by Anne Morris
He turned his attentions to the schoolmaster, who turned out to be a pompous and long-winded fellow. Darcy could not understand why he had not chosen the church as a profession—he could still speak just as much as a clergyman as a schoolmaster, and it was a more honorable occupation. None of his companions played well, as they were too busy conversing. The evening could not come to a close soon enough, but the card tables eventually folded, and supper was announced.
His eyes had frequently strayed to the Loo table, ostensibly to see how his sister was faring, but most often he found himself watching Elizabeth Bennet who had eyes only for Mr. Wolton-Fane. He had never seen her face look brighter, and whatever were the topics they tackled, they made her eyes sparkle in a manner plainly visible from across the room.
At supper, he was unable to find a place next to her, as both Mr. Spencer and Reverence Tiploft had similar ideas, and he watched as they hurried to Elizabeth's elbow and brought her to the table. In fact, the two captains were jostling for ladies' attentions as well, with only Captain Wylde succeeding in obtaining a place between Georgiana and Lydia, while Captain Gage found himself next to his hostess. Mrs. Bennet, at least, called out to Darcy to take a seat at her right-hand side, in pride of place, but he found himself next to Miss Church again. He somehow survived. His one compensation was that Mrs. Bennet always served an excellent meal.
• • •
The day after their own supper party no one at Silver House was ready to venture outside except Elizabeth who wrapped herself up against the morning chill, and the persistent Scarborough wind, and set out into the heart of town to the post office. It was always a bustling place with the canopy over its entrance always covering a line of people waiting for its services inside: people waiting to send or receive letters of business or pleasure, or for packages, as they chatted with their fellows in line.
She stood across from its door and simply observed the bustle of activity, and especially the people who brought a letter or two to mail, or those who came with serious or happy faces to pick up and pay for their incoming correspondence.
There was a cross-section of people to observe—and from all walks of life—servants, merchants, a young wife with a child in her arms, and a portly older man with his wig askew, all making their way to the post office for their letters. Her eyes followed a clergyman, all in black, coming down the road, and she wondered what sort of news he had to retrieve, as he held no letter in his hand, but he was one of the few that marched past that blue door, and her eyes followed him down Friar's Way and picked up another figure—that of Mr. Wolton-Fane. He had a number of letters in his hand; his destination was obvious, and Elizabeth moved from her place across the street so that they met just shy of that blue door.
"Mr. Wolton-Fane," she called.
"Miss Bennet, good morning!" He had no hat to tip to her; perhaps he had left in a hurry that morning, but he smiled at her.
"I see we are both of like mind this morning, but for different reasons," she said. "You are sending your letters off, and I am here to collect mine."
He held the bundle in his hand up before him. "Yes, I am here most mornings. Mr. Peterson is a prolific correspondent, and I personally see to his letters."
"I am beginning to understand that you are indispensable to his work," she smiled.
"Shall we see to our errands?" he waved her into the post office where they waited in line. His correspondence had been already franked, and was handed over. Elizabeth inquired for anything for her or her family, but was met with a negative.
"You shall have to try again another day," said Mr. Wolton-Fane as they made their way outside.
"My sisters and I are frequent correspondents. I check most days, unless we have something in particular to do," replied Elizabeth. His features lit up then, and she thought she saw something a little mischievous about them—he looked a little like Simon when he had a naughty inclination.
"I too am here, most days. I fear my duties for Mr. Peterson keep me occupied, and I have little free time, Miss Bennet," he nodded at her, but then smiled, "but I come to the post office every morning at this time."
"I will bear that in mind when I, myself, come to check for letters from my sisters."
He excused himself then, saying he had to run back as Mr. Peterson had some visitors that morning, and that Peterson would be needing his help. Elizabeth thought about Mr. Wolton-Fane as she walked home. He was a personable man—a gentleman with his own estate in York, he had said, and a good steward had the running of it. She wondered how large it was, though he hinted it was small. His working for Mr. Peterson was thought-provoking; she supposed that must be a sort of stepping stone for him to enter the political sphere. Perhaps Mr. Peterson, who was over forty, had done the same thing years ago. Elizabeth was not familiar with politics and political posts to understand their inner-workings.
