by Massey, Beth
Other than her occasional visitors, reading and embroidery became her life. Mr Darcy had given her three of Shakespeare’s plays, and she started on them shortly after her arrival. The first was King Lear. It caused her to think of her father and going home, and the death of Cordelia and Lear from Edmund’s duplicity made it difficult to read. She had never read the original text with their deaths, instead she had read Samuel Johnson’s edition with the happier ending for Cordelia. She set the play aside in reluctance to tackle this stark tragedy; especially with a character named Edmund at the heart of the treachery.
She turned for her second selection to the well-worn volume of A Midsummer Nights Dream. The first page inside the book was not the original, but something added to commemorate the occasion of it being given to Mr Darcy. It was from his mother, and the page had been decorated with cherub-like fairies around the edge. In the middle had been written… To my dearest Fitzwilliam, even when my life is full of care, I always know I have my joy of you.
She signed the dedication with the date, 8 September, 1792. Elizabeth wondered what age he had been, whether the 8th of September was his birthday and what sadness had just occurred in his mother’s life. Was this his copy to be used during their Midsummer picnics?
Every titbit of information she gleaned about this man made her more and more certain of her decision. She hoped this child would be his joy.
One night before retiring, Mr Darcy and Elizabeth were alone in the sitting room reading. The two of them along with Mrs Darcy often spent the evening together, but tonight Anne had been feeling poorly. Miss Elizabeth’s reading of Mary Wollstonecraft’s book on the French Revolution had inspired him to read Edmund Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France. He had been intrigued by Dr Wilder’s description of her reaction and wondered what his would be.
Mr Darcy was having difficulty concentrating and kept stealing glances at his companion. Tonight, the sight of her thick unruly locks—barely tamed into a mature looking bun—was a poignant reminder of her struggle to appear appropriate to her circumstances. The candlelight in the room caused her curls to blaze with a myriad of reds and golds. Her gown enhanced this radiant vision. It was a deep golden yellow. He knew not the fashionable word for the colour, but it reminded him of mustard.
He turned his attention back to his book, but soon his surreptitious glances resumed. Maybe the colour of her frock was called amber like the cross she always wore around her neck. Miss Elizabeth had told Anne her father and mother had given her the necklace. A school friend had brought back several large pieces of amber from Russia for her father. Her parents had hired a craftsman to polish the beautiful glowing hardened resin to make matching crosses for their daughters. The piece her father had chosen for Miss Elizabeth’s necklace had an ant that had been trapped in the sticky substance before it hardened. Anne had thought the idea of wearing an entombed insect around one’s neck a bit ghastly, and Miss Elizabeth had admitted her mother and sisters agreed, but that she had always secretly felt special because her father had chosen her to wear the most unique of the crosses.
This evening, she seemed totally absorbed by her book. He thought back to his first vision of her. Her concentration had been similarly intense… but overflowing with pleasure. Even after being in close company with her, he still knew not how to define her. All he knew for certain was she did nothing carelessly or in half-measures. Her belly was ripe with this child she was giving to him. Suddenly, he felt sadness when he realized she was no longer the joyful being he had met that evening months ago.
“Miss Elizabeth, how do you find your book?”
She looked up at him with a barely suppressed smirk and decided to reply with complete candour. At this stage, she had no fear he would nullify their bargain. “It is much more to my liking than the book you are reading. I find the Burke book to be nothing more than a justification for conditions staying the same. He even uses the term ‘relying on prejudices’ as the way we should live. As a woman, that is unacceptable to me. It is wrong that women are not accorded the same rights as men. Now, I will admit that was not important to me a year ago, but due to the recent catastrophe in my life, I have been profoundly frustrated by my restrictions.”
Elizabeth noticed that Mr Darcy looked perplexed once again. The denseness of his consciousness caused her to want to challenge him. “The French Revolution attempted to storm the heavens. As we know, it was not altogether successful, but I admire their effort. I feel we could learn from their attempt. They raised all manner of questions about the future of society. All sorts of subjects were debated—the rights of women and the ending of slavery were two that the American Revolution did not even discuss.”
