Clouds Over Pemberley

by Walter Oleksy

  Darcy said, “Wives in the colonies may be easier to come by than horses.”

  “Or valued less highly.” Darcy said, “Ah, those colonists. We are well rid of them. But our war with them is not to save women but to gain their land. I understand it is rich in wildlife and minerals and the earth good for growing crops.”

  “We need good growing land in Ireland, for potatoes. They’re always in short supply. You English are always taking our potato crops, even far beyond our surplus, which we rarely have. Some day we shall butt heads over the matter.”

  “I rarely eat potatoes,” said Darcy. “They give me indigestion. I’ve heard they are a cause of gout. I should not like to have that very painful malady.”

  Sean kept the thought to himself that only rich men got gout.

  Not wanting to tread further into political or medical subjects, Darcy complimented Sean. “You were more swift than I in responding to the poacher. The blow you struck to his jaw was so hard, he was thrown off-balance and I thought he might have collapsed. But since his life was at risk, he garnered enough strength to flee.”

  “I am accustomed to street fighting, in Dublin,” Sean replied modestly.

  It gave Darcy pause to remember something. “I am sponsoring a pugilistic evening at a new church in Meryton soon. It is a charity event with three fighting contests. We have already arranged two, but not yet the third, which would be the main event of the evening. We have engaged the services of one of the pugilists for that bout, and I wonder…if you might entertain the possibility of being his opponent. It would be a great favor to me, and be of benefit to the charity. Neither Mrs. Darcy nor I are members of that church, but we are always inclined to assist any new church to prosper in the area.”

  Sean did not hesitate in replying. “I should be pleased to be of service. I actually enjoy participating in the manly art.”

  They shook hands on it and Elizabeth again could not help but notice the firmness in which her husband thanked the lad.

  “Fighting at home in Dublin, I often wear just my underpants. Or less. The roughest bouts are often fought au natural. If I wear anything when fighting, it is usually some loose-fitting and short costume, rather than breeches or pantaloons.”

  Darcy thought he had a solution for the lad’s dilemma.

  Later that afternoon, Darcy and Sean went riding across Pemberley Park.

  While the gentlemen were out riding, Elizabeth and Pippa were engaged in a game of ring toss.

  Pippa became impatient, and ventured to express what she had on her mind. Ring toss was a waste of time. “I enjoy accomplishing something in my leisure.” “I do not feel so, but am regarded as a lady of society,” replied Elizabeth. “All we are expected to achieve are the accomplishments that encourage a gentleman to ask us to marry them. We become as proficient as we can at playing the pianoforte, singing, needlepoint, and spend a great deal of our time reading. Other things, such as cooking, are left to our domestic servants, although I should like to be able to cook for Mr. Darcy. I have lately been thinking, I should perhaps achieve more useful accomplishments, now I am married and soon will be a mother.”

  “Irish women of my station learn to cook and sew and keep house and, on farms, to milk the cows and feed the chickens.”

  They both laughed and thought they were, although opposites in social status, alike in other ways.

  Elizabeth was getting to like the lass and her brother more and more, yet she remembered her friend Charlotte’s advice to be cautious regarding them.

  “Cook will be in the kitchen as we speak, preparing something special for our dinner.” “Perhaps she would allow me to make you and Mr. Darcy an Irish dessert. You could watch me and learn from it.”

  “I should enjoy that very much. Perhaps begin with showing me how to boil water and break an egg.”

  They laughed again, en route to the kitchen. While Elizabeth was watching Pippa in preparations for baking the cake, Darcy and Sean were conversing after their ride, then playing billiards. The Irish lad was regularly beating him, but Darcy did not mind, enjoying his company.

  A personal and possibly delicate subject had been on Darcy’s mind since first meeting the O’Reilly’s. He had been waiting for a casual time in which to inquire about it, and playing billiards with him seemed to be it.

  Darcy came right out with it. “Mr. O’Reilly, you and Miss O’Reilly are not really brother and sister…”

  Sean stopped his game and looked at his host. First his face wore a frown, but an instant later it changed to a small smile.

  “You’ve found us out.”

