by Riana Everly
“Indeed, Miss Bennet. I have some definite thoughts on the matter, and if she wishes, can inquire about a pup from one of the breeders in Derby—”
His thought was cut short by a great cry from the direction of the pond. Little Julia, in her exuberance and joy, had flung a great handful of seed into the air whilst spinning on her feet as small children are wont to do. Instead of landing at the edge of the pond, as she had surely expected, some of the seeds fell instead by Samuel, and some even ended up in his hair.
The pigeons, quite unconcerned as to where their food landed, began rushing towards the pair in the shade in a flurry of feathers and beaks and loud caws. Sammy’s eyes widened in horror as the birds descended upon him. Some landed inches from his feet, pecking at the seeds on the grass before him; others had seen or smelled the kernels in his hair and flapped about his head. “No!” he cried, waving his hands about him. “No, no, no!”
The wild motion of his hands scattered the flock for a moment, but the damage had been done. Samuel’s voice rang with panic, and as Lizzy watched, his eyes lost focus as he continued to cry out against the aborted attack of feathered fiends. He continued to flail wildly as he shouted, seemingly unaware of his surroundings.
“Miss Elizabeth, watch the children.” Lizzy barely heard Miss Pierce’s voice. It had a been so long a time since last she had witnessed her cousin so distressed that she was quite in shock. Beside her, she sensed rather than observed Mr. Darcy’s similar reaction. He stood perfectly still, eyes fixed unblinking upon her poor cousin and the effects of the trauma caused by the birds.
She blinked. Miss Pierce had spoken, had needed her. “Yes, yes of course! The children.” She gathered the youngsters about her, all three of them wrapped within the circle of her arms. Julia was now crying as well. “I made Sammy sad! I didn’t wanna make him sad. I’m sorry!” The little girl wept, leaving wet stains on Elizabeth’s walking dress and tearing at the flowers on her bonnet.
Lizzy murmured soothing sounds and tried, with half her attention, to calm the children, whilst watching Miss Pierce with a combination of horror and awe. Mr. Darcy still stood as if in a thrall, watching the proceedings, and Cabal rose to his paws, moving just far enough from Samuel so as not to be hurt by a mindless swing of an arm.
Miss Pierce took two careful steps towards the distraught lad, speaking in a low and calm voice with words that Elizabeth could not hear. Now that she was recovered from her shock, she knew the routine and understood what Miss Pierce was about. The words that the governess intoned were of little import; the speaker and soothing tone were much more vital to the woman’s purpose. As Lizzy watched, Miss Pierce continued to address Sammy in that calm voice until the swinging of the arms allowed her to approach more closely, but not once did she attempt to touch the youth. After what seemed a very long time, the restless arms fell to Sammy’s sides and the boy began to keen in a high pitched voice. He wrapped his arms about himself and rocked from side to side, keening and whimpering, until Cabal took a step towards him.
Lizzy started. Samuel had taken a great liking to the dog, but he was as yet a novelty, something new and unknown. Would the presence of the large beast cause her cousin to revert to his tantrum? She fought the urge to rush towards him, mindful still of the three young children within her arms, and ever aware of Mr. Darcy, still standing as still as a statue, but with his eyes so very alert. This was not the man who retreated within his self-made shell, but someone painfully aware of what was happening about him.
To her alarm, she saw Samuel start to move, but now it was not with the wild motions he had used against the descending flock of pigeons. Rather, he held out one hand at the perfect height, and Cabal sidled closer, until his head was directly under Sammy’s hand. His fingers clenched and unclenched in the thick fur on the hound’s head, until he was petting and stroking it. Gradually the keening lessened and then stopped, and Miss Pierce stepped forward again, holding out her own hand. This, too, Sammy grabbed, and then they were gathered into a small knot, woman, boy and dog, until all was calm once more.
