The Darcy Monologues: A romance anthology of Pride and Prejudice short stories in Mr. Darcy's own words

by Joana Starnes

  “I hope your family is well. All of your sisters, and so on.”

  “Thank you. They are. Did you meet my elder sister Jane? She was at the dance.”

  “I believe I did, yes. And she is well?”

  “Yes. Very. Thank you. I believe that one of your Squadron Leaders is taking her to tea in Meryton this morning, at the George Hotel. You look surprised. Anyway, she is in good health, as is all of my family. You may report back to Caroline that all are present and correct. No clergymen apoplectic with rage, no unmentionable scandals, no bankruptcies, no unwanted babies.”

  “Elizabeth, I didn’t suggest anything of the—”

  “You didn’t need to. I know very well what people like you and Caroline Bingley think. And what you say.”

  “You know nothing of what I think.”

  It was no more than the truth. Despite the extraordinary pull I felt towards her, the fact remained that we had only met twice before and had spoken little.

  “Don’t I? I think I do, Group Captain. I saw the way you looked at my family last week. I heard you talking with Caroline and saw you turning your nose up at Kitty and Lydia. They may not be polished society darlings, but they are real people, with feelings. Their only crime is to be poor and away from their family.”

  Her words stung me, immediately, sharply. I thought of my sister. Wealthy and away from her family, and equally blameless. She remained in the United States, where I had sent her to a cousin the moment war had broken out. I imagined her pacing the floor of an apartment in New York, a woman, no longer the child who left, nursing a broken heart. Had I put her in the way of harm myself? The very idea made me wretched. The thought that a stranger would think or speak ill of her lit a spark of rage inside me. As I pondered this, Elizabeth continued her defence of the Potter girls.

  “They visit their parents regularly actually, but no doubt it suits certain people to think that they are runaways with no sense of responsibility.”

  “I didn’t say or suggest anything of the sort about them. I don’t know either girl, and I doubt I ever will.”

  I had not intended to sound so harsh, but it spooled out. An aspect of her attack was fair enough, and the truth of that unbalanced me.

  “You are probably right. But know this; Caroline Bingley gossips about others to give her something to do and doesn’t think about how it might hurt them. You tolerate her rudeness and unkindness, because she’s out of the top drawer, just like you. You’re no better than her.”

  With this, we arrived at the top of an unkempt driveway. At the end, there was a mustard-yellow manor house with a blue front door, slightly ajar, and a cat sitting on a wheelbarrow looking at us inquisitively. I thought of my own home, the home of my childhood, given up entirely to the army for the duration of the war, save for a few rooms reserved for family and the remaining servants.

  “You know nothing about me.”

  “Everyone knows about you. And what we don’t know we can guess. You’re rich and think you’re above everyone. Your men might take orders from you, Group Captain, but I don’t. The world is changing, you know. Time’s up for people like you. The war has turned over a new leaf and there’ll be no turning it back when it’s over.”

  With that, she turned on her heel and stomped down the gravel drive, swinging her hat, leaving me standing at the top like a fool.

  Pax

  Smithers had been looking down in the mouth all morning and had already had a tongue-lashing from Arbuthnot for forgetting to sugar his tea. Sometime after this, I found the boy in my chambers, sorting clothing and looking not at all himself.

  “Everything alright, Smithers?”

  “Thank you, sir. Fine. Sorry about the Air Commodore’s tea. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Never mind his tea. Let him remember his own sugar.”

  I knew that would catch his attention, and so indeed it did. His eyes flashed up at me, and he couldn’t resist a small laugh.

  “Now. You’ve had a face like a wet weekend all morning. Out with it.”

  He paused, looking at his own hands. I could tell he was weighing speaking honestly with me.

  “Just thinking about the bombing sir, that’s all.”

  “They were certainly going at it last night.”

  Raids on London were commonplace, as were reprisals on Berlin and any number of other targets. During the war, there had been weeks when it was every single night. There are parts of London that have taken such a bashing, I little know how they carry on. Recently, there had been rather a lull, but for the last two nights, in the distance, the rumble of destruction had sounded. Smithers was a young man, far from home, and it was perfectly natural that it should get him down.

  “Let’s hope for a let-up tonight, eh?” A look of consternation crossed his face. “Smithers, what is it? Your people don’t live in London.”

  “No, sir. Thing is, sir, there’s a girl, here, like. I mean, she lives here, but she’s a Londoner.”

  “What’s her name?”

  I had no idea that Smithers had found himself a girlfriend.

  “Kitty Potter. She’s one of the two evacuee girls who live at the big house on the road to Meryton. They’re sisters. The other one’s—”

  “Yes, yes. I know who they are. What about them? They live here.”

  “I know, sir, but they caught the bus home the day before yesterday, for a visit like. And they haven’t come back. Could be fine, but what if it’s not?”

