Death Takes a Holiday at Pemberley

by Kelly Miller

  Graham retrieved a decanter of brandy and two glasses. He filled the glasses and handed one to Darcy. “I believe you can use this.”

  Accepting the glass, he took a large gulp. As the burning liquid penetrated him, his equanimity began a slow return. When he was master of himself, he said, “Needless to say, it is a tremendous relief to hear these assurances, but why could you not tell me any of this yesterday?”

  Graham’s hand moved over his chin. “That is a good question. I do not know why I was unable to see the future for yourself, Elizabeth, or Bennet at that time, but I suspect it is related to my own misguided intentions. I achieved my original purpose during my visit here, which was to observe you and your family, experience life as a mortal for a time, and in doing so, gain a greater understanding of mortals. In addition, I have managed to provide assistance to several people I have encountered during my stay. However, I now recognise that as I got to know you better and grew to admire you, I made the mistake of identifying with you so much that I lost sight of who I was. My brother tried to warn me of this, but I did not listen.” He paused, anchoring his gaze upon the swirling liquid in the glass he held. “I find this hard to admit, but when I believed your death was inevitable, I thought I could, shall we say, step in and help fill the void created by your passing.”

  He clenched his jaw. “What are you saying? Are you speaking of Elizabeth? You hoped to be with her?”

  “If I am to be honest with you, then yes.” Graham held his hand out in a defensive position. “But I know very well that she loves you with the whole of her heart. No man could hope to replace you in her eyes. You must remember that I believed your death to be inevitable. My main object would have been to support her as a friend. I could not expect her to ever look at me in any other way. I do not deny that, in time, if she developed feelings—”

  In an abrupt movement, Darcy stood. “Graham, it is all well. You do not need to explain yourself to me. I am not dying, so none of this matters now.”

  Relaxing against his chair, Graham blew out his breath and smiled. “You are quite right. You have every reason to rejoice. I shall say goodbye to Elizabeth before I depart, but I shall be out of your lives before the day is done.”

  He sighed. Since Graham’s arrival, Darcy’s fervent wish for the man’s departure had occupied a prominent position in his mind. Now that he was leaving, it gave him no joy, but neither did he have any desire for him to remain. Yet despite the distress he had endured because of Graham, he had been given a valuable gift. He gave the angel an earnest gaze. “Before you go, I must thank you. You have eased my mind in a profound way, just as you did for Richard. When my wife gave birth to Bennet, I was in a terrible state of anxiety. The knowledge that I need not fear her dying from childbirth or childbed fever is an invaluable gift.” He approached Graham and held out his hand.

  Graham stood and shook his proffered hand with enthusiasm. “I am gratified to hear it. I have learned a great deal from you during this week. You have impressed me as a man of probity and good principles. Thanks to you and your charming wife, this has been a holiday I shall never forget.” Tilting his head, he tightened his grip on Darcy’s hand. “There are two people who wish to convey messages to you. Your mother is elated to see the happiness you have with Elizabeth and Bennet. She allows that it was difficult at first to accept that Elizabeth was good enough for you, but it was not long before she was convinced you could not have chosen better for yourself. It has warmed her heart the way you and Georgiana formed a close bond, and she was pleased at Georgiana’s marriage to her favourite nephew.”

  Moisture pooled in his eyes again as he pictured his mother’s joyous countenance on the day she had informed him she was going to give him a brother or a sister. He had never seen her so happy.

  “Your father is awed by the closeness you have with Bennet, and he regrets not spending more time with you and Georgiana in the first years of your lives. He wishes you to know he is proud of the man you have become. Both of your parents send you and your family their love.” Graham released his hand. “I have sensed your parents’ presence about the house several times throughout my stay; they are frequent visitors.”

  The mélange of Darcy’s sentiment left him speechless. At length, he took a trembling breath and wiped his eyes. “Will you tell them for me that I love them and miss them?”

  Graham beamed. “They heard you.”

  ***

  Graham sat in a quiet corner of the rose garden where his brother had indicated he should wait. It was not long before the man, walking in an unsteady gait, moved towards him.