  “I thought at our first meeting, that looks were exchanged between you that a secret was being kept. A deception was being engaged in.” “In truth, we are husband and wife. Mr. Collins asked us before you arrived, to allow him to introduce us as brother and sister. He wanted that, so I told him a story about having the same father but different mothers.”

  “My instincts, as sometimes but not always is the case, did not deceive me. May I be bold enough to ask the reason Mr. Collins had you identify yourselves as siblings, and why you both agreed to the charade?”

  “I regret I cannot reveal either. Pippa and I promised on the Bible, or so it seemed to Mr. Collins. Perhaps I can clarify the mystery to you at a later date, hopefully not too far in the future because we are actually uncomfortable with what Mr. Collins asked of us. We agreed for financial reasons.”

  “Until then, I shall keep your secret, as will Mrs. Darcy. She and I have conversed about the matter after first meeting you and your… wife. May I inform her of your real relationship? She also will keep your secret. But for purposes of your stay here, especially overnights, I have no objection to you and your wife sharing the same bed. I’m sure Mrs. Darcy will agree.” “That would be most obliging. Then by all means, inform Mrs. Darcy that Pippa and I are indeed married.”

  “I shall, tonight, when we are in our bed chamber.”

  “I confess I had thought Pippa to be your mistress. How did you meet?’

  “I literally fell for her.”

  “That sounds like something Mrs. Darcy would like to hear. Could you save it for later, when we are all together again?”

  “I shall be glad to. But how did you and Mrs. Darcy meet? Or would you rather tell Pippa and me that tomorrow?” “I would rather tell you now. Mrs. Darcy and I met at a dance. My friend Mr. Bingley introduced us. Our first meeting did not go well with either of us, but time and circumstances finally brought us together.”

  Sean was curious to learn more. “Circumstances?”

  ‘A resolution of our differences regarding pride and prejudice.

  Sean did not think Darcy wished to go into detail about that, so he did not press him.

  “We have been considering our stay at The Royal Arms in Meryton to be our honeymoon.” “Now you can consider Pemberley to be part of your honeymoon. Honeymoons can be delightful experiences. I have found it to be so. Although Mrs. Darcy told me that my friend Mr. Bingley did not find it quite so delightful. I am sworn not to reveal his secret.”

  “I regret the deception of identity, and hope you will forgive both me and my wife.”

  “There is nothing to forgive. I sensed that you both and Mr. Collins are in some sort of adventure. Am I correct in assuming that?” “You are. But I assure you, it will not harm you or Mrs. Darcy. Pippa and I have agreed on that. We find you both to be very kind, good people.” He did not add that he thought the Darcy’s marriage to be in perfect condition and he and Pippa would do nothing to endanger that situation.

  “Could the adventure possibly harm some of those with whom my wife and I are associated? If any harm comes to them, Mr. Collins shall regret it.”

  Indeed he will, thought Sean.

  “You are not thieves, of that I feel certain.” “You are correct,” Sean chuckled. He would go no further in explaining, but agreed that he and his wife were on an adventure. He could not guess its conclusion.

&nb
sp; Sean was determined he would do all he could to fulfil his pledge to Mr. Darcy but could not guarantee that no harm would come to Darcy or his wife by way of Mr. Collins. He had been uncertain from the start about agreeing to assist him in his sermon research. He still wondered if it had a deceptive purpose that was being kept from him and Pippa. Mr. Collins was a man to be watched.

  “The dessert will be something cold and simple,” said Pippa to Elizabeth when they were en route downstairs to the kitchen. “I should not want to impose too much on your cook.”

  “Mrs. Danvers is fierce about ruling over her domain.”

  “Most Irish women are as well.”

  “Your dessert need not be cold. Mrs. Danvers always has the stove and fireplace roaring with a good fire to prepare our meals.”

  “Then I shall think of something at least simple, yet authentic Irish. It will depend on the ingredients being available.” “Mrs. Danvers keeps our larder well-stocked. She is much in our favor as a cook, but Mr. Darcy confided in me some concern, saying there has been an inordinate number of fires in the kitchen and elsewhere at Pemberley since my arrival as mistress of the house. Mrs. Danvers is elderly and may be a trifle forgetful or careless with the new flame-strikers, as we call them.”

