The Golden Apples of the Sun

by Ivy May Stuart

  “No! No!” said the colonel loudly, interrupting the conversation suddenly and quite firmly, much to Elizabeth’s surprise. “I forbid it. There will be no talk of the weather at this table tonight. Come, Darcy. Another topic, if you please.” He looked at his cousin sternly and sat back, tapping his finger imperiously on the tablecloth – only the twinkle in his eye revealing his playful purpose.

  Elizabeth, who had taken the colonel’s measure at their first meeting, immediately realised that he was teasing and fell into the spirit of the thing. Turning her gaze on to Darcy, she widened her eyes and pulled down the corners of her mouth in such a comical expression of exaggerated dismay that they both burst into spontaneous laughter, while Fitzwilliam struggled to maintain his stern expression.

  “I am not listening to one more boring conversation about flooded fields and rotten crops,” he elaborated. “We will be discussing holes in the ground, cabbages and pigs next! You are both under notice to find something else to talk about and it had better be amusing.” With that, he folded his arms and sat back in his chair, frowning at Darcy and Elizabeth from under his sandy brows: looking for-all-the-world like a school master reprimanding his two naughty pupils.

  Their expressions conveying their mutual bemusement, Elizabeth and Darcy stared at each other as they searched their minds for a topic. Then Elizabeth saw a light dawn in Darcy’s eye.

  “I have something for you, Fitzwilliam. You will enjoy this tale because it is one in which Miss Bennet here inflicts ignominious defeat on Yours Truly.”

  “Oh! Not that one, Mr. Darcy,” pleaded Elizabeth looking at him uncertainly. “I do not appear to advantage in that story at all!”

  “How do you know which story I am going to relate, Miss Bennet?” he retorted. “I remember quite a few occasions on which you got the better of me and in none of them do I appear to advantage.”

  At this Fitzwilliam raised his brows in surprise, but remained silent.

  “Well which one is it then?” she demanded.

  “It’s the one where I am chased off by a village mob and a fire-breathing dragon.”

  “I thought so! Poor Granny Wiseman… Mind you, I don’t imagine she’d really mind being called a dragon. She has half the village terrorised as it is,” said Elizabeth with an involuntary chuckle. “Well, I will swallow my pride and take the thrashing that you are about to dish out – that is as long as you keep to the facts of the matter, Mr. Darcy. Proceed with your story.”

  She sank back into her chair and with her chin resting on her hand and her eyes twinkling, gave herself over to watching Darcy’s face as the tale of one of their earliest confrontations unfolded. In the telling, he did not spare himself and gave the incident such a delightfully sardonic twist that Elizabeth found herself sharing in the Colonel’s amusement as - more than once - he slapped his knee in delight. At the end of the tale he almost doubled over laughing at the absurd image of a hapless Darcy confronting the Longbourn villagers, while his erstwhile victim skipped off down the road gaily swinging her picnic basket. The image proved to be too much for Elizabeth’s gravity and she joined him in laughing out loud at the silly creatures that she and Darcy had once been.

  On the rare occasions in the past that he had deigned to display it, Elizabeth had enjoyed Mr. Darcy’s wit. But there was an added dimension to her pleasure this evening, for not only had it been a long time since she had laughed as much (the Reverend Pembroke being rather too weighed down by the concerns of this world for laughter) but Mr. Darcy’s recital had proved to be strangely endearing.

  This new Darcy – a man so confident as to be able to tell a joke at his own expense - had nothing of the rigidity of the gentleman she had known back in Meryton. Yet she strongly suspected that this side to him had existed all along. It was probable that his sense of the ridiculous was something that he had only shared with his most intimate friends and family and that she had been briefly admitted to that exclusive group this evening. She couldn’t help but feel flattered.

  Disturbingly (as she privately admitted before she fell asleep that night) she liked him a great deal more for it.

