One poor fellow has gone completely mad and has had to be left at the hospital. An exceptionally brutish man disappeared overnight, and I suspect the crew gave him a Jonah’s lift over the side. Of course, no one will tell me anything, and I have had to log him as ‘lost at sea.’
However, the majority are shaping reasonably well, and when word comes that we must sail, we shall be as ready as any other ship in the fleet. We had a short convoy duty last week, with the wind in just the right quarter and the sea like milk, and it was the sort of day you dream about on land, when the ship moves like a living thing and needs only a light hand to give you her best. Half a dozen silly little galleys tried to cut out the weakest of the convoy, but we soon settled their hash, which pleased the hands and showed the new men why the gun exercises are so very important.
We also picked up a French merchant ship on the way home. The cargo was mostly wine and horse furniture, bridles and such, for the French army. So what with that and the head money, you and I shall be better off by another thousand pounds or so as soon as the Admiralty court stirs its stumps and condemns the ship. I am supposed to wait until then before paying anything out to the men, but I have advanced them all a little money from my own funds, which has cheered them even more than the fact that they made four months’ pay in one afternoon.
I am sending you and Georgiana some lace I picked up on shore. I am no judge of ladies’ requirements, but this strikes me as very handsome, and if it does not suit, perhaps you will accept the wish for the deed. Your father gave me another list of books but, I pointed out that, now he has an address on shore, he can write for them himself. I would not say my esteemed father-in-law has shown himself a reluctant correspondent, but I do not feel an incentive would come amiss.
Then on the last page, after a description of a concert at the Port Admiral’s Lodgings, came the news she had not wanted to read.
My orders have arrived at last and I leave on the tide. All being well, I should be back to port within the month, two at the utmost. I am not anticipating any trouble, merely a lack of success; however, we are at war, and no one can know what might happen. If you have not read my will, please do so. I know you will do your best for my sister and her mother, but I want you to be sure to do your best for yourself as well. You deserve so much more than I or the world have given you to date, and if the worst should happen, I will go happier in the knowledge that you are safe, well, and happy.
Please do not forget to write and tell me of your adventures. I hope to be in Malta to read all about it in a few short weeks.
I will only add that you and Georgiana have my dear love and my prayers.
God Bless You,
Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Such a letter was not to be soon recovered from, not least because, when she opened the parcel, she found two beautifully worked but quite different shawls, and she wondered how many men would have taken the time and trouble not to buy identical ones. She had scarcely calmed herself when the request about his will sent her to the bureau. There she found, to her further distress, that he had left her everything he had accumulated in a lifetime at sea, reserving only his godfather’s bequest for his sister. If he never came home, she need never be beholden to anyone ever again. With a fortune of over £35,000, she would be able to assist her mother and sisters and buy her own house and even a small estate if she wished.
She did weep then. The thought of that dear, kind, unassuming man so far away, in such a dangerous profession, seemed to her quite suddenly the saddest thing she had ever heard, and it was only the sound of someone rapping on the front door that forced her to recover her countenance and prepare to receive visitors.
Hepszibah came in and bobbed a curtsey. “Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Mr. Collins,” she squeaked, and a large, imperious-looking woman swept into the room with Mr. Collins bobbing uneasily in her wake.
“This room is too dark,” she said without making or waiting for any greeting. “And that material for the chairs is not at all practical.”
Considerably startled, Elizabeth rose, curtsied, and offered her guests seats. Her offer of tea was refused by the lady, although the gentleman looked as though he would have dearly loved to accept.
“You can be at no loss, Mrs. Darcy, to understand the reason of my journey hither,” said Lady Catherine as soon as she was seated. “Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I come.”
“On the contrary, madam, I am completely at a loss,” replied Elizabeth firmly. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Collins blench and shake his head at her. So she turned her face so she could not see him.
