Pemberley Shades

by D. Bonavia-Hunt

  The rest of the journey was soon accomplished and the carriage entered the principal gates of the small park surrounding Clopwell Priory. Set upon level ground and much less imposing than Pemberley House, its ancient and diversified aspect yet struck the eye with the force of a picturesque beauty often denied more pretentious buildings. Through successive additions and destruction of part of the original edifice by fire, its earliest date at first sight was with difficulty determined, but a tower or keep at one end proclaimed its having been fortified in an age more barbarous than the present, when, so Mortimer informed the ladies, imparting what he had been told in childhood, the monks had sometimes to be as warlike as other men to defend their own by force of arms. A small lake spread its waters at a little distance from the front of the house, near enough to reflect the wall and a part of the roof as in a mirror. It was full of great carp, Mortimer said, some of which were believed to be almost as old as the house.

  From Mortimer’s apologetic description of his ancestral home Elizabeth could never have imagined it as she now beheld it for the first time. She exclaimed at the sight of it, and Mrs. Gardiner joined with her in expressing wonder and admiration. The two girls, sitting back to the horses, were cheated of the first astonishing view, but now turned their heads to see what caused so much rapture. The carriage, meanwhile, skirted the lake and clattered over grass-grown flagstones to the front door. By the time it drew up, Mortimer had dismounted and was ready to hand the ladies out, and escort them indoors to a room where the gentlemen were comfortably disposed in chairs talking over what remained of a cooling beverage in their glasses.

  A collation consisting of a variety of cold meats, pastries, jellies and fruit set out in the principal apartment was the first part of the entertainment. The meal was entirely informal, as Elizabeth had previously advised the youthful host on hearing of his difficulties. The guests sat where they chose, and the gentlemen waited on the ladies. Mortimer, having contrived that Elizabeth should sit on one side of him and Kitty on the other, looked all happiness. Turning to Elizabeth, he assured her solemnly that he could wish for no greater honour than her presence. “I am indeed fortunate,” he said, “for wherever you are, Mrs. Darcy, there is always gaiety and good humour. There is never a dull moment.”

  If the spirit of the party in general was of ease and enjoyment, not everyone looked equally pleased. Major Wakeford, always grave, was graver than usual and more silent, and though he exerted himself to reply with a show of interest when spoken to, he would relapse into muteness on being left to himself. Acworth, on the contrary, who either moped when others were gay or gave way to an overdone hilarity, displayed an unforced cheerfulness which Bingley himself could not have bettered. He sat between Georgiana and Mr. Bennet, and as it was the latter’s habit to address the company in general, Acworth spoke chiefly to Georgiana. What he said was clearly heard and never otherwise than could be said to anyone, but Elizabeth thought that his manner bordered on intimacy and reproached herself that she had not foreseen the conjunction of the two persons who of all others should be kept apart. She looked at her husband, but he was conversing with Mrs. Gardiner and betrayed nothing.

  Though determined not to be caught watching and listening by Acworth, she could hardly help the straying of an eye or ear in his direction. Georgiana was heard replying to him with simplicity and candour natural to her when she had overcome her shyness. Her manner then was equally devoid of coquetry or reserve, and exhibited her in an endearing light to those who knew how to value her. Acworth, too, it had to be confessed, was at his best in her society— quiet, easy and sincere. But this was not to comfort or reassure; it but added to Elizabeth’s anxiety. To rid herself of anything like the appearance of it she turned to Mortimer and expressed her admiration of his house.

  “It may be all very well on a fine summer’s day when the sun shines outside,” he replied, “but in winter it is quite another matter. It is dark and dismal enough then with these low ceilings and panelled walls and all this great old-fashioned furniture.”

  “But it is the antique look, so in keeping with the great age of the house, that charms me,” said Elizabeth. “I would not change it in any material particular. Nor should you, Mr. Mortimer. Some lighter hangings beside the windows and perhaps one or two tapestries and china ornaments would do all that is needed.”