Mr Darcy looked at her in wonder. Her eyes were glowing—not exactly the way he remembered from that night at the theatre but with a passion that was enthralling.
He was staring at her intently with nary a hint of a smile. Still, Elizabeth was in no mood to try to make him laugh tonight. “Women played a role at all levels during the French Revolution and they were often the most insistent on doing away with the old ways. They organized a march to Versailles and forced Louis back to Paris. It was unacceptable to them that he live in luxury while the mothers of Paris could not afford bread to feed their children.”
He had not expected to unleash such passion in her. He was not certain what to make of her reaction; but he was not altogether displeased. He asked, “Miss Elizabeth, I believe I agree with your assessment of the intentions of the revolution; but how do you justify the brutal reprisals against so many? Even the radical William Blake, who was originally a proponent, pulled back in view of the terror.”
She felt pleased that he had decided to engage in debate with her. “What you say is true. Many did, indeed, change their minds. As you know, I greatly admire both William Blake’s poetry and his illustrations; but I think him wrong on his final assessment of the French Revolution. I think he tends, as many others do, to throw the baby out with the bathwater. Had she seen a smile playing at the corner of his mouth? “Much of the turmoil over the terror is to turn people’s attention away from the conditions that gave rise to the revolution. It is much like the endless discussion of the savagery of the slaves’ retaliation against the plantation owners in Haiti. Our attention is deflected away from the immorality of slavery and pulls at our heartstrings for the slave owners.”
Elizabeth remembered the explanation Jamie had given her for the revolution’s reprisals. He had talked of two terrors, and she knew when he was speaking that he included Ireland in his reflections. Elizabeth decided to use his argument on Mr Darcy. She spoke distinctly and dispassionately, but her eyes betrayed the personal fervour she felt for her topic. “I am struck by the hypocrisy of those who loudly mourn the victims of the revolution’s terror, like Mr Burke. Many of those who rub our noses in the atrocities are afraid their actions, if closely observed, might be candidates for a similar reprisal. One terror we are encouraged to shiver at and mourn the victims, but the ancien régime also perpetrated an unspeakable and dreadful terror which none of us has been persuaded to recognize in its vastness… or even to shed one tear for its victims.”
Mr Darcy was both bewitched and bewildered by this young woman. He noticed that despite her fervour for the subject, her eyes had changed once again to that same cold quality of glittering emeralds he had seen the day they had struck their bargain at Darcy House. Soon she would be gone, and his dishonourable fascination with her could finally end. No one had ever affected him this way—he neither understood the passion she had for her ideas or the feelings she elicited from him as he watched her—and that confused him. Were he not married, he could imagine reading books and discussing ideas with her for the rest of his life. Even though he often disagreed with her contentions, he admired her eagerness to be a part of the world. She had mentioned hypocrites, and all he could resolve as she was speaking was that he was definitely one to have such shameful thoughts.
18 I
WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU
Elizabeth was miserable. She had been in agony all day long. Her back ached, and no matter what, she could not find a comfortable position. It was the middle of the night when she finally got out of bed, put on her robe and went into the sitting room next door. She lit some candles and sat by the last of the fire and tried to read. When the pain kept interrupting her concentration, she gave up on the book. She decided to do some of Jamie’s exercises.
She held on to the back of the chair and did knee bends. She did that until once again she realized just how much her back hurt. She stood on tiptoe and stretched with her arms over her head. Why didn’t the babe come? She wanted to have this whole experience over and to be back in Hertfordshire. She was tired of being cooped up in these rooms, she was tired of being with child, and oh how she wanted her back to stop hurting.
She walked around the room, occasionally squatting while she walked. She was trying to decide whether she really was making her legs stronger when she heard a knock at the door. With a sigh, she said, “Come in.”