Lady Catherine was only checked for a moment and then continued. “Very well, since you refuse to understand me, I have come to ensure the return of that ungrateful child Georgiana to her proper home. When I heard from Mr. Darcy that she had been enticed away from Pemberley by promises of a life independent of the guidance necessary for so young a girl, I was horrified enough. When I heard from Mr. Collins that she had been left in the care of a girl only slightly older than herself, I resolved to fetch the child away immediately. Where is she?”
Despite her best endeavours, Elizabeth could see her cousin’s look of triumph, and it was this, as much as the lady’s incivility that decided her actions. “Georgiana and her mother are currently at the rectory, taking tea with the vicar’s daughters,” she replied.
“Then you may send someone to fetch her away. Her packing can begin immediately.”
“I shall do nothing of the sort. Georgiana has been left in my care, and I have no intention of permitting her to leave.”
Lady Catherine was magnificently outraged, her not inconsiderable bosom swelled, and her voice boomed round the little parlour. “Do you know who I am, young lady? I am Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mr. Darcy’s aunt, and I am not accustomed to being addressed in such fashion.”
“My mode of address,” retorted Elizabeth, “is entirely prompted by your ladyship’s behaviour. Georgiana will stay here, where she, her mother, her brother, and the law think her best interests lie.”
“I am not so easily dissuaded,” said Lady Catherine. “My character has always been marked by firmness of purpose, and I will not leave here without that child.”
“You will not leave with her,” replied Elizabeth. “And I wonder that your ladyship is not better informed about your nephew Mr. Darcy. When my husband last visited Pemberley, he found his brother’s household utterly unsuitable for a young girl, with drink the least of the vices he did not hesitate to lay to his brother’s charge.”
“Lies!”
“And I wonder that you do not know Captain Darcy better than to accuse him of such falsehoods. However, since I understand his family sent him to sea at the age of nine—yes, madam, nine years of age—and have had little or nothing to do with him thereafter, I suppose I should not be surprised. Now, since you have expressed your purpose and I have refused it, is there anything further to be said?”
It seemed to Elizabeth that Lady Catherine was having difficulty understanding her. Was she really so unused to contradiction? Despite her best endeavours, Elizabeth could not help noticing her cousin’s face, open-mouthed and white with shock, and she felt an insane urge to giggle.
“I am not to be spoken to in such a manner! I demand that you produce the child.”
“Madam, this is my house, and your manners since you have entered it have hardly been such that I feel at all inclined to pursue the acquaintance.” She rose. “Georgiana will stay here with me where I can remedy her recent lack of education and the neglect of her welfare. I bid you good afternoon. I trust I will not be obliged to send for my men to have you forcibly ejected.”
“How dare you!” began Lady Catherine, and she continued in that vein for several minutes. However, in the face of Elizabeth’s implacable refusal to change her mind, there was very littl
e the lady could do. Eventually, still expostulating, she rose unwillingly to her feet and made her way for the door with a mutely appalled Mr. Collins in her train. She was still remonstrating at the top of her voice as she left, although the appearance of Anderssen and Puttnam, who must have been summoned by Hepszibah, did at last hurry her into her coach.
As Mr. Collins climbed in behind her, Elizabeth called after him. “By the by, Cousin, I am sure you will be delighted to hear that my dear papa’s health is much improved. Indeed, I understand he is as well as he ever was, and we can all look forward to a long and happy life for him.” Mr. Collins smiled weakly and disappeared inside with a jerk as the carriage set off, followed by a swarm of fascinated children.
Once back in the house, Elizabeth went upstairs to her bedroom to recover her composure. She laughed and then cried, and by the time Georgiana and the elder Mrs. Darcy returned, she was herself again and able to join in the exclamations over the letters—Georgiana had one of her own—and the shawls, which they all agreed were the prettiest things they had ever seen.
