Suddenly Mrs. Darcy

by Jenetta James

  To my surprise, he did not keep to his chamber that night. When I was already abed, he appeared in his nightclothes and stroked my blanketed arm.

  “Elizabeth, are you awake?”

  I rolled onto my back, staring at the hanging above and saying nothing.

  “Let us not argue on this matter. I do not wish to be out of harmony with you and…I do not like to see you distressed. Of course, we would normally attend your sister’s wedding, but we are to visit Rosings in April, and there you will have much time with Mary. That is only three months away, and at Rosings, there is a large house and a park for walking, as well as a parlour for taking tea with Mr Collins. Please believe me; it will be better for you. You will not be so confined or reminded of that which would be better left alone.”

  I knew he spoke of himself, but since he spoke kinder than he had before, I reached out to him. I thought of Mr Bingley and Jane and of how Mr Darcy could persuade him to return to her if only I could sway him.

  “Of course, I know you are right. I am sorry for having been so intemperate.”

  ***

  The matter of Mary’s wedding was not mentioned between us again, and we soon fell back into step with our old habits. Mr Darcy often travelled around the estate with his steward, Mr Franks, and I busied myself with the housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds, with whom I met each morning. When he worked within doors, he did so in his study, and I often awaited him in the library where he would join me when he had finished. I was greatly surprised by how easily the hours passed in his company, but I was not romantic. His attitude regarding my sister’s wedding had drawn a border between us over which I knew not to tread.

  When he announced to me that Mr Bingley and his sisters were to stay at Pemberley for a week on their way to their relations in the north, I was greatly surprised. We were in my bed, and his fingers were twisting my hair. The mention of Mr Bingley’s name took my mind back to the night of the Netherfield ball and smacked so of Hertfordshire and my former life. Mr Darcy, Mr Bingley, his sisters, and I had not stayed together under the same roof since Jane was taken ill at Netherfield, and we had hardly been a merry party then. Jane’s absence overwhelmed me in that moment, and I longed for her to be at Pemberley, too. I knew from her letters that she still held Mr Bingley in very high esteem, and the months since his abrupt departure had passed in dullness and poor spirits. However, Mr Darcy had intimated nothing of my family being welcome, and I dared not ask to invite them.

  “You are not vexed?”

  “No, of course not. I look forward to seeing Mr Bingley very much. I wonder what takes him to the north. He left Netherfield so abruptly; I wonder if he shall ever return?” My husband said nothing to this.

  Although I was anxious, I sought out Mrs Reynolds immediately after breakfast the next day to make arrangements for the stay of the Bingley party. We met in the library, and Mrs Reynolds appeared to have everything in hand almost before I spoke. Mr Bingley and his sisters were always accommodated in the same rooms, and they would easily be made ready in time. His favourite dish was pheasant, so that would be prepared. I could rest easy, therefore, that my being the mistress of the house would in no way diminish their enjoyment. Having settled all of this, I fancied Mr Darcy may be in his study and stepped in. I wished to see him and somehow assure him he had nothing to fear; I would handle the stay of his friends as I should.

  The dimly lit, leathery room was empty, his large chair vacant, and I could tell from the smell that it had been recently cleaned—no doubt the maids taking advantage of his absence. It was a strange thing to be in there without him, and I paced the room, warmed my hands against the dying embers of the fire, and straightened some books on his desk. It was then that it caught my eye. I could not now tell you why, but it did. I sat gingerly on the edge of Mr Darcy’s great chair, pulled the letter towards me, and read.

  Galbraith & Company, Solicitors

  65 Fleet Street, London

  10 January 1813

  Fitzwilliam Darcy, Esq

  Pemberley, Derbyshire

  Dear Mr Darcy,

  I thank you for your last letter with respect to your property at Queen Anne’s Gate. I have ventured to make the arrangements which you requested of me in the most discreet manner possible and believe they are now complete. It was not necessary for me to approach the occupant of the house, and I did not do so, although I thank you for your advice on that matter. The title documents are in your safe at the offices of this firm should you wish to inspect them at any time.

