by Nicky Roth
The clothes he would change into, which he had bought at a dingy slop-shop in a decidedly dodgier part of town, were neatly folded on the rear-facing bench opposite of him. A pair of shabby looking breeches, a darned shirt with a tattered collar, a plain woollen waistcoat with mismatching buttons, a patched coat, frayed scarf as well as rough-looking stockings, a pair of practical boots, and a broad-rimmed felt hat none of which fit him all too well. Yet that was the whole point of it. What labourer could afford clothes other than second hand? At least his valet had seen to the rags being well-cleaned, so well actually that Darcy had needed to get them reasonably dirty again in the dead of night.
He had also not shaved for the last two days. If his servants were wondering about his neglected appearance, they did not give it away and with the excuse of being too busy, he had not received any visitors except for Bingley and his cousin Richard. The stubble on his chin felt somewhat weird, but it gave him a surprisingly rogue appearance especially with his now un-styled hair that naturally curled around his ears and the back instead of being neatly combed and put in place with a dab of pomade.
As the carriage drove off, Darcy leaned back into the comfortable seat one last time for several weeks to come. Just a few more moments of rest before he would lower the blinds and change into what still was nothing but a costume but was about to become his regular attire for the near future.
Close to Barnet, the deed was done, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley was now only William, a young man looking for employment, preferably somewhere out of doors, as a groom perhaps, or a gardener. He had chosen Hertfordshire for his adventure since, as far as he was aware, he did not know a soul in the area despite, or probably because of its closeness to town. Besides, it was on the way up north, and in every way convenient for his servants to both drop him off as well as eventually pick him up again. Beckoning his coachman to stop, Darcy climbed out of the carriage at a crossroads a couple of miles further on, bid his trusted man farewell and took off on foot.
As it was still early in the day, it was cold, but at least dry, and the remnants of the previous night's frost glistened in the surprisingly bright sunlight. The air was clear and fresh bearing no comparison to the dusty, foggy fumes of London. It was an odd feeling seeing his chaise drive away while he stood in the middle of the lane, undecided as to in which direction to go. Not that it mattered. Strictly speaking he had no destination, and so eventually, he just followed the path he thought the prettiest; narrow and winding, rugged hedges on either side amongst which, once in a while, the first snowdrops rose and hung their delicate heads to herald the nearing spring. A robin jittered around the branches of an old oak tree, curiously watching him as he passed, and the further Darcy walked along, the more his mood lifted. Soon he had no idea where he was, but again, that did not matter.
Philosophically speaking, his mission was to get lost in one sense in order to find himself again. Find the young man he had once been and leave the cynical creature he had become behind. Wit was something, but if he carried on as he had done for the past few weeks, if not years, he would turn bitter and that would not do.
Taking yet another turn off the road and onto a footpath that led up a fairly steep hill, a village came into view and a little further along the way a slightly larger settlement and not only that, but there, on a stile a young woman sat, her face turned towards the sun and her eyes closed as if she had not a care in the world. It was an endearing picture, but one that was not to last. As he approached, his footsteps roused the lady and with bright eyes and an engaging smile, she glanced at him curiously, though, by the look of it, she was prepared to take flight should it be necessary.
''morning, Miss. May I inquire whereabouts I am?' Darcy asked hesitantly letting the Derbyshire accent that had been strenuously trained out of him re-surface; it felt good to have the vowels roll off his tongue more softly again, more natural, too.
Tapping his hat he bowed awkwardly hardly expecting an answer. And for sure, in London, he most certainly would not have received one. She was very obviously a young lady of good breeding, simply but well dressed, a stark contrast to his own shabby appearance. But neither did she appear offended that a simple labourer dared to speak to her, her smile even broadened before it turned into a light hearty laugh.
'You may, good man. You are close to Meryton,' she pointed cheerfully in the direction of the small town.
'And that place over yonder?'
'Oh, that is Longbourn.'
'Thanks, Miss.'
'You are welcome. Have you travelled far?'
'Yes, I took off early. Lovely day, ain't it?'
'It most certainly is. Are you looking for employment?'
'I am, Miss.'
'And what is it you do?'
'Oh, everything really. I don't mind hard work, as long as I get a dry place to sleep and something to eat in return.'
'Then I dare say you will have no trouble in finding something. If you go enquire at Longbourn House, you might find that they are in need of a gardener there.'
Before he could thank her, she had got up and with another chuckle left him rooted to the spot, walking away with a spring in her step and surprising speed for such a slight young lady. What a remarkable creature! Perhaps not pretty in the classical sense, but with eyes as sparkling as that, what did it matter that her features lacked the perfect symmetry expected in ladies nowadays? Was she even real? Well, she must be, since she had accidentally left her shawl behind which she had placed underneath herself on her perch to avoid soiling her light coloured dress. Darcy picked it up. She surely must live somewhere around here, and he would make sure to return it, though he had little idea how.