  Chapter 27

  “In bed and totally unstrung by passion,

  tossing in agony, I prayed for sunrise,

  when I could be with you in conversation.”

  Catullus 50 - Translation Charles Martin

  It was past eleven and downstairs in the dining room Alice, the inn-keeper’s wife, was getting desperate. After a fierce argument (largely conducted in whispers), her husband had thrown up his hands and gone to bed while she stubbornly elected to remain behind downstairs.

  To her mind, she was entirely justified. This was not a busy highway inn and the village itself was generally quiet, so it riled her when customers chose to linger downstairs while decent folk were all abed. She and Jacob had some experience of the damage that careless swells could do if left unsupervised. In the past some of them had smashed glasses, left candles alight and got into fights. For all Jacob’s nay-saying, it was they as landlords who were always landed with the damages. Her husband was far too obliging for his own good. And although these two looked to be in their thirties (too old to be neck-or-nothing young bloods) they had nevertheless chosen to talk and drink late into the night, keeping god-fearing folk out of their beds. She couldn’t see the point of it. Surely they could save their conversation for the morning?

  She had driven the two men from the table earlier by removing the table cloth from under their elbows. Then she had tried to attract their attention by aimlessly shifting some chairs around and, having elicited no response, had heaved several enormous sighs to underline her impatience as she bustled about snuffing out the candles. Still there had been no reaction, for the two men were seemingly so engrossed in conversation that unless she brought the entire room down around their ears, they would continue as they were: chatting comfortably in the rosy glow of the fire.

  With their legs stretched out before them, they looked as if they were set for the night. Alice’s back ached and finally at the end of her tether, she moved to the fireplace at other end of the room and registered a last protest by banging the fire irons against the grate as loudly as she dared. The door closed behind her and a brief lull in the conversation followed as the two men sat back watching the shadows flicker on the walls.

  Then the mellow silence between them was disturbed by a falling coal, at which Fitzwilliam stood and went over to the table. Pouring what was left of the port from the bottom of the decanter; he raised his glass in a toast, and said, “I must say that I like your Miss Bennet a great deal, Darcy.”

  “Not my Miss Bennet, Richard.”

  “Not yet…” said Fitzwilliam. “You know, while you were talking this evening, I remembered you being critical of her sister - Bingley’s wife – that day in the park,” he continued. “I think that you said that although she was extremely beautiful, she was too bland. That was it, wasn’t it? At the time I didn’t understand what you meant, but having met Miss Bennet, I can see what draws you to her. There is just so much more. She is so direct, so witty and yet without any of the airs usually found in a lovely woman. I think that she would make any man a wonderful partner: as long as he was looking for someone spirited, that is. Those were some hair-raising exploits that she put you through when you first met.”

  “Yes. She is not everyone’s cup of tea. She would overwhelm someone like Bingley. He told me so.”

  “A chicken would overwhelm Bingley.”

  “Now, that is not fair, Richard. In the end, Bingley proved that he had his head screwed on the right way. Jane Bennet was the right choice for him and he has grown in stature since his marriage. Besides, he was never timid; just a little easily led. I’d like to see you handle his sister, Caroline. She is an Aunt Catherine in the making - an absolute gorgon - yet when she threatened to disrupt Bingley’s marriage, he made no bones about sending her packing. She lives with her married sister now. That poor woman has all my s
ympathy…”

  “Oh! I forgot to tell you that Miss Bennet thought that you were still married,” said Richard. “When you went over to speak to Georgie during dinner, she asked me where Anne was. She had thought that she might be too ill to travel; that was until I explained that Anne had passed on two years ago. Interesting that she asked, don’t you think?”

  “It’s not that surprising really. Bingley obviously told her that I had married and then never thought to mention when Anne passed on. That’s quite typical of him and if that’s what happened, it’d be natural for her to enquire.”

  “What about her? Miss Bennet, I mean. I wonder why she is still single.”

