by Gail McEwen
“Well, I cannot believe you have not seen it yet,” Miss Darcy said, this time with genuine feeling in her voice. “I should insist on seeing it straight away! I think it sounds very romantic! It is a castle, I’m told, and I do so love castles!”
Then, struck by the horrible thought that she had somehow betrayed herself she blushed and sank into silence.
“Well, I do long to see it,” Holly said gently. “I must confess I do, for nothing arouses curiosity like this mixture of disdain and romantic feeling which I am now forced to completely share. Besides, in my darkest moments I am convinced his lordship married me for my frugality and accustomed penny pinching alone and I am overcome with a desire to prove myself.”
“Well, you have nothing left to prove in other vital areas, I suppose,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “But you mustn’t leave yet. I quite depend upon you tomorrow.”
She reached out and squeezed Holly’s hand. Holly returned her affectionate gesture, but wondered what had happened to Elizabeth’s reliance on her husband. Everything seemed quiet and peaceful between them, but she could not help wondering if their disagreement was resolved or whether it was buried under the expediencies of the coming day. That tone of voice when she told her in the breakfast room there was no time for talk on Mr Darcy’s feelings still hung in the air.
But Elizabeth, Holly knew, was not one to express anger and disappointment without restraint. She nursed it, scrutinised it and then channelled it either through her wit or her scathing conversation. Like all women, she had learnt to hold her tongue and she did so better than most. But when and only when she could express herself could you understand what your true crime had been and sort it out. Usually shocked herself by the words she had nursed in her own mind for so long, Elizabeth would forgive and forget easily, but it took time to arrive at that point. Holly wondered if her husband would give her time, and understand the words for what they were when they finally were expressed.
“Of course we couldn’t leave now!” she therefore said. “It will be such a splendid day!”
It seemed they all agreed on that and the talk shifted onto the prospect of the weather for tomorrow. Miss Darcy found refuge in discussing clothes and worries about if there would be very many people attending.
“Oh, you shouldn’t worry about that, my dear,” Elizabeth told her. “After all, they’ll all be there to see if I find my place in church and whether I can conduct myself properly. You’ll be shamefully ignored, I imagine.”
“Good,” Miss Darcy said and her honest feeling so readily expressed made the women laugh.
That seemed to draw Miss Darcy out of her concern for her brother and active ignoring of his friend and so she even offered a few comments of encouragement for her sister, which Holly whole-heartedly supported.
“You’ll do brilliantly,” she said warmly. “And Pemberley will shine! How could it not?”
As confirmation of that sentiment, Miss Darcy turned her large adoring eyes on the safe, but worthy, object of her sister while Mr Darcy gave a quick, but genuine, smile behind the shelter of the hand over his mouth and Holly decided to believe in her own words after all.
BAUGHAM STRETCHED HIS ARMS IN a long luxurious sweep towards the ceiling and added a cat like yawn and growl before he settled down into his pillows with a smile.
“You seem very satisfied with yourself,” his wife said and snuggled into him.
“And I thought it was you, who was supposed to be satisfied with myself.”
“Oh, I was. I am. But I wasn’t talking about your admirable conscious efforts just now, but rather the unconscious ones earlier.”
“What?”
Holly smiled and rubbed his leg with her toes. “How long have you known Miss Darcy?”
There was another big yawn from her husband. “Oh, forever, I suppose. Since she was a baby. Or since she was about ten.”
Holly giggled. “And how long has she adored you in your disdainful ignorance like this?”
“What?”
His voice was sleepy and it was obvious he had no idea what she was talking about. Holly let her fingers play over his chest and tugged at some stray hairs to keep him awake a little longer.
“Miss Darcy,” she said and then put her mouth to his ear, “has a tendre for you.”
He turned towards her with his eyes wide open again. “Oh, don’t be silly!” But he looked more alarmed than irritated or dismissive.
“Well, all the signs are there and she is quite adorable about it.”