  “What it lacks,” said Mr. Bennet, “is the woman’s touch that beautifies without adding one jot of comfort. A few female fripperies scattered untidily here and there would make a world of difference.”

  An expostulation from Kitty was followed by a dispute in which everyone joined as to who were the most untidy—men or women—Mr. Bennet maintaining that women were incapable of order and method, and Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth warmly defending their sex. Bingley very traitorously went over to the side of the ladies and declared that for his part he never knew where he put anything and always had to ask Jane. Darcy gave it as his opinion that untidiness was chiefly due to laziness and was therefore about equally divided between the sexes.

  “I detest perfectly tidy people,” said Acworth in an accent of disdain and with an air of being very clever. “They are always dull and dictatorial from self-complacency.”

  “I do not agree with you,” said Elizabeth dryly, conceiving this to be aimed at her husband. “It may just as well be said that witty people are never otherwise. Brevity, which is the soul of wit, as we are told, must arise from an orderliness of mind as opposed to the mental confusion which issues in rambling and repetition. How can the outward and inward parts of a man be at variance?”

  “I can think of at least two instances to the contrary,” said Mr. Bennet. “One is Dr. Johnson, a great wit and a great sloven, and the other is myself—an infallible logician, but too inveterately lazy even to sort my papers which are therefore always in a muddle.”

  “There cannot be too much caution in attempting generalities about human nature,” said Darcy, speaking with his usual calm. “A man alone knows why he behaves as he does, but often enough he either does not seek to know the true reason or, not liking it, wraps it in a disguise of his own making.”

  This proved to be the last word on the subject, for as everyone must agree as to its substantial truth, it discouraged further debate. Elizabeth saw Acworth turn his head sharply towards her husband and look away again with a peculiar twist of the mouth. The impression she received was all the stronger for not being understood. But she could not stay for conjecture. With Mortimer sitting beside her, it behoved her to live up to her character for gaiety and good humour, and although her head ached no less than it had done, but rather more, she exerted herself to talk and keep dullness at bay.

  Shortly afterwards the party rose from the table. It was soon ascertained that the ladies, without exception, were desirous of looking over the house, and Mortimer, of course, felt himself under obligation to attend upon them; but Mr. Bennet, Bingley and Major Wakeford declared for the open air, very likely preferring their own unmixed society, and Darcy, who was familiar with Clopwell Priory from his boyhood, offered to guide them about the demesne. Acworth, after a show of indecision, followed Mortimer and the ladies. In a house of narrow passages and twisting staircases it was often impossible to proceed except two by two. Thus Mortimer found himself leading the way with Kitty on account of Georgiana having attached herself to Elizabeth, while Mrs. Gardiner and Acworth brought up the rear. Elizabeth at first took Georgiana’s arm, then fearing her action might be inconveniently construed, dropped it in favour of her hand, and thus linked together in sisterly fashion they continued for some time. As they went along, Mrs. Gardiner, always alert and interested, held Acworth in a flow of talk, chiefly of comment on what they saw. Civility did not always constrain the gentleman to appear at his best, and his replies remained few and short, yet neither Mrs. Gardiner’s determined cheerfulness nor her resolution of not taking offence was ever impaired. It almost looked as if,
ignoring the disparity between her thirty-nine years and his twenty-seven, she was bent on making a conquest of him. Elizabeth was mystified, but her headache inclined her to let all happen without trying to understand.

  When they had wandered through the apartments on the ground floor which were all much alike in the style of a bachelor’s habitation, Mortimer led his guests up the main staircase to a landing before a door which, on being opened, disclosed a room larger and lighter than any they had yet seen, with a beautifully moulded ceiling displaying in a central medallion the Mortimer coat of arms and a large oriel window, elegantly though sparsely furnished as for a lady’s occupation. Kitty instantly burst into raptures and Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner, though quieter, were not much less admiring. The effect of light and space delighted them. In answer to their questions Mortimer said that the room had been his mother’s drawing-room, and that after her death which had occurred many years ago it had been disused, and during his father’s lifetime kept locked up.