  Darcy shrugged, although he had been wondering the very same thing. “The family lives in a small market town, and it is a little out of the way, so I shouldn’t imagine that they meet many new people. I don’t think any of the daughters have ever had a season.”

  “You’d think that Bingley might organize something. After all, he has the funds and a London house.”

  “Yes. But he lacks the right connections and frankly I can’t see Elizabeth Bennet agreeing to participate in what - to her eyes - would amount to a cattle market. But this is speculation. I really have no idea why she is still single. Come, Richard. I think that it is time for bed,” he said rising with deliberation and crossing to the dining room door, where he stood, holding it open for his cousin.

  “Oh!” he said, as if it were an afterthought. “Georgie has invited young Randall and his sisters to stop over at Pemberley for a few days on their way home. They are to celebrate the end of the harvest with us and then leave the next day. Should you object to the additional company if they accept?”

  “Ah! So that explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “I thought that you were handling tomorrow morning’s separation from Miss Bennet a little too calmly. Now I see that we are to enjoy her company for a few days more.”

  “You are jumping to conclusions again, Richard. For one, their visit is not settled. Miss Bennet is unaware of Georgiana’s invitation and has yet to agree. Secondly, I still have not come to any decision about the role that she might play in my future - if that’s what you’re implying.”

  Richard looked at him skeptically and, having had a little more than normal to drink, became quite challenging. “Why should she object to the invitation? I’m sure that she would be as interested in seeing Pemberley as she has been the rest of Derbyshire. As to the second: you’ve more or less told me that you have dibs on her.” A gleam of amusement appeared in his eyes. “You’ve decided, Darce; you’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

  _______________________________

  It was two hours since he had let himself into his room and still Darcy tossed and turned on his bed, alternating between being too hot or too cold. In the process, the coverings were kicked off or pulled back up with a frequency that had become irritating. Currently he had achieved a compromise and had one foot dangling out over the edge of the bed, cooling off in space - while the rest of him remained covered; but still he could not sleep.

  Of course the problem did not really lie with the temperature in the room. Nor was he sickening for anything. His restlessness could be laid at the feet of the young woman sleeping quietly in her bed four doors down. Could he but remove himself from her vicinity, he was certain that he would settle immediately. As it was, he was continually fighting the urge to get up and tiptoe down the corridor to stand outside her door.

  To what end, you simpleton? He had asked himself numerous times, confronting the brainless part of him that kept coming up with the plan.

  There was no coherent answer to that question and, in order to subdue his fevered imagination, he had allowed himself to conjure up a humiliating scenario in which someone (ranging from his cousin to the sour-faced inn-keeper’s wife) happened upon him as he stood barefoot outside Elizabeth’s door, wearing only a nightgown and a foolish grin.

  Initially, just the idea of the embarrassment he would feel had helped him to stop obsessing for a while. But the intervals of peace began to shorten, and the frequency with which he played out the scene in his head to increase. Becoming bored with his original scenario, Darcy improvised, adding a section in which Elizabeth opened the door (in her nightgown of course) ostensibly to establish the reason for the noise outside. However, instead of intensifying his embarrassment, this new development led to a surprisingly detailed examination of her curvaceous outline and the rich, dark hair that spilled over her shoulders.

  And so he was back to turning from side to side and thumping his pillow.

  At five o’clock he could stand it no longer and was up and readying himself for the day. Strangely, despite being bone-tired, Darcy was smiling as he let himself out of his room and clattered down the stairs in search of an early cup of coffee.

  Sad to say, dear reader, this smile came from a reprehensible source. Darcy had initially felt miserable as he prepared for the day; but as he closed the door to his room, his imagination had conjured up an image of the doleful expression that would be on his cousin’s face at breakfast. Yes, that very same man who had drunk too much and been so full of good cheer last night, would now be forced to get up early in order to grant Georgie her wish to go rambling about the district and climbing hills. Richard would be as miserable as sin this morning and the notion served to lift Darcy’s spirits. After all, misery always did love company.

