by Riana Everly
Elizabeth strove to find something to say in response to the man, and was relieved when the officious Lady Catherine interrupted this conversation, allowing her to reflect more fully on what she had discovered this evening. She resumed her playing, only half aware of the notes before her, and uncertain as to whether she had played a single one correctly. Her mind was too busy puzzling over the import of what she may have chanced upon that evening during the strange and short conversation.
It was later, much later, when Elizabeth had a chance to reflect on her astounding discovery. Lying in her bed in the parsonage, blinking against the midnight black of the smallest hours of the morning, the young woman cast her mind to her vexatious dealings with the proud and arrogant gentleman from Derbyshire. Each and every one of her conversations with him had been seared into her memory like a brand, but as she reconsidered them in light of her new realisation, the harshness of those memories eased and transformed into… something different.
She replayed, in her mind, her first meeting with Mr. Darcy at the Meryton assembly, recalling every detail as best she could, hoping to find some suggestions in her memories that might confirm her ideas. It was his words in reference to her that reverberated most strongly through her mind: “tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me.” He had looked directly at her and offered these damning words before turning away.
Elizabeth had, at the time, been mortified and most horribly insulted, inclinations which she had hidden under her accustomed manner of derision and love for the ridiculous. But now, lying in her bed at the parsonage at Hunsford, so many months and so many realisations removed from that awful scene, she reconsidered her impressions. Before he spoke his final, cutting words, he had turned and caught her eye. But had he recoiled in displeasure, or in discomfort? Was that cold tone of voice really arrogance and superiority? Or did Mr. Darcy have more to hide than he might wish, withdrawing into himself and using an icy exterior as armour against the onslaught of the crowds?
Reflecting further, Elizabeth recalled the proud man’s look as he had entered the hall. It had been a look of disdain, a look of aloofness…. Or had it? Had that look in his eyes, the slight widening of his eyelids, the almost imperceptible tucking in of his chin, been, instead, just perhaps, one of terror?
“I may,” Elizabeth spoke aloud, her quiet voice melting into the silence of the room, “have grievously misjudged him.”
∞∞∞
It was a long while after her confession to the bedsheets that Elizabeth finally drifted off to sleep, the implications of the evening’s events and her sudden understanding still running through her mind, and she awoke with the same notions playing upon her thoughts. She still had much to consider, and knew she would benefit from further thought on the issue, uninterrupted by her Mr. Collins’ gratuitous mewlings or the polite but nonetheless irritating demands of Charlotte’s sister, Maria. Of Mr. Collins himself, she held no great opinion. Though the man was her cousin and heir to her father’s estate, she found him fawning and obsequious—in all, a ridiculous man whose only consequence in life was that he had managed to ingratiate himself into the favours of Lady Catherine, thereby to merit her condescension. More than a few moments in his company were enough to try the stoutest of souls, and hers, this morning, was feeling not at all stout, nor tending to any great degree of forbearance. Consequently she came to the pressing and not unexpected decision that a long walk through the woods and fields that surrounded Rosings was in order.
“Shall you really walk yet again, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Collins asked as she laced up her boots and sought her bonnet. “You walked yesterday, and the day before that. Her ladyship does not look well upon young women who are too robust. Consider her daughter, the lovely Miss de Bourgh: she possesses such a delicate nature, which can only be becoming in a lady. Perhaps she is a touch too delicate, but her fragile nature only emphasises her noble heritage. A fine lady should not be expected to bustle about doing things for herself when she has servants to do them for her.”
Elizabeth tried not to harrumph at this statement, for the sickly Miss de Bourgh had not the constitution of a delicate flower, but rather of a wasting and dried up weed. Mr. Collins, however, was so wrapped up in his soliloquy, however that he paid little attention to Elizabeth’s expression and continued his discourse.
“However,” he considered, raising his eyes slightly and breathing reverently, “although being too robust may be seen as almost peasant-like in nature, when one considers the magnificence of Rosings Park, the great splendour and range of its woodlands and pathways, the beauty of its streams and glades, it is most understandable that you might wish to experience everything to the fullest before returning to Longbourn. That these grounds might have been yours to enjoy every day, we will not further discuss,” he added pointedly. He was not above forever alluding to the topic that Elizabeth had refused him only days before the parson had offered for, and been accepted by, her friend Charlotte. Heedless again of any awkwardness, or perhaps, desirous of it, he continued, “I am most blessed in my patroness for allowing me such liberal use of her most pleasant parks. Did you know that the forest itself is nearly ten miles around, with countless fields and wilderness areas as well as part of the park?”
Taking advantage of the clergyman’s need to draw breath, Elizabeth quickly replied, “Yes, indeed, Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine’s holdings are most vast and prosperous indeed; I should be only too grateful to be able to partake of the natural loveliness that awaits me. Happy is the one who walks in the path of the de Bourgh family,” she intoned seriously, awaiting the parson’s rejoinder at her irreverent biblical reference. But the allusion fell on deaf ears and she was soon, to her greatest relief, outside and alone with her thoughts and her newly conceived suspicions about Mr. Darcy.
