Darcy said, “I have had a note from Tewkes, you know; he says that things in Newcastle are quiet.”
“Aye, yer boy won’t be goin’ anywheres this winter,” the Corporal said complacently. “Come spring I’ll take a jaunt up there meself, an’ see if we can’t remind him wot’s wot.”
“How are your duties here?”
“Nothin’ to it, Major; I feel like I’m stealing your money.”
“What about Ferguson?”
“Aye, Ferguson,” the Corporal said ruminatively. “‘Im I will ‘ave to keep an eye on: one of us isn’t long for this part of the country.”
“He does have some size on him,” Darcy observed noncommittally.
“That’s all ‘e ‘as: ‘e’s all sound, no sand.”
“Well, I trust you to handle it,” said Darcy. “Just do try to stay within shouting distance of the law, and even closer to what is proper.”
“Aye, Major, that I will,” said the Corporal with a whistle. Clapping him on the shoulder, Darcy wished him a Happy Christmas and returned to his other duties as host.
For Perkins, he had prepared a very special gift; in the morning as they were in his dressing-room, he had given him a new watch and fob, but, a coach arriving from Lambton mid-morning, he called for his man; leading him to the front hall, he was very pleased to watch Perkins’s face as his Lara, weeping happily, descended from the coach; this had been Darcy’s errand in Lambton the day before, to ensure that Mrs. Perkins had been properly settled at the inn for the day. Darcy had brought her up from Meryton, Mrs. Reynolds having assured him that a place might be found for her in the household. Mr. and Mrs. Perkins were both in tears on this occasion, and Darcy was not above feeling a little constriction in his chest; his own lady coming up and taking his arm to view the happy couple, she squeezed his arm and whispered, “You are a good, just, and honourable man, Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
“I simply do what I am able,” he said practically.
“You do what very few of your standing would think to do,” she pointed out.
“That does not make me better,” he said. “It only points out their failings.”
Elizabeth patted his arm, and did not argue under the circumstances. Perkins led his wife, still crying and smiling, past them with a grateful smile of his own, to show her to their room.
At the end of an extremely long day, during which a seemingly endless procession of folk filed through their doors, up stairs in their chambers Darcy asked Elizabeth: “I am sure it has been a very trying two days for you, my dear; would you rather I sleep in the other room?”
“You are a good and just man,” she said, smiling as she took his hand and drew him into her chamber.
“It would seem goodness is its own reward,” he observed to the world at large, closing the door behind them. Elizabeth was pleased to reinforce her opinion of her husband’s character at some length; and it might be deemed that, of all those under that roof, those with the greatest comforts enjoyed the least slumber.
Correspondence
EDITOR’S NOTE
N.B.: It is not necessary to follow the correspondence in its entirety to understand or appreciate the history contained in the body of the work; when important to the movement of the story, the letters, either in part or in whole, have been included in the text. As the written word was so important a means of communication during the time before the advent of electronic communication, though, the letters, even those with no part to play in the story, are included separately rather to give the reader a chance to follow the story from a different, and perhaps even deeper, perspective, and at a pace more consistent with that experienced by the story’s characters.
The correspondence between Mr. Darcy and his sister is given in chronological order by correspondent. The various threads interweave in time, making it all but impossible to follow each thread individually with a proper chronology; it is necessary therefore to separate them in this way. References are given to the appropriate replies, where applicable, to facilitate following the chain of correspondence correctly.
Letters from Miss Georgiana Darcy
*****
*Pemberley
Monday, September 22, --
Dear Fitzwilliam,
I trust this finds you well, and that you have fully recovered from the images and impressions created by Mr. Cowper. I am so happy to hear what you relate about Mr. Bingley’s prospects; have you heard anything? Is he engaged to Miss Bennet? I have to say, I have always thought him quite the most affable man of my acquaintance, and I am so pleased he has found his some one. But do you really think he would not succeed if you were present? This cannot be true, if the two of them hold the regard for each other your seem to believe. Is it then primarily on behalf of Miss Elizabeth Bennet that you are gone to London?
It is the second half of your letter that struck me most: I am so sorry you are troubled by how Miss Elizabeth Bennet must see you, with your intimate knowledge of her family’s affairs. Imagining myself in her place, though, I cannot but agree that such knowledge must be felt strongly by her. I am very glad to know she thinks of me; I, too, have often thought of her, and have found no reason to change my high opinion of her, which, I confess, was formed largely before I ever met her. And, in light of that opinion, I have reason to hope that she might come in time to see that her sister’s error has not affected your esteem for her, and be more comfortable in your company; and, of course, you can have no ill opinion of her sister’s frailty, in view of you own sister’s misdeeds. If you can forgive the nearer source of shame (a circumstance that humbles me still, more than I can say: and given subsequent events, your rescue means all the more), then that of a comparative stranger can require no great stretch of mind. So, as I was once told by a most trusted authority, time will heal these feelings, and bring about the correction of her manner, which you presently feel so acutely.
How you can imagine my soul to be free of the need for amendment, or that I do not undergo the same trimmings and prunings as you, must stem from your extravagant regard; surely I do not see myself so. I am flattered, although somewhat surprised, by such a significant impairment in an otherwise remarkably clear vision. But I am so pleased to be of use, as your “connection to light and land,” even though I know full well I do not merit the office.