“Miss Bennet, might I ask you to take the children home,” Miss Pierce asked at last. “Master Samuel and I shall join you shortly. Mr. Darcy, might we borrow Cabal for the moment? We shall return him to you as soon as we return.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” Elizabeth looked around to ensure her three charges had all of their belongings and then began to lead them back through the park and towards the lane that would return them to Gracechurch Street, Mr. Darcy at her side. He had said not a word since the birds had started their unintentional attack upon Samuel, and she knew not what he must be thinking. Was he horrified at the association now? Had he seen an aspect to his young acquaintance which would make him wish to discontinue the friendship? Was he embarrassed to have any connexion with such a family that would allow a boy of twelve years—nearly a man!—to exhibit such untoward behaviour in a public park? Every doubt in the world assailed her, and Mr. Darcy’s continued silence did little to ease her roiling sensibilities.
It was only after the three younger children had been delivered safely into the arms of their mother, along with an explanation of why Miss Pierce and Samuel were not with them, that Mr. Darcy spoke. “Miss Elizabeth…” his voice was low, his words uncertain. “I am sorry…”
“I am the one who is sorry, sir. You should not have seen that. I ought to have explained, to have warned you, that Sammy still has his difficulties and unexpected reactions to ordinary occurrences. He will never be completely unaffected by whatever makes him different. If you would prefer to sever the relationship…”
Now it was his hand upon her arm that stopped her. “That was not my meaning, Miss Bennet. Not at all. When I saw the birds begin to swarm towards him, I felt myself react just as he did. I have the years and practice to moderate my response, but I felt only the greatest sympathy and care for your cousin. I was only sorry that he should have suffered so shocking an event that brought him to that state. Believe me, what I saw does not alter my regard for Master Samuel at all. Neither does it change my regard for you… and your family.” He added the final words after a slight pause.
Elizabeth felt her face grow red. Even Mr. Darcy could not mistake such a blush. She turned quickly towards the window and walked over to look out over the street to seek out Miss Pierce and Sammy.
“They are coming,” she answered her own question. “Sammy will likely not know what to say…”
“Then you will allow me to speak instead.” She turned to see a pair of warm eyes meet and hold her own.
Within moments the door opened and Miss Pierce, Sammy, and Cabal entered the house. Having discharged his duties, Cabal sniffed out his master and padded across the floor to Mr. Darcy’s side. Sammy seemed much improved, but very quiet.
Elizabeth whispered her great appreciation to Miss Pierce, who took her leave to find the younger children and Mrs. Gardiner, leaving Sammy in the entry hall. His face was calm, but his eyes were red and fixed firmly upon the floor by his feet.
“Birds terrify me,” Mr. Darcy tossed off the comment as if observing the weather. “They are so unpredictable.” Then, without waiting for a reply, he added, “I hope to see you on Thursday at my house with your friend Robert, when we shall build our spying devices. Miss Elizabeth, the offer of my library stands, should you find little interest in my workshop. I do look forward to seeing you both then. Please offer my regards to Mrs. Gardiner. I must be going.”
He offered his hand to Samuel, who shook it without looking up from the floor, and then took Elizabeth’s hand to press a kiss just above her fingertip, before leaving with Cabal on his heels. Sammy still said not a word, but as he turned towards the stairs which would take him to his rooms in the nursery, Elizabeth was gratified to see a small smile spread across his pale lips.
Chapter Seventeen
The Workshop
In the end, it transpired that Elizabeth did not need the recourse of Mr. Darcy’s literary co
llection, for she found, to her own surprise, the study of lenses fascinating. Perhaps it was the lenses themselves, the clear slips of glass and crystal, that had the intriguing ability to literally change how she saw the world; perhaps it was the overwhelming variety of them—convex, concave, parabolic—which when set up in concert with each other had such amazing properties; perhaps, she admitted only to herself in the most private recesses of her mind, it was the man explaining his collection to the small group gathered in his workroom.