“If you’re right,” Baugham said, “I don’t think I want to know it. I mean, I’ve done very well not knowing and I’m not sure—”
“Oh, but you must be nice about it,” Holly said. “After all, it is inevitable that we shall be seeing much more of her from now on. Our families being so close, that is . . . ”
Her husband looked anything but reassured. “That’s nonsense,” he tried once more. “It really is. And even if—”
“You must be nice to her,” Holly insisted and put her mouth to his earlobe and tucked her hand into his nightshirt as far as it would go, “and not so damned charming and irresistible . . . ”
“Such language. Really, Holly,” he said, smiling and turning to pull her closer, “that mouth of yours.”
“You didn’t mind it so much a few minutes ago,” she smirked but then had to interrupt it to break out into a yawn. “What is going to happen tomorrow?” she asked, already drowsy and not really caring about his answer.
Baugham pursed his lips. “Oh, what always happens when people come together in the country for ceremony: they will all pay reverent attention for about five minutes and think it’s very grand and important and then they will be much too busy gossiping with their neighbour or looking at the girls or taking a nap to care very much what goes on. Until the food is brought out. About Miss Darcy . . . ”
Holly tried but she could not stifle another yawn that welled up through her and the rest of his question was drowned out. “I’m so glad you don’t have Candlemasses like this at Cumbermere,” she muttered.
“No, we don’t. Thank God. Are you going to sleep now?”
A growling noise told him it was already past her control.
“Umpf,” said Baugham but then surrendered and slid down into the bed, too.
Imperfection of our
Present State of Being
We certainly don’t need all of those foot warmers for church,” Elizabeth snapped as yet another box was shoved into the carriage. “Why with all the people who will be pressing through the door to gawk at us we will melt away and swoon!”
“Well, his lordship is not allowed to sit with us,” Holly calmly said.
She was met with a frown from her cousin and a startled look from Miss Darcy.
“It’s all very well for you to frown at me so, but despite Mr Darcy’s assuredly generous donation for the family pew, nothing can induce me to share that confined space with my husband. He can sit at the back, else he will fidget us all to death.”
Mrs Darcy gave her a crooked smile. “Still,” she said, “the ones in the carriage are enough. No extras!”
The foot warmers situated, the Darcys and their guests took their places in the family pew, with the exception of Lord Baugham who, with strong encouragement from his lady, decided to opt for a little more leg room in the rear. Unfortunately for him, the sanctuary was packed to the rafters and no such room was to be found. Equally unfortunately for the entire congregation was the fact that the rector was prepared to take full advantage of the unprecedented attendance of the day. The prayer of invocation lasted an age, and more than once during its course his lordship, marvelling at the man’s stamina, had to fight the urge to pull out his pocket watch and check the time. Next, Mrs Darcy was solemnly presented to the congregation on her husband’s arm, she knelt by the altar and was blessed by the reverend’s shaking hand, a needless bit of pageantry in his lordship’s mind, because each and every one of those she was now being presented to
had seen Mrs Darcy either in church or in town, had called upon or been paid a visit by her in the two months since she arrived in Derbyshire. This was followed by a halting speech from the mayor of the town, who appeared determined to avoid any verbal slip ups by pronouncing each and every word with grave deliberation.
After that came a seemingly endless sermon, followed by a receiving line on the outside of the church that lasted until mid afternoon. By the time the carriage approached Pemberley once again, Lord Baugham was so on edge from the hours of inactivity, everyone in the vehicle could see the wisdom of her ladyship’s earlier judgement as he was, in fact, in danger of fidgeting them all to the point of distraction.
The day continued in the Grand Hall at Pemberley House, where Mr and Mrs Darcy were expected to stand for hours, attended by Miss Darcy to their right and Lord and Lady Baugham positioned even further down as ornament to lend suitable pomp and circumstance to the occasion while the respectable—and not so respectable—people of Lambton and nearby villages and estates as well as some curious dignitaries from as far away as the town of Buxton, filed past, exchanging congratulations, pleasantries and awkward greetings. The crowd was rewarded for its patience and persistence by the great table in the next room, filled with enough food and drink to feed the whole town. The reverent silence of the first half hour soon gave way to chatter and laughter as the guests took the opportunity to socialise and eat before making their way out into the cold winter air again.