We are quiet here, Mrs. Annesley and I, which is a great relief to me; I have been making a habit of walking to the folly each day to spend some time alone—well, hardly alone, as nature has populated the season with so much to see and hear. But I catch the breezes, and the scent of summer fading, and I find a peace I despaired to hope for a year ago; I have you to thank for that, Brother. I pray, and trust with all my heart, that you will find the same.
Yours, most sincerely,
Georgiana Darcy
*For reply, see Darcy, September 25.
*****
*Pemberley
Monday, September 29
Dearest Fitzwilliam,
I have just received your news and I cannot say how happy it makes me! But this is so sudden, how can this be? Your news has left me so bewildered I hardly know what I should say. But from what you say it is not sudden; it has been many months, even a year almost, in fact, that this has been coming on. Whence came this rumour that sent my aunt to Hertfordshire? Was it anything to do with you? And poor Elizabeth! (I hope I may call her so). I should never wish to be on the wrong end of Lady Catherine’s tongue, especially as there was no justification—or was there? I am so confused I hardly know how to think on the matter; you had proposed to her, she had refused you, there was a rumour, and on Lady Catherine’s interference, it came out that, while the rumour was unfounded, Elizabeth was no longer so completely opposed to you—there, I think I have it right. In light of the event, she must have been very well disposed towards you. I will congratulate myself on having told you something to the effect in July when she was in Lambton.
Oh, Fitzwilliam, my heart will not stop racing! Elizabeth will be part
of our family! I love her already, just from the little I have seen of her, and for her love of you. I do so hope she truly approves of me, and not just in the way one approves of some new acquaintance who, while pleasant, is not destined ever to be more than just an acquaintance. I keep thinking back to your list of her qualities: sincere, charming, warm, and amiable—that is how you described her last year in your letters, and every thing I have seen agrees with it, so I flatter myself she would not show an interest she did not feel. Bur why should she like me? I have no conversation or charm; in what way would she form an attachment to one so limited in abilities? And how will some one of such high merit view one such as myself over the course of time? You, too, of course, are a person of highest abilities and worth, and I can almost hear your words of assurance, but you are the closest family I have, and we cannot escape the bias that brings, and must discount your feelings on that basis.
Goodness, we have to determine where your chambers will be! Oh, but you have probably made that decision already. You will be coming here, will not you? Or will you stay at Grosvenor Square? You will send for me, I hope? I do so wish I could be at the ceremony, but I suppose that cannot be; there are so many things to see to other than making arrangements for me to travel south. But surely you will come here soon; Elizabeth will wish to see it more fully, of course, and I hope she will like it well enough to wish to stay here at least part of the year.
Am I at liberty to tell people? I hardly know how I could keep such a secret as this. You must be sure of the event, else you would not have written, but I will try to hold my tongue until I hear from you again. Do write soon! This is just the most splendid, exciting news! I know she will be good for you, Brother, as she is so easy, cordial, and amiable; she will be the perfect mistress for Pemberley—much better than I ever would have been.
We can have Christmas here, as you and I planned! Oh, please do say we can, Fitzwilliam; that would be such a delight! A long, lovely, family Christmas, just the way we talked of it, but now with my new sister. My new sister! —I do so like the way that sounds. I am listening in my mind to all the times you have told me she cannot help but form a regard for me, and am trying my utmost to have faith that you are correct. But I do not wish to be selfish, of course; perhaps Elizabeth prefers Town, and then I would naturally understand your wishing to gratify her wishes in every respect.
And we are to be related to Mr. Bingley! How lovely! I have always had a regard for him, and of course you must be exceedingly pleased that he will be your brother. I have heard very little of Miss Bennet, but surely she must be amiable and pleasing. This is all so perfect and fitting, it is wonderful how it has all come together. How happy he must have been when you told him your news. But I have just thought what Lady Catherine’s response must be when she hears of it; Heavens, …well, I shall not dwell on is yet to occur, especially as the present holds such joy.
I am sure I must sound half-distracted, but I cannot help it: my thoughts will not be still; what is more than dumbfounded? Now, you say Elizabeth had learnt of your interference in her younger sister’s marriage? How could that be? And, that being the case, how could the subject of your continued esteem ever come up? How could you have ever been able to speak of that, with the consciousness of your involvement hanging over you both? Oh! —how I wish that I was there amongst you, and on the spot, that I might understand it all! Miraculous, as you put it, must be the very word; and like all miracles, it is a source of exceeding awe and joy.
I have hoped and prayed you might find some one worthy of you, dear Brother, and in all of your letters last autumn I saw evidence that Elizabeth might be the right one, irrespective of any feelings I have come to feel for her during our short acquaintance. Based solely on your letters, I was ready to accept her as my sister, and the deeper knowledge I have gained of her character since, has only strengthened that conviction. I will certainly do all I can to ease her way as Pemberley’s new mistress and your helpmate. Now I have calmed down somewhat and can think on it, the joy you express in your letter, unparalleled in all the letters you have ever written me, says all that needs to be said about her, and is the surest guarantee of your future happiness. I know you well enough that such joy is very telling, and I know her well enough to be sure that your joy is not misplaced. I await your next letter very anxiously.