  As he hobbled along, the man gazed around himself as if lost or disorientated. His coat was askew and his clothing rumpled, as if he had been sleeping in them. When the man caught sight of Graham, he walked towards him. “Pardon me, sir. Would you be Mr. Graham by any chance?”

  He stood and bowed to the man. “Graham is my name, my good sir. And who might you be?”

  The man returned his bow. “My name is Andrew Oakley.” He pointed at a nearby bench. “I am afraid I am not well today. Do you mind if I sit?”

  “Not at all. Please do.” In his one brief, unpleasant encounter with the man, Graham had paid scant attention to the man’s countenance. On this occasion, Mr. Oakley’s visage was the subject of his intense scrutiny. He released a deep, unhurried breath. His suspicion had been correct: without the disdainful sneer, Mr. Oakley was a handsome man. His deep-set, green eyes were flecked with grey, his jaw was well defined, and his nose straight. His hair was thick and dark brown. Based upon the portrait of Nicholas Mead hanging in Sarah’s sitting room, this man did not resemble Mead in the least, and mayhap that was for the best. Mr. Mead had had a kind face, but of the two, Mr. Oakley was more attractive.

  Mr. Oakley’s hand moved over his puckered forehead as he viewed their surroundings with a bleary expression. “I recognise this rose garden. This is the Pemberley estate, is it not? I understand there was to be a party on the grounds today.”

  “Yes, we are at Pemberley, and there is a party today.”

  “You must excuse me, but as odd as it sounds, I have no conception of how I came to be here.” Mr. Oakley rubbed his eyes. “The last thing I recall is resting in a bed at Mr. Cooper’s surgery in Lambton. I suppose my parents are out there among the guests. They were planning to attend, and I was to come here on my own after stopping in town to inquire after a purchase for my father. Whilst there, I fell ill and was taken to the surgeon.” His hand inched in a cautious motion along his left shoulder. His eyes widened as he moved his hand in a wider range while he pressed with increasing force. “I do not understand this. I feel no pain whatsoever. My wound is gone—vanished!”

  Mr. Oakley’s facial muscles grew taut as he stared at him. “You see, I had sustained a gash on my shoulder several weeks past when my horse threw me. It had not been healing as it should, and I had put off seeing the surgeon for it until I had developed a fever. When Mr. Cooper observed the wound today, he said it was a terrible infection. His face was so grave, it unnerved me. In truth, the pain had become severe. He bade me to lie down on a bed and told me to rest. I felt so weak that I feared if I went to sleep I might never wake up. Despite my efforts to stay awake, I succumbed to my fatigue. I do not know how long I slept, but the next thing I knew, I was standing at the entrance to this rose garden. No one was near me, and yet I heard a voice tell me to find Mr. Graham.”

  A maid entered the garden with a tea tray.

  Graham spoke with a cheerful cadence. “Ah, Nancy, your timing is perfect. Thank you.”

  Nancy’s face was a deep red. She smiled and glanced at Mr. Oakley before addressing him. “Is everything here to your liking, sir? If there’s aught you need, I’d be happy to fetch it.”

  He flashed her an engaging smile “No, thank you, Nancy. This will do quite well.”

 
Nancy curtsied and left, taking one long backward glance.

  He fixed a plate of sandwiches and pieces of cake for Mr. Oakley. “I believe you could do with a bit of sustenance, and the food here is excellent. How do you like your tea?” Pursuant to the man’s request, he handed him the plate of food and a cup of tea with milk, no sugar.

  ***

  Sarah blinked at the Pemberley footman who called out to her. Her curiosity grew when the man handed her a note. Her lips tightened into a frown. It was from Graham. He requested her immediate presence in the rose garden. Her breathing became forceful as a sense of outrage grew in her breast, and she crumpled the note into a tiny ball in her fist.

  How dare the man toy with her this way? He had already said goodbye. What could he want now? Though she did not love Graham and their time together was always meant to be temporary, it was still difficult for her to lose his companionship.

