by Anne Morris
Wickham had heard only once from Mrs. Younge while they had been at Weymouth. She said that as they were all ensconced in a hotel together; they were in too close quarters to be able to correspond without fear of Mr. Darcy realizing that something untoward was occurring. Mrs. Younge had told Darcy she had few acquaintance, being a widow, and there were few people with whom she regularly corresponded, so should not be receiving letters.
Wickham bided his time, waiting for them to return to London, which turned out to be longer than he considered. He had thought they might only stay a fortnight in Weymouth, but it was many more weeks before he discovered they had returned, and not because Mrs. Younge wrote to him. His friend Rhys commented about seeing the Darcy carriage over in Cheapside—Rhys had recognized the crest as he had tailed Wickham's visitor out of the Pear that night in October (a man with that pocketbook of money) but Darcy's groom had been waiting for him just outside, so Rhys had given up thoughts of picking that pocket.
• • •
The Bennets were to go to London for Christmas that December because of Aunt Gardiner's condition rather than the Gardiners coming to them as had been done for over ten years. There was excitement at this prospect, as Mrs. Bennet wished to see the Gardiner's new home—their new leased house. Mr. Gardiner wrote that he was considering building a new one in a year or two as well. "One worthy of a gentleman," declared his sister. The addition of a fifth child meant their old house on Gracechurch street had become too small for their needs, so they had procured a larger one up the road on Bishopsgate with additional rooms for their growing family—and for visitors.
Elizabeth wondered, once they had settled into their rooms, if they would hear from the Darcy family. Back in September, Mr. Darcy had said that he and Miss Darcy had planned to be in Town for Christmas, but would they return in time? Perhaps the Bennet's trip would end before Mr. Darcy and his sister returned from their visit to the sea. Their aunt had suggested that perhaps one or two nieces stay to help with the household as the new infant was to be born sometime in January, but the Bennets arrived on the seventeenth and were to leave early in the week, just after Christmas, a very short stay.
Lydia was certainly impatient to see her friend and had news that Georgiana was due, roads permitting, to arrive in Town the day after their own arrival. No doubt, Georgiana would wish to settle herself and it might not be for two or three days, until Monday proper that they might see each other. But Sunday afternoon the much-awaited visitor arrived. Elizabeth heard the exclamations of pleasure from her room above stairs as both her sister's and her mother's voices carried up to her. She could not help but stop to peer at herself in her looking glass before she went down, but Elizabeth was not sure what that glass had to tell her. She was not sure who had come to call, if it was not merely Miss Darcy and her companion, that Mr. Darcy had not come.
When she was downstairs, Elizabeth stood just shy of the parlor entrance and saw Georgiana sitting with her head leaning on Lydia's shoulder. Her aunt and mother sat on either side of Mr. Darcy, who looked as he had a year ago in Hertfordshire, stiff and reserved, looking nothing like the agreeable host they knew at Pemberley. A sound made her turn to see Mary coming down from her own room; she had been practicing on the pianoforte, but had changed her dress before greeting the visitors. She smiled at Elizabeth; Mary looked confident and relaxed, nodded to her sister, then passed by her and went into the parlor calling out a greeting. Elizabeth stepped in behind her and attempted an equally pleasant, "how do you do."
Mr. Darcy had been in the process of saying hello to Mary, but his eyes darted over to Elizabeth's, and she could feel the warmth and color on her cheeks under his gaze. She curtsied, then to hide her entire demeanor, went to sit next to Mary, leaving Mr. Darcy to her mother and aunt, who peppered him with questions about Weymouth. The two young women on the sofa had much to say to each other, and spoke quickly, and in as low a tone as the two matrons would allow, though it was not the best manners to only be speaking between themselves and not to the whole company. Elizabeth and Mary sat and merely listened while Mr. Darcy described Weymouth as 'cold, gray and wet' though Mrs. Bennet pestered him with questions for fifteen minutes to satisfy herself that it was truly, cold, gray and wet.