She, of course, hurried to reply to her husband, even though she was not sure when he would receive the letter. “Dearest Fitzwilliam,” she wrote, “I am sorry that Georgiana so worried you, for in truth there was no need. With the help of Anderssen, Puttnam, and dear Lieutenant Grace, the miscreants were dealt with and, I flatter myself, with the minimum of fuss and danger.” Here she told him the full story, including that of her arrangement of juvenile spies. “As for the extra men, I shall of course ask Anderssen to do as you wish, although I am not at all sure they will be needed.”
She also told him of Lady Catherine’s visit. “If she had not arrived just minutes after I had finished your last letter, I am not sure I would have had the courage to be quite so forthright, not to say rude, for she is an imposing figure, and I do not know that I would have realised quite how silly she is had I not been roused by your words.”
It was difficult to speak of his closing words, but it would have to be done. So after several false starts, she continued:
You cannot know how much my heart was touched by your last letter and, in particular, by its adieu. Please believe me when I say that you have shown yourself to be the kindest and dearest of men, and if, God forbid, I shall be forced to mourn you, then it will be as the husband I had always hoped for and the friend I shall always miss.
God bless you and keep you safe
With fondest love,
Elizabeth
Chapter Fifteen
Once the letter was gone, there was little enough for her to do save start another and wait for news. Lieutenant Grace or Mrs. Grace visited regularly with copies of the Naval Chronicle, which were eagerly seized upon. Even if they contained no news, there was a certain satisfaction to be gained from reading his name in the list of Post Captains and watching him slowly climb the ladder of seniority.
When Mary came for another visit at Georgiana’s request, Elizabeth learned that Mr. Bingley had proposed to Jane and been refused. “Jane discovered that Mama tried to borrow money from him. Mama has complained forever that Uncle Gardiner will not let her have enough to spend. Jane was horrified and said she is so mortified she can never look him in the face again. Mama was even crosser with her than she was with you and has written to Papa to demand that he come home as soon as ever he can.”
Anxious questioning revealed that Jane had cried herself to sleep over it, and Elizabeth racked her brain for a solution and found none that could be conveyed by letter. She understood her sister’s feelings but could not help thinking that she was carrying them too far, especially as she understood from Mary that the two young people had discovered a genuine affection for one another. However, she wrote to Jane with as much consolation as she could muster.
Spring arrived. The garden under Puttnam’s care began to show the fruits of his labours, and they all enjoyed the early vegetables. Georgiana, to her horror, continued to grow; at fifteen she was already as tall as most women and noticeably taller than Elizabeth. The elder Mrs. Darcy had a birthday and wept as it was celebrated for the first time in many years. Kindness and peace of mind had already gone a long way to dealing with her timidity; an unexpected talent for the French language was expanding her horizons, and she was determined to begin Italian.
Elizabeth had been shocked to learn that George Darcy had demanded a large proportion of Mrs. Darcy’s jointure for board and lodgings for herself and Georgiana, and the mere fact that she was now allowed to keep it all seemed to settle her remaining doubts.
Elizabeth was writing of this to her husband one day in early March, Georgiana and Mrs. Darcy were conning their books, and the house was full of the smell of new bread. There was a knock at the door, and the ladies raised their heads from their work when they heard a gentleman’s voice talking with Hepszibah. Elizabeth pulled the bell rope, which rang in the stable to alert Anderssen.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” said Hepszibah, and a tall gentleman of perhaps one- or two-and-thirty entered the room, his reddish curls almost brushing the lintel as he did so.
He bowed generally and said, “Am I addressing Mrs. Darcy—Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy?”
Elizabeth got to her feet and curtsied. “Please, sir, do sit down.” Her heart was pounding. She wondered whether this was another attempt to reclaim Georgiana and wished she had had the presence of mind to send the girl from the room.
“I don’t know whether your husband ever mentioned me. I am his cousin Henry Fitzwilliam. I got your direction from the Admiralty—”
Elizabeth went cold. “Has something happened to my husband?”
