Whether Anne was in such a coy state due to the opportunity to exhibit her new husband, no one there could fathom. But her attitude did the considerable favour of arresting Lady Catherine’s attention from chin-chucking of the twins to introduction of her new son-in-law, Lord Beecher. Beecher bowed from the waist with ingratiating depth, this time avoiding the error of addressing anyone with too much familiarity. Through their astonishment, Elizabeth curtsied politely and Darcy managed to return Beecher’s bow (if by half in depth).This round, too, Lady Catherine honed her newly acquired office of doting aunt by employing a smile that revealed more than only her jaw teeth.
When there was a moment of quiet, her ladyship found better use of it by booming, “I must see you take to the sea, Darcy!”
Because Georgiana had thought it imprudent to share with Elizabeth the queer meeting she and Fitzwilliam had had with Lady Catherine in Bath, wisely surmising it was a subject of abhorrence, Lady Anne’s engagement, and hence her marriage, took everyone else compleatly unawares. Moreover, Anne’s thin frame looked to be sporting a fecundity rivalling that of Georgiana. Nothing, however, was more astonishing than Lady Catherine’s compleat and utter reversal of deportment. It remained entirely altered until she commenced upon a recitation to one and all of her own bathing ritual. It was once again the Lady Catherine of yore.
“At first light twice or thrice a week I betake myself to my bathing machine and put out to sea. There one is free to disport in the water. Of course, a flannel gown is worn—although I understand there are others who eschew such modesty for a bathing costume. The dip is quite refreshing and has done wonders for my rheumatism.”
This entire monologue was uninterrupted either by question or exclamation. She then bid Darcy and “his delightful children and worthy companions” a good day.
It was uncommon for Elizabeth to be struck speechless, yet she was then. Which was just as well, for there was no comment that anyone of their party could deem to make for the better part of a quarter hour. Only then did Georgiana volunteer a recounting of their meeting in Bath.
“How could we have overlooked a wedding of such merit?” Elizabeth mused.
It was less a matter of them overlooking any such announcement than that no announcement had been made. It was abundantly clear that Lady Anne had reason, if not to hide her condition, at least to camouflage its maturity. She was hardly the first, nor would she be the last, lady who took her vows with a bean up the spout. It would remain out of topic until the baptismal announcement arrived. Until then, no one would ever be said to have been with child.
53
Brighton Charms
In their months in Brighton, the Darcys found a multitude of pleasures—not the least of these accompanying their children to the seashore. Frolicking amongst the lapping waves with a tiny hand in each of hers was Elizabeth’s heart’s bliss. Darcy stood by with parental reserve and watched as their children first beheld the water as it lapped against their feet, then, hanging onto their mother’s fingers, falling down, only to be lifted up and swung about—laughing and giggling with delight. Darcy’s refusal to venture further than the beach chairs (hat and frockcoat in place and determined to remain aloof from such a public spectacle) could not lessen Elizabeth’s spirits. It was not infrequently, however, that she would look in his direction and see him smiling at their antics. She knew were he truly offended, he would not have followed them thither.
Observing his seeming hauteur, a babe in one arm, she sauntered to him and stopt a few steps away. When she spoke, it was not to her husband, but to her son.
“We are not taken in by the charade before us, are we my sweet?” said she, “Your Papa does not fool us all.”
“I am certain, madam, that I do not take your meaning,” said Mr. Darcy. Thereupon, he harrumphed and straightened his cuffs, adjusted his lapels, and then betook himself towards the walkboards. But as he did, he clasped his stick and twirled it once before catching it under his arm. As he strolled away, Elizabeth was certain she heard him whistling.