  She had been drawn to Graham because a certain tone in the man’s voice had reminded her of her late husband. Ever since her beloved Nicholas had been taken from her, her life had been marked by a desolate sadness. The nights spent with Graham had, for a time, suspended part of the loneliness that consumed her.

  She should ignore the note. What could he say that she would wish to hear? Yet, curiosity cursed her and soon overruled her pride. Upon entering the rose garden, she took purposeful steps towards Graham, who was seated with another gentleman. Both men set down their tea cups and stood.

  She maintained an austere mien. If only he were alone! It would have been satisfying to be able to vent her annoyance with him. As it was, she maintained a quiet, even tone. “I received your message. Would you be kind enough to tell me why I was summoned here?”

  Graham bowed. “Mrs. Mead, how good to see you again. Are you acquainted with Mr. Oakley?”

  With a swift glance at the other gentleman, she stiffened. It was Andrew Oakley. Why was he, of all people, here? In the small and unvarying community where she lived, it was inevitable that she crossed paths with the man at times. She avoided him whenever possible; he was an unpleasant and conceited man. He had once indicated a romantic interest in her not even six months after Nicholas’s death. She had been quick and direct in discouraging him. Since then, thank goodness, he had not sought her company again. “We have met.” She curtsied.

  Mr. Oakley gave her a deep, though artless and awkward, bow. “Mrs. Mead, it is an honour to meet you.” He raised a hand to touch the side of his temple as he peered at her. “I hope you will forgive my impertinence for contradicting so beautiful a lady as yourself, but I cannot recall having met you before, and I am certain I would remember if I had.”

  The man’s extraordinary statement drew her interest, impelling her to turn and give him close study. Without a doubt he was Andrew Oakley, and yet the man was different. His face appeared the same but with no trace of the loathsome, constant smirk he was known to sport, and his mannerisms were disparate from those she associated with the man. A particular quality in the man’s presence and the tilt of his head as he gazed at her was familiar yet unsettling—unnerving and yet comforting. His voice was recognizable as the one she associated with the man, but it had a more pleasing tone and lacked its usual arrogant inflection.

  Her face and neck suffused with heat at the realization that they had been gazing at each other. She coughed and averted her eyes. “In fact, we have met several times. I am well acquainted with your parents. You knew my late husband, Nicholas Mead, as well. My husband used to play cribbage with your father at the inn at Lambton once or twice a month.” Nicholas had been fond of the elder Mr. Oakley, a kind and gentle soul. Her husband had remarked that it was a pity Andrew Oakley had inherited his father’s looks and stature, but not his temperament.

  Mr. Oakley’s penetrating stare never left her, but lines marred his forehead at her speech, and he shifted his weight.

  Her periodic glances at Graham revealed that he watched their interchange with apparent interest. What was Graham’s connection to Andrew Oakley?

  Graham caught her eye. “I hope you will excuse Mr. Oakley if his memory is imperfect at the present time. He is recovering from a serious illness, and though he is expected to regain his health, I fear his personality has gone through a severe and permanent alteration.” He raised his eyebrows.

  A permanent alteration to his character? What would cause such a thing? As the implications of his words sunk in, she moved her gaze from Graham to Mr. Oakley. A light fluttering teased her stomach. During her continued perusal of Mr. Oakley, the setting sun shifted, causing a blinding light to obscure her vision. She moved her hand up to shield her eyes. For a moment, the vivid light revealed another man’s countenance superimposed over the face of Mr. Oakley—the gentleman she had pictured in her mind each day without needing the reminder of his portrait. A gasp escaped her. Had it been a trick of the light or a figment of her imagination?

  Despite the unseasonal warmth of the late afternoon sun, a shiver passed through her, and an intoxicating glimmer of hope niggled at her composure. But no, it could not be; it was impossible. The tea tray resting on the bench caught her notice and then another sight from the side of her vision stirred her anxiety: Mr. Oakley floundered in his efforts to remain erect. The poor man was in a weakened state!

