Indeed, the sale of furniture, books and jewels would now serve to guarantee servants’ pensions and to reimburse most of the losses the tenants had suffered, so they could survive till next year’s harvest – that was the new goal Darcy had set himself, and he worked at it with all his usual energy, Elizabeth helping as she could.
∞∞∞
“She is like his wife, except without the blessing,” young James said, idly, in the kitchen.
“You will please hold your tongue,” the cook answered. “In this house, we do not speak ill of the family.”
Young James went very red – he was but thirteen and had spoken quite innocently. “Oh but no! I did not mean…”
“Right,” the cook said, in a kinder voice – she was tired, all the work with a reduced staff. “I believe you, Jamie. But people could hear and interpret your words otherwise.”
Elizabeth was halfway through the servants’ stairs to make her own cup of tea.
She heard.
∞∞∞
Georgiana had to be told about Pemberley’s fate, and she reacted with more equanimity than her brother feared she would.
“It is not the same for women,” Elizabeth explained to Darcy, during one of their conversations in his study. “I loved Longbourn, of course, but I was always raised with the idea that I would have to leave it – women know they are not to stay where they are born.”
∞∞∞
Indeed, the wedding soon took place. Georgiana left for London with her husband.
∞∞∞
And then there were two.
Act Four
Scotland
Pemberley was getting emptier by the day. People leaving. Servants being dismissed. Furniture being sold. Drafts. Huge, empty rooms.
Elizabeth and Darcy were the only ones left.
In the company, of course, of Mrs. Reynolds and still a dozen servants.
“Sir, with all due respect – Miss Bennet has to leave,” Mrs. Reynolds said.
Darcy was working in the study – or maybe he only pretended to work – anyway he did not raise his eyes.
“Miss Bennet’s presence is quite indispensable in the negotiation I am having with Lady Harden, concerning that field, east of Albury’s,” he answered. “Lady Harden knew Miss Bennet’s father – she is in an enviable position to convince her.”
“Very well, sir,” Mrs. Reynolds said, still holding the tea tray which was, they both knew, just a pretext to have that conversation. “But after that, she has to go back to her sister. With Miss Georgiana married, she has no position in this household.”
Darcy did not answer – his attention seemed all on his letter – and Mrs. Reynolds continued,
“I know you have a lot of… fondness for Miss Bennet, sir, and you are not the only one – we all took a liking to her, because of how she helped, when those men were there. But that is why, for her sake, she cannot stay. When those soldiers told everybody that she was – well, you know what they thought, sir – nobody believed them at the time. But now… You must think of Miss Bennet’s own interest. If her reputation is tarnished…”
Mr. Darcy raised his eyes at last.
“Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. I will take your advice into consideration.”
∞∞∞
Darcy was someone who knew how to make hard decisions. At twenty, he had changed the whole course of his life to return to Pemberley, to take charge of his sister. He had made confident choices for years, disregarding the advice of his steward, of his family even, when that advice did not suit him.
And even now, he faced the most difficult choice of all – to sell the family estate – without undue hesitation. He was a confident man. He rarely doubted, or second guessed himself.
∞∞∞
Except when it came to proposing to Elizabeth a second time.
∞∞∞
Because if she said no, she would have to leave for good. He would not see her in the mornings, he would not talk to her during the day – and without her smile – his life was dreary enough, killing, one cupboard at a time, everything that his family ever built – without her, it was unthinkable.
But if he did not propose, she would leave.
But if he did…
His head hurt.
∞∞∞
The business with Lady Harden was settled all too quickly.
All pretexts were exhausted, Elizabeth thought.
“Sir,” she began, after knocking to the door of his study, as she was now accustomed to, “my sister Jane has written – her husband is gone for an extended trip, and she needs me to help her. I… Considering that Miss Darcy is now so happily settled, I, er… I thought I would go…”
She could not say “I am leaving”. She could not utter the words.
“No,” Darcy answered, not raising his eyes from his letter. “I need you here.”
There was a pause. Elizabeth hesitated.
“I have to go, sir.”
“Then go,” he whispered, still not raising his eyes. “But come back.”
∞∞∞
“Lizzie, have you lost your senses? You cannot go back to Pemberley,” Jane stated, the second day of her stay.
Elizabeth was having tea with her sister in the very, very narrow summer parlor. “You cannot stay alone with Mr. Darcy in his huge, empty mansion… My dearest Lizzie,” Jane added, taking her hand affectionately, “you know how people are – how they talk. They would think the worst of you.”
Elizabeth bit into her biscuit to give herself countenance.
