They reached a crossroads, where Darcy shouted an instruction to the driver. It was cold in the carriage but they were well wrapped up and had thick blankets to cover their legs. Darcy handed round slices of rich fruit cake, and poured wine for the children and brandy for everyone else. The domesticity was heart-warming, and Elizabeth felt a deepening glow as her anxiety eased.
The snow was thick now, forcing the driver to slow. In places it was impossible to discern the road, and the carriage bumped over the verge. Excited, Robert pressed his nose to the window, while Grace listened to the conversation between Elizabeth and Darcy, occasionally joining in. Pettigrew dozed, sometimes opening an eye to take a furtive glance at the maid, or to hazard a comment such as Getting thicker.
Dusk fell, but with the blizzard easing off, the driver could still see. Oil lamps were lit, and they crawled past a signpost that at last indicated Halesworth. Elizabeth sang a Scottish song, Gin a body meet a body, comin’ through the rye, which the others joined in after picking up the melody. Brandy glasses were refilled, adding to the feeling of festivity.
A cheer rang out as they reached the lodge. The park was modest—more akin to Longbourn than Pemberley. Elizabeth noticed Darcy fall silent, worried no doubt that the Fitzwilliams would be away. Even so, a skeleton staff should remain, able to offer shelter, if not company.
In the forecourt Darcy pointed, smiling, at a candelabra at the window. Faces appeared, a boy and a girl, and they heard shouting. A wreath of holly hung in the porch, flanked by oil lamps. Darcy gestured for them to remain while he went to the door, already open. A man came to the hall, slapped him affably on the arm, and shouted instructions.
Elizabeth breathed deeply. The Fitzwilliams were in residence. They had found sanctuary.
32
For days the snow fell, piling several feet deep round the walls. Park-keepers cleared paths to the stables, and barns where livestock wintered. But the drive had disappeared, and the roads outside would be impassable.
Luckily there was room. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lady Sophia had two boys and a girl, all younger than Robert. The party included Lady Sophia’s sister, still unmarried, as well as an aunt who lived on the estate permanently, and a governess. Three chambers were free for Darcy, Elizabeth and Pettigrew. Robert shared with the boys; Grace with the girl.
As a distraction it was ideal. Robert joined happily in games of hide-and-seek, or snowball fights, or the puppet theatre. Grace was odd-girl-out, being more mature, but she found plenty to interest her, often sketching or playing duets with the governess. The relief of being cut off was indescribable. No newspapers. No lawyers. No society gossip. Just a pleasant and normally happy family, and what was more poignant, the genesis of a family-to-be.
For they knew now where their future lay. Being in mourning, Elizabeth did not kiss Darcy, or hold his hand, or whisper endearments. But she was aware of his gaze, his voice, and his tenderness with the children. Grace, of course, noticed what was happening; perhaps Robert did too. They had seen this new friend face down Sir Nicholas Sibley. Darcy owned the grand coach that had carried them away. He had distributed cake and wine, suggested a route through the blizzard, led them to this refuge. He was elegant, distinguished, tall, confident—but also gentle and approachable. He was careful not to impose; if the children strayed he left it to Elizabeth to warn or chasten. He understood they would not accept yet a usurper stepping into their late father’s shoes.
Colonel Fitzwilliam had filled out, compared with the more abstemious Darcy, but wealth had not changed his amiable disposition. Elizabeth recalled the young gentleman who had entertained her at Rosings and might have courted her, but for the practical constraints on a younger son. Now wealthier than Darcy, he had gained an ideal partner in Lady Sophia. The new Lady Matlock had plain features, but combined an air of assurance with a graceful carriage; at dance, she excelled. Her abiding interests were drama and ballet: she was a patron of Her Majesty’s Theatre, and liked to engage the children in acting out plays.
There could be no question of leaving while the roads were blocked. A footman struggled to the post office with messages for Georgiana, Lydia, Jane, and Pettigrew’s family. After a week came milder weather, allowing the clerk to return to London, but it was so close to Christmas that the Fitzwilliams clamoured for them to stay. On Christmas Eve church bells rang late into the night; next day, in two carriages, they attended morning service before enjoying the traditional meal.