“No, no,” he hastened to reassure her. “Although I do bring bad news.” He glanced at Georgiana. “Of a sort. I’m sorry; I’m making a poor hand of this.” He took a deep breath and started again. “I regret to have to tell you that your husband’s brother, Mr. George Darcy, died in a fire two weeks ago.”
Georgiana gasped and went white. “Was anyone else hurt?” she whispered.
“No, no,” he replied. “And very little damage was done to the house, considering. Luckily, the fire was seen, and someone told Mr. Parker, the local magistrate. He went round with some of his people and secured the house. Some rascally servants tried to break into the plate cellar, but he collared them before too much was stolen.”
Elizabeth pulled herself together. Surprising news was no excuse for a lack of civility, so she offered her guest tea, which was gratefully accepted. “It is a longer ride from Town than I thought, and when I called in at the King’s Head to leave my horse and enquire where you were, I was not made at all welcome.”
“I am afraid that is my fault,” said Elizabeth, and she explained about her spies.
The colonel thought this an excellent joke and complimented her on the diligence of her network. “We could do with someone like you in Spain,” he said. “Half the time, the French know what we are about before we do.”
Over tea, he explained how he had become involved. “Mr. Parker knew my father was Mr. Darcy’s uncle, so he sent word, and my father went over with some of our people to see what was to be done. He knew I was in London and sent me to the Admiralty to get my cousin’s direction. It was there that we found out he had married.” He bowed to Elizabeth. “My heartiest congratulations, by the way.
“Since there is no will, your husband inherits the lot, and since it seems you have your husband’s power of attorney, we can do nothing without his or your say-so.” He looked uncomfortable but ploughed on. “I must admit, for some no doubt foolish reason, I did not expect such a young lady, but the fact remains that there are things that must be decided upon and soon. I came to request you to come to Pemberley with me, though I can see now that this would be most unsuitable.”
Elizabeth considered for a moment. This was her husband’s inheritance, and quite apart from the need to preserve
it, she was possessed of a powerful curiosity to see the place from which he had sprung. “Colonel,” she said, “if I can find a suitable escort, would you be prepared to accompany us to Pemberley?”
“Who did you have in mind?” he asked warily.
“Lieutenant Grace is an old shipmate of my husband’s, and he and his wife are both neighbours here in Hatfield. If I can persuade them to accompany me, for they are neither of them young, would you come with us?”
At this point, Georgiana interposed that she too wished to go home, and it took the combined efforts of Elizabeth and the colonel to persuade her that this would not be a good idea. “Really, Miss Darcy, the house has been dreadfully neglected,” he said. “There are hardly any bedrooms fit for use, and anyone who visits now will have to live in a house on its ears. According to my father, all the family rooms smell dreadfully of smoke.”
“There will be nothing for you to do and no one to talk to but me, and I am afraid I shall be very busy,” added Elizabeth and it was eventually agreed that Georgiana and her mother would visit Longbourn, at least for a while.
It only remained to agree to meet again in a week’s time to begin the journey north.
In the end, it was not Lieutenant and Mrs. Grace who went north with Elizabeth. Two days after the visit from Colonel Fitzwilliam, her Uncle Gardiner arrived with a travelling bag and a letter from Mrs. Parker, wife of the Lambton magistrate and faithful correspondent of Mrs. Gardiner since they were girls together in the village.
“Your aunt Madeleine has told me, quite firmly too I might add, that you are sure to wish to visit Pemberley and that it is my duty to accompany you,” he said, insisting that this was a quiet time of year for his business and that he could easily spare two, or even three, weeks to visit Derbyshire. He also brought further details of the fire. “I am sure the colonel was only seeking to spare your feelings, and it would probably be as well if Miss Darcy did not learn of it, but it seems that the poor man set fire to his bed whilst overcome with drink and was unable to save himself.” No matter his sins towards his family, this was shocking news indeed, and Elizabeth could find it in her heart to pity him.
Fair Stands the Wind Page 12