  ______________________________

  As it happened, both the inn-keeper’s wife and Fitzwilliam, who appeared late at the breakfast table, looked equally miserable. Darcy felt sorry for the innkeeper’s wife, who had been kept up by Richard; but quite satisfied to see his cousin being punished for the previous night’s excesses - even though he insisted that it was nothing that a pot or two of coffee would not cure.

  Elizabeth Bennet, on the other hand, looked annoyingly serene and well-rested. Watching her conversing with the inn-keeper’s wife, who was filling her cup, Darcy saw again that natural friendliness and lack of self-awareness that he had noticed before in Meryton. It was in the way that she set about charming a woman who was obviously hostile and perhaps more than resentful of the social gulf that separated her and the young people that she was serving.

  He wondered what the woman might be saying: whether it mightn’t be some form of complaint about him and Richard from last night. As he watched, he saw Elizabeth gently place her hand on that of the other woman in a gesture of empathy that made him feel ashamed of his own attitude. There was an immediate response, a softening in the older woman’s expression that told Darcy that she had succumbed to Elizabeth’s magic. Darcy felt himself so ridiculously affected by the scene that he had to look away.

  But then Fitzwilliam, who had regained his strength after consuming two cups of black coffee and a slice of dry toast, began speaking. “Miss Bennet, I hear that you are a great walker. Your cousin, Miss Randall can’t stop singing your praises. I am relying on you to lead the way this morning,”

  From the far side of the table, Elizabeth looked across at Richard. Those marvellous green eyes smiled at him as she said, “I’m afraid that I was quite depending on either you or Mr. Darcy to give us our initial direction, sir. This is your neck of the woods, after all. But once we are on the path you can count on me to give the ascent my very best try – if only because I am quite determined to see the view from Monsal Head.”

  “I can believe that, Miss Bennet,” said Darcy, “knowing your love of vistas as I do. However, I must caution against standing too close to the edge when we get up there. This is not Hertfordshire and the winds can be strong. It would only take a freak gust and …”

  She turned her eyes on him and gave him such a sardonic smile that it raised his hackles. In her look, Darcy read her amusement at the return of those dictatorial ways of his that she had found so tedious in Meryton; that and a determination to let his remarks flow over her without allowing them to do more than
ruffle the surface of her tranquility. He was hurt by this dismissal of him…more than hurt.

  Like a fool, he had begun to hope last night. Well, if she saw him as such a gigantic bore, he was resolved that he would say no more. Let her learn through experience – if he amused her so.

  Chapter 28

  “Ecstasy is from the contemplation of things

  vaster than the individual”

  W. B. Yeats

  The sun was shining strongly when they set out. But almost as soon as they were out of the shelter of the houses and on the footpath in the open fields, a stiff breeze sprang up which caused the ladies to hold onto their bonnets.

  Elizabeth Bennet and Geoffrey Randall’s enthusiasm had them striding out ahead of the others until they were stopped on the path by a call for assistance from Eleanor Randall. She had a stone lodged in her shoe and so Randall turned back while Elizabeth went on alone. Darcy, who had watched the incident developing, experienced a brief flash of concern and after pausing for a moment, strode out after her.

  He had walked swiftly, leaving the others behind and now just a short distance lay between them. He could see how the wind alternately moulded her gown to her body or plucked at its edges; yet despite this impediment to progress, her pace was relentless. Although he never saw her turn, there was enough urgency in her stride to make Darcy suspect that she was aware of his presence behind her. He thought, with not a little amusement, that some of her haste could be put down to an embarrassed reluctance to be in his company after their silent exchange at the breakfast table that morning: for - as tedious as she might think him - he had been right about the wind, hadn’t he?

  So they were to race each other to the top then? If she was throwing down the gauntlet, it was a challenge that he could easily meet. Besides, despite her scorn, he could not let her go much further on her own: it would not be safe once they were higher and more exposed to the elements.