No Thank You, Mr Darcy

by Lucy Tilney

  “I remember him well,” replied Elizabeth, “it was made worse by the fact that he owned several newspapers so there was nothing to stop him getting printed. Awful man, should have been locked up, but why are you talking about him?”

  Lydia rolled her eyes, “The point is that he was invited to speak in Meryton town hall by our splendid mayor, Sir William, and it was co-signed by such worthies as Mr. Morris, Mr. Goulding, and Dr. Jones! Oh, the moment Daddy told me about that invitation I knew, I knew what you'd said about Meryton was true and I should take my misadventure and turn it into a ticket out of the horrid place.”

  If Elizabeth thought that Lydia had misunderstood her claims about Meryton she kept her thoughts to herself. She had only intended to cite simple facts about middle-class, small town life but if she had had the effect of Lydia wanting to make her own way it was a cause for rejoicing, misunderstanding or not.

  “What do you intend to do with Italian and bookkeeping?”

  Lydia shrugged, “Lord knows. Get a job as a housekeeper in an Italian villa, wait till the owner goes away for a while, steal all his Bellinis, sell them on the black market, come home, live like a duchess, and swagger up and down Meryton high street in my kitten heels and a feather boa. Oh, and marry the Prince of Wales but he’ll have to drop that Freda dame though.”

  “Splendid. Do you have a Plan B in case it doesn’t work out, you know, perhaps the Bellinis turn out to be copies.”

  Lydia leaned back and sucked her pencil, “Nope, Plan A is so perfect, it can’t fail.”

  Elizabeth suggested going out for coffee the following morning. She was very desirous of avoiding more time with their mother.

  Lydia shrugged, “Boring tea-rooms, boring men, boring bookshops, ad boring buildings unless you like colleges and I don’t.”

  But at last, she agreed. Who would ever have thought Lydia Bennet would need talked into leaving the house!

  HAPPY FAMILIES

  Lydia, despite her manifold improvements, was still not interested in bookshops which, to Elizabeth, were the main attraction of any university town but she endured them good-naturedly and Elizabeth promised to stand her tea. They had just settled themselves in a window seat in The Buttery when a rap on the pane revealed Cousin William on the other side looking like a portly crow in a capello Romano.

  “Didn’t know they were holding auditions for pantomimes,” muttered Lydia as Elizabeth choked back a groan and tried to look, if not pleased, then on the right side of tolerant as he bustled in ordering another pot of tea and parking himself where he wasn’t wanted.

  For a moment the atmosphere was worse than the one they had left at home. William remembered saying that Lydia ought to have a scarlet letter on her blouse and Lydia wondered if they had ever found the winkles she’d stuffed in the rectory pelmets when her mother had dragged her there for a spiritual talking-to or if the whole house was now stinking like a fish market at closing time.

  After a moment or two, she decided to continue with her policy of putting the past in its place.

  “It’s nice to see you, Cousin William,” she said primly.

  “I am glad to see you in good health, Cousin Lydia,” he replied civilly.

  Another moment or two passed. Elizabeth caught the eye of a small boy and wondered if she slipped him a sixpence he could be persuaded to start shouting ‘Fire!’

  The waitress returned with their order which in William’s case included a plate with three fruit buns which he began to butter liberally, “My raisin d’etre for coming to Cambridge,” he said with a wink.

  “They’re currants,” said Lydia looking at Elizabeth as if she thought their cousin might be certifiable.

  “And I have news of Meryton,” he said between mouthfuls.

  “We hear everything about Meryton from our granny, thank you.”

  He looked up in surprise, “Ah, but this is something you will be able to tell your granny, but it is Elizabeth who will be most pleased to hear it. I have just come from Kings Lynn where I have been speaking to the bishop on behalf of an illustrious acquaintance and your friend Mr. Annesley has been given the living of St Julian-on-the-River and there is a new curate to take care of St Michael’s, Longbourn now that Mr. Bayley has gone up to Scotland to become rector of Our Lady and St Finnan in Inverkippie. My acquaintance only wanted a position for Mr. Annesley but while I was there talking to His Grace it occurred to me what a blessing it would be if I had no responsibilities towards St Michael’s. I am most relieved never to have to think about that chancel roof again. Annesley can have the dashed thing and good riddance to him, I mean, it.”