“Will they really – talk, I mean, after all that has happened?” she countered with a playful gesture of the hand. “England was almost invaded by Napoleon's troops! Half the ton are facing reduced circumstances and half the labourers are out of work! Not to mention the riots in Ireland. Do you think people really care about these sort of things anymore?”
“Yes,” said Jane, in a more forcible tone than was her wont to when she was an innocent maid, picking roses in her father’s garden. “Yes, Lizzie, they do. Some things will never change.”
Elizabeth sipped her tea.
“Maybe they will. You know, I read a pamphlet – people whisper it was written by Mrs. Salisbury… Do you know Mrs. Salisbury, Jane? Mary Crawford that was? She says our country is evolving in profound ways, and that this evolution will affect the old distinctions of class, and maybe even the relationships between men and women. Mrs. Salisbury is a friend of Mr. May – the rumor is she writes very radical prose…”
But Jane would have none of it. She knew when she was being waylaid; she leaned toward her sister with a bemused expression.
“Oh, that was a fair attempt – but I will not let you change the subject, Lizzie. I am not Mother – I know your tactics.”
They both smiled, and Elizabeth was seized by a wave of nostalgia, for Longbourn, for her father, her silly sisters and even her mother – tears filled her eyes – she grabbed her sister’s hand and held it tight.
“Dear Jane, can we – just – not talk about it now – about, er, that Pemberley issue? I am just so happy to see you – I want to enjoy your presence, and the children’s… and not think about days to come.”
“Of course,” Jane said with much emotion, and Elizabeth spent seven pleasant, but bittersweet, weeks with her sister. They were bittersweet not only because Elizabeth tried not to think about the “Pemberley issue,” but also because she was having difficulty establishing whether or not her sister was truly happy.
Jane’s husband had gone to settle family affairs – unpleasant ones, as they always seemed to be now. The parish was small, the revenue low. Jane had two children that she clearly adored, but they were so young – and so very close in age – and there was only a woman of all works to help – Jane seemed constantly exhausted. And of course, as a reverend’s wife, Jane had to aid the families of the village, morally and substantially if she could. There had never been so much need – Elizabeth was of much assistance, and it
was heartwarming to consider that time and distance had not cost her any part of her sister’s affection.
Did Jane love her husband though? Elizabeth wondered. Her sister always spoke of him with the utmost respect – but maybe more respect than affection. It pained Elizabeth – she knew she should be grateful, though – considering their financial circumstances, her family was very lucky indeed. Her mother was safely living a life of complaints and gossip in Mrs. Philips’ household. Mary was a governess in a local Longbourn family, Kitty was engaged to a clerk, and Lydia, after all, was married – the scandal surrounding her and that sergeant from Bristol was one of the reasons Jane so quickly accepted the proposal of reverend Welford – Jane’s marriage was a way to save the Bennet family respectability.
Yes, Elizabeth should be grateful, in a time when gentle born women found themselves literally on the street – but she could not but wish there had been more for her favorite sister. Imagining Jane with all the benefits of love and financial security was a picture that tugged at Elizabeth’s heart. She could see her sister as the serene mistress of a beautiful estate with a doting husband and all the possibilities for exercising her goodness that money could bring.
Alas, such a picture was not to be – and anyway, beautiful estates were sold under the hammer every week. Being a reverend’s wife was, ironically enough, maybe the safer position.
“You must stay, Lizzie,” Jane remained adamant a few weeks later, when it was not possible to delay the conversation anymore.
They were in the same tiny parlor, drinking the same tea – in the same position, almost. “You know you are very welcome here, dearest – indeed, you would be of so much use, as you have been those last few days.”
Her sister’s words were only partly true, Elizabeth thought. Yes, Jane would welcome her with open arms, and the reverend would feel it was his Christian duty to feed his wife’s sister. And yes, Elizabeth could be of much needed assistance, but she would also be a financial weight on an already strained family.
But – let us be honest – there were other considerations.
Elizabeth put her cup back on the tray and paused. Her mind was made up, but she did hope not to lose all her sister’s esteem.
“Jane,” she began slowly, “I gave my word I would return.”
“Then write a letter, and explain politely why you cannot,” Jane firmly answered. “If Mr. Darcy is an honorable man, he will not want you to risk your name.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I want to go back,” she said in a low voice. “And… I will.”
There was a silence, before Jane asked kindly, “Are you in love with him, Lizzie?”
Elizabeth was looking toward the window. “Yes.”
“Dearest, I hate to ask – but have you…”
“No, of course not!” Elizabeth said, turning crimson. “Oh Jane! How can you think that of me?”