Taking her place, he decided to take a brief rest, drink something and take a bite before doing just as the young lady had suggested. If he were honest, he had thought it would be more difficult to find something, had fully prepared himself to knock on many doors – he still might have to, but if the master of Longbourn House was looking for a gardener, that was at least something to go on for the moment, and a quarter of an hour later, William was on his way again, down the hill and towards the small and cosy village she had pointed out to him.
Chapter 6
A house that does not have one worn, comfy chair in it is soulless.
- May Sarton
Darcy rambled on, slowly descending into a wide and luscious valley below; not that it took him all that long. This was not, after all, Derbyshire, where the hills were steeper and more rugged. No, the hills around Hertfordshire were rolling and green – calm even – and not in the slightest as tempestuous as around Pemberley. It was a beautiful and serene landscape, but truth be told, he preferred the roughness of the Peaks. It was, after all, his home.
To find Longbourn House was not difficult in the least. Aside from the parsonage, which was a rather humble building right next to the church, it was the only large house in the village nestled comfortably in a small parkland just down the lane from the church. It was not in itself a handsome building, for that too many generations had made alterations until it was a mixture of various styles competing with one another and eventually morphing into its own unique one. It did look comfortable enough though, welcoming and warm.
But as easy as it had been to find the house, the more problematic task was to find the path to its rear where he supposed the farmyard was. His dilemma was once more resolved when all of a sudden he heard a giggle and two very young girls appeared walking towards him with their heads stuck together.
'Are you looking for something?' the more boisterous of them asked at perceiving him standing there somewhat forlorn, earning a nudge from the other and the shocked exclamation of 'Lydia!'
'Eh, yes. I'm looking for the lane to the back of the house.'
'Just ahead, keep left, through the gate and then there it is,' the young lass grinned, pulling the other more timid girl along before he could thank them or make further inquiries.
But should he really
dare approach the house from the front? It did not seem proper at all. With a sigh, Darcy decided that after he had already spent a half hour trying to find other means to get to his destination, he had little choice. Doing as the girl had suggested, he did indeed find himself at the back door of Longbourn House. Knocking tentatively, an elderly woman opened.
'Yes?'
She was an imposing woman. Rather large, but with a friendly face that appeared more surprised than cool. Her complexion was rosy, almost red and her hands were rough. Judging by the apron around her broad hips and her rolled up sleeves, she most likely was the cook.
'Good day to you. I... - I have heard that you are currently looking for a gardener and I...'
'I see. Wait.'
And apparently, she was not a woman of many words.
The servant disappeared across the yard, only to reappear a moment later with a man in tow who was undoubtedly the head gardener for why else would he carry a spade in his hands?
'So, you are looking to become a gardener here?'
Darcy nodded.
'And have you much experience with gardening?'
Well, that depended. He was quite good in theory, but practically...
'I have a little, Sir. I worked for Mr Darcy in London and on his estate in Derbyshire, if you’d like to see my references.'
'I’d rather see you till the vegetable patch, lad. Is there any particular reason you don't work for this Mr Darcy any longer?'
'Same old story, Sir. I fell in love with one of the maids, but I was not fancy enough for her. Didn't want to stay after that. Seeing her every day wasn't making things any better and besides, she'd started flirting with one of the footmen.'
A soft chuckle escaped the older man, while Darcy was surprised at himself for lying with such ease. Then again, he had spent a considerable amount of time coming up with this tale.
'Ah, young love. Let me tell you boy, if she didn't want you, it's probably for the best. You'll see, you'll find the right one eventually. Not much use trying to win over a woman's heart when she's set her mind on something grander. What's your name, boy?'
'Probably not,' he answered wryly taking the spade that was unceremoniously shoved into his hands. 'And my name is William, Sir.'
'Just William?'
'William Hawthorn, Sir.'
'Ah … - I'm Peters. Come along now William and we'll see what to do with you. Have you eaten anything yet?'
'I have, Sir.'
'Very good. There's nothing as bad as hard work on an empty stomach.'
The vegetable garden was through yet another gate, well-kept and surprisingly large. Most beds, neatly divided by low box hedges, had already been tilled, but two larger beds still needed taking care of and that was what he was about to do.
'So William, here you go. Finish this and that one over there and then we'll see.'
The ground was still fairly hard from the frost of the past couple of months and the few warm days this past week had done little to thaw more than the topmost couple of inches. Yet as year after year the vegetable patch had been worked over and over again, the soil was still easy enough to till. Yes, his hands were sore and after an hour his back was aching, but oddly enough the pleasure Darcy felt at seeing his own progress was well worth it. Row upon row he carried on and was quite surprised when he had reached the end of the patch already. And the second seemed to go even quicker despite his increasingly sore muscles.