  “My father held the key and no one was ever allowed to enter it,” he said. “When he died and my brother came into possession I found the key and satisfied a curiosity I had always had to see it. The floor, the furniture—everything was covered thick with dust. Our housekeeper, who came with me, said that it was all just as it had been when my mother was alive, except that her portrait had been brought from another place and hung where you see it now over the mantelpiece.”

  They all clustered round to see the portrait. It was by no means a first-rate painting in oils of a young woman remarkably like Mortimer himself. Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth looked at it with sympathetic attention. Kitty expressed her admiration of the late Mrs. Mortimer’s beauty, but Georgiana, after a moment’s regard, turned away. Acworth, having no interest in what he privately considered a very bad picture, wandered to the opposite wall where stood a large oaken coffer. Turning his head, he saw Georgiana pass near him and smiled.

  “Will you hazard a guess as to what this chest contains?” he said to her. “For myself I would say that we should find all Mrs. Mortimer’s wardrobe packed away in lavender and camphor.”

  “It is only too probable,” said Georgiana. “What else would have been put away there in a locked room?”

  “Then we are probably both wrong,” he rejoined. “Let us ask Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Gardiner their opinion. Better still let us satisfy our curiosity at once by asking Mortimer what’s inside. Mortimer,” he said, raising his voice and indicating the chest, “we are in a fever to know what you have got put away in here.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know,” answered Mortimer, “for I have never thought to look.”

  Kitty cried out at such a lack of interest. “Do pray open it, Mr. Mortimer,” she entreated, “or we shall all die of disappointment.”

  Mortimer turned the key of the chest, and lifted the lid, disclosing a piece of faded purple damask material several times folded, which on examination proved to be a curtain. Beneath that lay another exactly like it, and then two more, comprising a set of four.

  “Alas,” said Acworth in Georgiana’s ear, “what a shock to our romantic anticipations.”

  “I had none at all,” she replied, “either romantic or otherwise.”

  When the fourth curtain was taken up, however, it was seen that the lower part of the chest was full of unused materials, including lengths of silk brocade and taffeta in various colours, more figured damasks and handworked squares and ovals of tapestry with other products of the needle. Elizabeth collected from what she saw that Mortimer’s mother had been not only a skilful needle-woman, but also a woman of some taste, and had perhaps designed the refurnishing of her house before death had intervened to prevent it.

  “All this must have lain untouched these two and twenty years,” said Mortimer, gazing at the array of stuffs in astonishment.

  “How fortunate that they are neither discoloured nor injured by moth,” said Mrs. Gardiner. “You are indeed in luck, Mr. Mortimer. Here is everything you can desire to adorn your house throughout.”

  “Oh, Mr. Mortimer, do let us advise you,” cried Kitty. “I declare my head is full of ideas already. You are to have this room for a drawing-room again, you know, and the yellow brocade must be made into curtains for that noble window. If only we could banish you for a few weeks and then invite you to see what we had done.”

  Here, if ever, was an opportunity for a speech from heart to heart, but Mortimer was unable to find words and could only look his emotions of gratitude and pleasure. Kitty, in return, could only show a proper amount of maidenly confusion which, had there been no witnesses, might have led to interesting results. But they were most lamentably not alone, and after a moment’s indecision, not knowing where to look or what to do, she turned to assist Mrs. Gardiner in putting back the contents of the chest. Elizabeth walked away to another part of the room to conceal her amusement at this comedy of easy courtship which could leave no one in any doubt as to how it would end. By a sudden movement she found herself face to face with Acworth. He also was smiling in much the same manner as herself, and prompted by much the same thought, as the meeting of their eyes testified. She immediately remarked that the room was very hot from the sunshine lying full upon it.

