Pemberley Shades

by D. Bonavia-Hunt

  “I do not recall that he did. But my eyes were on the board all the time. I remarked that he did not play so well as usual, that is all.”

  She did not think it worth while to pursue the subject, and shortly afterwards Georgiana quitted the room. Alone with her husband she would have detained him some minutes longer reviewing in unfettered talk the incidents of the evening, but although there was much to say, much that she would have liked to hear his opinion about, she could see that he was not in a listening temper, was evidently preoccupied with some matter weighing on his mind which he had no intention of imparting to her, and was even meaning to escape. Mortification, the injury to her vanity, held her silent.

  “Are you going upstairs now?” he asked calmly, holding the door open for her.

  Without a word and looking as unconcerned as possible, she approached him to pass out of the room. But suddenly he shut the door again and in a voice of some constraint said, “Elizabeth, I must give you a word of caution.”

  “Caution? What a very ill-sounding word!” she returned. “Pray, what have I said or done to deserve it?”

  “I am serious,” he said, smiling a little. “Where there is danger—as at the edge of a precipice or the skirts of a bog, it is usual to give warning by a notice to that effect. I wish merely to tell you that we have in our midst one who is very far from being a desirable acquaintance.”

  “You mean Mr. Acworth?” she said after a slight pause.

  “I do.”

  “You have learnt something fresh concerning his character?”

  “I have learnt just so much as confirms me in what I have long thought about him. I cannot say more at present. But I would ask you to see that Georgiana does not admit him to any degree of intimacy. I know that you do not.”

  “I certainly do not,” she answered quietly. “As to Georgiana—it appeared this evening from what he himself said that they had been practising together in private. There did not seem to be anything to cavil at as it was so openly confessed. But it is to be prevented in the future. Is that what you mean?”

  “More or less. But there should be no marked discrimination made against the man, for that would be to raise questions in the minds of other people which, besides the awkwardness for ourselves, would embarrass them.”

  “Am not I to ask what you know?”

  “I would rather that you did not press me for particulars just now. Later, most certainly you shall know all, and then you will see that I was right.”

  “You must have unbounded confidence in me if you think I am going to act blindly on your orders.”

  “I have.”

  “You are unanswerable as usual. You do not allow me the satisfaction of beating you down in argument.”

  “I did not know there was an argument,” said Darcy lifting her hand and kissing it. “Come, Elizabeth, you are looking tired. It is late to be talking.”

  “Upon my word! But I tell you what, Fitz. Such concealment is a very bad precedent. What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, don’t forget.”

  “You are not going to bludgeon another word out of me,” he said, embracing her. “Now, my love, there is just one more thing. In writing to your uncle lately I suggested that if he were much longer delayed by this business I mentioned to you some days ago, your aunt might be persuaded to come in advance of him. When she will come is at present uncertain, but to overcome at least one possible obstacle I have offered to send a carriage for her.”

  “Now that is to be charming, that is to be a good, kind, affectionate husband. I wish, though, that you had given me the chance of enclosing a letter to my aunt in yours to my uncle. I would have told her that her presence at Pemberley as a sober, discreet and experienced matron was sorely needed. I am sure that young married women are as much in need of a duenna as their unmarried sisters, don’t you think so, Fitz? But perhaps that is what you have given her to understand. I have no doubt she will very quickly come. She cannot refuse you anything, you know.”

  “For once we are agreed,” said Darcy.

  Many are the proverbs instilling the unhappy truth that the first step upon any of the devious paths which lure us from the straight road of open conduct is but seldom retraced. Darcy was already becoming hardened in concealment from the wife of his bosom, for in speaking of a letter to be written to her uncle, he had purposely omitted to say that yet another letter had come from Mr. Gardiner. It had that day been delivered, not by the ordinary post, but by a business acquaintance of the latter’s who happened to be passing through Lambton and was very happy to oblige a good customer by going a few miles out of his way.

  “At last I have been able to gain admittance to the gentleman’s presence,” wrote Mr. Gardiner.

  “I found that my fears of a painful interview were needless. He received me with great courtesy and heard all that I had to say with much patience, only interrupting me to request the elucidation of some point essential to comprehension of the whole. The awkwardness of explaining how enquiries came to be commenced was soon overcome; he was immediately sensible of the delicacy of your situation and expressed the utmost regret for the affront, as he termed it, which had been put upon you. Having thus paved the way to complete mutual understanding, he gave me certain information which may be held to explain what has occurred. Here I may say that your conjecture as to the identity of the person in question has proved substantially correct. To his certain knowledge his relative, among other consequences of foolish and irregular conduct, undoubtedly feared himself to be in danger of imprisonment for debt. The opportunity of escape which opened before him—as it would have seemed providentially—was such as would be grasped at by a man undeterred by scruple or stayed by reflection. I collect, indeed, that a rash impetuosity is one of the leading traits of a character which our friend would by no means allow to be altogether bad or unamiable.