Pemberley was highly suited to receptions on such a grand scale. Old carpets had been laid out to protect floors and valuable rugs, candles burned in every chandelier and candlestick to light up the wainscoted walls and dark portraits of generations of Darcys sternly overlooking the proceeding as they always had. They approved, no doubt, of the sober procession filing by, paying homage to and inspecting their betters. Mr and Mrs Darcy seemed to fit right in with what these ancestors expected and it all went by in a dignified fashion.
Lord and Lady Baugham played their due part in the event, catching few names, but as always, most of those filing past could be well pigeon holed by what they wore, how they walked, whom they looked at and what they said and how. As a consequence Holly concluded that most of those she observed were local gentry at most and estate labourers at least. It did not take long, however, before Lord Baugham tired of the parade of humanity before him and began to snap with his fingers behind his back. Mr Darcy never moved and paid each attendant a precisely equal amount of attention whereas Mrs Darcy never seemed to grow weary of smiling and looking happy to see all and sundry.
Holly escaped for a moment alone to rest her feet in one of the smaller salons. She could still hear the careful patter of the guests’ steps filing by in the grand hall just behind her as she rubbed her aching toes and sore heels. There was a sudden creak from a door opening in one of the panels and her cousin popped in.
“You lucky thing!” she said and reached for a glass of wine. “At least you don’t have an aching hand!”
Holly smiled. “Do you want me to rub it for you? Or should I have a bowl of snow brought in for you to cool it in?”
Elizabeth sighed. “I think a glass of wine is all the luxury I have time for at the moment.”
She slumped down on a chair and looked around. “This is a nice little room,” she said. “A perfect girlish hiding place.”
“We will make good use of it when this day is over,” Holly agreed.
But then Elizabeth stood up again, shook out her sleeves and dress, mournfully parted from her glass of wine and disappeared again with a rueful smile through the same panel door. Holly sat a while, rolling her glass between her hands and resting before she too stole away.
Clusters of people were everywhere, in the house and on the grounds. Indoors they picked through the remnants of the great refreshment table, availed themselves of the staff’s never-ending round of tours of the public rooms, or sat on the strategically placed benches in the great hall to visit with friends and neighbours and drink the Darcy’s excellent and plentiful offerings of wine and ale.
Outdoors there were sleigh rides and skating on the frozen pond, formal gardens—magnificent even when dusted with snow—to trample, children’s snowball fights to watch and fire pits placed here and there to gather around to visit with friends and neighbours and continue to drink the Darcy’s excellent and plentiful offerings of wine and ale. Mr and Mrs Darcy, Miss Darcy and Lord and Lady Baugham moved among the various groupings to smile and socialise. Her husband was in his element, Holly noted, all ease and charm and witty remarks, though he would periodically pull her round a corner or behind the shrubberies for a kiss “to fortify myself against the next tedious performance of his charming lordship”. She did not necessarily believe his complaints, he seemed to be enjoying himself well enough, but neither did she mind the kisses, so she played along.
Gradually, as if by some unspoken summons, the guests began to leave off their varied pursuits around the house and grounds and drift toward the south lawn around sunset. The bonfire was stoked until it grew to monstrous proportions, a makeshift curtain had been strung between the ice-packed fountain and a nearby tree, and several kegs and casks had been hauled over so there need be no cessation of celebrations by those observing the promised new play by the Lambton Mummers. Holly saw Elizabeth and Miss Darcy sitting in a place of honour at the front of the crowd and they beckoned her to join them. Weaving her way between the packed bodies, she sat on the bench that had been carried out of the great hall, grateful for the fur robes that were brought for them as well. Across the lawn, she saw her husband, standing with a group of townsmen, a mug in his hand, laughing and talking boisterously. He had a look about him that made her wonder just how many mugs he had gone through that frigid day. It was cold and it would be even colder as the sun took its hasty leave and she gratefully accepted a cup of steaming mulled wine to aid her through the promised play. A promised play that had seldom met with so much suspicion, she thought.
