Darcy's Redemption

by M. A. Sandiford

  Mr Gardiner remained uneasy over this offer but proceeded with the payment to Lydia; whether he accepted Darcy’s reimbursement could be left for future argument.

  Amid all this correspondence Elizabeth did not neglect Jane, who had written to the Gardiners after receiving an unpleasant enquiry from Mr Sibley. She wondered who else Fredo had approached in his efforts to locate her. Part of the answer was revealed when a message arrived from the countess. Julia was back in London, and had found Fredo’s note as well as a letter from Elizabeth explaining her predicament. Elizabeth was welcome to stay at Mountjoy House: indeed, if she wished, the post of companion remained open.

  11

  One week later

  Paternoster Row ran from Cheapside towards St Paul’s; it was so-called, according to Mr Gardiner, because monks once chanted the Lord’s Prayer as they approached the cathedral. Now it was the London centre for publishing books and periodicals, including The Lady’s Magazine.

  The staff, almost all women, sat at two rows of desks in what looked like a small library, its shelves filled with reference books and back issues. Once a frequent visitor, Elizabeth received a chorus of cheerful greetings as she passed. The editor John Allsop worked from a den at the back. He was fortyish with a handsome but puffy face and a penchant for silk waistcoats that fitted tightly over his barrel-like chest. No wife: people said he was married to the job.

  ‘Mrs Sibley.’ Allsop’s resonant voice commanded authority even when he spoke softly. ‘To what do we owe this honour?’

  She smiled. ‘I wanted to offer my services, if needed. No doubt you have managed splendidly without me.’

  ‘Have you read this year’s issues?’

  ‘Of course. Very fine.’

  ‘Yet circulation has fallen, and my postbag bulges with complaints. Where is EB? Why no letters column?’

  ‘You exaggerate, to mock me.’

  He glared at her. ‘So now you crawl back and expect me to forgive your desertion.’

  She waved this away. ‘Enough, Mr Allsop. Have you any reviews for me?’

  ‘The novels are taken. I can offer you a political pamphlet, by Mrs Norton.’

  Elizabeth frowned: politics were not her strong point. ‘I’ll have a look and let you know tomorrow. Same rates as before?’

  ‘I’m not sure we can afford that.’ He studied her. ‘You won’t do the correspondence feature?’

  Made-up letters were Elizabeth’s favourite pieces, but also, she feared, the most objectionable from Fredo’s perspective. ‘Don’t you think it’s too frivolous?’

  ‘Readers like it.’ He hesitated, thinking. ‘You can have full rate for reviews and letters if you do them both. Otherwise, half-rate.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘I need to know by tomorrow.’ He pointed at the door. ‘You can get Mrs Norton’s broadside from the ladies.’

  Crossing London to Mountjoy House, Elizabeth browsed the pamphlet. Its title immediately struck a chord: Separation of mother and child by the law. She had heard of Caroline Norton through a scandal, two years earlier, in which the Prime Minister had been accused by Mr Norton of criminal conversation with his wife—legal hyperbole for an affair. The case was thrown out owing to lack of evidence, but the gossip columns had a field day, with cartoons of Lord Melbourne (his surname was Lamb) depicted as a sheep petted by the lovely Caroline, while the cuckolded husband looked on. But Mrs Norton’s marital breakdown had a dark side, for she had been forbidden access to her children, and was now using her friends in the political elite to press for a change in the law—at least for infants up to seven years old. The pamphlet was to appear anonymously: perhaps the author feared her notoriety would prevent readers taking the message seriously.

  It was a passionate polemic, and poignant for one who had not seen her own children for ten days. The exchange of messages with Fredo had stalled. He assumed, evidently, that if he merely waited, Elizabeth would surrender in order to see Grace and Robert again. But a line had been crossed. She was in no mood to submit to blackmail, and determined to construct a satisfying life outside marriage.

  The return to Mountjoy House had led to negotiations of a more friendly kind. Julia wanted to renew Elizabeth’s status as companion, so that she would have an allowance as well as board and lodging. Elizabeth met her half-way: she gratefully accepted a room, but would earn her own pin money by resuming work for The Lady’s Magazine.