  “Before we parted, while expressing anew his horror at the deception which had been practised upon yourself, he entreated that no step should be taken which would expose his relation too painfully before the world. To quote his own words, he feels himself to be his brother’s keeper. It was therefore left between us that until the enquiries necessary to the disentanglement and subsequent rehabilitation of his relation’s affairs have been completed, nothing should openly be done. That this will involve a continuance of your hospitality to him for a further short period he is perfectly aware, but apart from his own shrinking from the publicity which his relative’s open disgrace would bring upon the family in general, he is anxious that the young man should remain in a place where he is not only safe but accessible to be called upon when his presence in London is required. Saving only this proviso he earnestly begs that you will deal with him as you think proper. You may be sure I would not have agreed had I not been certain that you would have wished it.

  “To press forward the business to as speedy a conclusion as may be, I have offered him any assistance that lies in my power. He is to employ his own lawyer, a man in whom he has every confidence, but in his still enfeebled state there may be tasks among the various transactions to be undertaken of which I can relieve him. The preliminary investigations must take some time, but in another week or so I shall be better able to judge of their scope and nature. As soon as I have more precise intelligence to send you I will write again.

  “Mrs. Gardiner desires me to say with her compliments that she is indeed grateful for your kind offer of one of your carriages to bring her to Pemberley and is most happy to accept it. There is nothing to prevent her coming very shortly but her natural persuasion that I must not be left alone to the servants too long. I have done my best to reason her out of this strange notion, and now her chief uncertainty appears to turn upon when she can be ready. She has mentioned next Tuesday, but as Mr. Colquhoun stays for this letter, she purposes to write to Elizabeth by the ordinary post a little later to announce the precise date
.”

  When Darcy returned to the library it was to find that Mr. Bennet had in the meantime vacated it, but he sat there for an hour or more re-reading Mr. Gardiner’s letter and pondering its contents. Grossly as he had been abused, indignation was not his strongest emotion, nor was he sensible of disgust. His own lifetime had been long enough for him to have seen many men fall much below what was expected of them, or what they owed to others, and he had learnt to attribute such lack of principle to some hidden circumstance as, perhaps, a bad example in childhood or a defective education. This was not to condone error, but to understand it, and knowing now what he had learnt from Mr. Gardiner, as well as from other sources not available to the latter, he was less concerned to exact retribution for the offence than to mitigate its consequences to the innocent. In this frame of mind he gave some very concentrated thought to the question of what to do, and what to leave undone. Having come to a decision as to the immediate course to be taken, he sat down at his writing table and began a letter addressed to the Honourable Stephen Acworth at Lord Egbury’s house in Cavendish Square. In the friendliest terms he assured that gentleman that he need be under no apprehension for his relative from any action proposed by his involuntary host.

  “As I conceive the matter, it is of the first importance for both our families that what he has done here should lose nothing of its present secrecy. At this moment he is totally unaware that I am no longer deceived as to his identity, but now that every dubious point has been resolved I shall seek an early opportunity for an explanation with him, that he may know what has occurred between ourselves, what is being undertaken for him and how it behoves him to conduct himself in the meantime. Until your plans on his behalf are complete and while he remains under my roof, he must continue to bear a name to which he is not entitled, in the interests of that secrecy of which I have spoken. He is not particularly well affected towards me, which perhaps is not strange, but I hope he will be reasonable enough to do nothing which might embarrass our relations still further. You may, however, be certain that I should never exclude him from my house without making proper provision for his safety until he can once more stand forth before the world!”

  Chapter 12

  Mrs. Gardiner did arrive not many days later to the general satisfaction of all her relations assembled at Pemberley. Sound principles are not always found in conjunction with a sweet temper, a superior understanding and elegant manners, but Mrs. Gardiner possessed all these attributes and more besides. She could enter alike into the cares and forebodings of age and the interests, amusements, and even frivolities of youth, and if her advice was not always taken it was seldom resented. Her sterling good sense was a proverb in the family, so much to be depended on that she was credited with never wanting the right answer to any and every doubtful question which could arise in a mixed society. Mr. Bennet found himself able to converse with her on serious subjects for a whole half-hour without weariness to himself. Darcy had the warmest regard for her and the fullest confidence in her discretion. As for Elizabeth and Jane, whatever Elizabeth might say to her husband about duennas for young married women, they both felt, Elizabeth particularly, that she supplied that maternal solicitude which had not always been bestowed on them by their own mother.

  The day following her arrival had been fixed for the visit to Clopwell Priory. When the morning came, the younger of Jane’s children was discovered to be rather ailing, and the fond and careful mother could not be prevailed upon to leave the little girl for so long a period as the expedition would last. Bingley offered to stay at home with his wife, but Jane would not hear of it. Her absence from the party was felt by all as a loss to be deplored, but neither argument nor entreaty could overcome Jane’s strong sense of duty, nor her equally fervent desire that no one should forfeit one hour’s pleasure for her sake.

  The start for Clopwell was to be made an hour before noon, and it had been settled that the five gentlemen should ride ahead of the carriage conveying the ladies. While waiting for the carriage to be brought round, Elizabeth stood with Mrs. Gardiner at a window in the breakfast-room and watched the advance party mount and ride away. She was amazed at the ease with which Major Wakeford was able to control his horse, a spirited animal, single-handed.