“Knowing the ins and outs of a village,” her sister explained with a sad smile, “one sees so much: horrible… dreadful... tragic situations. Beautiful ones too, so many acts of charity and Christian love! But – when women are in a position of vulnerability… Let us just say my vision of the world has become more complex.”
“You have not turned cynical, dear?” Elizabeth said with a strained laugh, and Jane shook her head again,
“I do not know. Perhaps a bit – and maybe the change was necessary. I need to know more of the world, to be able to help others.”
There was a tense silence, before Elizabeth started again, in a whisper,
“I cannot leave him, Jane, not when he has to sell Pemberley – when he has to see all the things he has worked for being wrenched from him – no one should be alone in such a moment.”
“Does he love you still?”
Elizabeth looked away – through the window, to the garden and the hills.
“I think so. He has not spoken one word – I mean, recently he has not – since his first proposal, years ago – but – I – I believe he does.”
“Which makes the situation even more dangerous. A man in love, in a desperate time, with the woman he covets, helpless under his roof…”
“Oh Jane, you have become cynical,” Elizabeth protested. “When did it happen that of the two of us, I am the one with the most faith in human beings?”
“Because you are not married,” Jane answered. “And you do not see – what I see every day.”
∞∞∞
When Elizabeth returned to Pemberley, the weather was cloudy – everything was lost in mist – the hills grey, green, and lavender – the hedgerows teeming with birds and animal life.
Elizabeth almost forgot, as she rode through the countryside, how seriously everyone was suffering. It seemed as though England was eternal – what they were living now was but an inconsequential incident of history, a mere pebble soon to be buried under the sands of times – but she could also see the signs of neglect in the estate – the nettles and brambles devouring the lanes, the woods encroaching. Without the necessary personnel, the domain was falling in disarray.
She arrived at the house with her feelings in an odd state of confusion – her heart beating a little too fast, her stomach hurting for a mysterious reason – every step forward seemed imbued with purpose and signification.
“Oh. You came back,” Mrs. Reynolds said.
She stared at Elizabeth for a moment – disapproval and resignation quickly being replaced by a studied indifference. Elizabeth suddenly felt with the utmost power how her return would seem to everybody – how she was confirming their suspicions – how she was gambling her honor and future – she was aware, of course – Jane had certainly made it clear – but seeing Mrs. Reynolds’ gaze right now, on her – was difficult.
“I cannot have tea brought to your room, Miss Bennet,” Mrs. Reynolds continued coldly. “We had to let go almost everybody.”
“Of course… I will make it myself.”
Mrs. Reynolds left the kitchen and Elizabeth sipped her tea alone, on the huge, wooden, empty table, her hands slightly trembling.
∞∞∞
The afternoon passed and Elizabeth did not see Darcy.
He was busy, a footman said. So Elizabeth busied herself by visiting the elderly couple near Lambton again – truth was, she felt almost sick with nerves and disappointment. She could still feel Mrs. Reynolds’ look of disapproval, marking her, like a stain of infamy; it was quite irrational, but Elizabeth fancied that anyone she met in the estate was seeing it – seeing the stain – interpreting her return as her desire to become Darcy’s mistress – as throwing herself at his feet.
She should go back to Jane, she thought, there was still time – but fleeing felt like admitting to wrongdoing – when she came back to the main house night was falling, and Darcy asked her to come to his study.
He was sitting at his beautiful mahogany desk – the piece was already sold, but not yet sent to the new owner.
“Good evening, Mr. Darcy,” she said politely.
“Good evening, Miss Bennet. Please sit down.”
She did, and listened with surprise when Darcy began a long speech in which he detailed the state of what was left of his investments overseas. A lot of it was now worthless, lost in lands that were not part of the Empire anymore, but there were also sums in promising ventures in Scotland, in the south of the Americas, and in the north of that same continent. The peace with the very new United States had been a hasty and unpopular decision, but it was an extremely wise one – England desperately needed new commercial partners and the efforts of the country had suddenly turned westward.
Elizabeth was silent, but attentive – certainly Darcy wanted to ask for some advice – but the question did not come. Minutes passed; he was still talking, now explaining what his financial situation would be after the sale of Pemberley – the sum he would receive was almost symbolic, and after dispatching all the debts and obligations there would be close to nothing – but he still had a few family revenues – some mo
ney from his mother’s side – “and I kept the house in Glasgow,” he continued, “it is not very large, but it is comfortable. It is situated near the mill – which is still making some profit – all in all I would say I would start my new existence with a little less than one thousand a year,” he continued, in a very neutral, controlled voice. “This without taking into account the potential of those investments I listed before – and I was wondering – I would like to ask, Miss Bennet – I would be very honored if you would agree to be my wife.”
Do You Love Me Page 8