There was some interesting news he then related, which made her mother sit up and place a hand up to her throat: Miss King and her uncle had been spied there. Mrs. Bennet had entirely forgotten that that the young lady had moved away. No, Mr. Darcy had not spoken to them more than twice, and no, they had no plans to return to Meryton anytime soon, but yes, they were enjoying themselves. There was, no doubt, far more her mother wished to know—whether there was a suitor involved—but Mr. Darcy did not seem to know that sort of information. No doubt, Mrs. Bennet would be writing letters to her sister and Lady Lucas back in Meryton to discern any intelligence they could give as soon as Mr. Darcy went away.
Their half hour was up, Mr. Darcy rose and called to his sister who reluctantly stood. Elizabeth thought of the perversity that she had only said, "how do you do," and was to say goodbye, without having said anything at all in between, when he looked at her.
"Should you not like to take a short stroll, Miss Bennet?" he looked at Lydia, "and you Miss Lydia? It is a remarkably warm day for winter."
"Oh you should!" called her mother.
"We do not know if we shall see another such day, yesterday was so pleasant as well," said Mrs. Gardiner, "and yet three or four days ago it was below freezing. The weather can be so changeable."
Pelisses, bonnets, and capes were fetched, and the work of wrapping up was conducted while Mrs. Gardiner talked them through the local walks. Elizabeth knew there was absolutely nowhere fashionable to walk to, and she wondered that Mr. Darcy, the illustrious Mr. Darcy, would stand for a stroll in such a neighborhood as Cheapside.
The day was truly a warm one for winter, and the four of them set out along Bishopsgate, then turned west as Moor Fields had been the only park-like destination that was appropriate, and near enough, for their little party. Elizabeth took a moment to look up at Mr. Darcy who had her arm, but he was watching Georgiana and Lydia with their arms around each other, their heads on each other's shoulders, both lost in whispered conversation.
"Lydia is pleased to have Miss Darcy call," Elizabeth broke the silence. If he had a particular reason for suggesting the walk, he was not forthcoming with any topic.
"I believe Georgiana is even more excited than Miss Lydia. We arrived but late yesterday afternoon, and she insisted we call today," he replied. They looked again at their sisters whose conversation was too low to overhear. "Are you to be in London long?"
"No, we expect to be here only nine or ten days. We cannot impose on the Gardiners for too long and shall leave right after Christmas," she replied.
"It is a shame we shall not have the pleasure of your company for long. I had considered a dinner, but, perhaps…" he looked at her until he caught her eye then looked away, "your short time here shall prevent such an event?"
"It is not so much that, as my aunt has planned our calendar, and she is not able to accept invitations right now, due to her impending confinement," explained Elizabeth.
"I see," was his reply, and they walked together in silence.
"You enjoyed your time in Weymouth?" she ventured, as they were walked along the street which delineated the site of the original London Wall and came to one of the gates beside the Bethlem Royal Hospital—which also led up to Moor Fields. They passed through it to walk up to the open area beyond.
"I did, as I mentioned to your mother and aunt. And your time at home, have you been well?" he asked in return.
How did she respond to such a question, that her home had changed, and the situation was less to her liking? She had often considered their first meeting, but this conversation was nothing like what she had imagined: it was awkward and stiff. Elizabeth wondered if she had only imaged his continued regard for her. Could any man, knowing what Mr. Darcy kne
w of her, truly still admire her? She was correct that his admiration had faded.
"My friend Charlotte was home recently for a visit, and I enjoyed her company for the se'ennight she was in Meryton."
He inclined his head but had nothing more to say. The open space they came to was busy. It was full of people with purpose: children at play, a household of servants who spread rugs up on sticks and beat dust from them, hawkers who brought wares, or food and produce into the area to sell. It was not a fashionable park where one simply strolled to be seen, and Elizabeth wondered what he thought of it.