Mr Darcy came into the room and saw her walking about in a squat position. Her feet were bare, and he had to remind himself not to stare. “What are you doing, Miss Elizabeth?”
Lizzy made no attempt to be civil when she replied. “I am miserable and hoping the exercises Jamie gave me will help.”
“Why are you miserable? I heard movement in here, and thought maybe it was time to bring Mrs Hinton.”
“Unfortunately, I am not having those pains. Instead, my back hurts from carrying this around.” Elizabeth patted her belly and replied with complete exasperation. “It aches if I lie down… it aches if I sit… it aches if I stand. I just want this whole ordeal to be over. I am unable to sleep… I have indigestion… then there are the other things I experience that I should not mention in your company. I am tired of being in these rooms. I would love to go for a walk outside in your beautiful grounds, but most of all, I want to go home. Why, oh why did I ever leave in the first place?” She started to cry and did not care whether he saw her or not.
Mr Darcy looked at her in bewilderment. He had no idea what to do for her. Finally, he hit on a plan. “Would you like to discuss some of the books you have been reading?”
Elizabeth laughed at his ridiculous idea, but then decided to humour him. “Why not, Mr Darcy? Maybe it will distract me and I will forget my discomfort. Do you mind if I lie down on the floor while we talk? I think the hard surface might provide some relief.”
He nodded his agreement and noticed how ungainly she appeared as she went down on all fours and then managed to lower the rest of herself onto the floor. Darcy wondered how she would ever be able to get back up. Impulsively, he decided he would lie on his back at a respectable distance. The thought crossed his mind of just how improper and ridiculous it would appear to someone who saw them like this; but then he realized the only two people who could possibly see them were Anne and Mrs Reynolds. He had no fear that either would gossip about them discussing books, supine on the sitting room floor, in the middle of the night.
He started by asking her what she was reading.
“I just reread The Merchant of Venice. It was one of the volumes of Shakespeare you loaned me.”
“How did you find it?”
“I read it first when I was eleven. Portia became my favourite character in all of Shakespeare. She was beautiful, clever and, of course, very wealthy and had many suitors. She figured out how to win the day, and saved Antonio from the villainous Shylock. I wanted to be like her.” Darcy thought he heard her emit a soft snort.
“Oh, I knew I would probably never be wealthy, but maybe I would be thought beautiful, clever, and have many rich suitors.” Elizabeth chuckled at her childish thoughts, and then felt some discomfort as to what Mr Darcy was thinking of her last statement. Almost immediately she remembered the pain in her back, and decided she really did not care whether he thought her mercenary; just as she did not care she was in her nightclothes or lying on the floor with bare feet.
Elizabeth stared at the ceiling and collected her thoughts. “This time when I read the play, I found myself sympathetic to Shylock. Antonio had spat at him and reviled him for his religion.” She thought of Jamie’s tale of Ireland for a moment before she continued. “I was particularly moved by his scene in Act III. It had an entirely new meaning to me this time.”
Elizabeth who had memorized Shylock’s speech began to say the lines. Her passion for the words was evident, as she spole.
“Hath not a Jew eyes, Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, heal’d by the same means, warm’d and cool’d by the same winter and summer as a Christian is?”
Elizabeth looked over at Mr Darcy as she continued. Her voice became husky with emotion.
“If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge?”
She lay there in silence waiting for his reaction. This was their great divide, and what kept him from having a good opinion of her. He could not see that she had a right to revenge. The norms of their society made her the villain. She had stepped out of her place, and he could not forgive her for her transgression.
Mr Darcy said, “I am sorry for your pain.”
Elizabeth waited for him to say something more, but he did not. Finally she said, “Thank you for your concern. My ordeal will be over soon, and then I am certain I will be able to go back to keeping my emotions under good regulation. If you will help me up, I think I should try to go back to bed.”
For the first time in their acquaintance, Mr Darcy touched her. He pulled her upright, and he could feel her stiffen a bit, but she did not recoil from his touch.