  “Is not he a superb horseman?” she said to her aunt. “But whatever he attempts he does well, without either fuss or display.”

  “I have always thought that character is most truly revealed in affliction,” replied Mrs. Gardiner. “To some it affords an excuse, but to others it acts as a spur.”

  “There is little doubt that he will go through life undaunted,” continued Elizabeth. “He is formed in the heroic mould, but that is scarcely calculated to recommend him in general, for most people prefer, though they may not admit it, the easy, amiable rather weak character. Every allowance is made for such people, but Major Wakeford’s sort is seldom applauded, or if at all, with a grudging kind of praise. Perhaps it is not really very much to be wondered at in his case. Have you observed how he never speaks but to the purpose? It does not make conversation with him too easy, for one watches oneself to beware of tripping in logic. And yet, for all his sternness, one learns to value him sincerely. His simplicity and modesty are somehow disarming. If he were to leave us now, he would be genuinely missed by all—even Georgiana.”

  “Why do you say—even Georgiana?” asked her aunt with a smile.

  “Because she is so little dependent on the society of other beings as a rule.”

  “She has a great affection for yourself, has she not?”

  “Yes, I think she has. She attaches herself to very few, but to those most strongly. Affection with Georgiana takes time to grow and strike root.”

  “I do not think she is looking as well as when I was last here,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “If I did not believe it to be impossible, I should say she had something on her mind.”

  Elizabeth considered before rebutting such an idea. It was not altogether new to her, but on that account no less unwelcome. As the sanguine will, she cast about for the most trivial reason to account for what would otherwise be an evil, and found it in the interference of Kitty with Georgiana’s daily avocations. There was a thorough incompatibility of tastes, dispositions, everything, between the two girls. Because they were of an age they were forced to be much with one another. All this Elizabeth detailed to Mrs. Gardiner and in so doing she was satisfied of its truth. Mrs. Gardiner, having no cause to be otherwise, was easily persuaded, agreeing that Georgiana and Kitty had almost nothing in common.

  The arrival of the carriage put an end to further conversation. They issued into the hall to find Georgiana and Kitty awaiting them—the one pensive, indifferent; the other becomingly flushed and eager to be off. Jane was there also to see them go, and wish them all an agreeable day. There were renewed expressions of regret that she would not be with them and that she should be missing the pleasure and interest of a new scene, but Elizabeth, who had risen that morning with a headache, would have been glad to change places with her sister and truly envied her in being able to stay at home. Yet, go to Clopwell she must; for without unduly over-rating her importance, she knew that whatever success could be hoped for from the party would depend upon herself—upon all the resources of her tact, her ability to lead a conversation so smoothly and lightly as successfully to round awkward corners and avert anything like stagnation, and thus to keep the spirit of the occasion in fullest flow. As for her indisposition, even to hint at it would be to spoil everyone’s pleasure; so she resolved to say nothing about it in the hope that it would mend as the day went on.

  The sun was high in a cloudless sky as they drove away from the house; everywhere the eye turned the landscape was bathed in its rays, and not a breath of wind stirred the air. Grateful indeed was the shade of the trees as they passed under their overarching branches. But even through the woods the heat was great, the motion of the carriage doing nothing to mitigate it
, and the fatigue of holding a parasol aloft left little inclination for talk. Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner exchanged slight observations from time to time; Georgiana remained silent and lost in thought; while Kitty, hardly able to conceal her excitement at the prospect of viewing a mansion of which she cherished hopes of becoming the mistress, was too much engaged in watching for the mass of rock marking the boundary between the parishes of Pemberley and Clopwell to speak to anyone. When that had been seen, denoting that they had now passed into Clopwell itself, she could look round about her on all that the scene afforded of beauty and interest. Exclamations of delight burst from her and fell for the most part on unheeding ears. Elizabeth kept her eyes shaded with her parasol and Mrs. Gardiner, a native of Derbyshire, though pleased to be driving through a landscape familiar to her youth, privately thought that Clopwell could not compare with Pemberley’s rich diversity of woods and crags and running water.

  Thus they proceeded to within a short distance of the village, when the smart trotting of a horse along the road began to be heard, increased in noise, and prepared them for the gallant approach of none other than their host. Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner saw him first, but before they could do more than acknowledge his salutation he passed behind the carriage, and wheeling his horse round, drew beside them to ride the rest of the way like a true cavalier and knight of fair ladies. Bending down towards Elizabeth, he said that as soon as the gentlemen had arrived, and had been supplied with refreshment, he had set out to meet the carriage and bring it by the shortest road to his house. Elizabeth smiled and said what was gracious and proper, but by this time Mortimer was directing an eloquent gaze upon Kitty who, divided between the desire not to show an inelegant delight and her anxiety to neglect no occasion for strong encouragement, succeeded in summoning to her aid the signs of bashfulness as well as the evidences of complaisance.