My Dearest Mr. Darcy

by Sharon Lathan

  They were inside the small lobby. Lizzy glanced about, noting the majority of the attendees to be common folk with simple suits and gowns. A minority was of a higher class and dressed in finer attire, and only a handful of those dressed as well as Darcy and Lizzy. She felt terribly self-conscious in her elaborate ball gown, but Darcy glided through the press of people as if at the Royal Theatre in London, heading directly toward the balcony stairs and confidently expecting all to part before him. The strange thing is that they did! A hush preceded their steps, a gap instantly created for Darcy to escort his wife through, and muted whispers of awe rose in their wake. Lizzy wanted to shrink into her skin yet concurrently puffed with pride at her husband's natural nobility and grace. Darcy was innocently ignorant.

  The theater balcony did not boast individual boxes but rather was designed with long rows of seats, larger and more comfortable than the seats on the main floor. The low balcony afforded an excellent view of the black-draped center stage and two smaller curtained areas to the sides. The room was dimly lit although whether this was normal or as a means of increasing the eerie atmosphere for the performance, Lizzy did not know. The Darcys were ushered to seats in the first row, near the right side. Most of the seats were already filled, and the fever of excitement with palpable shivers of fear raced through the assembly.

  Lizzy leaned toward her husband and whispered, “Will you hold my hand, William, so I will not be afraid?” She looked up into his face with a smile, but her eyes were mildly anxious. She would sooner be horsewhipped than admit it, but she was a bit frightened.

  Darcy chuckled and took her hand. “I will protect you, my dear. No ghosts or specters will be allowed to molest you so long as I am here.” He grinned and Lizzy laughed, slapping him with her folded fan.

  Suddenly several of the dim lights were extinguished, throwing the already dusky room into deeper shadows. Numerous gasps were released, folks shuffling to their seats in earnest. A deep, sepulchral voice erupted into the hushed hall, startling everyone as the disembodied voice intoned without inflection:

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the living, find thy seats hastily. The spirits are restless, desiring to arise in a dance macabre. None has the power to detain them. Do not be found wandering the empty aisles! This would be… unwise. Can thoust control the whimsy of the dead?”

  The voice continued in the same vein as the final stragglers took their seats. The remaining lights were doused one by one until total darkness was achieved. As the final lights went out, slowly one by one, music gradually swelled. Music eerily brought forth by a glass armonica and accompanied by whining winds and clapping thunder. The gloomy voice grew fainter as it beseeched the dead to rise and begged for pity on the living until drowned completely by the wailing sounds emanating from the depths of the orchestra pit. Abruptly a deafening boom rent the air, succeeded by utter silence.

  Lizzy was clutching Darcy's hand so tightly he winced, attempting to wiggle his fingers enough to restore circulation, but she would not let go. He bent to where he thought her ear was, whispering, “Elizabeth, I cannot feel my fingers.” She started violently and then giggled, planting a kiss in the dark, which landed on the side of his nose, and loosened her crushing grip. He immediately encircled her shoulders and drew her into his side. No fear of inappropriate public behavior being frowned on here as no one could see them and he strongly suspected everyone would be tightly clenching each other before the show concluded.

  The boom was rapidly followed by the appearance of a hazy red fog at center stage, the curtains apparently having been withdrawn. Out of the smoke a phantom appeared, growing larger and larger as it seemed to float over the gasping audience. The evilly grinning phantom was bathed in the red smoke, giving it the impression of blood, with a dagger in one hand and a severed head in the other. All instantly knew this to be the French Revolutionist Marat. Screeches pierced the void; fans could be heard fluttering wildly. Crazy laughter emanated from Marat's grin as he disappeared into thin air.

  A collective breath was taken, but released in a rush as another apparition emerged. A woman in trailing garments, face beautiful initially but incrementally morphing into an old crone bent and wrinkled, her elaborate dress falling into rags as her old face decayed before their eyes until only a skeleton in strips of moldy cloth remained. She moved over their heads as she decomposed, skeletal form joining the now visible skeletons positioned all about the stage, or rather what had been the stage, but was now a cemetery replete with crypts and headstones. One by one the dead rose, walking on spindly legs, speaking from lipless mouths, empty sockets roving over the crowd.