Your amazed and devoted sister
Georgiana Darcy
*For reply, see Darcy, October 1.
*****
Letters from Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy
*****
Grosvenor Square
Wednesday, August 6th, —
Dear Georgiana,
Well, it has been a busy few days, but I am now able to report that we have made considerable progress, and met with good success thus far. I was able to trace Miss Lydia Bennet successfully to an inn in London, although a part of London I trust you will never have cause to visit. Unfortunately, she has attached herself to the fellow without reserve or condition, and is resolute in her intention of staying with him; I was unable persuade her otherwise. As little regard as I have for her, I did most sincerely urge her to return to her friends, although I confess her obstinacy prevented me from urging the matter as strenuously as I might.
Her refusal leaves nothing to be done but arrange for their marriage, and I shall put that in motion shortly; I must first communicate with her family: fortunately, in the Gardiners I have a ready entrée, there. My plan, it would seem, is holding up, and I have hopes that all will be finalised before the month is out. I do not imagine I shall be needed here in London all that while, so I trust you will see me again at Pemberley before long.
In all truth, Dearest, I confess I am unsure as to which of the two principals will suffer most from these arrangements; but, as it is owing entirely to their own actions that they find themselves in this position, I cannot condemn myself for forcing its conclusion. Miss Lydia Bennet clearly expected marriage to be the ultimate outcome of this adventure, as she seems to characterise it in her mind, and, given the enormity of the damage the failure to bring about their nuptials would cause the Bennets, it seems only right to me that he satisfy those expectations. He is like a river in flood, destroying whatever is in its path, and prudence demands that that flood be channelled, lest it lay ruin to entire counties; the steps I have taken will, I hope, stem the course of that flood and, if not contain it completely, at least gentle it to the point that its damage is confined only to those attached to him.
The Bennets, I dare say, would never have compounded for such a son-in-law, but there is nothing else that may be done to save them; I pity them for what their future will hold, but, given her character, the girl would never have chosen well or wisely, so on their side I suppose all this is little more than what was inevitable; it is, at least, finished early and, I hope, quietly.
My real pity is reserved for Miss Elizabeth Bennet, as she, I know, thought well of the fellow, and now must recognise and live with the knowledge of his character, and accept him as brother. Her mother, in all likelihood, will find nothing exceptional in the match, and her father seems largely indifferent to his family’s affairs; while not a man without ability, he adopts a very sardonic outlook, and, with three silly daughters and a very silly wife, one perhaps cannot wonder.
Speaking of indifference, it is the indifference of that low person I seek to constrain, to the suffering he causes the innocent and the worthy, that angers me most. Were he to confine his misdeeds to such as his soon-to-be wife, who has not the acuity to realise she suffers, or to the miscreants who populate his world, here in his proper milieu amongst the lower haunts of London, he would be relatively innocuous. But, I shall hope that the manner in which I have him hemmed in will render him that mildly unpleasant nuisance he ought to be, and leave decent people free of his influence. I pray it may be so.
But now, Dearest, I am going to take myself off to my club, and indulge in a little celebratory dinner, and toast to a future where you an
d I might never need speak of the man again.
Your loving brother,
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Post scriptum:
Please tell my aunt that I have taken her advice to heart, and have followed it to good effect.
*****
Grosvenor Square
*Friday, September 19, —
Dear Georgiana,
I have returned to London to wait until Bingley should have had time to secure his future with Miss Bennet; I deemed it best done without the hindrance of my overbearing personality being quite so much in evidence. I doubt it will take long, however; the two principals involved seem as likely to connect as any couple I have ever witnessed, just on the strength of Bingley’s esteem alone; but I am persuaded that Miss Bennet cherishes a deep regard for him, as well. Indeed, I am sure that, now the discouraging influence of my fearsome features is removed, Mrs. Bennet will be able to contrive ample time for the two lovers to be alone to get the job done with admirable efficiency.
So, I am sure the light of tender love triumphant shines by now on Bingley’s schemes of domesticity; I left him yesterday, and I cannot imagine it would take him too much longer to declare himself: he was never one to be reticent in making his feelings known. I expect to hear from him almost hourly to declare his profitable addresses. In spite of my way of talking, Dearest, I am very pleased for him, and wish him every joy in his married life; I am certain he will be happy, and in their mutual goodness I see much to value, and a most favourable prophecy of felicity.
There is little going forward in Town just now, and I am catching up on some reading. After our discussion with Miss Elizabeth Bennet in July, I have been tasting poetry by our modern authors; this afternoon I read The Castaway, by Cowper: have you read it? It is dark, though moving: the tale of a man swept overboard at night, far out at sea; its metaphor found harbour in my heart, and I have turned to this missive, my own link to light, land, and beauty, to distract me and release me from its power. I understand the author was a man given to fits of insanity—what does this say about me, I should like to know? I shall trust your regard for me to be sufficient evidence of my being of sound mind, however.
Darcy's Tale, Volume III_The Way Home Page 27