  “I see I have interrupted your tea. Please, gentlemen, be seated.”

  Graham smiled and clapped his hands together. “A splendid suggestion! I shall fix you a plate, Mrs. Mead. Please sit here.” He pointed to where Mr. Oakley had been seated. “There is plenty of room on this bench.”

  She sat at the far end of the bench, and Mr. Oakley followed suit. He was closer than could have been considered proper, but she was not of a mind to object. Mr. Oakley, in an endearing yet hesitant mode, inquired of her preferred activities, which led them to a discussion of books. As time went by, the man revealed a warm, kind, and intelligent personality. That he seemed smitten with her was clear in his every word and gesture. His eyes seemed to be always directed towards her. While they spoke on various topics—his family’s estate, his parents, his two younger sisters—she maintained a formal bearing. A fear lurked in the back of her mind. Would his former character, which had been so dishonourable and repellent, reappear? But as she continued to converse with the gentleman, the fear began to evaporate. After all, Graham had stated the change in the man was permanent, and he had never lied to her before.

  Seated on another nearby bench, Graham was included in the conversation here and there, but his presence had become secondary. In fact, more than once, Graham’s odd comment made her startle. She had been so intent on her conversation with Mr. Oakley that Graham’s presence had faded from her perception.

  In the course of an hour or so, Sarah’s regard for Mr. Oakley had blossomed at an amazing rate. By the time they had finished the pot of tea and consumed the majority of the sandwiches and cake, she had developed a close rapport with the gentleman, who evinced none of his former reprehensible traits; it was the sort of warm affinity that generally took far longer to develop. Although Mr. Oakley’s complexion had regained colour after resting and partaking of the offered refreshments, his answers to certain of her questions demonstrated a partial loss of memory and difficulty in paying heed. In addition, the way he swayed in his seat and his clumsiness in handling his tea cup betrayed an impaired equilibrium.

  When the shadows had grown long and the air had taken on a chill, she swallowed her reluctance and announced it was time for her to depart. As the three of them rose to leave, she accepted Mr. Oakley’s proffered arm though it was she who provided him with support as they walked. When they exited the rose garden, the grounds were deserted; it seemed the other guests had already departed. Graham called out to a nearby groom and asked for her curricle to be retrieved.

  Graham cleared his throat. “Mr. Oakley, it seems your parents have left without you. I
am sure Mrs. Mead could be prevailed upon to give you a ride to your estate in her curricle.”

  Yes, without a doubt she would give Mr. Oakley a ride. Indeed, in his current state, she was strongly inclined to keep the gentleman within sight, but a tumult of sentiment had descended upon her, and at the moment fluent speech seemed beyond her ability.

  Graham stepped closer. “As for your maid, I shall ensure she is given a ride home.”

  A hint of a smile was visible on Mr. Oakley’s lips as he regarded her. “I should not want to impose upon you.” His eyes, lit in the fading afternoon light, flickered with a striking lustre.

  She expelled her breath with a huff. Her lips curled up in an effortless motion as she found her voice. “Nonsense. I should be happy to take you to your estate. After all, you are my neighbour and in need of a service, and I am pleased to be in a position to allow me to provide it.”

  His face lit up with an unaffected, winsome smile. “That is very kind of you.”

  Sarah turned to face Graham. “I do not suppose I shall see you again.”

  He spoke in a low, soft voice. “No, I am afraid not.”

  A single tear formed at the corner of her eye as her gaze flitted to Mr. Oakley and returned to Graham. She stepped forward, kissed his cheek, and spoke into his ear, “I do not understand this, but I thank you.”

  Graham nodded and responded in a hoarse voice. “Follow your heart, Sarah, and you will find your happiness.” As she withdrew to rejoin Mr. Oakley, he stood by, his hands clasped behind his back, as they entered the curricle. Minutes later, when they left the avenue to take the main road, Sarah took a backward glance. Graham remained in place.

  ***

  Graham reached the entry to the front parlour as Anne de Bourgh was being teased by Elizabeth.