by Riana Everly
Elizabeth sighed in relief. “Thank you, Richard! I shall sleep better knowing that you are nearby!”
“But what of Wickham?” Mr. Darcy added. “He is part of the militia under Colonel Forster’s command, and he knows you all too well. He also knows Miss Lydia. Would he not relish yet another opportunity to slander me and all those I call dear? It might make your task that much more difficult.”
“Never fear, Will. George Wickham knows me, but not some of my most trusted men. I shall endeavour to keep him under a watchful eye as well, never mind that the eye might not be my own. I shan’t be able to keep him from talking to Miss Lydia, but I shall know what he says.
“Mr. Wickham?” a voice came from the doorway as Samuel entered the room most unexpectedly. “Is he the gentleman speaking with Cousin Lizzy at the park last week? I have knowledge of him.”
“Sammy,” Lizzy chastised, “you should not listen in on others’ conversations.”
“I did not intend to,” the boy explained with an expressionless face, “but I came to retrieve my book and you were speaking. I could not help but hear what you said, for I did not know to cover my ears.”
Shaking her head, she recognised the truth in the boy’s words.
“What knowledge do you have, Samuel?” Mr. Darcy asked. “I am curious as to whether you might have discerned something from your brief observation during the game with the periscopes.” He spoke with respect and Elizabeth noticed how his eyes did not flicker from Samuel’s face.
“He has been around the house.” Samuel’s expression remained neutral, but Lizzy’s displayed alarm and Mr. Darcy’s displeasure. Samuel appeared to noticed neither of these.
“How interesting,” Richard interposed. With as much quiet respect has his cousin had offered, he requested of the lad, “What can you tell us about this?”
Satisfied that he was not about to be scolded for his intrusion, Samuel spoke. “I have been playing with my periscope these last several days, since our trip to Margate was delayed, and I wished for some interesting occupation. I would hide around corners and behind barriers to see what I might observe through it. On several of those occasions, when it looked as if no one were about on the street, I noticed the man who spoke to Cousin Lizzy walk down the street. As soon as somebody appeared, he would turn his back or seek a doorway or tree, but when the street was empty again, he would resume his regard.”
“Indeed!” Richard exclaimed. “Carry on, lad. You are most observant.”
“It seemed an interesting diversion, to watch the man without his knowledge, and thus I conceived of a further plan. I contrived to follow him in a similar manner, to see how far I might get without ever being in direct sight of him, using the periscope. It seemed a great adventure and a good test of what the periscope might do.”
“Sammy!” Elizabeth cried, but Mr. Darcy stilled her with a gentle touch to her forearm.
“How fascinating,” Richard continued soothingly. He must be, Elizabeth noticed, most adept at instilling trust in his juniors and at encouraging the reports and observations of those whose information must be of use to him in his occupation. “Pray continue, lad, and tell me more of what you saw and how you proceeded.”
Buoyed up by this most explicit encouragement by a man Samuel had come to admire during their very short acquaintance, he spoke on. “It was easier when the streets were busy, for I must have a place to conceal myself while using my scope, but the man was not hard to find. I do not believe he was expecting to be followed, for he did not turn around at all to see if anyone were behind him. This made my game much easier. The first two times I followed him, I did lose him, but the third time I succeeded in finding his ultimate destination.”
“You did this more than once?” Elizabeth groaned. “How dangerous!”
But Richard silenced her with a quick glance and coaxed, “And where was that, lad? Your game sounds most very fascinating!”
Samuel described Mr. Wickham’s rather circuitous route through London, including a visit to a cigar shop, where he purchased a carefully enumerated selection of the items, past a haberdasher, where he examined, but did not purchase, a rather elaborate dark green cravat, and past other establishments and buildings, at one of which he waved to a man watching from a window. The trip concluded at a rooming house in a less elegant part of town. Not quite dangerous, it was, nonetheless, not an area which those of the elite might frequent, nor those of the prosperous merchant class. In daylight hours, it might be safe enough, but once darkness fell, it would be less than savoury. “He knocked at the door and a lady let him enter, and I saw him remove his hat before the door closed. Then I decided my game was over for the day, and I returned home. The return was less interesting, for I had nothing to observe through my scope.” He shook his head as if the use of the periscope were the only matter of interest in this tale.