It was an odd retreat from reality, through which Elizabeth could rediscover her children, and convalesce from the traumas of the last months. For Grace and Robert too it was a significant departure. Colonel Fitzwilliam would invite them to Matlock and Rosings; he would also bring Lady Sophia and the children to Pemberley. Friendships made here at Halesworth might last all their lives.
Reassuring letters got through from Lydia and Georgiana. All was well in Carter Lane and Grosvenor Street. As the new year approached, Darcy’s party regretfully said farewell to the Fitzwilliams and returned to London.
33
After the relief came the collapse. For months Elizabeth had swum frantically against the tide; now that she had reached calm water, body and mind shut down. A cold worsened. She became feverish, fatigued, confused. She lost her appetite and coughed up phlegm stained with blood. A surgeon from St Bartholomew’s bled her twice with no benefit.
On learning of her condition, Darcy called with a physician who specialised in chest infections. The specialist disapproved of blood-letting, which according to recent research was ineffective in most cases. He saw no evidence that Elizabeth was consumptive. Hot drinks would help, and rest in a warm room aired twice a day.
The fever abated, and Elizabeth felt well enough to get up and continue work on Fredo’s final tract. Lydia, who had stayed to look after her, went back to Chandos Street. But the cough persisted, in fits that led to chest pains.
The children, thankfully, suffered no reaction to their trauma. At first they were disoriented, having lived for so long in this house with their father. But they adapted, and were glad to have their old governess Miss Staddon back. Nor were they afraid of Lydia. Having been told to expect a virago, they found her friendly and ladylike, except for her scar and some unusual turns of phrase. Peter they also took in their stride—although he had little in common with Robert, who was not keen on toy soldiers.
Except for walks in mild weather Elizabeth went out rarely, but friends visited: the Gardiners, of course, Darcy often, Julia, and also Caroline Norton, now in London for further promotion of her Custody of Infants Act. Having suffered from poor health herself, Caroline was eloquent in praise of warmer climes. The holiday on the Isle of Wight had invigorated her: she was full of fight, pestering the prime minister Lord Melbourne for an invitation to court, where she hoped to win over his pet, the young queen—of whom she was intensely jealous.
March arrived, and Julia visited with a suggestion. She wanted a break from the ton, and was minded to return to Italy. Spring and summer in Florence would mend Elizabeth’s cough. Grace and Robert would experience the city of dreams, with its ancient buildings and Renaissance art and magical landscapes. Finance would not be a problem. Elizabeth would take over her former role as Julia’s literary agent; Grace and Robert would be company for the Mountjoy’s son Samuel.
Elizabeth was reluctant to quit England since it meant leaving Darcy. But she knew they could not marry yet. She would be in mourning another nine months, and in any case, she did not feel ready. The children too needed time to adapt to life without Fredo. Darcy called the next morning, and they talked tête-à-tête in the study. He urged her to accept Julia’s offer for the sake of her health. Fate had granted them a second chance; they would not spoil it through impatience.
Arrangements were soon made. The lease on Carter Lane ran out in April, and the owner paid £150 for their furniture and equipment. The servants found good positions. Miss Staddon, who spoke un poco di italiano, agreed excited
ly to join the tour. Darcy sent a carriage to Hadfield Farm to bring Jane and Mary to London for a reunion at Gracechurch Street. Only Kitty was absent—still plying trade routes from India and Ceylon to Egypt, according to her latest letter.
Next day the party set off in two carriages for Dover, a more comfortable route than a 15-hour steamboat voyage from London to Calais. It was a tedious start, enlivened by glimpses of men building the railway line. After spending the night at the port they took their carriages over on the paddle steamer, a five-hour crossing in choppy seas which did Elizabeth no good at all.
This time Henry Mountjoy had not hired a guide: he relied instead on the recently published Road-Book from London to Naples, by William Brockedon. It covered every contingency, from the passports required at each stage of their journey to the hotels most popular with English ladies and gentlemen.