  Darcy, always wanting to be on the leading edge of invention, had purchased from a tradesman in London a supply of the as-yet unmarketed sulfur-tipped sticks invented by a Frenchman three years before, calling them a “briquet phosphorique.”

  “Mrs. Danvers seems to enjoy striking the sticks. I said she was a little odd. She thinks Mr. Darcy was married once before. She believes she was very fond of the woman. One of Mrs. Danvers’ fires was in my piano-forte. How it got there is a mystery.”

  They went downstairs to the kitchen where Elizabeth introduced the Irish lass and Mrs. Danvers to each other.

  “Miss O’Reilly is going to relieve you of the necessity of preparing Mr. Darcy and me and our guests a dessert tonight.” Mrs. Danvers, a tall, gaunt, dark-haired woman with a look of anger on her face that was perpetual, disapproved but did not verbalize her displeasure at having Miss O’Reilly or anyone intrude in her domain. She busied herself with preparing a pot roast.

  “I would like to make you and Mr. Darcy a traditional Irish apple cake,” said Pippa to Elizabeth. I shall require a little butter, some sugar, one egg, a cup of flour, four apples, some walnuts, and a little cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt, as well as some baking soda and powder.”

  Elizabeth asked Mrs. Danvers if such ingredients were available and the woman coldly said they were. Elizabeth watched diligently as Pippa went about following a recipe she had memorized.

  “It will be ready in about an hour,” Pippa said as she put the dough in the oven. Elizabeth and Pippa then retired to the music room upstairs. Returning to the kitchen an hour later, Elizabeth thought an aroma out of heaven had wafted up from the kitchen. Pippa removed the cake from the oven and set it on a plate on the table.

  Back in the music room shortly afterward, as Elizabeth and Pippa conversed more, they caught the scent of something burning downstairs.

  Darcy in the billiard room nearby with Sean caught the same scent. He and Sean went downstairs to investigate. They followed the scent to the kitchen.

  A few minutes later, Darcy and Sean joined Elizabeth and Pippa in the music room where he reported, “It was nothing, just another small fire down below.”

  “Is an Irish cake Miss O’Reilly baked safe on the kitchen table?” asked Elizabeth.

  “Something was on the table,” said Darcy. “It looks like a black brick.” “Oh, dear,” said Elizabeth to Pippa. “Kitchen nightmares.”

  “It is of no matter,” replied Pippa, crestfallen. She suspected that Mrs. Danvers had taken out her less than cordial feelings for her on the Irish cake.

  Said Pippa silently to the cook who stood smiling at her and Mrs. Darcy, “Bugger you!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Saturday night, Paula delivered Elizabeth a letter that she hastily opened, then showed signs of being distressed.

  “Bad news?” asked Darcy.

  “We shall discourse about it later.”

  Elizabeth then, in private, re-read the letter she had received, from her sister Lydia.

  Dear Lizzy,

  I have left Mr. Wickham. He has never loved me. He loves another, or others. He has been sleeping with a harlot at The Royal Arms, a barmaid named Deidre. I even believe he went to her, or someone, on our wedding night. He had barely begun making love to me when he left our betrothal bed complaining of an itch, which I sensed to be feigned. He is a master of deceit. He did not return to our bed until I heard a cock crow at dawn.

  I suppose I should hate him, but in other ways and at other times, he could be such a dear. He has many charming, endearing ways, and other qualities despite being unfaithful. I do admit, at least to you if not to him or myself, that before our marriage I was rather promiscuous. You must know I have an attraction to men in uniform. And he was so handsome and stalwart in his Hussar’s uniform.

  I’ve suspected that he is troubled or conflicted about something. He is often agitated and irrational when we are together. He smokes cigarettes constantly and frequently drinks brandy. I believe it is to compose himself. He does puzzle me. The other day he asked me the strangest thing, if I could get him a silk shirt from Ireland.

  I often get the impression he regretted marrying me. As if he felt guilty about something. In any case, I have had enough of Mr. Wickham. I am going off by myself to London, to perhaps look up an old acquaintance, although he is not old in age. He is someone Mr. Wickham drank ale with. They were in the same militia unit. Please do not share this letter with anyone, but merely tell Mr. Darcy and Mr. and Mrs. Bennet that I have left Mr. Wickham and gone to London. Perhaps to find myself. I hope I do, as I hope Mr. Wickham finds himself. My crazy ex. The husband from Hell.