“Well, young man,” Richard smiled, “you are most resourceful! I am pleased your game was a success, and that your periscope proved so useful. Do you propose to use it thus again?”
“No indeed, sir,” Samuel looked forlorn, “for Robert’s father proposes to depart for Margate the morning after tomorrow, and I must oversee the packing of my trunks, and then Robert is coming over to discuss what adventures we may have on our journey.”
Elizabeth sighed in relief. “Well,” she uttered at last, “you had best run along to find your mother. She must be wondering where you have disappeared.”
Samuel found his book, said polite words, and ran off as quickly as he had arrived.
“So, Wickham has remained in town?” Richard’s eyebrows rose. “That is interesting news. I shall make discreet inquiries as to the nature of this rooming house. We cannot have too much information as to his whereabouts. The man disturbs me, for I never know what trouble he may be contemplating.” He rose and strode to the window, where he spent a moment looking out over the street. “There goes Samuel now, running back to the park where his mother and siblings are. Yes, he is waving to them.
“I shan’t use your cousin’s tools of observation, Elizabeth, but I shall do my best to ensure that Wickham sees as little of me as he did of Samuel. I do not imagine that he will know that I am there, and thus will be unable to betray my presence to your sister. Now, about those berry tarts that your cook promised me upon my last visit… Might she be prevailed to equip a poor soldier with a basketful to tide him over a while?”
∞∞∞
The following few weeks passed without incident. Samuel’s holiday with the Harwins proceeded as planned and he returned from Margate full of tales and stories and pictures he had drawn of the town and seaside. Elizabeth was impressed with his natural, though untutored, skill with a pencil. He had captured the essence of the place so perfectly, she felt she had seen it herself. As well as drawings of street scenes and other locations, Samuel had also rendered quite passable portraits of the Harwin family, including their looks of delight at finding themselves at the seaside, although when asked, he had a most difficult time identifying the facial expressions he had captured so readily on paper.
Mr. Darcy had kept to his previous schedule of visits, but those were soon to come to an end, for he must depart for Pemberley to take care of matters there, and the Gardiners, with Elizabeth, were to travel north as well on a holiday. The children would stay at the Bennets for the duration of the holiday, although Samuel pleaded to be allowed to accompany the adults, since Mr. Darcy was his friend too! It was only when Mr. Darcy himself reminded Samuel how much his brother and sisters would need him—nearly a man—to be near to look after them, and that he might enjoy a longer visit the following year, that the lad ceased his pleading.
And so, within a short time, Mr. Darcy left London for his estate, followed by the Gardiners, who planned to travel in the area before spending a few days in the area where Mrs. Gardiner had lived as a child. Lambton, this small village, was only five miles from Pemberley, and the couple had happily accepted the master’s invita
tion to stay at the estate whilst they were in the area. Although her aunt knew the area well and her uncle had travelled through it on many occasions for his business when he was younger, it was Elizabeth’s first journey northward, and she found amazement and joy in every new vista, delight in every new estate they visited.
Yet there was one estate which lay most heavily in Elizabeth’s thoughts: Pemberley. Mr. Darcy had invited them, expected their imminent arrival. He had mentioned her quite specifically when making his offer. Then why did her anxiety increase with every mile they traversed, drawing them closer and closer to the Darcys’ ancestral lands?
As usual, it was her aunt who observed her discomfort and, when Mr. Gardiner slept against the cushioned side of his carriage, asked, “What troubles you, dear Lizzy?”
“I can hardly say, Aunt. I am most satisfied with this tour and am eager to see where you lived in your childhood. However your eyes are keen, and I am unsettled. I know not why.”
