Through a Different Lens

by Riana Everly

  As the weeks in London passed by, Elizabeth had so enjoyed working with Miss Pierce and her cousins that when the allotted time of her visit had elapsed, she begged her father for yet a longer stay. She ended up living with the Gardiners for nearly a year, spending time in the nursery with the children by day and expanding upon her own education with Miss Pierce’s guidance in the afternoons and evenings. The two would find new treatises on psychology and the treatment of the insane, and would devise new games that interested her cousin and helped him learn to interact with his brother and sisters, as well as with other children. It was both frustrating and fascinating, and by the time Elizabeth finally returned to Longbourn, she felt herself somewhat of an expert on working with children like her cousin Samuel.

  As the seasons came and went, Elizabeth had returned to London for several subsequent visits to her beloved aunt and uncle. On one of these visits, she made the acquaintance of Miss Pierce’s friend and that other lady’s young charge, the lad so similar to her cousin. Although the two boys were very different in many ways, they also had had many characteristics in common. Glancing down at her letter now, written so long ago but with words so deeply etched into her mind, Elizabeth believed she had now met a third person with that same unusual nature: Mr. Darcy.

  She sighed as she folded her letters and carefully replaced them into her reticule. Her mind was engaged and her feet wished to be put into motion as she thought. She stood and resumed her walk. After crossing the bridge, she found the path meandered gently through the lightly wooded fields and towards a small rise of land, on which she could see some sort of structure. Choosing this as her destination, she finally found she was able to force her thoughts into line, and began once more to ponder her interactions with Mr. Darcy.

  Elizabeth cast her mind back, reviving all the memories of her interactions with that perplexing gentleman. After that first disastrous encounter at the assembly, the next meeting which imposed itself upon her mind was at a large gathering hosted by Sir and Lady Lucas, some short time after the ball. Elizabeth had been talking with Charlotte and Colonel Forster when she noticed Mr. Darcy approach the group, as if intending to join the conversation. He had stopped short, however, and stood somewhat awkwardly a few feet to the side, close enough to listen but not quite close enough to engage with the others. Elizabeth had noticed him staring at her, only to look sharply away every time she turned to catch his eye. “How rude!” she had thought at the time, and she had even dared speak of it to Charlotte when they had some moments in privacy.

  “What does Mr. Darcy mean,” said she to Charlotte, “by listening to my conversation with Colonel Forster? He approached, but seemingly with no intention of speaking. It is quite vexing!”

  Charlotte had only laughed in response, “That is a question which Mr. Darcy only can answer.”

  Elizabeth gave a delicate snort as she turned her head to find the gentleman once more across the room, although his eyes were trained upon none but her with a most curious look. Shaking her head in bemusement, she said to her friend, “Look at him, always staring as if to find some fault. He may think it an amusement, but if he does it any more, I shall certainly let him know that I see what he is about. He has a very satirical eye, and if I do not begin by being impertinent myself, I shall soon grow afraid of him.”

  “You, Lizzy, should never be afraid of anyone, for I know you too well,” Charlotte replied. “But I do have to wonder at the man. It is most intriguing!”

  “Oh, no, Charlotte!” Lizzy had laughed, “You shall find nothing in that man but the harshest of critics, I believe. Keep your little suspicions for Jane and Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy surely finds nothing of any pleasure in me!”

  And yet now, as she walked along the gently winding path, Elizabeth reconsidered what she had really seen that evening. Had she really observed derision in Mr. Darcy’s eyes has he started at her across the room? His intentions in approaching her as she spoke with her friends had seemed, at the time, an attempt to intimidate, to let her know in no uncertain terms that her every word and gesture was being weighed and considered. But was there some other explanation for Mr. Darcy’s strange behaviour?

