Darcy's Match

by Philippa J Rosen

  “Do sit down, Mr Bennet before you do some damage. I wonder how the preparation are going at Pemberley? I hope Mr Darcy has ordered lots of food. And I hope our beds are firm, but not too much so, and the sheets cool and crisp, but not too much so. And what on earth is a square cut?”

  “It’s a cricket shot, my dear.”

  “Is it? well just be careful what you do with that stick. You might break something.”

  The preparations were going well at Pemberley. What had been a field of grass a week ago now resembled a cricket field. A small white picket fence bounded the field to an area of one hundred and fifty yards in length by one hundred and sixty yards in width. In the middle was a rectangle of grass, lighter in colour than the rest due to its having been closely cut and rolled several times.

  Beyond the picket fence, square of the wicket, stood a makeshift pavilion. It was a large weatherboard shed or hut, quickly constructed by his carpenters and painted white that very morning. It had changing rooms in which players could get ready. There was a little dining area in which to take tea and large windows from which one could see the game.

  Mr Darcy stood in the middle of the field and looked around him with satisfaction.

  All that was needed now was for three holes to be drilled at either end of the pitch in which to position the stumps. All the equipment had been purchased and delivered; stumps, bails, bats, balls, pads, protective gloves, wicket keeping gauntlets. The Kent team would of course bring their own equipment. But his own team would not.

  Notices were put up in all the local villages. They were quaint little places with quaint little names, like Sheldon, Pilsley, Stanton in Peak and Hassop. Considerable interest was generated, and it soon became very clear that there would be a good number of spectators and that the day would be a success.

  By this time, Darcy had received a response from the Kent cricket club. It was a very gracious letter in which they said they would be delighted to play. They would send their sixteen best players, five of whom would be assigned to Mr Darcy’s team. All they asked in return was a barrel or two of northern ale.

  All the groundsmen and gardeners spent every day before the match in preparing the field of play as well as the actual pitch. Just days before the game, it was ready.

  Lydia arrived with her maid at Longbourn. She embraced her father fondly and greeted her mother and two unmarried sisters warmly.

  “Why, Lydia,” said Mrs Bennet, “where is your husband?”

  “George, you mean?”

  “You have more than one?” said Mr Bennet.

  “No, of course not, farther. He decided not to accept the invitation. He said that Mr Darcy was a beastly man who had treated him shamefully and that he would never set foot on his estate again. Which, by the way, George says is not all that impressive anyway. Too big, too much grass, too many follies, he says. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take a rest. It’s been a most arduous journey and I am weary. May I use your room, Kitty? Thank you.”

  Her maid brought in some things from the carriage and Lydia disappeared for a while.

  “What does it all mean, Mr Bennet?” said his wife. “Why would Mr Wickham not wish to spend a pleasant weekend at Pemberley? Why would he not accompany his wife?”

  “I suspect he wasn’t invited, my dear,” said Mr Bennet quietly.

  “Not invited, Mr Bennet? Why would Mr Wickham not be invited?”

  “Because he’s Mr Wickham, perhaps?”

  The next day a large and comfortable coach was sent to transport them to Pemberley. Six of them, Mr and Mrs Bennet, Mary, Kitty, Lydia and her maid, took their seats and settled in for the long journey north. They passed through the handsome Hertfordshire countryside until they reached the great north road. They saw signs for Northampton, Leamington Spa and Coventry. As night began to fall they saw strange looking lights in the distance, pouring out fire into the lowering sky.

  “Why, what is that?” said Mrs Bennet.

  “I imagine it is the factories.”

  “Factories?”

  “Yes, we’re in the Midlands and vast factories have been built.”

  “What for?”

  “Manufacture. For the manufacture of anything and everything. Mark my words, great change is coming. Within a few short years there will be great towns hereabouts which will be bigger, grander, more magnificent and also noisier, dirtier, more crowded and more squalid than any place in England now.”

  “Well, I don’t want great change,” said Mrs Bennet with a pout. “I don’t like things changing, you know that.”