Paris was their first objective; then south to Lyon, over the Alps near Grenoble, and on to Turin. They spent few days sight-seeing: Julia and Henry were impatient to reach Florence, and mindful of Elizabeth’s condition. But from Turin to Genoa was a short hop, and now they were in territory familiar from their visit to Byron.
May arrived, and in temperatures as warm as an English summer their carriages entered the long cypress-lined driveway of Villa la Pietra.
34
May 1839, Ilkeston, Derbyshire
Darcy floated beside Bingley in the waters of Ilkeston spa, a bath a short ride from his friend’s estate. He had passed through en route to Pemberley, to find Bingley leaving for his regular immersion in the medicinal springs—reputed to alleviate gout, rheumatism and nervous debility. Darcy was unconvinced that he suffered from these maladies, but had noticed a general aching of the muscles with age; anyway, a hot soak would be pleasant after hours spent in a carriage.
‘Tired of London, then?’ Bingley asked cheerfully.
‘Entirely.’ Darcy dipped his head, slicked his hair back, and leaned against the rim of the bath. It was the size of a small room, perhaps three yards by four, and occupied by half a dozen gentlemen who had reserved for this hour. ‘But not tired of life, if one may contradict Dr Johnson. I have hope now, Charles. All I want is to return to Pemberley, and wait.’
‘For the fair Elizabeth.’ Bingley inhaled the steamy air, claimed to clear the lungs. ‘I’m happy for you, Darce. You deserve good fortune, after all that has happened.’
‘I suppose you read the report in The Times.’
Bingley shook his head. ‘Newspapers are a lot of bally nonsense, if you ask me. Politicians fighting like rats in a sack. Endless gossip and criminal conversation disputes. The only part I do read is the financial page, to keep an eye on my investments. But I got a rare letter from Caroline. I’ll show you, if you can bear it. She says I should knock some sense into you before it’s too late.’
‘Did she describe the trial?’
‘With relish. She thinks Eliza, as she calls her, only got off by fluttering her fine eyelashes at the judge.’
Darcy exhaled, weary of such folly. ‘It was embarrassing, of course, but my own fault. I let Elizabeth down, as well as myself.’
‘Have there been, ah, consequences? I mean, are you still welcome at the club?’
Darcy smiled. ‘Not only welcome but more popular. Lord Burleigh clapped me on the shoulder and said, Good show old chap, never knew you had it in you. One is admired for breaking the rules.’
Bingley laughed. ‘If only you’d realised earlier.’
‘What is more, there is no sympathy for Sir Nicholas Sibley. I am lauded for helping Elizabeth defeat him.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me. Don’t you see, Darce, most men don’t give a fig for principles. They admire a fellow who steals a kiss or pulls off a shady deal, provided his heart’s in the right place. Prosecuting Elizabeth was sheer malice. Sibley had no case, and little to gain even if he won.’
‘He sees Robert, Elizabeth’s boy, as his heir.’
‘Even worse. Sir Nicholas has a wife who can bear him a son of his own. What kind of man gives up so easily?’
Darcy fell silent, and Bingley said, ‘Sorry. Thoughtless of me. But maybe now?’
‘Maybe …’ Darcy sighed.
Whenever Darcy met Vanessa Bingley, he was reminded of Elizabeth’s sister Jane. Physically the resemblance was superficial: graceful figure, fair hair, but no more. For all her charms, Vanessa could not rival Jane’s beauty. But in character they were alike; the sweet-natured, modest Mrs Bingley had proved an admirable wife.
At supper, with the high-spirited children abed, they were joined by a friend of Bingley’s who owned the local ironworks. Despite his best endeavours, Mr Smithson was instantly identifiable as nouveau-riche, a self-made man rather than a gentleman. This did not worry Charles, who treated him respectfully and eagerly picked his brains on industrial trends. Steam, apparently, was to conquer all, from railways to boats to factories to farming; and where you found steam power, you found iron. A steady five per cent from funds no longer sufficed for Bingley, who demanded yields three or four times greater. Darcy, always cautious, piggy-backed on his friend’s recommendations with part of his fortune only.
After the guests left, Mrs Bingley left them alone to reminisce over a glass of brandy.