***
When the Bingleys finally arrived, it was quite a parade when they all departed for the seaside—children, nurses, blankets, and wicker lunch-baskets required several carts to deliver them all. Of course Bingley had not Darcy’s reserve and ran and played tag with the wee ones with all the enthusiasm of an oversized child. But soon the amusements of Brighton called to his restless need for diversion, and he began to inveigle first Darcy and then Fitzwilliam to join him in attending one of Brighton’s boxing competitions. When first he broached the subject, Jane was altogether miffed. In an attitude quite uncommon of her, she put her hands upon her hips.
She said, “Charles Bingley! Did not you swear upon your very honour that you would no longer attend such a cruel entertainment?”
“Jane, dearest, I sold my portion of the boxer as I promised. I did not say I would never again look upon a bout. There can be no harm found in the mere observation of one.”
She was not compleatly appeased, but was unable to deny her husband diversion and gave her blessing, for Bingley could not have enjoyed himself had she not. In the end, the gentlemen did attend one bout, but as both Darcy and Fitzwilliam had seen far too much of war, blood sports were not to their liking. Hence they persuaded Bingley to exchange that enthusiasm for the race course—indeed, horse racing was an entertainment where the ladies could accompany them. It was at one of these events at Brighton’s lovely new racing courses that they happened upon two of England’s foremost horse enthusiasts, Lord and Lady Millhouse. Lady Millhouse’s first inquiry was not of their family but how Elizabeth’s mare’s first foal was doing.
Aside from being Pemberley’s nearest neighbours, the Millhouses were friends of the finest sort—good-natured and gregarious, they made every day into a celebration. They had been there but for a day and Lady Millhouse had already dipped her toe in the sea. “Hah! Watch us, Darcy, and see if we do not put on our bathing costumes!” she proclaimed.
Quite soon, Lady Millhouse’s enthusiasm for their own sea-bathing transmuted into insisting upon Darcy’s. With Bingley joining their refrain, they spent most of the afternoon in belabouring that notion. But Darcy steadfastly refused even to entertain such abhorrence despite how determinedly Bingley coaxed him.
He extolled the breeze, the surf, the fine, hard sand, and the deep water not ten foot from shore, “The machines take you directly there and back—you would be in no one’s eye.”
“I think not,” was Darcy’s terse reply.
Elizabeth controlled a smile during these exchanges, for she was entertaining a small secret.
It was true that Mr. Darcy refused to put on a bathing costume and be cranked out to sea in a bathing contraption. But there were many hours in the day and they had found their own particular diversion.
It all began within the week of first arriving in Brighton. Early risers, Fitzwilliam and Georgiana always took their rest early, leaving Darcy and Elizabeth quite to their own devices after dinner. The warm night air and beautiful moonlit paths beckoned them from their drawing-room. After the children were put to bed and all was quiet, they betook themselves in an open gig along the winding roadway to Devil’s Dyke and from thence back down along the esplanade.
After repeated forays into the night, they gradually grew accustomed to making their way about by the moon. Ere long, they tired of the same byways and found themselves above the cliffs overlooking the shore. The night was balmy and their blood was stirred by the sight of the black waves as they lapped, then expired onto the beach. They were farther than the esplanade, but a trail was clearly visible from the road down to the beach as if inviting them to take themselves upon it. The incline was a bit steep and Darcy went first, Elizabeth reaching out to steady herself upon his shoulder as they crept their way to the water’s edge. They strolled there for some time, then simply retraced their steps and returned to their apart
ments, never speaking a word of their adventures to anyone else in their party. In time, seeking new explorations, they ventured farther and became bolder, taking off their boots and wading in the surf. It was delightful, with no mud, no weeds, and no slimy rocks to impede their enjoyment.
To splash through the waves was a freedom neither had ever discovered for themselves until then.
“This is superb!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
She had grown ever more daring, grasping her skirt-tail above her knees. A wave would come in and douse her to her hips, but she would only laugh and tease her husband to join her. He had folded his coat, gloves, and waistcoat into a tidy pile beside him, his hat and boots in a neat row, and adamantly refused to enter into such frivolity. The farther out she went, however, the more disturbed he became (which, no doubt, had been her design).