She had so many more recollections through which to sift, so many more conversations and interactions with the frustrating man to ponder, and yet, as Elizabeth strode purposefully away from the parsonage and towards the pathway leading through the wooded area to the stream nearby, she found her thoughts tending elsewhere, everywhere but on her intended topic. After trying in vain to rein them in, she decided to let these thoughts flit where they would, in the hopes that eventually they would alight upon some further revelations as she walked, letting the sights and sounds of her path guide her musings.
The gravel pathway led out of the back garden, through a small stile, and across a pleasant meadow, now a glorious carpet of fresh spring wildflowers. Pink, mauve, pale blue, butter yellow and white, the riot of new buds reminded Elizabeth of nothing so much as the pastel hues of ladies in a ballroom. All the scene needed were some stiffly formal men and a few overly solicitous mamas hoping for a brilliant match, and it would be complete. She imagined the conversation that might ensue.
“May I have this dance?” the raspberry bush would request of the buttercup. “Of course, sir, I was hoping you would ask.”
Lizzy giggled at the silly notion and continued on her way, across the open field and into the wood that lay beyond it.
Here, the light was dappled and the air moist. Leaves had appeared on most of the trees, but they were small and fresh enough that the path was not in complete shade. Different insects buzzed through the trees here than had floated across the carpet of flowers, and every now and then a small animal—perhaps a rabbit—could be heard rustling through the brush away from the path. This section of the path was short, and within a few minutes Elizabeth emerged on the other side of the wood and took a deep breath. This was part of the park around Rosings, closer to the manor house than to the village, and if she tried, Elizabeth could see snatches of the house through the occasional gap in the foliage. And yet, right now, this space felt to her an isolated wilderness, her own kingdom, her personal realm, where she alone held sovereignty and where none might disturb her or vex her.
The path led now across a second small meadow to the stream that burbled in the distance, a picturesque landscape comp
lete with the perfect arrangement of trees and low bushes, a stone bridge spanning the narrow rill, and even a bench on the other side. The bench, which Elizabeth could just barely see as it was mostly hidden behind a large and low shrub, already verdant with lush spring leaves, was an unpleasant reminder that she was not, in fact, monarch of these woods, and that others must from time to time visit them. But for now, she observed as she approached the spot, the bench was empty of occupants and this little kingdom was her own.
She sat on the bench, enjoying the view and the sound of the burbling stream, and withdrew from her reticule a small packet of letters. These she seldom was without, for they were from her dear aunt, whom she loved and respected most dearly. They travelled with her, although before today, she had never had occasion to reread them. Now, however, their contents seemed pertinent, and she carefully opened the earliest of them and began to read.
Chapter Two
Discovery
For much of their content, the letters were unexceptional, save for the dearness to her of their writer, her Aunt Gardiner. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner lived in London, where her uncle was a prosperous businessman and head of a growing family, now numbering four energetic children. It was the eldest of these children of whom she had thought the night before, when Mr. Darcy had made his short speech. And it was of this same child, a boy named Samuel, of whom she now read.
The letter was dated several years earlier, when the boy was only about five years old. He had always been an unusual child, and her aunt was growing much concerned about him.
Oh, Lizzy, she had written, I am much concerned about my sweet Sammy. As you know, he was somewhat late to talk, and we thought for a time he might be feeble-minded, although he seemed to understand us well enough at times. When he did start to speak at age three, it was sudden, and in full sentences, and your uncle and I assumed that it was merely his way. But now that the baby is growing—can you believe he is nearly three years of age himself already?—I see so clearly the difference between Sammy and his younger brother. Tommy babbles constantly, which is most endearing to hear, and orders us around with his grunts and gestures, like a little king commanding his subjects, and we are most willing to obey and he looks at us all the while, daring us to set a foot wrong. These things, Samuel never did, nor will he meet our eyes with his own, but he always glances away. Today I was visiting with my friend Mrs. Dyson, whose son is of a similar age, and I watched the two small children together. They play together, Lizzy. They point and talk and call for each other’s attention, and build castles from their assorted toys and twigs and leaves they found on the ground. They relate to each other as you and I do, albeit in the way of very little boys. None of these things did I ever see from Sammy. Sammy just stares at the others and then wanders off to collect branches, which he lines up in ever-expanding rows, or stares at the waters of the pond as the ducks paddle by, leaving ripples in their wake. Other times he stands alone and flaps his hands ceaselessly, or spins himself around in circles until I think he will fall to the ground from dizziness. Is my dear boy broken, Lizzy? Are those horrible old women correct, that he is not of sound mind and must be sent to an institution? He is a good boy and I think very smart in his own way, for he reads so well and calculates arithmetic in his head, but when I see him by his younger brother, my heart wonders what my mind refuses to accept.
A second letter from some months later reiterated this pain.
We have engaged a governess, for I am busy with the baby now and have less time to tend to Sammy’s education. Miss Ellicott is happy enough with young Tommy, whom she says is learning as well as a boy of three might be expected to learn, but she expresses great concern about Samuel. He cries when there is too much noise, or when he gets dirty, and complains that his clothing is too rough on his skin. He does not smile at other children, and if his routine varies even one jot from the custom, he curls up and screams, or spins in his endless circles. His speech, too, is unusual, for he does not understand joking or teasing, and he hears every expression in only the most literal terms. He is not like other boys, she informs me again and again, all the while shaking her head sadly. What is wrong with my boy, Lizzy? Will he ever be right?