  I trust you are in good health. I am conscious this is a matter which you may prefer to discuss face to face rather than by way of correspondence and if that is the case, then I look forward to seeing you when you are next in town.

  Yours sincerely,

  James Galbraith

  I read in confusion and astonishment. What could it mean? I knew my husband’s townhouse to be in Grosvenor Square, and he had never mentioned another. Who was the occupant of this house in Queen Anne’s Gate, and why would Mr Darcy prefer to discuss the matter face to face than by letter? I had a sense I was being kept in ignorance, and my heart raced with the thought of it. Somebody had snuffed out a light in my brain, and my imagination was falling over in the dark. I greatly feared what it could mean and loathed having no real idea what it did mean. I resented Mr Darcy as well; he had told me so little about himself that he had made a detective of me. If I crept about, reading things I should not read and collecting a patchwork of half-known things, then I blamed the man himself for his lack of openness. I had in me the heat of knowledge that was not meant for me, and my body was a furnace. Troubled as I was and scarcely understanding what I had read, I replaced the letter with a shaky hand and quickly left the room. I resolved to expunge the whole episode from my mind and make as though it had never taken place.

  ***

  When Hannah attended me the next morning, it was apparent she was beside herself with excitement. After my bath, she revealed all.

  “Well, madam, what do you say to this?” She stepped aside, revealing a beautiful riding habit on the bed.

  “I think it is very lovely, Hannah, but I have never been fitted for it. And as you know, I cannot ride.”

  “It is the master’s surprise, madam. Is it not fine?” She stroked the fabric and beseeched me with her eyes.

  “It certainly is, Hannah. I dread to ask when I am to use it,” I said, recalling that my last ride had been on a pony as a child.

  “This morning, madam. The master will take you out after breakfast.”

  “So little time to prepare! Hannah, I feel quite betrayed by you,” I said teasingly.

  “Oh, madam, the master takes such care of you! I am sure he will be a kindly teacher. I do hope though…well, I hope that I do not say too much when I say that you should take special care.”

  She blinked and tilted her little, capped head. I was suddenly confused by her words and anxious, for I had come to imagine myself in a world full of secrets.

  “What do you mean, Hannah?”

  “Well, madam, you have not had your courses since before Christmas, so there may be a special need for care.” She looked at my face searchingly. Close as we had become, she had only known me for a matter of months and did not quite have the measure of my worldliness. “It is important to avoid falling. I expect you know that.”

  I hardly heard her. My mind spun with the realisation that she was right and I had not even noticed.

  “Have you discussed this with anyone else, Hannah?”

  “Only Mrs Reynolds, madam. She asked me when you slept for so long in the library last week. I am certain she will have said nothing to anyone else.”

  The thought of informing my husband was my first worry, and I knew not how that could be done. So few words passed between us. I was still more discomforted by the thought of a tin
y, unknown life inside me. I had forgotten my courses. In the upset surrounding Mary’s engagement and the general upheaval of settling in at Pemberley, I, seemingly, had lost track of my own body.

  “We cannot be sure—can we—until the child quickens?”

  “No, madam.”

  “In that case, I shall not tell Mr Darcy just yet, but I do promise to be careful. For now, Hannah, this can be our secret.” I managed a smile for her that she seemed to appreciate.

  ***

  My riding lesson was a surprisingly joyful occasion. Mr Darcy had acquired a small, gentle grey just for me, and I named her Mrs. Wollstonecraft, which I think entertained him. Mrs. Wollstonecraft was easy to mount because of her size, but nonetheless, my husband lifted me to her saddle and rode beside me so slowly, I fancy we might have walked quicker. I had seen him riding alone, and I knew he was fast and agile.

  “You are quite the instructor, Fitzwilliam. Did you teach Georgiana?”

  “Our father taught Georgiana until he became ill, and then I took over the task. So I suppose we accomplished it between us. I would never want to trust either her or you to a groom when I can show you the skills myself. I know my father took the same attitude.”

  “And your mother—was she also a great horsewoman?”