  As before, life with the Mountjoys was delightful. The earl was his usual amiable self. Friends from the London literary scene called. Elizabeth got to know their ten-year-old son Samuel—a mixed blessing, since he reminded her achingly of Robert. She was back in their luxurious home near Hyde Park. Which meant she was just five minutes’ walk from Darcy …

  The hackney reached Mayfair, and Elizabeth put away Mrs Norton’s pamphlet. Should she do the correspondence column too? It was fun, and meant more money. In a way she was breaking a promise to Fredo. But the situation had altered: barred from the family home, she had to fend for herself.

  Her thoughts switched to the evening, when there was to be a dinner, including, disturbingly, their neighbours at Darcy House. Julia, extravagant as ever, sported a new evening dress—and was not outdone by her husband. For such a modest gathering the decorations were also lavish, with huge vases of white lilies, and silver candelabra for extra illumination. Cards were laid out seating Elizabeth between Darcy and Mr Molyneux; opposite, Julia and Georgiana accompanied the earl. But the symmetry was broken when Henry Mountjoy’s sister turned up at the last minute and was invited to join the party.

  Elizabeth studied this formidable lady, whom she had not met for many years. Lady Sarah had married Mr Clarence Westwood, a very wealthy widower with estates near Bath. For most of the year she lived in the west country with her husband and two boys, but she found provincial society confining. Westwood, by all accounts an accommodating man, was content for her to visit London for the season provided he could remain at home with the children. Liking the Bohemian life, she resided with artist friends in Chelsea and not at Mountjoy House—to Julia’s relief.

  Lady Sarah moved into a seat opposite Darcy, whom she studied with uninhibited familiarity.

  ‘You look well, Mr Darcy, almost back to your old self. Am I not right, Julia?’

  The countess’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. ‘Of course, Sarah. You invariably are.’

  ‘Obviously it has been a difficult year,’ Darcy said. ‘But yes, life must go on.’

  ‘Mrs Sibley.’ Lady Sarah’s inquisitive eye moved back and forth between Elizabeth and Darcy. ‘I declare you are lovely as ever.’

  Elizabeth smiled, guessing that her ladyship expected this compliment to be returned. She would be in her forties now, but the blonde hair was still striking, the figure elegant. ‘It would be nice to think one could improve in beauty and wisdom as time passes. But I fear we delude ourselves on both counts.’

  ‘Shocking!’ Lady Sarah looked round the table. ‘Beauty may fade, requiring us to work a little harder. But wisdom grows with experience. Do you not agree, Mr Darcy?’

  ‘I could not say.’ Darcy smiled at Elizabeth. ‘What I do believe is that Mrs Sibley sometimes finds enjoyment in expressing opinions that are not in fact her own.’

  ‘Indeed!’ Another searching glance. ‘You are better acquainted with Mrs Sibley than I realised.’

  There was an awkward pause, before Henry Mountjoy said, ‘For my part, I concur with Elizabeth. Age does not bring wisdom. On the contrary, I become sillier with every passing year.’

  Julia patted her husband’s hand. ‘Come dear, that is hardly possible.’

  Elizabeth burst out laughing, as did the earl when he saw the joke.

  The conversation moved on. Ever the good hostess, Julia drew out Philip Molyneux on his researches into the preservation of images. Georgiana spoke of her daughter, who would be coming out next year. Lady Sarah tactfully avoided any enquiry into Elizabeth’s family: her
brother had probably warned her that this was a sensitive topic. But she kept an eye on Elizabeth and Darcy, as if wondering what, if anything, lay between them.

  Luckily, Lady Sarah was unlikely to meet Fredo or any of his colleagues: St Paul’s Cathedral was separated from Bohemian Chelsea by more than geography. All the same, Elizabeth saw she had to take care. It was to be expected that as a neighbour she would be seen now and again in Darcy’s company. But in truth he was more than an acquaintance—as Lady Sarah had noticed.