“There is deep water not ten-foot out!” he called, echoing his caution when they had swum in the weirs at Pemberley.
But she did not heed his warning and a huge swell threw down upon her, washing her off her feet and rolling her onto the beach before its rush began to sweep her back out again. In that brief time, he had raced towards her, but was washed from his feet by the same rush of water that upended her. The mischievous upsurge drew them both back into the ocean’s grasp momentarily, but he managed to take hold of her skirt before she was washed far away from him. When at last they broke free of the water’s clutches and the wave receded, she was gasping and indignant—both at the ocean’s impertinence and at her husband’s being right about it.
They were both wet, sitting side by side on the wet, packed sand, with only an occasional teasing breaker passing over their feet.
“It is quite evident,” she said, “that moving waters dislike me. They attack me at every turn.”
“This I cannot deny,” said he. “Had I not been here, you no doubt would have been food for the fish.”
To her chagrin, he then stood. She thought they were meant to leave, but he began to scavenge for dry tinder, stacking it in a pile. She saw his plan and joined him. Soon they had a tidy bit of fire fixings. He strode off towards the coach to retrieve a lantern to set it alight. They removed their outer garments and hung them over sticks to dry. When all was done but the waiting, they lay down side by side and stared at the sky as bits of disintegrating sparks flew heavenward. Her attention was arrested from that mesmerising vision by a husband who was inclined to want all her attention for himself—attention she was only too happy to supply. In fortune, they were not too long upon this engrossment when they were interrupted by the sight and sound of a boat coming ashore up the beach. Still prone, they lay still for a moment to determine who it was. From that distance, Darcy determined it not to be benign activity and quickly began dousing the fire with handfuls of sand.
“Quickly,” he demanded, “dress yourself.”
Keeping to a low crouching walk, he made his way over to where his boots and coat lay. Whilst she understood the necessity of clothing herself, she thought it a bit ridiculous that he worried for his own lack of decorum. She would have told him so had she not then seen that he had made not for his frockcoat, but for the pistol that lay beneath it. She was aghast. Never once had she seen that upon his person the entire of their trip.
“Where did you…” she worriedly began whispering, but he put out his hand to hush her, and employed the same crablike walk back to her side. They sat quietly huddled together for a few minutes longer watching through the now ominous moonlight as men climbed out of the dory and began tramping towards the cliffs.
“We must away,” he whispered. “Quickly.”
That was an observation that was unnecessary for him to have issued, and in bare feet they began to climb up the incline towards their gig. Darcy veritably tossed Elizabeth into the seat and leapt in beside her, not scrupling to take the whip to their horse to encourage it begone. Taking more than one turn perilously, they then rode pell-mell towards town. When they reached the outskirts of Brighton, they slowed to a trot, then stopt. Both turned and looked behind them to see if they were followed. When it appeared that they had not been, Darcy retrieved the boots he had hastily thrown into the floorboards and put first one, then the other on by bracing each foot against the splashing-board. Only then did Elizabeth dare to take a breath. Although she saw the pistol butt protruding from his waistband, she made no inquiry. The reason for such precaution was evident. It would be only upon their journey homeward that she would see that he still wore it, as he probably had upon their coming as well.
Although Darcy made discreet inquiries with the constable, they did not find out who it had been or what manner of misconduct engaged them. “Smugglers,” Darcy surmised, something that at one time was seldom seen along those shores. They were quite satisfied not to have been again beset upon by highwaymen. Although it was not openly discussed, both concluded that if they were to disport in a water-borne fashion, they would do so only upon their own property. They would keep by the sea only in the broad daylight. They did not regret their escapade, but neither did they repeat it.