  Was the man, perhaps, desperately wishing to join in with the group as they chatted and playfully debated the topic at hand? She thought back to her aunt’s accounting of Samuel, so keenly wishing for friends, but so lacking in the most simple social abilities needed to interact with his peers. Mr. Darcy’s eyes, which had sought hers and then withdrawn almost in fear, his stiff stance as he hovered nearby, but unable to further approach, she both now reconsidered, and she found her earlier suppositions further confirmed by what she recalled in this new frame of mind.

  Her feet had brought her now to the small rise of land, and the structure atop was now revealed to be a folly, which must command a lovely vista of the surrounding fields. She smiled at the prospect of enjoying the view and set forth up the hillock. Upon achieving the summit, she stepped into the folly and closed her eyes while she breathed in deeply, enjoying the coolness of the shade after her walk in the warm spring sun. Upon letting her eyelids flutter open once more, her sigh of pleasure became a small gasp of surprise, for there, upon a low bench hidden in the shadows, previously unnoticed by her sun-blinded eyes, sat the very man she had been considering all this while: Mr. Darcy himself!

  As soon as their eyes met, Darcy leapt to his feet, a behaviour most clearly instilled in him from the earliest childhood. Lizzy stood as if frozen to the spot for a moment, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. She had not expected to see him so soon, not before she had fully considered what she felt she knew of him. And yet, with him standing here, suddenly before her, it seemed for a moment as if she were being granted an opportunity to fully explore her hypothesis.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy greeted her, bowing a most proper bow. He caught her gaze, holding his eyes on hers as for a few moments if by the force of will, before letting them slide aside.

  “Mr. Darcy.” Lizzy gave a proper curtsey and then continued, “I did not expect to find anybody here. If I have interrupted your solitude, please accept my apologies. I will leave you if you wish.”

  “No!” The vehemence of his exclamation caught her somewhat by surprise. She had imagined he would be too much of a gentleman to ask her to leave, but now she stopped. Did he actually wish her to stay?

  Before her revelation, she would have made another curtsey and found some excuse to depart. She had never sought out the gentleman’s company, and had, rather, been pleased to avoid it, certain of their mutual dislike. If he had been in her company more than she believed he wished, she ascribed it to his carefully-taught manners and a societal expectation not to be too uncivil to one’s company. At no point had she imagined he might have desired her presence. And yet, the strength of his assertion had surprised her, and in the new light in which she saw him, she found herself softening towards his stern demeanour.

  He continued, “I would be happy for your company, although you know that I am not adept at small talk.”

  “Whereas I,” she smiled, ‘excel at it. But never fear, sir, I shall not torment you with mindless chatter about the weather and the lovely flower arrangement on the dining table.”

  “Should you wish to discuss flower arrangements, Miss Bennet? I had not supposed you to be interested in the art, but I must confess my ignorance as to your diversions.”

  “Mr. Darcy,” she countered, “I believe the boot is on the other leg, for I know nought of your interests, so as to discuss them with you.”

  “Your boots, madam? Are you mis-shod? I shall turn my back should you wish to replace your footwear.” The expression clearly had him confused.

  She assured him with a gentle smile, “‘Tis a common idiom, sir, to indicate the reversal of affairs from what was first stated.” He nodded sagely, but Elizabeth suspected he only partly took her meaning.

  “If you wish to tell me of your particular interests, sir, I should be happy to h
ear of them.”

  To this he made no reply, but stared at her, forcing himself at intervals to meet her eyes. Ah, she thought, he does not wish to discuss his amusements, and understood my reply merely to be an offer to listen and not a request to speak. I am more and more convinced of my supposition.

  She paused for a moment, uncertain quite how to continue. If she were indeed correct, however, this man would better appreciate a direct approach, rather than some more subtle approach to the topic she wished to discuss. Taking a deep breath, she plunged into her speech like a soldier into battle.

  “Indeed, Mr. Darcy,” she said as calmly as she might, “I had wished to speak with you about exactly this subject.”

  Mr. Darcy’s eyebrows rose. “About the flower arrangement? Why should you wish to discuss that?”

  Elizabeth smiled. This was, she quickly ascertained, the best way into her inquiries. “Do you always take things so literally, Mr. Darcy?”