  “No, not at all. My mother did not ride. She did not enjoy outdoor pursuits as my father did. They were very different in that way. She was a great reader and spent much time indoors, often on your favourite sofa, Elizabeth.” He smiled as he looked sideways at me, and I worried how many people had noted my long slumber in the library.

  “Did your parents share other interests?” I asked, thinking of my own parents.

  “No, I am afraid they did not. Apart from Georgiana and myself, and to an extent Pemberley, there was little that knitted them together.”

  “That cannot have been agreeable.”

  “No, it was not. But what is the past for but to learn from, Elizabeth?”

  I detected in his voice a kind of sage wisdom of the spirit that I found most comforting. It pulled me towards him like bait on a fishing line. He looked at me with such intensity that I was quite overcome; and when he helped me down from Mrs. Wollstonecraft, I kissed his cheek without forethought or preamble.

  Chapter Five

  I began undertaking visits to tenants some weeks after arriving at Pemberley. Mama, to my knowledge, had never visited any of the Longbourn tenants, but I was aware it was customary for the wives of landed gentlemen to do so. And so, I sought both to do right and to be as my husband would expect me to be. It was a joy to step into the air, to find my way around the estate, and to begin to know the souls around me, for I am not a person to be confined. On one cold but sunny morning, I walked forth with Georgiana, each of us carrying a basket of food from the kitchens, our skirts like sails in the wind.

  My new sister opened our conversation with an astonishing statement. “I cannot thank you enough, Lizzy, for marrying Fitzwilliam!”

  I could not but laugh at this. “Why ever do you say that, Georgiana?”

  “Well, because visiting now is not such a chore as it was before. For the past year, I had been conducting some visits with Mrs Annesley after Fitzwilliam…well, suggested that I should. He said I was old enough, the tenants would like it, and I might enjoy it. Only I did not at all! I found it very terrifying turning up at people’s homes and trying to find conversation. But you, Lizzy, are such a natural. It is a much happier experience now you are here.”

  “Well, I am glad. But you know, Georgiana, you do not do yourself justice, for you have introduced me to all of the people we have visited and helped me to know them. You have been very helpful, dear.”

  I did not tell the whole truth when I said this. Georgiana had accompanied me on my visits, but for the most part, she had stood around in an awkward manner, fidgeting, and saying little. She shifted from foot to foot and nodded politely when others spoke, but she put nobody at their ease. On each visit, the sweet and easy girl who accompanied me on the journey would abandon me at the threshold and leave me to do the talking. I squeezed her arm. “You should learn to praise yourself more, Georgiana.”

  We laughed, and our boots grew muddy as we meandered down the eastern part of the woods towards the cottage that Mrs Reynolds had informed me was next on my rounds. “Tell me about this family, dear. What are they called? The Ashbys? What am I to expect?”

  “Well, they seem very agreeable people. I have visited them a few times, and they were always very kind.” With this, she fell silent, and I wondered whether Georgiana had quite grasped that it was she who was bestowing care and benevolence rather than the other way around. The more I came to know her, the less I could fathom her. She suffered an almost crippling lack of confidence and an inability to put herself before the world as the good and worthy young woman that she was. The world looked at her, and she looked away. It occurred to me it might have been her painful shyness that caused Mr Wickham to tell me she was proud. For it would be possible to assume her struggle to connect with others was borne of some idea that she was above them. Yes—that must have been his reasoning.

  “I see. And, are they an old couple?”

  “Oh no, they are quite young. At least, she is. Mrs Ashby is awfully pretty…”

  “And do they have any children?”

  “Oh yes, there were always several children present when I used to call.”

  “Do you know how many?”

  “Oh, Lizzy, I must own I was never able to count. They were always running about so, and I am not good at discerning one small child from another. Oh dear, I am sorry. You must think me a clot!”

  “I do not think that at all. We shall make a point of counting them today. Shall you help me?” She nodded and smiled bashfully. Our arms tightened against one another as the path sloped away from the wood. The bare branches of the trees formed a frame around the Ashbys’ cottage, and we descended towards it. A pillar of smoke snaked from the chimney into the sky. When I knocked on the door, it was opened after a minute by a woman whose worn clothes belied her obvious youth and natural beauty. She was heavy with child, her belly swelling under her stained apron, her back arching against the weight of it.