It was only a few days thence that a post arrived for the Gardiners from their maid of long standing, Clementine. She informed them of her dismissal at the hands of Mrs. Wickham, who had committed the outrageous act of hiring a girl of her own choosing to replace her. Beholding that information, the guilt which had been abating with every smile she brought to the Gardiners’ countenances resurfaced within Elizabeth with a vengeance. The only remedy available to her was the one she employed that evening, pledging the entirety of her father’s small annual legacy to obtain Lydia new lodgings forthwith. It was not a lofty sum by Darcy standards, but what with Lydia’s own inheritance from their father and Wickham’s pension, she should be able to live quite well on it. That is, one could—whether Lydia would—remained to be seen. It was all that Elizabeth had to give, for she was still adamant that no funds from Pemberley would go to the wife of Wickham. While Darcy had set up a generous trust for Wickham’s children, it was, much to Lydia’s consternation, inaccessible to her. Elizabeth had little hope that her small contribution would be of any further satisfaction.
Her generosity, however, the Gardiners were disinclined to accept.
“She is our niece,” Mrs. Gardiner had insisted.
“But she is my sister, and therefore more my responsibility,” said Elizabeth, not wanting to point out the obvious disparity of incomes.
They closed their eyes, pursed their lips, and shook their heads in continued refusal of her offer. Hence, when they took their leave it was with genuine sorrow and no little self-reproach that Elizabeth bid them farewell. She vowed, however, that she would hie to London as soon as her children’s health permitted to see Lydia settled into a house of her own. Darcy found this notion much to his disfavour. But as he remained vague about the reason for his disapproval and did not truly take a stand absolutely against her, she forged on with her plans.
As a man who seldom waffled on any issue, Darcy was uncertain how firm a stand to take against Elizabeth’s going to London. As he was disinclined to take his family to bide in Mayfair, he could not make himself believe that Cheapside was in any less danger. What they had witnessed upon the beach told him there was much malfeasance afoot in England and he was not about to allow Elizabeth to travel there alone. Loath as he was to insinuate himself personally into Lydia’s doings, he was becoming increasingly aware that it might become necessary. His disposition exposed this abhorrence and as he chose not to explain himself, he left himself open to the allegation of imperturbability from his wife when in fact his hesitation sprang from quite the opposite emotion.
Perhaps to alter the subject, Elizabeth asked Darcy what he made of Lady Catherine’s aberrational conduct. His mind was still otherwise employed and he gave a slight shrug of his shoulders, dismissing the entire mystery out of hand.
Said he, “Perchance she has thought better
of her opposition. She has little to gain by remaining so very obstinate.”
This was undeniably true, but Elizabeth was not so inclined as her husband to accept this particular hand of friendship without a glove sporting a healthy coat of unslaked lime.
Elizabeth’s discomposure from her continuing consternation over Lydia’s imprudent conduct and Lady Catherine’s newly invented family affection would have waned eventually through sheer determination. It would have had she not, through the bustling street filled with private carriages, hackneys, drays, and assorted children, nurses, maids, and gentlefolk, been certain that she spied stepping out of a shop and sauntering off down the street, the unmistakable aspect of the late Major George Wickham.
54
Quittance
George Wickham knew that was he to return to his homeland a free man, it would be a tricky business. Beforehand, he must concoct a story of sufficient cunning to hoodwink the notoriously sceptical military authorities. Moreover, it must serve to acquit him of misconduct in society’s eyes as well. The latter gave him greater pause, for although those canons set down by military tribunal were unsparing, those of society were absolutely pitiless.
The convoluted fallacy Wickham meant to inflict upon his wife, kinfolk, and general acquaintances went through several alterations before he struck on one of sufficient melding of fabrication and truth as to be believable. However, as he wended his way homeward aboard a transport vessel, he had little opportunity to ponder that unhappy truth, clinging as he was to the ship’s rigging whilst the shifting deck heaved and bobbed its way through the choppy waters of the Channel. It was only when they found calmer waters along the English coastline that the discomposure of his innards subsided long enough for him to ruminate over his knotty situation.
Darcy & Elizabeth Page 37