Clouds Over Pemberley

by Walter Oleksy

  My partner’s name is Solomon David, but we call him Sol. He just wandered in one day from the desert, and stayed to work on the ranch. He is an excellent shepherd.

  Sol is tall and strongly-built but a quiet man, somewhat of a stoic, as you often appear to be, perhaps fearful of expressing your true sensibilities to others, as you finally overcame to Elizabeth. Sol has told me he loves me, and I can see he does not think that is unmanly. He is not externally what I would call handsome, but just pleasant-looking. Internally, he is beautiful, and, like you, he is prideful. Some consider you to be aloof, and even arrogant. Deservedly so. You were and are far above other men and I found that to be vexing, but also exciting.

  Sol has told me he loves me just as I am and, “Don’t ever change.” I promised that I will not. You know I just see life through an independent lens. I have and always will do it my way.

  Sol and I are not alone in our sensibilities. I have had some time to read and learned that some famous before us shared our feelings, such as the Roman emperor Hadrian, Alexander the Great, several Popes, Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Tchaikovsky, Sir Isaac Newton. I am sure the future will record many more.

  You once asked what I wanted, and I said more. That more was you, dearest Darcy. I admit it now because I doubt we ever will see each other again. Some things are best described in a letter. To give them voice can sometimes kill the magic. Not that the magic I feel for you could ever meet that fate. I loved Sean, and still do, but he was just a stand-in for your unrequited love. You are the real love of my life, and it was that which drove me to be so unhappy. What I did to others I was actually doing to myself. I hated myself. Until now.

  Distance and someone who truly loves me has changed me and set me free. Sol has made me, at last, happy. Heaven help us, I no longer live a double life, but have chosen the one I tried not to live because it is not socially acceptable.

  I know you are a man of caution and that above all else civility and propriety are paramount in your nature; at least the show of respectability. Perhaps, to please yourself and others, especially Elizabeth, you should consider lightening up and live a little.

  Also regarding beautiful Sean, I had to leave my Hussar’s uniform behind before my departure for Australia, but did not mind terribly. He had admired it and now is its owner. He won it from me in a game of craps. Actually, I let him win. I thought he should look stunning in it. He said he would wear the uniform at carnival times, or wager it in future craps games in Dublin.

  Give Lydia my love. I am sorry I was not able to give it to her myself. Lydia is a passionate and headstrong young woman. She does not follow convention, and I admired her for that, for neither do I, as you well know. I regret that I caused her distress.

  It is indeed unfortunate that some men marry while having sensibilities such as mine. It can cause considerable pain to their spouses and children. Those who are conflicted should just face the music and dance with the true partner of their heart.

  I hope you will forgive me for my past trespasses, as I forgive you. I can truthfully say, from my heart and soul, all I ever wanted from you, was that we just be like brothers. My deepest sensibilities do not lie to me in that. I do not think. I would cross my fingers, but cannot write that way.

  Sol told me an ancient Arabian proverb that I accept with all my heart regarding you and me: “The love of a man for a woman waxes and wanes like the moon, but the love of brother for brother is steadfast as the stars and endures like the word of The Prophet.”

  I am happier than ever I have been in my life, and want you to know that your darling dog taught me a great lesson, to give and accept unconditional love. At long last, I am no longer living between two worlds. I am living in what to me is the best of all possible worlds, with my new partner.

  I once heard a sermon that said, “May the better angels of our nature guide us.” God does indeed work in mysterious ways. He guided me to Australia and Sol. I am happy with Sol, but a big part of me still cannot let go. I truly love but thee. Is that sinful or so terribly wrong? Does the Earth stop turning because of it? Does Heaven or Hell depend on it?

  Do not share this letter with anyone, certainly not with Elizabeth. Burn it after reading. But I hope you will give it some thought regarding your real feelings for me. Do you truly despise me, and if so, why?

  By-the-by, you never said goodbye to me before I left for Australia so you did not know. While at Margate, a prison barber shaved off my mustache and all of my head of hair. I was bald for a time, but it has all grown back since, my hair curly and handsome as before, and the mustache as dashing as ever. Sol and my other mates said they think so, although a few thought I looked even prettier hairless.

