformed his fortunes. His brother, the new earl, was fond of hunting, and while jumping a wall fell from his horse and broke his neck. He left no male heir. And so Fitz, who had complained all his life of his status as younger son, found himself master of both Matlock and Rosings, a holding amounting to £35,000 a year.’

  ‘And did this change his marital prospects?’

  ‘It did. The very next year he wedded the Duke of Suffolk’s youngest daughter.’

  ‘How extraordinary.’ Another teasing glance. ‘You are not jealous?’

  Darcy stiffened, and for a moment the old hauteur was back. ‘You will call me pompous, but I can honestly disavow the sentiment. Fitz was heroic during the war against France. If any man deserves good luck, it is he. Of course he grieved to inherit through his brother’s accident. But the estates are flourishing. From his time in the army, he knows how to organise and lead.’

  Ahead, Georgiana had halted to watch a race between two rowing crews. Philip Molyneux spun round to tackle Darcy. ‘You are monopolising our guest, William.’

  They argued semi-seriously on who should accompany Elizabeth back to Darcy House, until she settled the matter by returning with Georgiana.

  10

  Three days later, Gracechurch Street

  The Gardiners had kept their large house in Cheapside so that grandchildren could visit. Retired now, Mr Gardiner poured through the financial pages of newspapers, watching over his investments; his wife was often found writing letters or lost in a novel. Both were impressed by the portrait that Elizabeth had brought them.

  ‘So this is a photogenic drawing.’ Mr Gardiner shook his head in wonder. ‘Whatever next.’

  ‘The likeness is remarkable, Lizzy, yet the face is a bit blurred,’ Mrs Gardiner said.

  ‘My fault for moving my head.’ Elizabeth raised a finger. ‘Best to keep it to yourselves. If Mr Fox Talbot finds out, he may demand royalties.’

  ‘To which he would be entitled,’ Mr Gardiner said.

  They were taking afternoon tea, after Darcy’s landau had crossed London carrying Elizabeth and her luggage, now enhanced by a case with two new dresses and a pair of slippers. The three days at Darcy House had been an oasis of pleasure, a gift as unexpected as Villa la Pietra. She had sampled life in a wealthy household where people followed interesting pursuits and treated one another with humour and kindness. But reality was about to administer a cold shower. Two letters awaited on a tray in the hall; on finishing tea she would have to open them.

  ‘It would be so exciting to see Lydia again.’ Elizabeth sighed. ‘What think you of Mr Darcy’s offer, Uncle? Am I being foolish?’

  ‘It shows unusual generosity,’ Mrs Gardiner said. ‘I am reminded of his housekeeper’s tribute, which at the time we thought exaggerated.’

  Mr Gardiner nodded. ‘I am inclined to agree with Lizzy that the responsibility should be ours. It is not after all a huge sum. By selling railway shares I can easily raise it.’

  Elizabeth reddened. ‘I feel I am imposing.’

  ‘Lydia is our niece,’ Mr Gardiner said. ‘£150 for first class, you said?’

  ‘Less than half that amount for second class. Mr Darcy made enquiries.’

  ‘The voyage is long,’ Mr Gardiner said. ‘I have waited six months for merchant ships to arrive from Australia.’

  ‘Then let us pay the first-class fare,’ Mrs Gardiner said. ‘We can take in lodgers if we run short.’

  Both letters were from Fredo. Elizabeth went to the bedroom she usually occupied, to open them in private. The first, delivered two days before, was predictable enough:

  Since you left without telling me your destination I have had to copy this note to other addresses. Please remedy this omission forthwith: despite all, I am responsible for you. As to your outburst, I await some sign of contrition, after which I will communicate the terms under which you may return to my house.

  The second urged Elizabeth to respond immediately, since the children were anxious over her whereabouts. The tone as before was patronising, but at least she was reassured on one point: Fredo had not learned of her visit to Darcy House. She did not believe Grace and Robert were anxious. This had been said only to frighten her into compliance.

  Elizabeth sat a long time at a window desk, pondering her reply. Her usual strategy had been appeasement, for the children’s sake. But there were limits. She recalled a remark of Darcy’s, in the drawing room at Netherfield, distinguishing vanity and pride. Pride was not in itself a vice. Every person had a right to self-respect, and hers had been pushed too far.

  She took a sheet of rough paper to outline a possible response.

  Dear Fredo, Please tell the children that I am well, and staying with my uncle and aunt. As to contrition, I accept that in my anger, I made comments on your work that were insulting and exaggerated. I would ask you, however, to recall your own comments, to which I was reacting. To whit, that I was ignorant, too emotional to judge clearly, too stupid to understand scripture. To this one might add the insults I have borne over many years from members of your family. Has anyone ever asked whether an apology might be due to me? I am not refusing to admit error. Like most people, I have faults as well as virtues. What I cannot accept is that your family is entirely virtuous, while I am entirely flawed.

  It might reassure Grace and Robert if I could see them at a pleasure garden or other venue. If you are agreeable to this, please let me know where and when. Yours, E.

  Elizabeth read through this effort several times, making small changes. She could imagine the derision with which it would be received. But how satisfying to say what she truly thought.

  This duty discharged, she owed a reply also to Darcy, over Lydia. She felt her whole posture relax at the prospect. A note would suffice, but she wanted to strike the right tone.

  Dear Mr Darcy, As you know I am the most heartless of creatures, which would explain why I have decided to frustrate your generous plan by letting my uncle pay for Lydia’s voyage home. You
may view this as evidence of feminine indecision, since originally I accepted your offer, but I did so only after you had overfilled my brandy glass, so the fault is yours. In any case, I regard you as equally heartless, for making my stay at DH so delightful that normal existence pales in comparison. Thank Georgiana for her kindness. With warmest good wishes, EB.

  Elizabeth smiled, enjoying the silliness of the letter: it was as if her 20-year-old self had escaped from long imprisonment.

  For two weeks Elizabeth remained at Gracechurch Street, reacquainting herself with the simple pleasure of reading whatever she wanted, and writing pieces that could eventually be offered to The Lady’s Magazine. In the meantime messages passed back and forth, including the following from her husband:

  I have taken legal advice over your last, and the situation is as I imagined. You have violated your vows before God to honour and obey. Your accusations of ill-use are void, since you have on two occasions left home and then returned, thus accepting that any error was yours alone. When you have shown genuine contrition, I will consider your request regarding the children.

  In response, Elizabeth reminded him that she had already expressed regret for her part in their quarrel; she also enclosed short letters to Grace and Robert. These were returned with a warning to attempt no further communication with the children until she had complied.

  Her note to Darcy received a more constructive reply:

  Dear EB, May I submit for your favourable consideration a plan that I hope will leave us all satisfied? It is this: Mr Gardiner will send a promissory note for the first-class fare, drawn on his own bank; I will then reimburse him privately. In this way my connection with the matter will be untraceable, your uncle will suffer no financial loss, and I will have atoned in some measure for past errors. I realise that as a heartless creature you will bridle at such a solution, but you should consider also your reputation as an indecisive female, which will be enhanced if you change your mind again. Meanwhile, remember you are always welcome at Darcy House, at any time of day and in any kind of weather. Best wishes from all of us, W.