Another letter, dated shortly thereafter was more dire still.
Oh, my sweet niece, how I hate to burden you with my pain, you who are still so young yourself, although I feel a wisdom in you beyond your years. We have dismissed Miss Ellicott. We discovered that her manner of attempting to correct poor Sammy’s behaviour involved locking him in a dark room and caning him for his weaknesses in understanding. She says the devil is in him, and that evil must be beaten out. She told us that when he spins in circles and flaps his hands when distressed, that is a sign of possession by wicked spirits. She was heard, even, to whisper about changeling children by one of the maids. For all of Sammy’s faults, there is not one drop of evil in him. He is a child, little more than a babe, and bears no malice towards anyone. We are searching for another governess, but I fear greatly that none will treat my child with the tenderness he requires.
For the next year these letters continued in a similar vein, as Mrs. Gardiner came to realise that her son was very much unlike the other children. He did not make friends, and could scarcely be forced to acknowledge the existence of other children, let alone look them in the face and smile. Perversely, she commented, he seemed to wish for their friendship, but had no innate notion of how to get it. Then, a letter had arrived that was, at last, full of hope.
Lizzy, dearest Lizzy, you must come to visit. We have engaged a new governess, at long last, and we are most happy. Every other lady we met spoke similarly to Miss Ellicott, but not Miss Pierce. You will like her very much, Lizzy, for she has such a sweet nature and such a gift with the children, that they are eager to work to please her. Even the baby coos and gurgles when Miss Pierce enters the room with the boys. She is a charming girl, with a wit almost to rival your own, and very well educated. Her papa was a schoolteacher, it seems, and she learned with her father’s students, much as I learned with my brother. But, her true value has been to Sammy. She understands him, she tells us, and has begun to work with him to help him, and to such success! He no longer flaps his hands when he is distressed, nor does he spin so much. He even engages in short conversations with his brother from time to time. She assures us that she has seen others boys like Sammy, and that she has every hope for him. Oh Lizzy, dearest niece, please come and visit us and see for yourself!
Elizabeth glanced once more at the date on this letter. It was some six years old, written when she was only fourteen years of age, still a child! Nonetheless, she had then considered herself as being almost a woman, with the good understanding and mature demeanour of one some years older, and had no little confidence in her abilities. She had begged her father for permission to spend some weeks in London with her family, and was granted her wish. Before many more weeks had passed, she found herself in London, where she soon made the acquaintance of the new governess.
Miss Pierce was, indeed, everything her aunt had said, and despite a difference in age of some years, the two quickly became friends. Miss Pierce, she learned, was the oldest of seven children, six of them girls! Her only brother was the youngest of the family, still only a lad of eight, and he was a different sort of child to what her sisters had been. He was, Miss Pierce related, very late to talk, and of an unusual disposition. “Whereas my sisters were most affectionate, Charlie would stiffen when hugged or held, even as a babe, and seemed more and more to live in a world all his own. He would not look into people’s eyes, and cried at the slightest touch of water on his body, or at loud noises. He would speak, but in a flat and toneless voice, and would behave in a most rude manner whilst not knowing what he was doing wrong .But Papa, being most interested in education and on bettering his own knowledge, sought to learn what he might do for my brother. He learned of some men studying the new science of psychology and entered into correspondence with them.”
&
nbsp; One of these men was an American physician named Benjamin Rush, who advocated treating the insane with the kindness due to any human being. Although Miss Pierce’s brother was not insane, her father decided that rather than punishing the lad for his unsociable behaviours—as was so often done to errant students in the schools—he ought to be gentle with the lad.”
“Was it successful?” Even as a young girl still in the schoolroom, Elizabeth had a thirst for such information, and she was gratified when her new friend responded with a careful smile.
“It was not a failure.” Miss Pierce’s eyes grew unfocused as she thought. “Charlie is less afraid of noises than he was, and no longer cries and panics when he is in unfamiliar situations. Papa is working still on ways to encourage him to join in with the other children at the school, and the other students try to help and encourage him. In that respect, kindness has been a most effective path to take. I have learned so much from these young lads in my father’s classroom.”
“How interesting! How did you come to be governess here? I am so pleased you did, for now we may be friends, and I see how my cousins adore you!” Elizabeth had shuffled her feet in her enthusiasm, no matter how greatly she was striving to behave like a lady.
Miss Pierce had glanced at her young friend’s feet, and to Elizabeth’s relief and returned not a chastisement, but a warm smile. “And I am most pleased as well, Miss Elizabeth, for I am happy to be your friend!”
She continued her account, telling of how, though her father’s correspondences, she met and became friends with another governess with a young student much like Charlie. Together the two women devised a series of games and exercises to encourage these lads to reach past their innate limitations. “When your aunt wrote to me about your cousin, I realised he sounded much like these other lads, and I knew that if nothing else, I could be kind to him. I did not realise how smart he would be, or how much I would grow to like him.”