  12

  June 1838, one month later

  As the ton awaited Queen Victoria’s coronation, Elizabeth prepared her contributions to a celebratory issue of the magazine. Her life had settled into a new routine, pleasant except for her continuing separation from Grace and Robert. If only she had some idea of how they were coping. But Fredo was adamant. There would be no communication, no news, until she gave in to his demands.

  Exchanges with Fredo were now sporadic. His tract on Prayers for the Dead had been published by The Church Magazine, and received respectfully. Whether he was writing another she did not know. His messages gave nothing away; nor, to her relief, did he show any interest in what his wife was doing. She must apologise and agree to behave as instructed. Otherwise she would not see the children.

  The morning had been passed in her old office next to the study, where she resumed her role as Julia’s secretary. For the afternoon an outing was planned at the fashionable hour: with luck they might bump into Darcy’s party. In the meantime, Mr Allsop demanded amusing letters, of which she had come up with the following:

  Dear Mr or Mrs Editor, I am a simple country girl just arrived at the age of 18. Last night I went for the first time to a ball, where kind friends congratulated me at “having come out”. This puzzled me exceedingly, since it surely requires no great skill to walk out of one’s own home. In innocence I replied, “Thank you, Madam, I have been out now two hours,” (being this the time needed for our carriage to arrive at the Assembly Rooms). At which the ladies smiled, and the young men were rude enough to laugh, which made me blush. I have since asked several intimate friends whether I said anything I ought not, but obtained no useful reply. Can you please explain what I said to cause such merriment, and how I might avoid blushing, which I think unbecoming? It makes one turn red all over, and besides, is considered so unfashionable in this part of the country that I found, on inquiry, that no lady present suffered this indignity except myself.

  Your devoted and grateful servant, Amelia Meanwell

  While polishing this effort Elizabeth heard conversation in the hall; shortly afterwards a maid entered with a message from Julia. A visitor had arrived. Elizabeth was invited to join them in the drawing room.

  Elizabeth had expected Darcy, who called every few days, but Julia’s guest was a woman of striking beauty, thirtyish, with very dark hair pinned high, classic features, and deep brown eyes framed by dramatic brows.

  ‘Caroline, may I present my friend Mrs Sibley, who is staying with us,’ Julia said. ‘Elizabeth, Mrs Norton.’

  Elizabeth recognised the face that she had seen depicted in salacious cartoons. Mrs Norton rose with a welcoming smile, but looked tired and pale, despite an application of rouge. Her work was known to Elizabeth—not just the pamphlet, but poetry and novels.

  ‘I’m honoured to meet you,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘We were talking of the Custody of Infants Act,’ Julia said. ‘Caroline has been campaigning for years.’

  Elizabeth nodded. ‘I have read about it, and think it an excellent measure.’

  ‘We have succeeded in the House of Commons,’ Mrs Norton said. ‘But still have to pass the Lords.’

  They discussed prospects, and Caroline Norton entertained them by mimicking the antediluvian bishops and peers who would be entrusted with this decision. Eventually she turned to Elizabeth.

  ‘Julia said you had helped with her writing.’

  ‘As copy editor,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘But Lizzy writes too,’ Julia said. ‘The most amusing pieces for The Lady’s Magazine.’

  Mrs Norton nodded. ‘I publish there too, and have enjoyed reading it.’ A thought seemed to strike her, and she turned to Elizabeth with a frown. ‘But should you come across EB, who has written the most frivolous review of my pamphlet on infant custody, please tell her that she is a traitor to her sex, and that if I ever set eyes on her I will tear her hair out.’

  Elizabeth flinched, and a blush rivalling that of Amelia Meanwell spread over her head and shoulders. Julia too was struck dumb.

  ‘Oh dear.’ Mrs Norton sighed, before addressing Elizabeth coldly. ‘You are EB?’

  ‘Guilty.’ Elizabeth swallowed. ‘I’m so sorry to have offended you. It was never my intention to make fun of the pamphlet. On the contrary, I applauded both the humane purpose, and the lucidity of the writing.’

  ‘That was not my impression. One can, after all, damn with faint praise. Added to which, you mock my claim on the attachment of mother to child.’ She turned to Julia for support. ‘Nature decrees that women should bear children, nurse them, watch over them during anxious nights of sickness. By what right do men overrule nature, and arrogate to themselves control over their offspring?’