  “We will have no choice in the matter,” said Mr Bennet, staring out of the window.

  The journey was arduous, but they reached Derbyshire at last and thence Pemberley.

  Other guests arrived on Thursday or Friday, depending on the length and difficulty of their journey.

  Mr and Mrs Collins got there on Friday morning.

  Mr Collins stepped from the coach and walked quickly over to Darcy, his hand extended.

  “Darcy,” he said, “good to see you.”

  He called back to his wife.

  “Come along, my dear. Come and offer your greetings to Mr Darcy.”

  “Yes, William,” said his wife, struggling to get down from the coach. Darcy went over and offered his hand to help her down.

  “How are you, Mrs Collins?” said Darcy.

  “Quite well, Mr Darcy, thank you,” she said wearily.

  “So, Darcy,” said Mr Collins, “I’m looking forward to the game. Did you know, I used to keep wicket in my younger days? I was rather good, even if I do say so myself. Did you know that I played on one or two occasions for the Kent second eleven? Perhaps if I’d been given the opportunity, I could have played for their first eleven.”

  “No, I didn’t know that. Come, I’ll have a servant show you to your room.”

  “Thank you,” said Mr Collins. “By the way, do you have a pair of wicket keeping gloves I can borrow? I appear to have forgotten mine.”

  “A pair of gauntlets? Yes, I purchased a couple of pairs, just in case.”

  Jonny Hammond had been in Derbyshire for a few days. With some relief he had left London and travelled north with his brother. He stayed at the elegant but understated house of William and his wife Tess. They enjoyed a pleasant few days together, with good food, good ale and good talk.

  Tess was an excellent host and an excellent friend. She and Jonny had always been on good terms, however much he was a source of worry and concern for his brother. Jonny envied William and deep down he knew that he would give up all the shallow, frivolous women in an instant for a wife who brought him long lasting contentment. Not necessarily a woman like Tess, for he considered her more like a sister, but somebody who was interested in more than pretty dresses and sparkling baubles.

  As they lived within a reasonable proximity to Pemberley, Jonny, William and Tess left by carriage on Friday morning. They arrived by mid-day and were greeted by Darcy and Lizzy with affection.

  “Why, Jonny,” said Darcy with a delighted grin. “I haven’t seen you for a long time.”

  “Good to see you, Darcy,” said Jonny, extending his hand warmly.

  “Oh, don’t be so formal. Call me Fitzwilliam like you used to.”

  He introduced him to Lizzy.

  “This is Lizzy, my wife. Lizzy, darling, this is Jonny. We were at Cambridge together.”

  He stood back and looked at Jonny again.

  “You haven’t changed a bit,” he said.

  Jonny looked at William.

  “Oh, I think I have, Fitzwilliam.”

  “And how are you, William?” said Darcy “And, Tess, it’s good to see you too. Come along, I’ll show you to your rooms. We’re having a formal dinner this evening. We really must catch up, you must let me know what you’ve been doing, Jonny.”

  Again, Jonny glanced at his brother. Evidently William’s letters to Darcy hadn’t told the full story.

  The last to arrive
were the team from Kent who reached Derbyshire on Friday afternoon. They were a boisterous group of fifteen and were quartered in the furthest and most remote rooms in Pemberley. Darcy shook hands with the team captain. He was a fine batsman, a tall man with a large moustache and he and Darcy chatted amiably about the game to come.

  “We have a man from Kent here already,” said Darcy. “You may know him. William Collins? He said he kept wicket once or twice for the Kent second team.”

  “Never heard of him,” said the captain laconically.

  “Oh, I see. Well, in any event, it should be a good game. There should be a decent number of spectators too. I’m most grateful you kept your promise to come and play.”

  Darcy had kept his promise too. Three hogsheads of excellent Derbyshire ale were now stored in the cellar, ready to be transported back to Kent once the game was finished.