  I am opening my heart to you because I, too, feel conflicted, with a need to discover who I am and what I truly want. I close with the wish, the fervent hope, that you are happy in your marriage. Do not cry for me, Elizabeth. I will be fine. I know that I will, someday. I just need to learn what is my true nature.

  With love, your sister

  Lydia

  Later, when Elizabeth and Darcy were alone in the parlor while the Irish were in the music room, she told him about the letter from Lydia.

  “Lydia writes that she has left Mr. Wickham and has gone to London to be with friends.”

  “How unsettling,” said Darcy, lighting a cigar to give the matter some thought. Shortly afterward, the Darcy’s and their guests were taking a late evening turn around the garden at Pemberley when they began to hear thunder, then see lighting, and moments later rain began to fall. They hurried back to the house where they retreated to the parlor. Mr. Darcy saw that the fireplace was already set by one of the domestics so he lit it and soon they were all seated near the warming flames.

  Said Darcy, “Eliza, Sean told me how he and Pippa met.”

  Elizabeth enthused, “Oh, I should like to know. I adore hearing how couples met and then married.”

  Sean asked Pippa, “My dear, would you like to tell?” He knew she would and did not want to deprive her of that pleasure. Said Pippa, “I’d be delighted to. I was carrying a big bag of groceries through a hotel lobby in Dublin. A young man was taking a nap in a wing back chair. His legs were stretched out in front of him, but I didn’t see them. I tripped over them and literally fell at his feet. The young man was Sean. He picked up my groceries and then picked me up.”

  “I love it!” said Elizabeth.

  “How did you and Mr. Darcy meet?” asked Pippa. “The short of a long story is that we met at a dance. We did not agree to become life partners immediately. That took some time. We had to come to a better understanding of each other’s sensibilities. But our differences were finally resolved and we then mutually fell in love and married.”

  “Was it a big wedding?” “It was a
church ceremony mainly for family and close friends. It was beautiful, but simple and traditional. I wore a white gown, a long white coat, a bridal bonnet with a short veil, and put a penny in my shoe. It is an old custom that represents good fortune. The best part of the ceremony, to me, was when Mr. Darcy said, ‘I do.’”

  “I would say it again tonight,” said Darcy, holding Elizabeth’s hand.

  “I rather liked that part of our ceremony, too,” said Pippa with a loving look at Sean, which was returned.

  “Are Irish weddings very different from English?” asked Elizabeth.

  “There are a few old Irish wedding customs which we observed. For one, I wore a blue wedding gown, which is an Irish tradition.”

  Elizabeth asked, “What other Irish wedding traditions did you observe?” Pippa said, “We observed an old Celtic wedding custom at the church ceremony by having our hands tied to each other with a ribbon. It was a symbol of our mutual bond of fidelity and agreeing to spend our lives together.”

  Said Sean, “It’s called ‘tying the knot.’”

  Temptation and temperance, Elizabeth reflected.

  Pippa said on: “I wore a small porcelain horseshoe around my neck, a symbol of good luck.”

  “Don’t forget about the Claddagh ring,” said Sean. Said Pippa, “When a woman is single, she wears a ring of a crown on her right hand facing outward, signifying she is ‘available.’ When I became engaged, I turned my ring inward meaning I was no longer ‘available.’”

  “And wedding bells,” Sean prompted. “Oh, yes. Wedding guests are given tiny bells to ring at the reception, symbolizing the joy of the bride and groom, and also to ward off evil spirits from their union.”

  Said Elizabeth, “I wish Mr. Darcy and I had been at your wedding.”

  Pippa replied, “I, too, wish Sean and I had been at yours.” The thunderstorm continued to rage outside and the fire in the parlor fireplace was comforting, but needed a refreshing of logs. Darcy got up and, although unaccustomed to performing the task, since a domestic normally attended to such things, put new wood into the fire. When he returned to sit beside Elizabeth on the couch, flames leaped from the fireplace and threatened to set the room ablaze.