She was tempted to brave the post office again at that same time a few days later, and had the pleasure of both a letter from her sisters, and Mr. Wolton-Fane's company. That he was glad to see her was obvious, and she walked with him as he turned to go back to Mr. Peterson's study.
"And who is your letter from?" he asked.
"It has been addressed by my sister Jane, but I imagine it contains notes from all three of my sisters," she replied.
"Three! How many are there?" he gasped.
Elizabeth laughed. "There are five daughters in my family. I fear your reaction is quite typical."
"And where are you among all these young ladies?" he asked.
"I am the oldest," she smiled fondly.
"So you had to suffer with younger sisters underfoot?"
"And one brother," she replied.
"And is he the oldest?" he inquired.
"He is only six," she laughed.
"I admire your fortitude with so many little ones in the house," he replied, bringing his hand to his chest in a playful gesture.
"And do you have brothers or sisters?" she asked.
"A sister, she is older," he remarked with a sigh.
She looked at him then. "So you never had the bother of little ones underfoot."
"No," was his answer.
As the days passed, she found herself drawn to the post office most mornings and found him there, and indulged in short conversations in the small time that was allotted. His estate was so old that it had been founded in Tudor times. He was proud of his forbearers, and spoke fondly of his estate, Bramham. He did have a strong desire to enter politics, which was why he was serving as Mr. Peterson's secretary when, he assured her, he did not need the position for the money. But he was gathering contacts and gaining knowledge. It was a new world for her, and Elizabeth enjoyed their all too short conversations every morning. She often turned to walk back along his route with him, to continue their discussions before they parted.
She considered that she had never met such an interesting mix of charm, intelligence, and good manners in a young man. The equally charming Mr. Wickham was not so well informed. Mr. Wickham had kept the necessary terms at school, but had not done much in the way to improve his knowledge of the world from what she had discerned in the small time she had known him before they had come away to Scarborough. Wickham had said he had studied the law at one time, but those studies had not expanded his mind. The ideas that Mr. Wolton-Fane presented to her, and which she welcomed, gave her new insights beyond her small world of family and neighbors, and what she gleaned from the books in her father's study.
Once or twice, she wondered at the nature of their relationship, their meeting each morning at the post office for such interesting discussions, but that they did not and could not meet elsewhere. He had said he was kept busy most days and evenings with his secretarial post and that he usually attended whatever social events Mr. and Mrs. Peterson attended. Unless she was to attend another card party, which the Petersons also attended, they were not likely to see each other in the evenings.
Elizabeth considered whether s
he might be in love with him, but thought that it was too early to tell such a thing, and she was not one to subscribe to passions borne from a week's acquaintance.
One of those letters from Christchurch detailed unending bouts of rain, but did state that her sisters and cousins eventually got a chance to visit the watering hole that was Mudeford. They had shopped, enjoyed an exquisite tea shop, and seen a lot of other people with the same intentions. The idea of sea bathing seemed something they would never be able to engage in, so their trips to Mudeford would be limited to shopping and eyeing other visitors. Such restrictions probably suited Jane, Mary and Catherine all very well. The little Gardiner children did not care overly much if they played in fashionable Mudeford sand or played at a less popular beach, so everyone was happy.
• • •
Mr. Spencer called every few days, always at tea time, and was always very complimentary about Mrs. Bennet's tea. Elizabeth wondered why he called. He seemed to pay at first, equal attention to all three of the young ladies who lived in their little house, including Miss Simnel, Elizabeth wondered if he wished for a second teacher or a wife, who could also be a helpmate, one that could be found in Miss Simnel, who still had a decently pretty face with her striking green eyes.