  He smiled and devoted his attention to his second bun while Elizabeth marvelled at how quickly Darcy could act and how adroitly William turned things to his own advantage, particularly when it meant less work to do.

  “And now that I think of it I have even more news. Mr. Annesley gave me information of some import about a personage you girls might remember. A Mr. Darcy?”

  He looked quizzically at them as if the visit of a multi-millionaire to their sleepy little East Anglia town might have passed them by, “A prodigiously decent fellow, if I say so myself, we had quite a chat at the Christmas ball, oh, yes you were there, Cousin Elizabeth, I quite forgot. Well, Mr. Darcy is to marry, what think you of that then?”

  Elizabeth opened her mouth but no words came out which was as well given that her feelings about William knowing before the rest of the family were not happy ones.

  “Well, he is handsome,” said Lydia, “bit of a wonder that no-one snapped him up before.”

  “Hmmphmmph…” said Mr. Collins who had taken advantage of the brief silence to cram quarter of a heavily buttered bun into his mouth, “I beweive the undewstanding to be of some duwation. He and Lady Claiwa de Buhhh have been an item, as they say, for two wears. I heawd it from Mr. Annesley.”

  He swallowed his indelicate quantity of bun and smiled at them through currant-studded teeth and then turned the same delight on the waitress who had returned with his request for more butter.

  “Thank you, m’dear, always such prompt service in The Buttery. Yes, yes… where was I… oh yes, Annesley, rather anxious to be away from Rosings before the wedding plans get underway, we gents know what you ladies are like about weddings, eh? Then I daresay it is the most important day of your lives. The whole thing appears to have made Lady Catherine almost pleasant.”

  “I understand you didn’t get on with her?”

  “Oh, well, well, I wouldn’t say that. Let us simply say it wasn’t a parish I’d like to be rector of. Her ladyship had singular views on certain subjects and you know me, I like to live and let live. Now I wonder if the waitress will bring more jam? It’s jolly good jam, if I’d known about The Buttery, girls, I’d never have gone to Oxford. Here, Miss! Miss! More jam! Now I was thinking that magazine of yours needs a spiritual advice column to help keep the young ladies on the straight and narrow. I’m a great advocate of the straight and narrow for young ladies as I’m sure you’re aware and now that I don’t have to keep an eye on St Julian’s or St Michael’s I have time to write and I feel I am the very chap. We could call it Fordyce’s Friends, you do know who Fordyce is, or perhaps I should say was, but anyway, I could pop off some advice while writing my sermon on Saturday, that way it would always be in line with the Lectionary, I mean I assume you don’t encourage non-Anglican readers, and I could zip it off to you and as I write my sermons a week in advance you could have it all printed up for the girls to read in time for the next weekend. Couldn’t you?”

  Elizabeth drank her tea and refused him the compliment of a rational response and luckily before he could push the subject, Lydia’s inventive mind came up with an excuse that enabled them to leave as he began his assault on the third bun. After all, as she pointed out as she straightened her hat in the window of the theological bookshop next door (and prevented Elizabeth going in almost in the same action), they didn’t want to be there when he broke the chair.r />
  “I honestly believe he’s getting worse,” replied Elizabeth.

  “I think he’s settling into what he’s going to be,” said Lydia with a flash of wisdom, “pompous and weak. Reverend Bertram put his foot down over Billing but William wouldn’t, he’d just not be around to meet him. You know. Lily-livered.”

  After that the two girls walked the long road back to de Freville Avenue in silence. Lydia was pleased with herself for having been civil (and still wondering about the winkles) and Elizabeth was going over the bizarre idea that Darcy had approached the bishop through Cousin William and alternating it with wondering why Lady Catherine had chosen now to put about the story that Fitzwilliam was engaged to Claire de Bourgh. When they got home the post had arrived and Lydia grabbed the envelope and flew upstairs with enthusiasm not seen since pre-Brighton days.