  I didn’t lose any time after he spoke but strode past the mess, out of the base, jumped into the Derby and straight on the road to Longbourn. Jane answered the door, and it was from her I learned that nobody knew where Kitty and Lydia were. Elizabeth had already left, apparently intending to catch a bus to London. I thanked her, gave my best wishes to her family, and headed straight for the centre of Meryton, where I had seen people queuing up for the bus before. Sure enough, there she was, alone and standing beside a rickety sign saying “Bus Stop”, muffled up against the wind but shivering still. Relief crept over me at the mere sight of her. I slowed, came to a stop by the pavement, and got out, hardly aware of what I would say.

  “I’ve come from Longbourn. I’ve heard about it. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Her voice was so much softer than the last time we had spoken, but I couldn’t be happy about it. It sounded as though it would break any moment.

  “I came to say that you can use my telephone. Or I can call and ask for news, if you’re not up to it. Come back to the base with me and we’ll do that. Then I’ll take you home to your parents with some news.”

  “That’s kind. But I’ve already tried calling. The vicar’s wife let me use the vicarage telephone. I’ve got a number. I rang and rang but nobody answered.”

  “I see.” It didn’t surprise me, unfortunately. The chaos and the workload of war was such that communication was poor at the best of times. Trying to find out the fate of two otherwise unimportant people to whom one was not related was likely to be lengthy and difficult.

  “But, we have to know one way or another. Mummy is on the edge. So, I’m just going to go there.”

  “Go where?”

  “To their address, in Stepney.” She fiddled in her handbag and produced a small scrap of paper. “I’ve got it here.”

  “Is that wise? Have you ever been there before?”

  “No, but I’ll find it. I have a good sense of direction.”

  “I don’t doubt that you’ll find it, Elizabeth. But the bus will take hours. Look at this timetable. It stops at every other lamp post. Then you will have to find the street, speak to somebody. You will be coming home in the dark, if you’re lucky, and you may learn nothing. It’s freezing cold. Don’t give your parents even more to worry about.”

  “Those are just details. I’ll work them out. Mummy needs to know about Kitty and Lydia. She’s . . . well, it is hard to explain. She’s very tangled up in her mind.”

  “That’s t
he other thing that worries me about you going to London on your own. You don’t know what you are going to find there. Atrocities are hard to look at, Elizabeth. Don’t risk looking at them on your own.”

  My mind spun with the reasons why she should remain here, and suddenly, an idea occurred to me. “Let me drive you there. If you are determined to go, as I think you are. At least you will be there and back in the shortest time.”

  Her eyes flicked up. “But you’re on duty.”

  “I’m not. I don’t need to be back at the base until the morning.”

  “But it’s so much petrol. I can never pay you back the petrol coupons.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I have enough petrol to get us to London and back. Get in.” I opened the door of the Derby and it made its familiar soothing click. “We’ll go via Longbourn so that your parents know where you are and who you are with. I will get you back for supper time. I promise.”

  She moved towards the car and her face softened.

  “Yes, Group Captain.”

  “And Elizabeth?”

  “Yes?”

  “Stop calling me that. If I am going to spend the day with you, then you must call me William.”

  I opened the door and she got in, gingerly, looking straight ahead as I started the engine and moved away. As promised, our first stop was Longbourn, where I explained the plan to her father and left my card before departing. This duty done, the Derby purred into action and we were away, first on country roads then wider ones. Elizabeth wore a headscarf and twisted her hands together in her lap as we made for the main road to London. Slowly, when I had almost given up hope, she began to relax. The fingers unlaced, the arms uncrossed, the trousered legs stretched out in the passenger footwell. The greens and browns of the fields and the snatches of town and village on the way to London whipped past the window like pictures falling out of an album. After some time, she removed her headscarf and straightened it in her lap before speaking.

  “I’m not sure that I’ve driven to London before. We usually go on the train from Hitchin when we have visited my aunt and uncle in Kilburn. Of course, that was before the war. Mummy is so afraid of the bombs that she won’t go as far as Watford now.”

  I smiled at this, and thought of Mrs. Reynolds sitting in the kitchen at Pemberley, tutting loudly and drawing the two sides of her cardigan together as she listened to the wireless. Maybe they were not so dissimilar as I had thought.

  “I don’t blame her. I did some training in Watford, with Bingley actually. Very suspicious sort of place.” It occurred to me that a bit of light relief might be good for her, and it was a great delight to observe her laughing in return.

  “I’ll tell her that. She’ll be thrilled.” She smiled cheekily and glanced out of the window. We were still surrounded on all sides by fields, and I began to mentally plan my route into the East End.

  “Do you need me to map read?”

  Elizabeth pulled the fold-out map out of the glove compartment without waiting for an answer.

  “There’s no need. But if you want to, then do.”

  “I like to keep busy. It helps to cope. I think that is how we have all coped—we’ve just kept on working at things. In an odd way, that is why Kitty and Lydia are in our house. They are a way of keeping busy. The pair of them are a complete handful. That’s the awful thing. Some of what Caroline said is true. They are unruly. They are naughty, really. That night you met me, out on the track, I was looking for Lydia. That’s why I had the torch. She’d gone out to meet Edward Lucas, without telling Mummy and Daddy, and not come home. Of course, we all knew but would never tell. But then it got late and I began to worry. So, I went out looking for her.”

  I kept my focus on the road, but I could feel her eyes on me.

  “That was decent of you. It was a cold night.”