  In closing, I wish you could see me now. I am wearing a black patch over my right eye. No, it is not from having plucked it out from sinning. A few days ago I looked up to see an albatross flying overhead. It began swooping down and tormenting me. While I wondered what the bird was doing over the desert, so far from the sea, it dropped shat in my eye. I will have to get that deuced bird, unless Captain Ahab beats me to it!

  I have been told I look rather rakish with the eye patch. I wonder, should I keep it, to add to my arsenal of physical charms? No, I am not modest. But whatever. Consider yourself hugged.

  Your brother in heart,George Wickham then wrote a post script. It was about his reading Candide and choosing to live in the third world of loving both sexes. It was to him the best of all possible worlds.

  Mr. Darcy did not share Mr. Wickham’s letter with Elizabeth. He merely said that Wickham wrote that he was content in Australia and had a new partner, not mentioning that it was not a woman, but leaving her to assume that it was a woman.

  Elizabeth replied, “I am pleasured that Mr. Wickham is content and has discovered his major sensibility at last. He was a troubled man, but I do now hope he has, finally, found his true happiness. I understand that Australian women have a very nice nature. So some good has come from Mr. Collins’ sermon research after all..”

  Mr. Darcy gave the letter over to the flames in the parlor fireplace. He then wondered, Should I reply to it? If so, what would I say?

  Chapter Thirty-Seven After returning home following Mr. Collins’ sermon, the Bennet’s had a light lunch, then Mary, Kitty, Lydia, and Mr. Bennet sat reading while Mrs. Bennet looked out the front window.

  “A strange carriage has stopped out front of our home,” she announced. The others arose from their chairs to look. They saw an unfamiliar long silver carriage, but no horses before it. Three young people stepped out of the conveyance, each wearing a strange shiny silver garment from neck to boots.

  “They are approaching,” said Mary, excited at the prospect of one of the three strangers being her future husband. His silver suit was, to her, some sort of uniform.

  “The two men are most handsome,” said Kitty, with the same marital thoughts.

  “The young woman with them is uncommonly beautiful,” said Lydia.

  There was then a knock on the door and Mr. Bennet answered it. “We just came from visiting with Mr. Collins,” said one of the young men. “He directed us to you. We have been on a journey and he said we might refresh ourselves here.”

  “By all means,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Please, do come in.”

  The Bennet’s introduced themselves and the travelers did likewise. They said they were “sort of cousins,” Marley, Dean, and Madelyn St. Angel.

  “Your journey must be tiring you,” said Mr. Bennet. “You look pale.”

  Mrs. Bennet had not noticed, but her daughters had. The three strangers’ faces were gray, yet their eyes and lips were bright red. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet found their countenance to be most interesting, although not entirely agreeable. Their daughters, however, thought they looked most agreeable and felt strangely attracted to them.

  “We work the night shift and sleep all day,” said Marley, tall and dark-haired and, to Mary, the handsomest of the young men. To himself, he said, “Befo
re breaking dawn, then we die another day.”

  “Then you get little sunshine,” said Kitty.

  “None, if we can help it,” said beautiful Madelyn, her hair long and blonde, her figure curvaceous.

  Said Dean, “Sunshine on our shoulders, and in fact on all of our persons, does not make us happy.”

  “We are usually a foursome, but our other sort-of-cousin, Isabella, is at work.”

  “She specializes in treating those who are cruel to dogs and cats and animals of all kinds,” said Marley.

  “She is in nursing, then?” asked Mrs. Bennett.

  “You might say so,” said Madelyn. “She is in assisted dying.”

  “How kind of her,” said Lydia, feeling strangely attracted to the blonde young woman.

  “We all try to be helpful, in our occupation,” said Madelyn.

  Lydia thought her to be uncommonly beautiful. But was she legally blonde? She believed she was.

  “And what is your occupation?” asked Mr. Bennet of Marley.

  “We are not at liberty to reveal that,” said Marley. “But we feel we do good, wherever we go.”

  “Your attire,” said Mrs. Bennet. “It is silver and strange to us.”