  To Elizabeth’s relief, her mother didn’t know Cousin William was in Cambridge and hadn’t invited him to dinner. It was a quiet table. Her father ate silently, his mind clearly elsewhere, and Phoebe had little to say beyond sniping jealously about Jane’s prolonged visit to York, lording Jane’s duck egg of a sapphire over Maria Lucas’s (as she said) paltry little garnets, and enthusing that Jane’s wedding lace had cost quite ten times as much as Margaret Leigh’s. Elizabeth found the monologue depressing and began to long for the old chattery days at Longbourn which had irritated her so much at the time.

  Mummy… Lydia took my new stockings… where is Hill, has she gone to Brazil for the coffee… did you see Primrose Goulding’s new hat, whatever makes her think she suits pink… Mary, if I see that cat under this table once more… I can’t find the new ‘Church Times’… I used it for hair curlers nee-naw-nee-naw… Daddy, Lydia cut up my ‘Church Times’ for her hair… Lizzy, stop sniggering… has anyone read my letter to in The Telegraph… no, my dear, why on earth would I read letters from my own husband in the newspapers… did you hear Fatty Willikins fell off his bicycle… Owen Combes is walking out with Fiona Lucas, Lord knows what he sees in her… Jane, do try to show some interest in Myrtle…

  He was waiting for her when her train pulled into Kings Cross and it felt so natural and so good that it was an acute disappointment to recall that she was being taken to her own little flat in the Gardiners’ attic rather than back to Berkeley Square but while it was alright for her to have spent a couple of nights there as Annette’s guest it was impossible without her and Annette had been whisked off to Pemberley to prevent the older staff coming en masse by train to London to see her for themselves.

  She gave her Cambridge report: House rather nice, parents much the same, mother over-excited about the wedding, Lydia much improved.

  And he gave his London report: Anne persuaded to travel and let Ranulf run Rosings, Ranulf ridiculously excited about growing apples, plan underway to remove Aunt Catherine altogether which unfortunately doesn’t involve Holloway, best of all, there is an engagement ring waiting in the safe.

  She took his arm and snuggled in best she could while walking, “Let’s check the arrivals board in case there’s a train in from York and Jane is on it.” There was indeed a train just puffing in on the last few yards of its 200-mile trip but there was no Jane.

  Elizabeth frowned, “This should be the ideal train for her. What can have happened?”

  “I am sure Jane is fine,” he said, “most people by the age of twenty-five can manage the train between York and London in safety. Are you always such a worrier?”

  Elizabeth laughed, “No, only where my four sisters are concerned. Come on, let’s hurry while there are still come cabs left.”

  They joined hands and weaving in and out of the crowds made their way through the main entrance, past the gaggle of buildings and kiosks outside, and across the road to the taxi rank.

  “I’d like to put your ring on your finger before you tell Jane and Bingley tells me you have been oath-bound to tell her first since you were eleven.”

  Her heart did a little pitter-patter as he handed her bag to the driver and asked for Berkeley Square.

  TELLING JANE

  Too much time, if any time could be called too much, spent smooching at Berkeley Square meant Elizabeth barely reached West Hampstead in time for dinner. She slipped her ring off in the cab and when she reached her dressing table she added it to the aquamarine cross she always wore and tucked both inside her dress.

  At least Elizabeth was certain Jane liked Darcy whereas her parents and other sisters doubtless still held the opinion she had in Hertfordshire. She waited until after dinner and were they curled up on opposite ends of the sofa in the attic flat to open her heart. Jane, who had been stitching Charles’ initials on to a supply of white handkerchiefs, laid down her work in absolute amazement.

  “Are you teasing me, Lizzy?”

  “This is a fine beginning because if you do not believe me then no-one will. No, I am not teasing you. He loves me. I love him. We are engaged.”

  Jane took up her hoop again and examined her stitching closely, “But Lizzy you have disliked him since the Assembly Rooms dance. I won’t deny that Charles and I have talked of it, I mean, how marvellous it would be if his best friend married my best sister, but neither of us could imagine it actually happening.”