  His quizzical expression answered her question before his words did. “I very often fail to find any other way of understanding them. In retrospect, when I have time to consider the words and context, I have a much deeper understanding of what had been said, but at the moment, these ambiguities of speech confound me.” He frowned at the thought, and added, “I now understand your allusion to the boot being on the other leg. It is a metaphorical expression, one which really rather delights upon contemplation. However, at the moment of hearing it, as so often happens, I quite missed the meaning.” He paused, and stared once more at Elizabeth’s face, not quite meeting her eyes. She realised that her sympathetic expression would be unnoticed by her companion, and she invited him to continue, which he did shortly. “I find this is one of the many impediments I seem to have in catching the tone of conversations. People so often say what they do not, exactly, mean, or otherwise influence how they are understood by gestures or some subtle means which I cannot grasp, and I find I am left quite confused by how the discussions progress. I often find that it is to my advantage to remain silent. I would rather be thought aloof than a fool.”

  His words settled into Elizabeth’s heart, each one stinging her with regret, for she had been one of those who considered Mr. Darcy’s faults to be those of arrogance and pride, rather than pain and a feeling of inadequacy. She felt her emotions—the shame of her own past behaviour, the sadness she felt at his confession, and the pity that had suddenly sprung up in her breast for this man—settle upon her face. Not schooling her features, as she might otherwise do, she looked up at him most deliberately and asked, “Mr. Darcy, look at my face, at my expression. What do you see?”

  The tall man peered at her most carefully, avoiding catching her eyes for longer than mere moments. He seemed quite perplexed by her question. “Miss Elizabeth, I am uncertain what you wish to know. I see your chin is receding slightly, where it is customarily thrust out a small degree. You seem to have caught your lower lip between your teeth, or perhaps you have otherwise manipulated it from within, for its centre protrudes ever so slightly, while the portions closer to your cheeks are withdrawn, as if being suctioned slightly into your mouth. Your nose… is perfect. I shall not comment on that, although I suspect it may have a tendency to freckle should you spend too much time in the sun without a bonnet come summer.” He stood back, observing her closely, then continued.

  “Your eyes - I have often admired your eyes - seem to droop slightly at the outer edges, an impression made more explicit by the angle of your eyebrows, and the centre of your forehead seems somewhat furrowed. Shall I examine your ears?”

  “No, no indeed, sir, that shall not be necessary. You have given a most careful description of what you observed. I am most impressed at your observational skills and your ability to describe what you see. But I wish, rather, to know how you think I feel.”

  At this, Darcy’s head snapped up and he took a short step backwards. “How you feel? Whatever can you mean?”

  “I mean, Mr. Darcy,” came the reply, “I wish to know if you can sense my emotions from my facial expressions.”

  This demand was met by silence. Then, eventually, “No, madam, I cannot. It is one of my great failings.”

  The sliver of pity in Elizabeth’s heart swelled until she thought she might burst from the agony she felt on behalf of this misunderstood man, and she stepped towards him, being careful not to approach too closely. She imagined he would be most uncomfortable to have his immediate proximity invaded by one uninvited. “May we sit and talk, sir? Or would you prefer to walk? I have been rereading some letters from my aunt, and these recollections often leave me wanting exercise.”

  “How, if I may ask, do old letters require you to walk?” The question was serious, and Elizabeth answered in accordingly.

  “The letters pertain to my cousin Samuel. He is now a bright young lad, full of promise, but his fate was not always so rosy. When I read again of his tenderest years, I feel agitated and cannot be still”

  The gentleman did not object to the hearing of this account, and Elizabeth continued. “He was subject to a most unpleasant governess, who abused him most sorely, for all that he was five years of age, for his inability to read expressions, a characteristic that brings me in mind of you, sir.”

  At this, Mr. Darcy exclaimed, “Like me? How so? What sorts of abuses did this poor child suffer?”