  “I normally wear what is called a tuxedo,” said Marley, “but lost it recently in a craps game to a fellow in Paris.” Said Madelyn, “The silver suits are just something we saw in a window and couldn’t resist.”

  “It is what I imagine we should wear if we were ever to travel over the rainbow,” said Mary. “If we were ever to fly like birds beyond the blue horizon, to Jupiter or Mars.”

  Mrs. Bennet scoffed. “Nonsense! Nonsense!” she said to her. Then, to the guests, “She reads so much. I told her she already read a book. What is the purpose of reading another?”

  “Are the silver costumes being worn from where you come?” asked Kitty.

  “Not by all,” said Dean. “Just by the very adventurous.”

  “Where is it from where you come, by-the-by?” asked Mr. Bennet.

  “Far away and over the hills,” said Marley. “Where the wind has a real bite in it.”

  “We come from where our ancestors lived, in the mountains of Eastern Europe,” said Dean. “You probably do not know of the country… Transylvania.”

  “I’ve read about Pennsylvania,” said Mary. “It is in the American colonies.” “We have worked there,” said Madelyn. “I went even farther West, to California, where I was an actress. I was better than they gave me credit. Some just like it hot.”

  Lydia guessed as much. The woman stranger was so beautiful. She was tempted to touch or feel Madelyn’s silver suit, but remembered Mr. Collins’ sermon on the subject and reluctantly exercised temperance.

  Mrs. Bennet, still on a spiritual high after Mr. Collins’ sermon, thought the strangers might be from Heaven. Their surname was, after all, St. Angel. She had been wanting to ask Dean about what he wore inside one of his ears. It was a small black object with a wire protruding from it that went inside his silver suit. He squirmed a lot, moving this way and that.

  “What is that in your ear, sir?” asked Mr. Bennet. “It seems to agitate you.”

  “It is called a Walkman. I am listening to music and moving to its rhythm.”

  “And what, pray tell, is a Walkman?” asked Kitty.

  “I has yet to be invented,” said Madelyn, “as is the medium I acted in.” “May I listen to the music?” asked Mrs. Bennet.

  Dean put the ear piece to her ear and she began to jump up and down.

  “I’ve never heard such sounds! They are so joyful.”

  “They are called ‘rock n’ roll,’” said Dean, recovering the ear piece. “They lift the spirit!”

  “Hallelujah!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. Dean then dropped to the parlor floor on his hands and began gyrating, jumping up and down, doing back bends, somersaults, and standing on one hand with his feet in the air while turning in circles.

  The Bennet’s stood away, dumbfounded and fearful that what he had might be catching.

  “He is afflicted with the St. Vitus dance!” declared Mrs. Bennet.

  “Is he having a conniption fit?” asked Mr. Bennet. “No,” said Marley. “Dean is doing a street dance called Breakdance. It’s popular in some times and places. Now he’s spinning on his back, doing the ‘Curly shuffle.’”

  Dean then returned to just listening to the music in his ears.

  “I must ask about your carriage,” said Mr. Bennet. “I did not see any horses in front of it. How is it propelled?”

  “It has horses powering it,” said Marley. “But they are inside.”

  Mr. Bennet did not understand but thought it would be impolite to question more about the silver vehicle.

  “How do you know Mr. Collins?” asked Mrs. Bennet.

  Said Dean, “We just met him. We were impressed by his sermon this morning.”

  “You were at the church service?” asked Mr. Bennet. He looked at his wife and daughters and saw they were as surprised as he to learn that.

  “Sometimes our presence is hardly noticed, if at all.,” said Madelyn. Lucy thought, you are very present to me, in a large way.

  “What did you think of Mr. Collins’s sermon, on temptation and temperance?” asked Mr. Bennet. “I kept getting distracted by his delivery,” said Marley. “So many ‘like’s,’ ‘you know’s,’ and ‘basically’s’. And especially ‘if you will’s,’ which I regard as a condescending expression by professors. It is an academic affectation that has spread like a virus to athletes, actors and others who analyze public events. The words are one of my most paramount prejudices.”