  Chapter 4

  For the whole of Friday, Pemberley was a busy place. Everybody took the opportunity to take a tour of the magnificent house itself and stroll around the beautiful gardens and grounds. Elegant people in elegant clothes at their leisure, strolling through extensive halls and wood panelled rooms. Wonderfully decorated and hung with the finest masterpieces; Rembrandt, Rubens and Reynolds. A house fit for a king. Quite literally fit for a king as some rooms were designed expressly for a visit by King William III and his entire court, more than one hundred years before.

  But the king never came.

  It was announced that dinner would be served at eight o’clock in the large dining room. At seven thirty the room was empty of people. Over the next twenty minutes, it began to gradually fill until, close to eight o’clock every seat at the enormous oval shaped table was occupied. Darcy, Lizzy, Georgiana, Charles and Jane Bingley, Uncle Gardiner and his wife, William and Tess Hammond, Jonny, Mr and Mrs Collins, Mr and Mrs Bennet, together with Mary, Kitty and Lydia (sans Wickham).

  A number of people had previously sent apologies as they were indisposed for one reason or another. Somewhat to Darcy’s relief he had received a letter, only two days ago, on behalf of Lady Catherine DeBourgh. The letter stated that the lady would be unable to attend the celebrations due to the fact that she was currently taking the waters in Bath, for the purpose of easing a slight malady of the stomach, contracted no doubt as a result of the shock of discovering the particulars of Mrs Darcy’s youngest sister’s infamous elopement, notwithstanding its having been patched up by a hasty marriage. When he showed the letter to Lizzy, she could not help laughing out loud.

  The dinner that evening was magnificent. There were various roasted meats, vegetables baked in sweet honey and aromatic herbs, a number of rich sauces and little dishes of condiments and spices. In addition, there was sweet and dry Sherry, imported direct from Jerez. There were red and white wines, all of excellent vintage. There was rich port and brandy. And there were several refreshing cordials for the ladies who preferred not to drink strong liquor.

  Darcy stood and made a toast.

  “Firstly, I would like to thank you all for coming on this special occasion. It was a year ago that Lizzy became my wife…”

  A smattering of applause

  “…and for those of you who knew me before, she has had to tolerate much…”

  A ripple of laughter.

  “…and for those who didn’t know me before, kindly make the assumption that I was always like this…”

  Another ripple of laughter.

  “…it would be a lie of course because since my marriage, I have changed much. Less proud perhaps, more inclined to suffer fools gladly (purely by accident his eyes were on Mr Collins when he said this), more flexible. But most of all, infinitely happier. And I owe it all to my wife. So please join me in a toast. To Lizzy.”

  The guests raised their glasses and drank to Lizzy before they broke into warm applause. Mr Darcy held up his hand for quiet.

  “So, please enjoy Pemberley and enjoy yourselves. As for the cricket, the match will be played tomorrow. We are lucky enough to have the Kent first eleven come to play us tomorrow. We have myself (assuming I can remember which end of the bat to hold), Charles and Mr Collins (who I’m told is an excellent wicket keeper). Also, my old friends John and William Hammond, both of whom have played at the highest level. And Kent have very kindly agreed to bring up five extra players to play on our side.”

  “That’s only ten,” said Mr Bennet.”

  “Precisely. And that is why I wanted to ask you, as my father in law, to play for us tomorrow.”

  “Me? But I can’t play.”

  “You used to though, didn’t you?”

  “Some time ago. I’m a mere amateur.”

  “We’re all mere amateurs, Mr Bennet,” said Darcy graciously. “Come, what do you say?”

  Mr Bennet shrugged.

  “Very well, I’ll play.”

  There was another round of applause, especially from his proud daughters.

  “Bravo, father,” cried Lydia.

  “And, Uncle Gardiner,” said Darcy, “as perhaps the most sensible man here tonight, would you do us the honour of being one of the umpires?”

  “Bravo, Uncle,” said Jane.

  “Why, I’d be delighted,” said Uncle Gardiner. “Thank you, Mr Darcy.”

  “Excellent. And my valet has offered to act as the other. In which case, ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have a full compliment. Now, enjoy yourselves tonight. Eat, drink and be merry. But, remember gentlemen, I expect good things from you on the field tomorrow. And one final thing. Breakfast will be early tomorrow. Seven o’clock.”