'Well done, lad. Now, what do you know about cutting hedges?'
'Not all that much, I have to admit. I wasn't aware that one cut hedges this early in the year.'
'One doesn't unless the hedge has withered,' Peters grinned cheekily. 'But fortunately the winter has been mild this year and all our hedges are just as they should be. What we'll have to take care of, however, is the mossy patches in the lawn. It's the one crux with this garden if there is any. Turn your back for just a minute and there is moss everywhere. So, let's have a cuppa and then take that rake and let's go. We still have a good two hours of sunlight before we’re finished for the day.'
The tea was a welcome refreshment as was the bread and cheese that was served with it. Sitting on a bench outside, right next to the backdoor they were taking their break in silence when suddenly a loud wail filled the air.
'But I want to go too! Why do I always have to stay behind while you all can go out and have fun? It isn't fair at all! I can dance just as well as any of you. And definitely better than Mary.'
The boisterous young girl from earlier stormed out of the back door with tears of anger streaming down her face, marching straight for the gate to the park and beyond. A moment later she was followed by one of the most stunning young women Fitzwilliam Darcy had ever seen. Blond, tall, stately, with soft, even features, a porcelain complexion and rosy lips.
'Lydia, please, you are only fourteen. None of us were out at that age.'
Even her voice was soft and even, filled with warmth and patience.
'But I want to!'
Darcy could only imagine how Lydia stomped her foot indignantly. It made him smile. His sister, as tractable as she was, when angry was not much different but the distinction was that Georgiana hardly ever was angry.
'Be reasonable, love,' the other girl pleaded. 'Soon enough you will dance as much as you wish.'
'But I want to dance now! I am always left out.'
'Now, Lydia, that is not true. Whenever Aunt and Uncle Philips have a supper or card party, you are allowed to come along.'
'That is something completely different. How can you even compare playing cards to a ball, Jane?'
'It is only a dance at the Assembly Hall, nothing more. Please come inside or you will catch a cold.'
'And watch how all of you prepare? No thank you, I’d rather stay out of doors.'
Despite her claim, the young girl was led back into the house by what must be her older sister or perhaps a cousin. There was some similarity, though not much.
'Ah, the joys of being young,' Peters remarked dryly. 'Miss Lydia is the youngest of five and she is none too happy about it, I tell you. She's a good girl though. And if we are lucky, we'll catch a glimpse of the other young ladies leaving for their outing. It is always a sight to be seen. Miss Bennet is a beauty, is she not?'
'Yes,' Darcy answered truthfully.
'And she is as good as she is pretty. One day she'll make a man very happy. - But, laddie, don't lose your heart...'
'I won't.'
'Good. Now come on.'
Taking the rake that was handed to him, he followed Peters to the front of the house and both began their task until dusk slowly but surely set in. Just when they were about to call it a day, the family's carriage arrived and they indeed saw the ladies of Longbourn leave: the blonde angel, the girl he had seen in Miss Lydia's company earlier, a rather plain young lady who wore an indignant expression, a handsome older woman with a shrill voice shepherding the others out of the house and into the coach and... - and the very lady who had suggested he come here asking for work.
His jaw dropped. What a cheeky, shrewd little creature!
Chapter 7
Courage, cheerfulness, and a desire to work depends mostly on good nutrition.
- Jacob Moleschott
The servants' dinner was a joyous affair, with much cheer and lively conversation, less restraint than what Darcy was used to, but just as he had imagined it to be. The hierarchy though was evident in the seating and since he now was nothing but a low under-gardener his seat was pretty far down the table amongst the group of stable lads.
The meal itself consisted mainly of the left-overs of the family's dinner, though meat was scarce since it could easily be re-used for breakfast. Yet there were potatoes and vegetables, while what there was to be had of spare meat which had already been served at least twice, was boiled into a thick kind of stew which was in fact quite delicious, though perhaps a bit chewy.
As the new “boy”, it was only natural that some curiosi
ty as to his person was voiced and only too willingly Darcy told them of his childhood at Pemberley – none of which he had to invent since he had been allowed to roam the grounds quite freely when home from school – then of his time in London, which he admittedly kept rather vague and in which he was assisted by Peters who grinningly pointed out that he had left his heart behind which was why he was here now in the first place. With a few commiserating sighs from the maids and a few companionable chuckles from the fellows the topic, however, soon changed and before Darcy knew it, a stack of sheets, blankets and a pillow were pressed into his hands before he had even gotten up from his seat.
'There, lad, I'll show you to your room now,' Peters pronounced, leading the way out into the darkness, across the yard and round to the stables. 'You must be knackered.'