  “You said Charles told you Darcy was attached to someone and he would speak to her after the possible misunderstanding with Lady Claire de Bourgh was cleared away. The someone was me.”

  She thought she might as well talk to the chrysanthemums in the grate for all the response or comprehension she was getting from Jane who despite being generally unsuspicious was steadfastly clinging to the ridiculously outdated idea that Elizabeth had a poor opinion of Darcy. She had to put all her powers of persuasion to work to convince her favourite sister that she was not the victim of a stupendous leg-pull and when she succeeded the reaction was not at all what she wanted.

  “Are you sure about this? You hardly know him.”

  “You hardly know Charles.”

  “I had over two months in Meryton with Charles. Coffees in the Copper Kettle, the cinema, tea dances and so on and I've seen him every day since we got back together. More importantly, Lizzy, I’ve always wanted to get married and I've had a lot of time to think about marrying Charles but you wanted a career and we both know you could move on from ‘Twenty’ to something more significant and prestigious but you won't be able to do that as Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

  Elizabeth picked up a cushion to hug, “I expected this talk from father, not you. “

  Jane smiled, “He'll have his version, but he has no idea of how much or how little you've seen of Darcy but I do. You've had one visit to Gunter's, one dance, two dinners at Netherfield, several arguments, one dinner at his aunt's house, odd little conversations here and there in London, and now you want to marry him. Can you see why I’m worried?”

  “I do. I love him. I couldn't be more certain if I'd been studying his character for twelve months. I can't explain it, not in the hard and fast terms you want, but I love him.”

  Jane nodded, “Then I'm thrilled for you. Didn’t I say months ago it would be marvellous if we married best friends? Now, is there a ring I should see?”

  Amazingly Jane’s shriek of delight didn’t reach down three floors to where their aunt and uncle were quietly reading by the fire with their mugs of cocoa although Elizabeth was never sure how.

  “Oh, Lizzy, I declare you have the second most beautiful engagement ring in the world,” she cried and they both fell back on the sofa giggling and when she had recovered the only thing Jane wanted to know was if Elizabeth could pinpoint the moment she fell in love.

  “I’m not sure. I think it was all the luxury in the London house and the realisation that if I was Mrs. Darcy I’d never have to wear artificial silk stockings again.”

  Jane sighed, “Well, you were serious for a whole fifteen minutes. I suppose I shall be content. Where will you principally live, Pemberley, I suppose?”

  It was odd to think
that she had never seen her future home and that she had no choice in it but, then, she had visited the Peak District and she had no doubt it would be beautiful so when Jane told her that Charles was thinking of purchasing a house somewhere between Pemberley and York she could not have been made happier.

  The next day she helped Jane finish packing. Despite all the possibilities of London, Cambridge, and York Jane had wanted her girlhood dream of marrying in Longbourn Church so she was to stay with her friend, Edith, whose parents lived a short walk from the church while the banns were read. In just over three weeks Elizabeth would join her and the rest of the family would come from Cambridge and Meryton on the day.

  Their uncle drove them to Kings Cross as Jane had mysteriously acquired extra possessions during her stay. Elizabeth wanted to ensure Jane was getting the wedding she wanted, her father's words fresh in her mind, everything Jane originally wanted was well within my ability to pay for and rather lovely too was fresh in her mind. They squeezed into the back of the car with several hat boxes Jane refused to consign to the boot.

  Jane laughed nervously, “I put my foot down as much as I could. The only mistake, I suppose it was a mistake, was to show Charles a dress and tell him I was having it copied by Mrs. Porter in Meryton and then his mother insisted on buying the original which put our mother’s nose out of joint. I tried to make it clear to our mother I would not have what our father could not afford to pay for. I have to say I am a little worried she did not listen as she's been ordering several outfits for a trousseau that are all bespoke and impossible to return. I do hope, Lizzy, that the rent from Longbourn makes it possible because I know our father would be too embarrassed to let Charles pay for any of it and I know how much he dreads debt.”

  The little furrow between her eyebrows told Elizabeth she was not convinced and when she met her uncle’s glance in the rear view mirror she knew that he too knew the truth and that Phoebe was emptying the bank.