  On and on it went; one scene after another in rapid succession allowing no time to collect oneself. The haunting music rose and fell, ghostly voices droned, thunder and lightning crashed, specters and demons of all sizes materialized. Many of the scenes were familiar from literature or history: The Nightmare by Fuseli, The Head of Medusa, Macbeth and the Ghost of Banquo, other French Revolutionaries manning the guillotine, The Opening of Pandora's Box, The Mysteries of Udolpho, and more. Interspersed were the random bats, goblins, and ghosts, manifesting from all points on the main floor. The figures magically expanded to gargantuan sizes, hovering over the audience so closely that one felt they could touch them, and then shrunk before sinking into the ground as if returning to the underworld.

  It was terrifying and fascinating. Fleetingly one would wonder how the effect was created, but generally the images and emotions engendered were so spectacular and realistic that coherent thought was eradicated. Lizzy, once past the introductory fright and comforted by Darcy's sturdy arm and warmth, calmed to a vague trembling and moderately heightened pulse rate. Screams were frequent, crying could be detected, and undoubtedly swooning occurred. The heat in the room increased from the combined press of bodies and raised body temperatures.

  The crescendo was an appearance of all four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. The Biblical Riders trampled across the stage and into the crowd, swords and scythe brandishing, the clap of horses hooves echoing, while the original inhumanly bleak voice quoted from Revelations. With final bursting neighs and a resounding crash of cymbals, the Horseman rode through the back wall and precipitous silence fell, the room plunged into cavernous darkness for a full ten minutes.

  The lights were lit all at once, revealing a tiny figure before the drawn curtains on center stage. The familiar voice again penetrated the quiet, although now it spoke with a bit more warmth and normalcy, “Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the Illusionist Extraordinaire, Master of the Magic Lantern and Limelight, Creator of the Macabre, Professor Leonardo Finocchi Sciarratta!”

  The tiny man bowed with a flourish, his grandly feathered tricorne doffed and swept theatrically as he blew kisses to the audience. The crowd erupted in applause and cheers, standing for a glorious ovation. Darcy and Lizzy stood as well, clapping enthusiastically. Her heart still raced and she was yet torn between loving the spectacle or hating it, but there was no doubt it was a stupendously artistic performance. Certainly one she would never forget, her fervent hope being that the ghosts did not resurface in her dreams!

  THE ROOM WAS SUNK into deepest shadows. It was that singular hour of the night when the moon and stars were fading, but the morning sun was still well hidden beyond the threshold of the horizon. Darcy snored softly, in his typical comatose state of slumber, blissfully dreaming, and wholly unconscious to his wife's gentle nudging and whispering.

  “William, wake up. Dearest, please. William? Fitzwilliam Darcy!” Lizzy knew her husband to be a deep sleeper, but this was ridiculous. She did not wish to startle him, but the easy rousing was not working.

  It was their ninth morning at the resort in Caister-on-Sea and Lizzy had determined that today they would not only finally rise early enough to view the sun ascend, but would be settled cozily on the sandy shore when it occurred. Thus she had forced herself to sleep lightly and had risen to the chill of pre-dawn, dressed in the darkness, and was now sh
ivering beside Darcy's warm body. She sighed, gazing at his peaceful, handsome face and seriously reconsidered the wisdom of her plan. However, the vision of the very body displayed now before greedy eyes encompassing her on a blanket lying in the sand as the sun ascended and heated their skin was extremely appealing.

  She lifted her skirts and nestled, kneeling, against his side. Bending over, she reverted to a form of waking known to prevail each and every time.

  “William, my love, I need you to wake up,” she spoke softly but clearly while bestowing firm kisses to his face.