  “He was beaten, and locked in a dark room, in a misguided attempt to rid him of the devil.” Even recounting this story after so long, Elizabeth’s voice shook. Mr. Darcy did not comment on her voice, but echoed the sentiment.

  “That is most grievous to hear. I, too, suffered at the hands of a nursery maid as a young child. I was not told the reason, but I still recall the beatings for doing no wrong that I could discern. But what evil could the governess see in your young cousin?”

  Elizabeth thought furiously. She believed she might know some way to ease Mr. Darcy’s comfort in society, but she could not offer herself as his tutor! His status was so much above hers, the association would be demeaning to him. And yet she was certain she might help. Would hearing Samuel’s story let her enough into Mr. Darcy’s confidence that she might attempt an offer of assistance? Steeling herself, she decided at once to try.

  “As I have said, Samuel, like yourself, has trouble reading facial expressions.” She paused, wondering how to continue. Then she started afresh. “Would you permit me to tell you a story, Mr. Darcy?”

  “A story? How does that relate to facial expressions? Or are we still discussing flower arrangements?” Darcy’s confusion seemed genuine, and he stared at Elizabeth openly, disregarding her returned gaze. For the first time, Elizabeth realised, she could clearly see the colour of his eyes. Before now, every time he had managed to hold her gaze for more than the briefest moment, his eyelids had fluttered or he had quickly glanced aside. She had held the impression of light eyes, but now she could see the colour for what it was, a misty moss green, verging on hazel. How easy it would be to dismiss the colour as light brown in the wake of his distracted glances, but how interesting and intense it was now, when his gaze was willingly bestowed. She ached to see his eyes in the light of the sun, and not in the deep shadow of this folly.

  “Let us walk, then, Mr. Darcy,” she offered, “and I shall tell you of my cousin. And then, if you permit me, I shall explain myself, for I see that you find my words most confusing.” She smiled at him. “I find I am most adept at reading facial expressions—at least most of the time,” she shook her head ruefully, “and yes, I believe my tale might be of interest to you. Come, sir, let us walk.”

  She waited for him to collect himself, and then stood aside. He might have been taught, from the youngest age, to offer his arm to a lady, but she would not expect it, and most certainly not demand it. She would let the gentleman determine how he wished to proceed, and she would act accordingly. She had learned this much, and so much more, with young Samuel.

  To her surprise, Mr. Darcy did indeed offer his arm, and she took it
lightly as they walked. He did not seem uncomfortable by the touch of her hand upon his forearm, and indeed, she thought his entire demeanour was more at ease than ever she had seen him. His shoulders were loose and his gait was easy and free. How different, she thought, from the stiff and rigid statue he seemed so often to be. They strolled in silence for some minutes and then Elizabeth began her tale.

  “You have heard me speak, I am certain, of my aunt and uncle in London.”

  Darcy nodded. “The relations who reside near Cheapside, on Gracechurch Street. I heard your sister make mention of this once.”

  It was not a question and Elizabeth continued her explanation. “I care for them and respect them very much, and I have spent much time with them in the city. They might be in trade, but I am certain, should you ever meet them, you would not be ashamed to be in their company, for they are the finest people and most genteel.

  “They have four children; the oldest is a boy, now twelve years old, named Samuel. He is a lovely child, and extremely intelligent, but he has also always been unusual. He spoke later than most children, and he did not seem to follow conversations well, even as he grew older. He would say things that did not flow naturally from the discussion at hand, and would interrupt with observations completely removed from the topic. He also exhibited some rather unusual physical habits. His father and mother despaired, at first, that he was feeble-minded.”

  “Unusual physical habits, Miss Elizabeth? What can you mean?” Mr. Darcy’s interest was genuine.

  “I mean, sir, that my cousin, when upset or agitated, feels the need to spin himself in circles and wave his hands in the air, or worry them together, as if rinsing them repeatedly. Other times, he rocks back and forth repeatedly, or makes strange high noises with his voice. He says that these motions soothe him.”