Then, just as automatically as they had gathered, the crowd suddenly grew hushed and an air of anticipation descended as movements could be seen behind the curtain. Mr Morris, the innkeeper, came out to face a sea of expectant faces, clad in a black cape with a swath of purple silk wrapped around his head, pointing a twisted hawthorn cudgel against the sky in a grand gesture to start off this highpoint of the day.
“Mr and Mrs Darcy, ladies, gentlemen, my lord, my lady, and all the good people of Derbyshire,” he said formally, bowing to each in turn, “allow me to introduce a tale of mystery. A tale of intrigue,” at that, Holly shot a glance toward Elizabeth. Mystery and intrigue in a morality play? Elizabeth shrugged with a smile and turned back to the show.
“A tale of good!” The crowd erupted in cheers.
“A tale of evil!” The crowd erupted in boos and snake-like hissing.
“Of life! Of death! Of love! Of deceit!”
As the throng reacted to each proclamation in turn, Holly grew more worried. This was beginning to sound like every other mummers’ play she had seen. The innkeeper swept his cape aside, revealing a loincloth designed to look like some sort of animal skin, and wearing only that and his purple turban, thus began the play:
“The Garden of Paradise! The perfect state of humanity as created by our Lord! Where Adam’s brother, Bert the orchard keeper, lives with his son, Percy. On the day of Percy’s wedding.”
This was greeted with oohs, aahs and catcalls. After waiting for silence to resume, he paused another dramatic beat before beginning:
“Come prick up your ears and attend Sirs, a while
I’l tell ye a tale that shall make ye to smile
’Tis a faithful description of the Tree of Life
so pleasing to every maid, widow and wife!”
Bert the orchard keeper, known otherwise to the townsfolk as Mr Harris the village clerk, then came from behind the curtain amid cheers and whistles, wearing a similar loincloth. He twirled around and shook his headg
ear—a monstrous contraption with leaves and fruit around an old straw hat—while Mr Morris continued his declamation in a conspiratorial tone.
“This tree universal most countries produce
but till eighteen years’ growth ‘tis not much fit for use
Then nine or ten inches, for it seldom grows higher
and that’s sure as much as the heart can desire.”
Mr Morris gave a bow to the cheering crowd and retired to the left while Mr Harris nervously looked around for his cue.
“Go on then!” someone shouted from the crowd, “where’s the trunk?”
With one nervous look at the party of quality, Mr Harris swallowed and took his pose.
“Oh Percy, my son,” he called haltingly to the curtain, “come out, for today is your wedding day! Bring your young bride that we may celebrate with wine and dancing.
“Oh feast we all now, ‘fore the day turns to night
Then relish her after, a husband’s full right.
Her fruit you will taste, her well you will dig
If the orchardman’s son carries more than a twig.”
Holly’s eyes grew wide as she tried to catch her husband’s attention across the way, but he was laughing as exuberantly as his companions. Then, relinquishing his usual doctor’s role to play Percy, Adam’s newlywed nephew, Mr Derek strode out from behind the curtain, wrapped in an elaborate cloak. Beside him came a stout man, wearing practically nothing, but certainly with enough costume gathered in strategic places to make it perfectly clear to the audience that this was Percy’s happy bride.
“Mr Pennyweather!” Elizabeth gasped. Holly gave her a glance but Elizabeth was clearly stunned. “Oh! He’s . . . sexton!”
“I believe,” she heard Mr Darcy close to her ear in a tightly controlled voice, “our sexton might never quite hear the end of this.”
Holly could do nothing but stare at the grotesque apparition before her. A morality play . . . It seemed this play was intent on showing morality by a distinct lack of it! Nevertheless, she was astounded that Mr Pennyweather could stand the frigid temperatures, until she realised that both men could scarcely stand at all, having obviously fortified themselves against the cold while awaiting their cue. Mr Pennyweather stumbled forward, inspiring belly laughter from the male observers and catty comments from the female.