  Darcy groaned faintly, swiping at his face as if shooing a fly, then abruptly jolted awake and lurched up, nearly bashing heads with Lizzy, who fortunately had excellent reflexes. “Elizabeth! What is it? The baby? Are you ill? What…?”

  “No, no! I am sorry, dearest. Please forgive me for startling you,” she soothed with a giggle, stroking his dazed face and squeezing his hand. “I want to see the sunrise with you.”

  He stared blankly at her smiling face, illuminated by the single flickering candle on the bedside, very gradually and laboriously assimilating her words. “I have your clothes here, and a blanket, and I am certain it will be vacant down by the rocks. We can hold each other and watch the dawn.” She paused, Darcy yet befuddled, and leaned in to touch his lips with hers. “It is on your list of things to do, Fitzwilliam. Additionally we can perhaps add another item to the inventory that I am positive has occurred to you but you were too polite to place in writing.”

  She accentuated her words with focused caresses, but it was not necessary as he was now fully awake and knew precisely what she meant. He smiled sensuously, staying her fondling hand but returning her kiss lustily.

  “You are becoming quite proficient at these little surprises, my lover.”

  “I have learned from a master,” she replied with a quick peck to his nose. “Now, get dressed, William! We have a sunrise to beat.” She leapt up before he could halt her for more kisses, grabbing the pile of clothing on the foot of the bed and tossing them into his face.

  Minutes later they were sneaking quietly down the dimly lit corridors and out the rear double-pane glass garden doors. A handful of servants were about, performing their morning tasks, but they ignored the Darcys as if they were invisible. It was quite dark on the pathway to the beach, but they had traversed it so frequently over the past week that their feet stepped confidently. The shoreline was deserted; debris and seaweed deposited by the high tides dotted the smooth sand, offering breakfast to the hundred birds pecking and fluttering about, which also ignored the Darcys.

  Morning fog was minimal today, already drifted far out to sea where a thick blanket of clouds obstructed the black horizon. The sky immediately above their heads was crystal clear, the final visible stars extinguishing one by one as the sky began to lighten imperceptibly. Darcy spread the blanket on the firmer sand near the rocks. The waiting bathing machines provided additional cover from the possibility of prying eyes, although it was unlikely that anyone else would be about.

  Their timing was perfect. The faintest glimmer of sunlight could be detected radiating above the massive fog bank, nearly indiscernible except for the hint of distinction between the rippling water and stationary cloud. Darcy was dressed in only a shirt and trousers with his large overcoat open and enveloping Lizzy, who nestled against his chest. Body heat emanated from his core, Darcy a true Englishman with internal furnace impervious to the cold. Lizzy wore a wool pelisse over her gown, so between clothing and husband, she was toasty. They sat in silence for the most part, Darcy gently caressing her arms and legs while Lizzy did the same, both content to enjoy the spectacle with nothing but the gently lapping waves as background music.

  Like waiting for water to boil, the sun came up in timeless increments. Eyes burned with the strain of watching, but dared not close or look away in case that was the very moment she finally appeared in all her grandeur. Then it happened! No fanfare or blazing glory, but simply slipping above the clouds with majesty, completing a process performed millions of times in millions of ways in millions of places on the globe. Unconcerned with the mere mortals far below, she dawned, shining brilliantly with shades of gold unmatched on earth. All was illuminated and touched by her heat and beauty, the giver of life that she was, and all creation rejoiced at her coming. The birds flew higher and spoke louder, little crawling insects and sea crabs scurried about, flowers opened to receive the light, and the Darcys watched it all in awe.

  Lizzy sighed, speaking barely above a whisper as it seemed somehow appropriate. “Not so dissimilar than all sunrises in the end, as they always move me, but I love how the waves glisten and the light outlines the clouds, showing all the layers. It is breathtaking.”

  “It varies so, the sun as it touches the clouds and water. At home the dawns and sunsets are essentially unchanged. Unless a storm approaches or snow blankets the ground, it is rarely differing. Beautiful, naturally, but the same. The ocean is something else. We could catch the rise each day and never see it precisely alike.”