  Acworth assented. “We have been in here long enough,” he said. “Where do we go now, Mortimer?” he asked a moment later. “Have you no other chests of household treasures to show us?”

  Mortimer was obliged to confess that he was very largely ignorant of what his house did contain other than what was in daily use. “All that I take to be women’s business and not for myself to meddle with,” he said.

  “So much the better,” said Acworth, “for it leaves our expectations undiminished and everything to be discovered. We warn you that not a nook or cranny shall remain unexplored. A complete survey of every room, passage, closet and attic must be made without delay. Left to yourself, you will never do it.”

  As the rest of the party followed Mortimer to the door, Elizabeth turned for one last look at the beautiful prospect of hills rising beyond the trees in the park which the window commanded. The sensation of being alone, if only for a moment, was very refreshing, and she was visited by a strong desire to escape from the others and go downstairs again in search of some place where she could rest in peace and solitude. She lingered, battling with the impulse, conscious of an increase of her indisposition, but knowing that she owed it to her host, to her role of principal guest, to continue with him. At last, resigning herself to do what was expected of her she turned to quit the room. She had before that instant believed herself to be the only person left in it, but now she saw that Acworth stood near the door apparently waiting for her.

  “Now is the opportunity to escape,” he said smiling, and coming forward. “All this ransacking of an old house is not much to your taste, I fancy.”

  “I have not any intention of escaping,” she said lightly.

  “Pardon my saying that you look pale—owing to the heat and closeness of the room, no doubt. Would not you like me to conduct you where you can sit quietly while the others finish their exploring?”

  This reading of her thought astonished as well as disconcerted her, but likewise fixed her determination not to be conducted anywhere by Mr. Acworth except to the rest of the party. His smile had become satirical and continued too long.

  “You are very kind, I am sure,” she said, summoning to her aid all her presence of mind, “but I am perfectly ready to go on. Where are the others? We ought not to keep them waiting.” She walked past him as she spoke and went through the door.

  As he came close behind her she thought she heard him say in a very low voice, “Surely Mrs. Darcy does not credit me with designs upon her privacy.” Whether she heard aright or not, such a speech could only be ignored and she walked on without another word, but equally without show of hurry or concern. Fortunately, before she had got farther than a few
steps she was met by Mortimer, coming back to look for her. They were now to mount to the next floor, he said, and he had been afraid that, left to themselves, she and Acworth might lose their way.

  Seldom had she met an acquaintance with more delight or given such a welcoming smile. Although owing allegiance to another lady, Mortimer coloured with pleasure. She made her excuses very properly for keeping him waiting; he replied, as he ought, with discreet gallantry. The rest of the party was then rejoined and on they went.

  Chapter 13

  Never in his most sanguine moments had Mortimer imagined that his party would be the success it was proving. The day beforehand he had been plagued by doubts of his ability to keep the ladies from being bored; but so far from finding little to interest them, they were pleased with everything they saw. Urged on by Acworth, they explored every passage, mounted every staircase they came to, and opened every door whether of cupboard or room. Many rooms they entered were scarcely furnished and they found no more chests, but occasionally their persistence was rewarded by some curiosity, such as a rusty suit of armour left to lurk in a dark, little visited corner; and once their attention was directed to a sliding panel which cunningly concealed a flight of steps to a priest’s hole.

  At length they reached a room, not much larger than a closet, lined on one side with shelves, on which a quantity of odd pieces of crockery and china had been stowed away. Many of them were only common and coarse, but a few were of rare quality and design, and these passed from hand to hand to be admired and identified as of some particular make and date. Exclamations, conjectures, questions filled the air, and a constant jostling and movement made the room seem overcrowded. Elizabeth took up a plate and carried it aside to examine at leisure its charming pattern of birds and flowers, but became so lost in other thoughts while gazing at it that she ceased to perceive it or to know what was going on around her. A sudden decrease in the noise of voices made her sensible of her surroundings once more, and she looked up to find herself alone with Mortimer and Kitty.