“Are your thoughts confused at the prospect of seeing Mr. Darcy again?”
Lizzy sighed and stared out of the window for a long moment as she considered her reply. “I should not be! I was always most pleased to see him in London, when he came to visit, or when he invited us out. But the thought of seeing his estate terrifies me. Why should a building, some land, bring me more upset than the man who owns them? It baffles me, Aunt.”
“In London, Lizzy, Mr. Darcy was just a man. An unusual man, perhaps; one who admires you, most certainly. But just a man. Here, in Derbyshire, he is more than that. He is the master, the principal landholder of a vast area. He is not just a man but an institution and a symbol, and you do not know what to expect from this facet of his character.”
Elizabeth grinned at her aunt, feeling some of her ill ease lift. “You are one of the most perceptive people I know! I have been fretting and stewing for days, and you discern the cause of my worries in an instant.”
“Ah, Lizzy, I am older and wiser, and I, too, have known people who exhibit different character traits in their various roles in life. But you will see—your Mr. Darcy is incapable of dissembling. He may put on a different mask, but the man inside will remain the same. You need only to find him.”
Now the carriage at last turned off the lane at the lodge and drove onto the vast estate. They entered it in one of its lowest points, and drove for some time through a beautiful wood, stretching over a wide extent. “Remarkable!” she whispered to herself. “Oh, look at that view!” After half a mile, they found themselves at the top of a considerable eminence, where the wood ceased, and the eye was instantly caught by Pemberley House, situated on the opposite side of a valley, into which the road, with some abruptness, wound.
“What a lovely building, Lizzy!” Aunt Gardiner said in awe. “As much as we lived so near, I have never visited before. It is more beautiful than I might ever have imagined.” And it was lovely indeed: a large, handsome, stone building, standing well on rising ground, and backed by a ridge of high woody hills.
“That stream in the front,” her uncle murmured in awe—for he had awakened upon turning off the lane and into the drive— “that is a stream of quite some importance, and look how it has been swelled into something even greater. What a vista that house must have. What fishing they must enjoy!”
“Is it done by man, or by nature?” his wife asked. “I see no artificial appearance at all. See its banks—they are neither formal, nor falsely adorned. Such sublime splendour can only be the work of the divine.”
“It is delightful!” Elizabeth breathed. “I have never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. It matches the man who calls it home, does it not, Aunt?” Then, to herself, she whispered, “Of this place, I might have been mistress!” Would Mr. Darcy ever risk his composure—his heart—to offer for her once again? Despite his attention to her and his invitations to events in Town, where their names were inevitably linked by the gossips, would he find the courage to propose anew? Moreover, did he still love her? Or had he supplanted that first, imagined, ardent passion with something more akin to friendship? Was this, perhaps, another cause behind her anxiety?
For she now knew, knowing the man, having seen the place he called home, that she might well be on the way to loving him. The next few days might see her as happy as Jane, or else they might break her heart.
Fortunately, Mr. Darcy was blissfully unaware of Elizabeth’s contemplations, and the party could see him awaiting them at the front doors to the manor house, Cabal standing placidly at his side. As the carriage approached and slowed down before coming to a gentle stop, Elizabeth watched with warmth as he scratched at his pet’s ears, smiling broadly. He had obviously been alerted by a signal from the lodge, for a small army of attendants was standing at the ready to welcome the guests and remove their luggage to their rooms.
Mr. Gardiner was the first to descend the carriage steps, followed by his wife, whom he handed down with a care and devotion that bespoke deep affection. He was ready to assist his niece when Mr. Darcy gestured him aside and assisted the lady himself.
“You came!” he spoke quietly, only for her ears. “As much as it had been planned, I could not believe it until I saw you here with my own eyes.” Then, in full voice for all the guests, “Welcome, dear friends, to Pemberley!”