By the fourth or fifth visit, his own eyes were more taken with Elizabeth's dark ones than with Rosamond Simnel's emerald ones. He began to press little compliments to Elizabeth during his half-hour visits. This was not unnoticed by Mrs. Bennet, who remembered Mrs. Peterson's hints that he might inherit an estate from a brother if there was no heir, so she encouraged Elizabeth to consider him.
He was peculiar, conceited and proud—and yet to have openly chosen a profession in which he must bow and scrape to others—please those parents who entrusted him with their sons. It was no wonder he was such an oddity that his own nature must rebel against it. Elizabeth found nothing about him to improve her initial mediocre opinion. Even when he came with a gift of sweets wrapped in a box, she let Lydia and her mother enjoy the treat.
Reverend Tiploft called at teatime as well. He seemed hesitant to do so, as though not used to calling on ladies, but her mother—ever mindful of making gentlemen callers at ease—invited him in, and set him up with tea and cake. Lydia did not find him interesting at all, for she considered him far too old,. She had worked out that he was thirty-four (as he had held his living for four years and obtained it at the age of thirty). If once she had thought Mr. Darcy old, and he was twenty-eight, Reverend Tiploft at thirty-four was ancient.
Elizabeth and Miss Simnel, however, found the reverend a delightful visitor—once they were able to draw him out. He was shy and aloof, but aloof in such a different manner to Mr. Darcy whose thoughts, when his eyes fell upon her, were hidden by his own dark eyes so she could never tell if Mr. Darcy was listening, held her in contempt, or actually liked her company at any given moment. Reverend Tiploft's aloofness was a sort of absentmindedness, but then he would smile, apologize if had forgotten his point but often as not, would recall it a few minutes later. He was well-read and had traveled on the continent frequently as a young man, and visited many cities that Elizabeth and Miss Simnel had only read about, or studied on their globes. He also helped to relieve the talkativeness of Mr. Spencer during his visits.
Miss Church called on Elizabeth frequently too, and invited her to stroll in the fashionable areas of town, just as Georgiana did with her sister. Elizabeth was tolerant of her new acquaintance though she did not describe her in the same rapturous terms that Lydia described Miss Darcy. They would shop or promenade on the Spa Terrace together, but the company of Miss Phoebe Church was not one she really preferred. Elizabeth felt that the motivation for Miss Church's friendship lay in contrasting herself with Miss Bennet, as though she considered Elizabeth the poor cousin in that comparison. Phoebe Church frequently mentioned the fact that Elizabeth was both older and had a smaller dowry than her. Miss Church must therefore be a far more desirable creature for any gentleman, because any man must wish for a younger and richer wife, correct?
Twelve
—
Sea Bathing
Darcy was not happy. He had not wished to leave London in the first place, and had been uncertain—and he hated uncertainty—how the Scarborough trip would play out. He had left his extended family in such an unprecedented and grievous situation: coping with the loss of Lady Veronica's child. He felt he could have done more to comfort his cousin Radbourne, especially since his other cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, was with his regiment and unavailable. And Radbourne had said something so very odd to him at their last meeting, "perhaps I should have married that Miss Bingley." Darcy had put it down to the confusion and pain of a grieving man. He did not think that his cousin regretted marrying Lady Veronica, only that Radbourne thought, perhaps, Caroline Bingley might somehow have not lost two children if he had married her. Perhaps Darcy had been right all along that his cousin had been close to offering for his friend's sister. Miss Bingley might have a difficult time coming to terms with any other offers that spring if she know how come she had come to being a Countess.
But to have found Miss Elizabeth Bennet here had been a distraction he had not planned for, though he felt he could cope with that particular distraction. He had been keeping a cool head and largely ignoring her, for the most part, whenever he encountered her.