  “Miss Darcy! And this must be the new Mrs Darcy! I am pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

  “And I you, Mrs Ashby.”

  “Come in, please, if you can abide the crowds!” She smiled at me. As she said this, a number of small faces looked at me from various corners of the room.

  “Thank you, Mrs Ashby, and worry not, for I like crowds. In fact, may I be introduced to your crowd?”

  “Of course, madam. Children, please come out so Mrs Darcy may see you properly. This is George, my eldest, madam. And here we have Edward, and the girls are Mary, Elizabeth, and Jane.”

  “I am pleased to meet you all and especially since I am an ‘Elizabeth’ and have a ‘Mary’ and a ‘Jane’ among my sisters.”

  We passed some time discussing the weather and the villages about before Mrs Ashby asked her elder daughter to unpack our baskets in order that we could take them back. She stroked her belly as she told me the babe was expected in the next month. I learned she had lived all her life on Pemberley land as her father had also been a tenant farmer, and her husband, William, farmed three fields to the west of the cottage. He, too, was a native of the estate.

  “So we are real Pemberley people, madam. And how fortunate we are, for I’ll wager you would not find a prettier spot in all England!”

  Without warning, a loud and rasping cough began from behind the wall, and our hostess looked troubled. There was a moment of silence, and Georgiana looked at her lap and fiddled with her bonnet ribbons. In the end, poor Mrs Ashby was embarrassed into speaking. “Oh dear. I’m sorry, ma’am, that is my William—Mr Ashby, I mean. He has had trouble with his ch
est, ma’am, and so he has been resting. I…would you mind if I just attended to him for a moment?”

  “No, no, of course not. Please do!” I hoped she took from my smile that I did not mind being left for a few minutes, but I could not be sure. Worry was carved upon her pretty face as she moved into the next room. Georgiana, who had been sitting next to me, smiling and nodding with verve, informed me in a whisper that Mr Ashby had never been at home when she had called in the past. We then sat for some time in the darkened room, saying little, smiling at the children, and trying not to listen to Mr Ashby’s hacking and spluttering. When Mrs Ashby re-emerged, she was flustered, and knowing she would never suggest we should depart, I anticipated her.

  “Mrs Ashby, thank you very much for your hospitality, but Miss Darcy and I would not trespass further on you. So we shall bid you farewell and shall certainly visit again soon.”

  “I am sorry you have to go, but thank you for your visit and for the baskets. We are very grateful. We really are.”

  “I know, I know…” I hesitated then, for I had not been a gentleman’s wife long enough to know the form in such situations. Should I go and leave this poor family to their privacy or ought I to enquire further? After some moments of indecision, my native inquisitiveness got the better of me. “Mrs Ashby, I hope that Mr Ashby shall soon be well. How long has he been troubled by his chest?”

  “Well, it must be about a month now, ma’am. It was a harsh winter, and I have wondered what that did for his chest. He has always been prone to a cough.”

  “And has he seen anyone about it?”

  “No, no, madam. I am sure there is no need for that. He shall be fine, but thank you so much for your kind words.”

  With that, we shook hands with Mrs Ashby and, at my instigation, with each of the children. The tiny front door was closed upon them, and Georgiana and I, arm in arm, empty baskets on each side and the wind at our backs, made for Pemberley. On the way, I mithered about how best to assist the Ashbys since they were obviously in great need of help. I did not wish to have to approach either Fitzwilliam or his steward, Mr Franks, on the matter. Mr Franks was a stern, gentlemanlike man and not approachable at all. I wondered, not for the first time, whether old Mr Wickham had been a more friendly prospect when he was the steward. Given the ease and agreeable nature of his son, it was hard to think he can have been any different. I pictured an older Mr Wickham, greying slightly at the temples and lined around the eyes, and imagined I would have liked him very much. As it was, I did not wish to deal with Mr Franks, so after luncheon, I called for Mrs Reynolds.