‘Good fellow, Smithson,’ Bingley said.
Darcy nodded. ‘Vanessa is a wonderful host.’
Bingley waggled a finger. ‘There you go again, trying to convince yourself that I’m happily married, despite your interference. Dash it, I never knew such a worrier. Yes, I would probably have got on fine with Jane Bennet or Susannah Cullum.’ He grimaced. ‘Well Jane anyway. But I never believed there was only one woman in the world that was my perfect soul-mate, as you appear to do.’
Darcy fell silent, sipping brandy. Bingley had a point: perhaps he, Darcy, was too fixed in his likes and dislikes. His attachment to Pemberley had always been absolute: the very idea of selling and moving elsewhere was inconceivable. Likewise Elizabeth: he had fallen in love just once in his life, and that was that. Without realising it, he had been proud of this single-mindedness: he saw it as indicative of deep feeling. But perhaps it was a weakness, for in life one did not always get what one wanted.
Had he loved Arethusa half-heartedly, because for all her virtues, she was not the one?
‘You are wiser than I am,’ he said finally. ‘You live in the present. I think back to my youth, and the mistakes I made. If only one could return and take another run at it.’
‘Really, what nonsense!’ Bingley almost choked on his drink. ‘Mistakes indeed! You are the most generous and steadfast friend that a fellow ever had. I cannot count the times you have helped me, and many others could say the same. Georgiana. Your tenants. Men you knew at Harrow and Cambridge. Elizabeth and Lydia. You were generous even to Wickham, who repaid you by spreading malicious lies about you in Hertfordshire.’ He frowned. ‘Where did that ne’er-do-well end up?’
‘On the SS Waverley bound for Sydney. I went to the dock to see him board.’
‘Did he spot you?’
‘Yes, our eyes met, and he sneered Making sure, eh, Darcy? He didn’t look angry, or downcast; just smirked as if it were all a game.’
‘Rum oddball, wasn’t he? It’s not as if villainy did him any good. Maybe he’ll find redemption in Australia.’
‘Unlikely. But he performed at least one decent action at the inquest, when he admitted stabbing Sibley. It seems he had already blurted it out to a constable at the scene, when in shock. But he stuck to it, and remained adamant that Elizabeth was innocent. I was afraid he might try to implicate her, just to get even with me.’
‘I believe he always had a soft spot for Elizabeth.’
‘Perhaps that was the reason.’ Darcy sighed. ‘I feel as if I myself have a chance of redemption now. So many errors, and yet the dream is within reach. I only hope Elizabeth regains her health.’
Pemberley was a solitary place now. Georgiana rarely visited. No wife or children, no
-one at all except for servants. Mrs Reynolds had died, and her daughter Emmeline had taken over as housekeeper, equally loyal, with a keen ear for local news.
Spring was always a delight at Pemberley. Darcy rode with his steward to survey the park. Revisited his favourite fishing beats on the river. Walked through woods as the bluebells came out. He had the library, the billiard table, and the company of local gentlemen whom he had known most of his life. These distractions were pleasant enough, but still the house seemed cavernous, empty except for the servants.
And yet, in his imagination, not so empty. A beautiful woman sat opposite him at the dining table, or sang at the pianoforte, or entertained in the drawing room. A rosewater scent lingered; her laugh resounded in the passages. She made him feel alive, young, hopeful. And with her came two fascinating children who had accepted him as part of their mother’s life, and looked to him for support.
It seemed, sometimes, too good to be true. But letters arrived, once a fortnight, often written in haste, but full of reassurance. Their journey had gone well. She was feeling stronger every day. The children had loved Paris, French food, the Alps. Villa la Pietra still had the old magic …
Darcy replied in similar style. One day he would give his feelings full expression. But now she was in mourning. He would wait.
35
August 1839, Florence
The restaurant at the Hotel Schneiderff was a mosaic of languages and fashions, drawing tourists from all over Europe. In summer, the numbers thinned as heat drove rich families to the hills or coast. Overlooking the River Arne, it was Julia’s favourite spot for lunch on their weekly outings to the centre.
Darcy's Redemption Page 18