Clutching her robe tightly around her, she walked toward the door to her bedchamber. Just as she grasped the handle, she felt a pain. “Mr Darcy, I just had a pain that is, I think, the kind I have been anticipating. Will you wait with me and see if there are others?”
“Of course.” He got his watch out, and together they patiently waited for the next one. It came, and they waited for one more. At that point, Mr Darcy arose and went to send a servant for Mrs Hinton and Dr Wilder, and to bring Mrs Reynolds to Miss Elizabeth’s room.
When Mr Darcy returned with Mrs Reynolds, Elizabeth was crying again.
The housekeeper went to Elizabeth and put her arms around her. She had learned by comforting her during her nightmares that she liked to have her back rubbed. Her hands stroked in a circular motion, and Elizabeth melted into her embrace, but continued to cry. “Miss Elizabeth, is the pain worse?”
Lizzy shook her head and answered Mrs Reynolds very quietly so Mr Darcy could not hear. “No, it is the same; but I just realized it is my birthday. I am sixteen, and I am going to have a baby today. This time last year I was home with my family; and my biggest concern was trying to persuade my mother that I did not want to be out in society. I was suddenly overwhelmed with the fact that we do not always get what we want.”
Mrs Reynolds whispered into Elizabeth’s ear, “You will come through this. In the short time we have been acquainted, you have impressed me as a strong and courageous young woman. You will prevail. I have confidence in you.”
Elizabeth put her arms around Mrs Reynolds and hugged her. “Thank you. I needed your words of encouragement.” She pulled back from Mrs Reynolds and smiled as she said loud enough for Mr Darcy to hear, “Never fear. I momentarily felt the need to wallow in self pity, but I will be fine now.”
Mrs Darcy and Mrs Reynolds assisted Mrs Hinton. Four hours later, Elizabeth delivered a baby girl. Bronwyn Hinton was amazed at how easy the birth was. She had never attended one that went so quickly, nor had there been a mother who seemed to be in so little pain.
Bronwyn asked Elizabeth how she had managed to remain calm during the birth. Elizabeth whispered to her friend, “I did the same a
s I did when she was conceived. I concentrated on pleasant thoughts of things from my past. This time, however, I also spent quite a bit of time thinking about things I want to accomplish when I return home.”
Elizabeth was up before dawn on the 19th of December, her mind a cauldron of bubbling emotions—uncertainty of the reception of family and friends after so long an absence, anxiety that she would not be able to hide from them her humiliation, fear for her security during the journey home and relief that her time of imprisonment at Pemberley was at an end. She kissed the forehead of the baby sleeping peacefully in her arms and acknowledged the despair she felt at leaving her. She had awakened in a sweat, the consequence of her decision feeling more like a stab to her heart than the dull ache of the previous eight days. Holding the child she was set to abandon for what might be the last time had not eased the pain, and she could only pray it would lessen once she was on her way back to Hertfordshire.
Placing the little one back in her cradle, she left a note and her cross bound up with ribbon on a table and returned to her bedchamber. Jamie would arrive to take her to Lambton mid-morning. It had been her plan to return by mail coach, but he had insisted that a post-chaise be hired. Dr Wilder, with some help from Mr Darcy, had eventually won the clash of wills. Neither man had put much store in her need to arrive in Meryton by coach so she could avoid the gossip that would accompany her arrival home in a hired carriage. But, the factor that swayed her to concede was the reminder that because it was Christmas the most natural thing was for Lizzy to travel from London to Longbourn with the Gardiners. No one in Meryton would know the particulars of her trip to Cheapside. Elizabeth had also been cajoled into accepting a young widow from Derbyshire to accompany her from Lambton to London. Jamie was wise enough not to tell Lizzy that it was Mr Darcy who had hired Mrs Younge and made all the arrangements for the trip, or that it was he who mandated to the postilion all the details of the journey—where he wanted the change of horses to take place and at which inns they would stay the night. He had even written to those establishments to secure the best room for her.