It was Georgiana that he could not understand or control. He felt he had the measure of her, and then she would do something unexpected. Before they had come to Scarborough, she had been, he thought, just as logical as he. She was far tidier with her personal habits and effects. He wondered sometimes how his mind could be so linear and work out such small details, tackle such problems, and yet without his valet, his personal items would be scattered about and he would be entirely lost. Georgiana was the opposite; she was excessively tidy. But he could not understand her choice of companions. For Georgiana had latched onto Lydia Bennet like a leech, and she had found in that equally as tall young woman, some likeness, some twin, that she could barely abide a day to go by without her 'devoted friend,' by her side. He found Miss Lydia Bennet to be like any other young lady of that age: unbearable.
He was content to let Mrs. Younge handle most of their interactions. Georgiana, however, began to speak of nighttime activities. She hinted at a trip to the theater and of having a dinner of their own. Darcy had not wanted to have to consider such things. He thought they would come to Scarborough, have a few quiet weeks, do some shopping, perhaps some bathing, but that he would not be faced with this notion of what to do with a young girl who is not formally out, but who certainly wishes for all the pleasures that are afforded a woman with such a right.
He could not have truly turned down Mrs. Peterson's offer, and as it was a private affair, had not seen any harm in their going, but then had been surprised at the number of gentlemen. Mrs. Peterson had laughed, and had said she was doing some matchmaking for Miss Church who was a perpetual spinster. He could well believe that. All it had done was put him in a situation to see the gentlemen follow Miss Bennet around those two evenings, and introduce Georgiana to both Lydia Bennet and to officers. Georgiana spoke of almost nothing else now. He thought he would need to speak to Mrs. Younge about not encouraging such behavior, and to actively discourage it.
They would have to have a dinner, which Mrs. Younge could plan. He wondered if any of the gentlemen thought the same way as he about Miss Bennet? If she married, then she would become unavailable, and he could go back to considering a proper mistress for Pemberley, and not be so distracted by her. He wondered again about Caroline Bingley, and if she was to finally pursue a husband this spring as she had stated.
He had received only one letter from Bingley since he arrived. His young friend sounded bored, and for once, less than his cheerful self. Miss Bingley was still enjoying all of the delights that London could afford her, but Bingley found nothing to really keep him occupied, it seemed. He hinted that he missed his house, and was consi
dering returning there "for some country air." Darcy wondered if that tendre for Miss Jane Bennet still lingered in Bingley's breast. Did his friend know that Jane Bennet was not in Hertfordshire, but had been whisked away by an aunt? That was one positive aspect of Lydia Bennet's society, she had told him about her sisters' escape to Christchurch.
All of which was unnecessary, as the suspect in those murders, John Murphy, had hung himself back in late December, and a friend to Murphy, William Ablass, who walked with a limp—and a witness had seen two men the night of the first murder, one walking with a limp—had been found drowned in the Thames two days ago. Many suspected another suicide, out of guilt, no doubt, said anyone who had an opinion about the matter. Darcy felt the entire case had now been laid to rest, and he and Georgiana could return to London, or go home to Pemberley with impunity. He simply had to get Georgiana to agree to the scheme.
• • •
Georgiana would not be moved. She was better at reading her brother's moods, subtle though they were, and knew he was unhappy with this trip. She, however, could not be more pleased. Her new friend, Lydia, was everything she had ever wished a friend to be. At school, she had found the other young ladies to be far too self-centered and mean-spirited. Lydia Bennet was full of life and vigor, fun and adventure, and was sweet, not mean. Every day they had some new endeavor, be it shopping, or walking on the terrace, reading a shared novel, or attempting to meet as many new people—especially officers—as they could. That was so much more fun that discussing whose family had the most aristocrats or the most money.
She had been tired of being with Mrs. Younge in an "establishment," which usually meant that Fitzwilliam sent her and her companion—who was still far too much like a governess—to some out-of-the-way and boring place. She had been impatient to have for her come-out this spring, and he had been firm in his last two letters that she would need to wait a whole year, which was why she had suggested this get-away to Scarborough. And though she still wished for a come-out this Season, Georgiana had to admit that as far as an "establishment," Scarborough was far from wanting, and she had no desire to leave any time soon.