  Warmth rapidly accelerated in the halcyon atmosphere surrounding them. Darcy rained tender nibbles along Lizzy's neck as she released a sound of pleasure. “Perhaps you are correct about ocean sunrises, but I shall never tire of the dawn as seen from home. I love how the innumerable greens of the fields and orchards are gradually revealed as the sunlight spreads. It reminds me of spilled liquid gold as it touches the colors, covering all the valley and eventually the gardens and Manor in a brilliant blanket of light. Besides, we have our own rippling waters at Pemberley. The Cascade Falls and lakes with fountains shimmer and sparkle so stunningly.” She sighed deeply. “I guess I am a bit homesick.”

  She turned in his arms, leaning backward against his bent knee to peer into his smiling face. Immediately he cupped her cheek, stroking softly with a thumb, pulling her tight into his body and surrounding her with muscular legs. Brushing her lips lightly, he then spoke, “Elizabeth, my heart swells when you talk of Pemberley with such devotion. I cannot express how pleased I am that you love your new home.”

  “The clichéd reply would be for me to say, 'How could I not love Pemberley as you are there.' Of course, this is largely the truth, but it is more than that.”

  “In what way?”

  “I do not know if I can explain it, William. All my life, as much as I loved Longbourn, it never felt completely permanent. I suppose that is because as a female I knew I would someday marry and leave, but also because there was a sense of instability. We knew that if Papa died it could, and likely would, be taken away from us. Hardly a day went by that Mama did not lament the fact. It was home, but I remember feeling somewhat like the nomadic Arabs or American Indians.” She shrugged and laughed, Darcy chuckling as well.

  “I honestly gave it little thought, but I suppose I must have wished for a deeper feeling. Then again, I am fairly pragmatic, so undoubtedly figured experiencing emotions for a house impractical and silly. Whatever the case, when I saw Pemberley, something opened in me.”

  “How so?”

  She sighed, staring blankly as she attempted to recapture those long-ago sensations. “Since reading your letter I had spent all summer replaying all our conversations, or rather the attempts at conversation. You know all this, love, as we have discussed it. Between my preconceived opinions and rudeness, and your awful communication skills, I had little to work with!” Darcy blushed slightly and Lizzy tickled him, both chuckling and unable to deny the truthful accusations.

  “Anyway, after months of reflection, and extreme annoyance with myself in that I could not evict you from my mind, I came to the conclusion that I had erred horribly. Not in refusing your proposal, but in allowing my prejudices and independence to ruin the opportunity to get to know you. I cannot say I loved you, but I did recognize the good man you are. Yet never, not once, did I think of your wealth. Until I saw Pemberley.” She reddened and Darcy lifted one brow with a crooked smile.

  “Ah, mercenary afte
r all, Miss Bennet?” He kissed her forehead and she playfully slapped his chest.

  “Not quite that bad, but I am not completely stupid. We paused on the bridge and there she was. Oh, William, Pemberley is so beautiful! Maybe on some level it was because it was your home, but for a second all I could think was that I could have been Mistress of such a place. For the first time I truly grasped your station and the significance of your wealth. I laughed at what I knew every other girl alive would consider my extreme folly. I sat, still giggling, as the carriage resumed the ride up the drive. However, as quickly as those thoughts had come, they vanished. The closer we got to the house, and then when we did arrive and began our tour, all I could think of was you. Fitzwilliam Darcy, the man as I had begun to imagine you were behind the arrogant facade. I could see your elegance, grace, warmth, and taste in every corner of every room. Then Mrs. Reynolds began rattling on and on about what a fine Master you are, how all the servants and tenants revere you, what a doting brother you are, how generous and affable…”

  “Mrs. Reynolds blathers too much and exaggerates,” he interrupted with a hoarse grumble.

  Lizzy laughed and reached for a kiss. “She loves you and only speaks the truth.”

  “Finish your tale, love, but save the flattery.”