  “Bravo,” said Mrs Bennet.

  Darcy sat down to applause and laughter and the dinner commenced.

  Everybody around the table fell to. Some of them ate with rather more relish than others though. Mr Collins and Mrs Bennet ate with gusto, while Lydia emptied her plate quickly and asked for more, as though she were eating for Wickham too.

  Jonny on the other hand appeared to have little appetite. True, he had escaped from London, but for how long? And to what end? He felt he was starting to sicken from its putrid glitter; the constant throng of men and women rushing back and forth, around and around like a whirlwind - full of movement and energy but going nowhere. If he returned, what then? Always looking over his shoulder, always fearful of creditors, always drinking to excess, always in pursuit of supposedly glamorous women.

  Like everything else in his life, women had always been to him a source of casual entertainment; somebody to take to the theatre, somebody to be an amusing companion at dinner, somebody to display as an attractive bauble, somebody to quell his loneliness for a while. And of course, somebody from whom he could borrow money if possible. And yet, they wearied him now. He had come to realise how shallow his life was. He was younger than his brother and Darcy and yet, he carried a weariness from which they were free.

  Jonny looked around the table. His brother William was a lucky man. His wife Tess was admired by everyone. She was certainly beautiful, but not in an obvious way. She was intelligent and carried an inner grace within and enchanted all those to whom she spoke.

  Darcy had married well too. His wife was charming, beautiful and witty. She conversed as easily with the gentry as she did with the jobbing cricketers. Darcy was a lucky man. He knew it too, Jonny could see that, and did everything in his power to make his wife happy; the way in which he included Lizzy in his conversations with dinner guests, revelling in her sometimes spiky wit, the way in which he took genuine delight in her company, the little shows of affection, warm smiles and fond squeezes of her hand.

  How could five sisters be so different, he thought to himself. Jane, the eldest, sweet natured and genial like her husband. Jonny found them engaging company, albeit he thought their life together could be a little dull, from the outside at least.

  Lydia had a certain vivacity but her only concerns, it seemed to him, were gossip and clothes. She seemed utterly self-absorbed, but not in the least self-aware. He knew she was
married but had no idea why she had come without her husband. From the little snippets of conversation, he gathered he was not welcome at Pemberley.

  Catherine was like a faded copy of Lydia. Frivolous and silly but without the vivacity which gave Lydia a certain charm and which her husband found so very appealing.

  Mary however intrigued him. She could not be more opposite to the women with whom he usually kept company. She seemed bookish, studious, and over literal. She was by no means beautiful and her spectacles made her look older than her years. She did not seem too concerned about her outward appearance, unlike her younger sisters, Lydia and Catherine. Compared to them, her dress and manner could be considered plain. And yet Jonny kept glancing at her, engaging her in little snatches of conversation whenever possible.

  “Why, Mr Hammond,” said Mrs Bennet, interrupting his thoughts, “you have hardly touched your dinner. Have you lost your appetite this evening?”

  “No not at all, Mrs Bennet,” he said with an easy laugh. “I was just thinking about tomorrow’s game.”

  “Indeed. My husband will be playing, you know.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  He looked at Mr Bennet.

  “It was most gracious of you to accept Mr Darcy’s entreaty, sir.”

  “Thank you,” said Mr Bennet. “However, like I said, I am a mere amateur.”

  “Yes, well, as long as you don’t get yourself hurt, Mr Bennet,” said his wife.

  “I’m sure I’ll survive, my dear.”

  “It can be quite dangerous I’m told. And I don’t want him getting a broken head and then end up having to look after him. He would happily let me wait on him hand and foot while he lounged in bed.”

  “Only because I know you would enjoy it, my dear,” said Mr Bennet.

  “Don’t be facetious, Mr Bennet. Why, Mr Hammond, you seem pale all of a sudden. Are you ill?”

  Jonny managed to summon a smile.

  “No, not at all, Mrs Bennet. I think I am probably just a little weary after travelling from London.”