If Mr. Darcy had been a gracious host at his town home in London, he was even more so at Pemberley. “The house in town is where I dwell when I am there, but this,” gesturing all around him, “this is my home,” he told Elizabeth. He radiated a special pride as he led his guests through the grand foyer towards the wide stairs where the housekeeper was waiting to show the newcomers to their rooms. It was not, however, the haughty arrogance he had displayed in Hertfordshire, but rather that deep appreciative pride of a truly grateful man. “I have been fortunate enough to be born to this,” his manner proclaimed, “and I shall strive to be worthy of it.”
He was, at once, completely at ease in his country home, where he need be only himself with no need to strut and perform before the members of society, and more assured as well. This was his domain; this was his honour and his responsibility. The land provided for him, and in turn, he provided for the land. If the estate was wealthy and productive, it was because he had endeavoured through careful planning and hard work to make it so. Elizabeth knew that not all men were graced with land that could provide so healthy an income, but also that poor management could not compensate for the richest of prospects.
She recalled now his words from the drawing room at Netherfield when Jane had been so ill. She had spoken to him of pride and vanity, and he, in his literal and concrete understanding, had been careful to separate the two. “Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed,” he had declaimed in his stiff and uneasy manner. “But pride—where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will be always under good regulation.” At the time, she had thought him merely excusing his own sense of excellence, but now, seeing his genuine pleasure in his admittedly superior estate, she retroactively forgave his cold words. He was not boastful of his mental acuity, but was proud of the work he had done to bring himself and his responsibilities to the utmost of their potential.
Marvelling at her thoughts and at the grandeur around her, Elizabeth hardly realised they had reached the landing at the top of the staircase. A respectable-looking, elderly woman, much less fine, and more civil, than she had any notion of finding her, stood waiting for them. Mr. Darcy introduced her as Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper. Mrs. Reynolds greeted the guests cordially, announced that tea would be ready in an hour, after the visitors had a chance to rest after their journey, and offered any assistance that might be desired. Thereupon, she indicated that the Gardiners should follow her to their suite. At Elizabeth’s curious glance, Mr. Darcy told her, “Yours is across the hallway from your aunt and uncle’s suite, but I had hoped to direct you there myself.” He offered his arm, which she gladly accepted, and led h
er in the same direction the others had just taken.
An hour was more than sufficient time to wash the dust from her face, change her clothing, and rest briefly. A young woman had appeared and announced that she would be Elizabeth’s personal maid for the duration of her stay, and with young Sally’s help, Elizabeth was soon ready to face company once again. Shortly before the appointed hour for tea, Elizabeth emerged from her room and sought the staircase once more. The stairs were easy enough to find, but once at the bottom, she realised she was quite lost. The entry hall, which had seemed grand and imposing upon first sight, now looked like the entrance to the Labyrinth. Doors and halls and wall niches presented themselves in a bewildering array before her, and she stood there, frozen to the spot, unsure which direction had been pointed out upon her arrival.
A friendly voice broke her concentration. “Miss Bennet, allow me to show you the way. This house can be quite the maze for those unfamiliar with it. I have sent a maid to your aunt and uncle’s rooms. I hope young Sally was helpful? I should have requested specifically that she guide you to the appropriate room for tea.”
She spun around to see Mrs. Reynold’s smiling lined face. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. I had no idea there were so many exits from this entry space!”
“If you will follow me,” the old lady invited. “Mr. Darcy wishes to give you a proper tour, but I will show you the shortest way to the tea room, through here.” She led Elizabeth through the dining-parlour, a large, well-proportioned room, handsomely fitted up, with a bank of large windows through which Elizabeth could admire the prospect. The hill from which they had descended was a beautiful object. Every disposition of the ground was good; and she looked on the whole scene—the river, the trees scattered on its banks, and the winding of the valley, as far as she could trace it—with delight. Through a far door they passed, into a smaller passageway, and then into another series of connected rooms. From every window there were beauties to be seen; in every room, likewise. The rooms were lofty and handsome, and their furniture suitable to the fortune of their proprietor; but Elizabeth saw, with admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine; with less of splendour, and more real elegance, than the furniture of Rosings.