Samuel and his friend Robert stood rapt as Mr. Darcy described some of the lenses he had in his possession, and then explained how to set them up in the tubes he had acquired for the purpose, along with some small and specially designed mirrors and prisms, to create the periscopes he and Samuel had been planning for some days. “We shall construct ours according to the plans described by Johannes Hevelius in his work Selenographia, sive Lunae descriptio, which he published in 1647.” He spread some sheets of paper, covered with diagrams and schematics upon a worktable and pointed out various aspects of the device they planned to construct. Two young heads nodded very seriously at this directive and quickly settled themselves at the well-lit work table to get to their tasks.
Robert, a gregarious freckled boy with a gap-toothed smile and a mop of fair hair, seemed as enthralled with the task as his serious friend, but unlike Samuel, he was less willing to study the device for its own sake.
“What shall we use these for once they are complete, sir?” he asked of his host. “Surely they must be put to some practical employment!”
Mr. Darcy and Samuel exchanged a glance that admitted neither had considered applications for their toys, but Mr. Darcy was quick to consider Robert’s question. “Why, Robert, I believe we may use these to engage in some sort of game. The lenses will magnify the images suitably that one may engage in sending messages to a partner. If she is so kind, at tea once we have finished our devices, Miss Bennet can assist us in devising rules and objectives for our game. A scavenger hunt, perhaps, wherein each party tries to direct the other to a secret object whilst remaining out of direct sight, using the periscope to transmit clues.”
“A fine idea, sir!” Robert beamed. Elizabeth smiled as well. Robert, she considered, was to Samuel what Mr. Bingley was to Mr. Darcy: a good friend with all the natural social graces and innate good humour that would provide a nice counterpoint to the other’s solemnity and lack of social ease. She hoped the two boys would retain their friendship through the difficult years of adolescence and into adulthood.
“I would be most delighted to help you design this game,” she announced. Her enthusiastic smile was evident in her voice. “I shall consider some of the aspects we must decide upon whilst you construct your devices, and let us discuss and set out the rules at tea, as Mr. Darcy wisely suggests.”
This was most agreeable, and everybody set to work. The boys quickly became completely engaged in building their periscopes, as Mr. Darcy hovered near them like a mother hen guarding her chicks, ready for any question about the materials or problems with the construction technique. When not answering the boys’ queries, he talked quietly with Elizabeth, further explaining the properties of different lenses.
The subject matter was of more interest than she had supposed, and she found the enterprise quite entertaining. It became even more so when Mr. Darcy took her to one side of the room to show her his smaller, but still considerable, collection of prisms and cut crystals. The boys by now were quite comfortable at their tasks and required almost no input from their mentor, leaving the adults to talk with little interruption.
“I am, for some reason, much less interested in the physical properties of prisms,” the gentleman explained to his guest, “but even I must admit they are quite beautiful. Whilst I do not study them as I do lenses, they are very closely related in the realms of optical science, and they can be most useful when putting the lenses to practical use. However, I admit that my interest seldom extends to the useful! I am content to study my lenses for their own sakes. Nevertheless, I have a reasonable collection of these prisms, and I hope you will find some interest in them.”
He opened the glass doors to a large cabinet that had been built to the specifications of the room, for it filled the space exactly and stood to its advantage in the full rays of the afternoon sun. On a set of shelves sat a bewildering collection of strangely shaped pieces of what looked like glass. Most were triangular or pyramidal of some description; others were the familiar tear-drop shapes found in the chandeliers of the finest homes. As the bright light streamed through the clear window, each beam filtered through the dazzling variety of glass and crystal and splintered into a thousand colours of bright rainbow light. The effect was marvellous and Elizabeth felt she had wandered into a magical realm.
As she gaped at the spectacular array of prisms, Mr. Darcy picked up one of the prisms and passed the precisely cut shape to Elizabeth. She held it in her hands and examined it. It was small—little more than an inch long—with a triangular base but square sides, and completely clear. “It’s lovely,” she whispered, watching ripples of light and odd half-reflections in the small facets of the item.