They walked across a gravel pathway to the western edge then circled down to walk back along the railing that separated the hospital from the open space of the park. The four-story building had been erected just outside the city walls about a hundred and fifty years before, and was obviously in need of repairs. The two young ladies kept up their whispered conversation and their pace, but Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth stopped to look through the gates at the sad building.
"My uncle has said that the patients have lessened of late and are being sent to other institutions," she said, "still…it is a melancholy place dealing with lunacy, a terrible illness."
They moved on again. "Do you recall us speaking once, about the Osmonts?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied.
"I discovered that the youngest, Miss Iola, is thought to be suffering a similar disorder. She, however, has the benefit of being cared for by her sister," he explained.
"I should hate to think of anyone I knew in such a place, even if I had not ever met them," cried Elizabeth. "Uncle Gardiner believes this place shall be torn down soon, once a replacement is built in the next few years."
"It is in need of repairs at the very least." They stopped again to note the old building which appeared to be sinking slightly at the corner where they stood. "A new building is welcome news."
They walked on, but the silence then was more of a companionable silence though it did not seem that their short conversation about the hospital had been at all important. But it seemed some tension between them had eased. They returned to the Gardiner's residence. A morning visit was agreed to, in two days' time, but that was the only free day until after their Christmas celebrations, and then they all feared that the Bennets would be on the road home to Hertfordshire.
• • •
Darcy House was gleaming white, a tall and imposing structure though welcoming, whose form in a way, matched its owner. Mr. Darcy was waiting for them just past the entrance hall beside the staircase. It was a majestic hall with a well which led all the way up to a skylight above, and Elizabeth was pleased to see that the convivial host that they had known at Pemberley was back. Georgiana was beside her brother and curtsied to Elizabeth, Lydia, Mary, and Mrs. Bennet before leading them upstairs to a beautifully decorated drawing room that looked out onto a formal garden.
Tea was laid out, though it was Mrs. Younge who poured. The weather made up the bulk of the conversation as it had turned, dropping over ten degrees from the day before. A walk would not be suggested, as it felt as though it was hovering just above freezing outside.
Discussions of Christmas festivals ensued, with Mary being the principal conversationalist, and they stayed beyond their half hour but did eventually rise to leave. There were warm wishes for the season and hopes expressed on both sides that they might meet—Christmas was on a Saturday—at the beginning of the week before the Bennet family departed.
Elizabeth rode home lost in thought as she considered their short and yet satisfying meeting. Mr. Darcy had been open and engaging to all of her family. Her mother had a spark in her eye as she recalled Mary's easiness with him during this visit and recalled certain other visits when Mr. Darcy had spoken to Mary in the past, and was crafting an admiration as they made their way home from Westminster to Cheapside. Elizabeth thought her mother had given up such active involvement in their suitors, but when it came to such an eligible and rich man, it appeared Elizabeth was mistaken. If she, herself, secured him, Elizabeth assumed her mother would be pleased. But though he had been so gracious that day, how often was she to meet him? Was he, in fact, still her admirer?
• • •
Georgiana tripped lightly down the stairs to the main floor intending to speak to Fitzwilliam about a visit, first thing on Monday, to Miss Lydia, when she spied a pile of letters sitting on the little stand next to the fireplace in the hall. The fire glowed, and she stood in front of it enjoying its warmth as she sorted them. She noticed there was one for Mrs. Younge in a cramped scrawl that she recognized: George Wickham had finally written! She laid the other letters back on the table and turned to run up the three floors to Mrs. Younge's room which lay across the lobby from her own. Georgiana had the use of the front two bedrooms which were the larger-sized rooms but Mrs. Younge had one of the back bedrooms, and Georgiana burst in without knocking.
"George has written!" she waved the letter. Her companion was at her table with a hair pin in her hand. Mrs. Younge finished placing it in her hair then turned to look at the girl.
"Let me see the letter," said Mrs. Younge and held out her hand.
"Let me open it, it is for me," cried Georgiana who came over but held the letter clutched between both of her hands.