  “Professors are no better than anyone else,” said Madelyn. “They’ve just read more books. I was married once to a playwright who gave me books to read so I would become smart. I became smart enough to realize I had not married the right man for me.”

  “Life can be one long folly, and short,” said Marley. Looking at the girls, he thought: Shorter for some.

  “We fixed it so Mr. Collins will not be using those annoying and hesitating or qualifying words any longer,” said Dean.

  “You gave him something for his malady of the throat?” asked Kitty.

  “Yes,” said Madelyn. “All three of us did.”

  “How kind,” said Mrs. Bennet.

  “When we left Mr. Collins, after discoursing about his sermon, he was looking rather pale, as if he might be dying,” said Marley.

  Mr. Bennet thought, about Mr. Collins, he never would be missed.

  Mrs. Bennet wondered, Then to whom would our house go? Said Marley, “I know we just came and said hello, but we must be going. We haven’t had any nourishment today and need to refresh ourselves. We’re glad we came, but just the same, we must be going.”

  “Please stay for some soup I’ve made for our supper,” said Mrs. Bennet. “It’s a Polish dish I learned from a house cleaner. She called it Czarnina, but I call it Blood Soup.”

  “Blood soup?” all three guests asked in unison. “That sounds delicious.” “What is its base?” asked Marley.

  “Duck’s blood,” Mrs. Bennet replied. “And its other ingredients are prunes, raisins, lemon, and vinegar.”

  “We’ll pass,” the guests said again in unison. “We do need to be on our way again,” said Dean. “To continue our work tonight. Meanwhile, it is a cloudy day so we may be able to refresh ourselves before nightfall.”

  “Perhaps you and your sisters would like to accompany us?” asked Madelyn, looking at Lydia.

  “I should love to!” declared Kitty.

  “So, too, should I!” said Mary.

  “Not without me!” said Lydia.

  “Excellent!” said Marley.

  “We’ve been looking for new… acquaintances on our journey,” said Dean.

  “Welcome to our ‘club,’” said Madelyn.

  Marley thought, Fasten your seat belts, it’s going to be a dark and bumpy night!

  “Bring them back home before ten o’clock,
” said Mr. Bennet.

  “Our occupation may take longer than that, but we shall make every effort,” Marley assured him.

  “Oh, Mr. Bennet. Let our daughters enjoy some fun and be fancy free. They’ve been such good girls.”

  “And healthy,” said Madelyn, again looking at Lydia.

  Said Mrs. Bennet, “They have good blood in them.” Thought all three guests, Thank Heaven for little girls. They would be three easy pieces.

  “I just thought of something,” said Marley, frowning. “We do not work with children. What are the girls’ ages?”

  “They are all in their teen years,” assured Mrs. Bennet. Marley’s countenance brightened. “Then they can join us on our evening’s revelry. Or should I say reverie.”

  “Oh dear!” said Kitty, putting down the book she had been holding. “I’ve cut myself. A nasty paper cut!”

  All three St. Angels rushed to Kitty, but Marley reached her first. “Let me take a look,” he said, then inspected the cut on Kitty’s finger. He saw a little blood and felt tempted to suck it in the worst way, but decided temperance was the best course of action. Besides, Heaven could wait.

  Mrs. Bennet looked at the cut and agreed it was minor.

  “I shall put a bandage on it, nonetheless,” she said, and went about that task.

  Bandages are such annoying and useless things, said Marley under his breath.

  “We can take a look at the cut later,” said Dean, thinking, The night is young and you girls’ necks are so beautiful.

  “Where will you be going?” asked Mrs. Bennet. “We will just toil in Meryton tonight,” said Marley. “After we return your daughters to you, we will be off to Ireland. Something tells me I will be able to reclaim my lost tuxedo in Galway.”

  Dean added, “Then on to Australia. We hear there is new… someone new in the Outback we should like to visit.”

  “Then you are part of a welcome wagon to greet new arrivals in a town?” asked Mrs. Bennet.

  “You could say so,” said Madelyn. The sisters then departed with the three St. Angels. Their parents waved to them as they stood out front and watched them get into the silver carriage, then ride off with the silver-suited strangers.