“Hold it to the window,” Mr. Darcy suggested, “turn it so the light from the sun meets one of the flat edges…. Thus!”
And as her hand tilted the small object to just the right angle, a tiny, perfect rainbow appeared on the wall opposite. “Oh!” she gasped in delight. Whilst the array of splintered light in the cabinet was stunning, how much more exquisite was this one, singular and perfect spectrum upon the far wall, created for, and by, her. She raised her other hand and held it immediately behind the prism and laughed as the rainbow danced upon her own flesh.
“Beautiful, is it not?” he smiled in return. “Look at this one,” he continued, handing her another, and then another, all of which she examined with delight as she turned them and tilted them in the sunlight, cooing at the variety of rainbows they produced on the dark walls and other surfaces of the room.
“The science of optics is fascinating indeed,” Mr. Darcy told her. “Sir Isaac Newton was one of the first to describe the refraction of white sunlight into the multihued spectrum we see here on my carpet, and the flint glass, or lead crystal, we use today was developed here in London in 1673 by George Ravenscroft.” She smiled indulgently as she recognised the tone of voice he used when assuming his professorial aspect. Oblivious to her thoughts, and blind to any intimations of disinterest, he continued his lecture. This was one facet of his personality that would never change, she knew. It must be inconceivable to him that not everybody held the same fascination for his personal interests as did he, and he seemed ready to speak endlessly on this chosen topic. Perhaps, at times, she should allow him to give voice to his interests; if she could learn something of his passions, and find her own interest in them, it would provide a safe topic for conversation; furthermore, the depths of his knowledge was formidable and most impressive, and she enjoyed the sensation of being the object of affection of such a learned and intelligent man.
Eventually, however, as his lecture grew confusing and a bit tiresome, she halted his monologue and suggested he continue his presentation at a later time.
“Ah. Yes, I see. I have spoken for too long.” He frowned, then paused and asked his guest, “You have surely heard of the atelier in Waterford in Ireland, where some of the best cut glass and crystal are produced.” Elizabeth nodded, unsure how this topic related to the previous one, if at all. “I travelled there two years ago, and commissioned a work for my sister, for her eighteenth birthday. It has recently arrived, and I have it safely at Pemberley, where I shall keep it for the next two years until she reaches that age, but I wish to show you something else.” Elizabeth screwed her forehead in confusion, but said nothing. There must be a purpose to this diversion.
Mr. Darcy moved to the shelves at the far end of the cabinet, and opening the glass doors, removed a small wooden box from the top shelf. He handed it to E
lizabeth. “Open it,” he whispered.
Her hands nervously unhooked the hinged clasp, and she raised the polished lid to reveal a velvet interior, housing a small crystalline butterfly. “You may pick it up,” he assured her. “I trust you to be most careful. I should not show it to you were I not to have full faith in that.”
And there, in her hands, sat the most exquisite ornament she had ever seen. Each detail of the butterfly was a clean edge, cut from the clearest crystal she had ever seen. “It is most marvellous!” She hardly heard her voice as she spoke. “Truly, wonderfully marvellous!” Holding it now to the glass, she watched in rapturous delight as the multifaceted figurine captured the light streaming into the window and sent it exploding in a hundred different directions, lighting the butterfly from within and sending a myriad of tiny rainbows around the room. Even the boys looked up from their tasks to marvel at the display.
“The artisans used the same technique to cut the glass as they use in their drinking and display vessels. The idea for a figurine was my sister’s although she does not know this exists. It was merely a musing of hers one evening. This particular piece was the first, small attempt on the part of the artist, to see whether he could complete the larger project. The one wing is chipped—there,” he pointed to a minute irregularity in the edge, “and so it is not perfect. But it is too beautiful to discard, and so I keep it here to admire when I wish. It shows to its greatest advantage now, I see, being held by one as lovely as you.”
Elizabeth did not know what to say and blushed before finding her tongue. “You seem to have acquired a facility with words, Mr. Darcy,” she attempted to tease lightly.