  “Well. It isn’t all about one’s own comfort, is it? They are worth it, you know. When they aren’t giving us the runaround, they are enormous fun. It has been four years, but it feels like forever. My parents had volunteered to take in two pregnant women, but there was some sort of mix-up on the day and they all went to another town. Mummy was most put out. So actually, we didn’t go down to the Town Hall when the evacuee children’s bus came in. It was later. Sir William drove over and spoke to Daddy. Said there were two sisters, and they wouldn’t be separated. You see, there were plenty of people in Meryton with room for one. But nobody had reckoned on taking on a pair. Several people had offered to take one of them but not the other. I suspect Kitty would have plumped for it, but Lydia flat refused. Said they had promised their mum and that was that.”

  “But your parents did take them?”

  The admiration I felt was unexpected but not unwelcome.

  “They did. Daddy explained and Mummy put on her hat and coat and off they went. Twenty minutes later they were back with two hungry little girls and our lives have never been the same since.”

  “That is very good of them, Elizabeth. There are many who wouldn’t.”

  “There are. I don’t believe that there is any charity given at Netherfield.”

  “I know there isn’t.”

  I have seen generosity and meanness in the most surprising places, but Elizabeth certainly had the measure of Bingley’s sisters.

  “Elizabeth, there isn’t anything between me and Caroline Bingley, you know. She is just my friend’s sister. I’m not—connected to her in any other way. I would not want you to think that I was. The other night—at the dance—I cursed when she came and spoke to you after our dance.”

  “It’s alright. I understand. Leave it behind. It’s nothing compared to how rude I was to you that Sunday.”

  At this, I did look at her for a moment. The noonday sun bounced off the dashboard and lit up the pearly surface of her face.

  “Maybe I deserved it. Leave that behind, too.”

  “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this. It is very generous. Especially after the things I said to you that day.”

  “Forget it. It doesn’t matter, compared to this. That’s one thing I’ve learnt in the war. All the things you thought were important, most of them are nonsense.”

  “But not all of them?”

  “No. Not all of them. I loved my home and family before the war, and I love them still. I miss my sister and my cousin. Some mornings I wake and think I am at home and that is a privilege. Because when it stops, that will mean that the agony has got me. I am closer to people around me than ever I was in peacetime. I listen to men speaking of ordinary things and think ‘that is a life.’ I trust that, assuming I survive, I shall always remember that.”

  “So, what’s the nonsense then?”

  “All the decoration around the edges. You know, money and houses and well-cut suits.”

  “Cars?” she asked with a smile, looking around her.

  “Touché. I love this car like a first-born child. I mean other things. I mean worrying about where a person comes from or who their parents were. I mean even thinking about where a man went to school, or his accent, or the way he stands. It gets in the way of things.”

  It was true, but that was the first time I had said it. The components of that thought had been swimming around my mind unconnected for some time. Had she brought them together?

  “I am surprised to hear you say that. Surprised, and rather ashamed. Because when I met you, I thought that was all you were about.”

  “Don’t be ashamed. That sounds too much like regret.”

  She turned to me and her full lips curved into a gentle smile. While we were speaking, the landscape around us had changed. Gone were the fields and the sporadic villages. The Derby had slowed and begun to peel along the wide arteries of outer London, lined by shops and imposing houses and nameless parks and gardens. Before long, these scenes gave way to narrower streets, to row upon row of back-to-back houses, giving onto yards, boys pedalling bicycles, women no older than my sister with infants on their hips. They turned to look at the c
ar as we drove by, and Elizabeth shifted in her seat. She began to tense, crossing her legs and wringing her hands. If I reached out my hand, would she welcome it? We passed a large church and the entrance to an underground station from which a stream of people were emerging. Every now and then, Elizabeth glanced at the map and issued an instruction, but the truth was I knew where I was going. I knew how to reach Stepney and the road that the Potters lived on was very easily identified. I had very little time with her before we arrived.

  “Elizabeth?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can we make a deal?”

  “Depends what it is.”

  “Well. How about we agree that whatever happens today, whatever transpires, when the war is over, or before if you are willing, we come to London again? Go to a dance and do the jitterbug? And don’t invite anyone else. How would that be?”

  To my enormous relief, she laughed lightly before replying. “Yes, is all I have to say to that.”

  Silence sat between us, quite comfortably, as we advanced further. Before long, the busy everyday scenes of the East End altered to a different view. The change was announced by the sight of a half-blasted brick wall, which I assumed to have been the end of a terrace. Slate tiles lay on the road with winter coats and old chair legs and all sorts of flotsam and jetsam, under a layer of dust that clogged the air. A dog, wearing a lead with no one to hold it, ran about sniffing in the gutter, and I began to regret having brought her here at all. The road, which I had checked carefully on the map before departing Hertfordshire, was here. This was it. It was utterly gone, replaced by masonry and misery. An ambulance, driven by a lady in a Russian hat, made its way carefully along the road strewn with debris. A number of fire officers and policemen bustled around the place. If nothing else, I knew who to speak to. The map had flopped like an old lettuce on Elizabeth’s lap and she was silent. I parked the car and turned to her.