  ‘I wished only to raise a problem with the argument,’ Elizabeth said. ‘What is found in nature is not always desirable.’

  ‘My enemies are powerful enough, without my supposed allies adding to their arsenal,’ Mrs Norton replied acidly. ‘And your examples! It is natural for a cat to torture a mouse unless we stop it. It is natural for grass to grow out of control unless we cut it. You are interested only in extracting maximum hilarity from ridiculing me.’ She jumped to her feet. ‘Julia, I shall stay no longer. In future, pray, choose your friends more carefully.’

  Elizabeth remained in shock on the divan as Julia followed Mrs Norton to the hall.

  This incident upset Elizabeth so much that she retired to her room. For a while she rested; then she found a copy of her review, and studied it line by line, trying to fathom Mrs Norton’s reaction. Her aim had been to praise, with one small reservation. Admittedly the tone was humorous at times. But this was one reason readers liked her pieces.

  At five o’clock the Mountjoys left for their stroll in the park. Elizabeth stayed behind. Half an hour later came a tap on the door. She had a visitor.

  She found Darcy in the parlour, where the maid had served wine with rolled wafer biscuits. His grave reassuring presence almost provoked her to break down as she sat at the opposite end of the divan.

  ‘Pardon the intrusion.’ He poured her a glass of wine. ‘I met the countess at the park, and she said you were distressed. I thought you might appreciate company, but if not, I will leave directly.’

  Elizabeth was warmed by his sympathy. As he spoke, she felt a yearning that he might take her in his arms: how comforting that would be. She sipped the sweet Madeira wine. ‘Stay, William. I feel better for seeing you.’

  ‘Does this concern your husband?’

  ‘For once, no …’

  She explained, not very coherently, at one point losing control and bursting into tears.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Elizabeth dabbed her eyes. ‘It was just so painful to be hated by a person I admired.’

  He nodded. ‘I can imagine.’

  A smile at the corners of his mouth suggested this remark might be double-edged. In her agitation, Elizabeth was slow to catch on.

  ‘I see. Hunsford.’ She raised her hands as if to hold him off. ‘Yes! I am paid back in my own coin.’

  ‘Do you see a valid reason for Mrs Norton’s anger?’

  ‘Not really. She was obsessed with one small part of the review, to the exclusion of the rest.’

  ‘Then you cannot sincerely apologise. In time her indignation will fade; so will your distress.’

  ‘I have been wondering …’ Elizabeth searched for the right words. ‘Whether all my troubles stem from a defect of character. My father used
to make fun of everyone, my mother especially. Looking back, I see I have picked up this habit. In Hertfordshire, you were my victim—along with Mr Collins. Later came Fredo, whom I have never taken seriously as a theologian. Perhaps this carries over into my reviews. Without realising it, I find ways of making the author ridiculous.’

  Darcy smiled. ‘You are certainly outspoken, Elizabeth. Also quick-witted, and disposed to tease. For my part, I would not have you any other way. Others, however, will be offended. One cannot please everyone.’

  She nodded. ‘I am a pathetic creature, burdening you with my troubles. Are you well?’

  ‘Yes, although tiring of city life. At this time of year I like to be in Pemberley. There is also a person whose attentions I would like to escape.’

  She looked up sharply. ‘Myself, I imagine.’

  He laughed. ‘Lady Sarah. I used to know her quite well when we were young, and I fear she had, ah, hopes in my regard.’

  ‘So now that she is a free spirit in Bohemian London, Sarah seeks to rekindle the flame?’

  Darcy smiled. ‘She is entertaining. But there are limits.’

  ‘Many gentlemen would cherish such an attractive chère amie.’

  ‘My father used to warn me to avoid those weaknesses that expose a man to ridicule.’

  Elizabeth smiled, recalling an exchange at Netherfield. As then, he sounded pompous, but it was endearing that he remained so principled. She wondered what had really transpired between Darcy and Lady Sarah all those years before. Such a lively and beautiful woman: a better match, superficially, than the quiet Arethusa.