"It is, however, addressed to me. Georgiana, do not be rude," Mrs. Younge's face was stern and matron-like.
"Yes ma'am."
Mrs. Younge opened the envelope and inside there were two sheets of paper. She glanced at one with Georgiana's name on it; her eyes trailing down it rapidly before she turned it over to an eager pair of eyes. The other was addressed to her and she slipped it under the blotting pad on her small dressing table without reading it.
"He says he is in Town and wishes to see if we can meet in a park or public place," said Georgiana. "Can we effect such a meeting soon, Mrs. Younge?"
"It shall have to wait until after the festival of Christmas," replied her companion.
"Lydia will be gone," said Georgiana, "so I need not worry about her tagging along and him turning his eyes to her."
"I will write him back. Now, I believe, we should go down or we will be late for supper," said the lady rising from her seat.
Thirty
—
A Frost Fair
A fog swirled into London right after Christmas. Tendrils of mist stole through the streets in those days after the holiday, swirling first at corners and creeping along the ground, concentrating along the river, before it began congregating in greater quantities in the narrow London streets, making it more and more difficult to traverse them at night. Within two days, travel during the day was difficult with lanterns required even at midday, and tales published in the papers of mail carriages halted to a crawl from their usual renowned pace. Such an incident had never been heard of before: to have street lights hung outside both day and night.
Accidents occurred everywhere when lantern lights were reduced to looking like candle flame in that fog. Tory peer, Lord Hawarden was injured in a carriage accident; the Prince Regent himself had one of his outriders fall into a ditch and had to delay his trip to Hertfordshire. The roads out of London were largely impassible because of this cloud of fog. One paper described it as 'darkness that might be felt'—the Bennet family could not return home.
Both the Gardiners and the Bennets huddled inside for more than a week, thankful for a supply of coal, food, and tea. A few days into January, a bitter northerly wind came and brought with it snow that fell for two infernal and unending days, heavier than anyone with memories could ever recall within the city limits. Icicles more than a yard and a half long formed on the roofs of buildings; canals and ponds froze over, snow piled everywhere: in between buildings even if there was only a minuscule clearance between them. But it blew against houses, formed huge drifts in parks, clogged mews and alleys, and frustrated anyone on foot, horseback, and especially in cart or carriage.
The fog cleared and commerce began to finally functi
on in the great city. Mr. Bennet started to think of his home, and on Epiphany it appeared that the temperature was rising, and the ice might thaw. He decided to brave that trip. With such cold in the city—and Mrs. Gardiner's impending confinement—a reluctant Mrs. Bennet was persuaded to agree to bring the little Gardiner boys home to Hertfordshire with her, leaving her daughters Elizabeth and Lydia behind to help with Anna, Paulette and the new baby.
It was a full carriage with three little boys, Mary and Miss Simnel as well. Give the state of the roads, it was likely to take a full day, and not a half day of travel. But brave the roads they did and were gone. Mrs. Bennet later wrote to Elizabeth that the trip was not as awful as she had anticipated, and once outside of the city streets, they had a remarkably easier time of it. She was, however, not so sure her nerves could handle the noise that three little boys made and, for once, she was happy to have had daughters, as she was sure she would not have survived raising more than one son.
The temperature never did rise above freezing, but the frost and the bitter cold continued through all of January with the penetrating and frosty temperatures taking numerous lives—especially among the poor—and the dirty snow confined everyone within the house. There was no visiting to be had when the temperature never reached double digits, and the wind could blow straight through pelisse, gown, and undergarments to chill a lady as soon as the door was opened.
"Will it never be warmer!" declared Lydia one afternoon, as she sat on the sofa in the parlor that fronted the road, and looked down at the gray mess below. With no warmth to the days, there was no relief, no melted snow allowed the mess in the streets to clear, to drain to the Thames, but various servants would shovel pathways out from front doors, and grooms would sometimes shovel the snow back again out of the path of a carriage.