Mr Darcy's Cottage of Earthly Delights

by Beth Massey

  Before Mr Darcy left for Kent and his annual trip to his aunt for Easter, he had gone to London. Shortly after his return, packages began arriving. He would take them to his study to unwrap behind closed doors. Most appeared to be books, but there were other mysterious things he had acquired. To be honest, she had been a little miffed that he had not confided in her, but when she considered the alteration of his mood for the better, she decided she preferred this industrious master to the angry one inspired by whatever happened in Ramsgate, or the distracted melancholy young man she had observed when he returned from Hertfordshire.

  It was in this mood of heightened anticipation that he left with his cousin for Rosings. Unfortunately, a man consumed by misery had returned. During this most recent period, she had observed behaviour so erratic that she sometimes feared for his life. His appetite was greatly diminished and his hygiene was far below his usual fastidious standards. The oddest habit she observed was that he began leaving late at night and not sleeping in his bed. Gossip about him had become rampant among the staff. There was talk of him taking a mistress. The thought was ridiculous to her, as she knew well his somewhat rigid notions of morality and the arrangements his father had made to preclude that possibility. The reality that he appeared not to be particularly determined in his efforts to find a bride fuelled the rumours. She had tried to quash the talk but was certain it still persisted; and the looseness of tongues had been replaced by care to ensure she was not within hearing distance, when they talked about his queer predilection.

  Mrs Reynolds hoped he would give up his night time wanderings when he returned tomorrow with Mr Bingley and party. It would not be prudent to promote gossip among ladies and gentlemen of quality. If Miss Bingley became cognizant of this newly developed odd habit, she feared his reputation could suffer.

  Mrs Reynolds, the housekeeper, greeted them. She was a petite, grey-haired woman whose demeanour spoke of extreme competence. Though respectable-looking, the elderly woman was much less fine and more competent than Elizabeth had any notion of finding her. They followed her into the dining-parlour. It was a large, well-proportioned room. Elizabeth, drawn to the grounds, went to a window to observe the view. From this window, she could see the hill, crowned with woods, from which they had descended. Her eyes travelled to the lake. First the trees hugging its banks and then next the lawn flanked by woods beyond captured her interest. She noticed a small structure in the distance but could not make out what it was. As they passed into other rooms she inevitably found herself at a window and noticed these same sights in different positions; but from every one the beauty was beyond her imaginings. The rooms themselves were lofty and handsome, and their furnishings suitable to the fortune of their proprietor; but Elizabeth saw, with admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine.

  She longed to inquire of the housekeeper whether her master was really away but had not courage for it. At length, however, her uncle asked the question; and she hid her face, as Mrs Reynolds replied, that he was, adding, "However, he is returning tomorrow, with his sister and a large party of friends." Elizabeth let out a muffled gasp and the housekeeper gave her a puzzled stare. She was thankful that their journey had not been delayed by that day, but then her relief was quickly replaced by despair when awareness of what that would mean settled into her consciousness.

  Mrs Reynolds continued her explanation. “Mr Darcy has been at home most of the summer, and Miss Darcy has been in London with her companion in order to learn from a particular music master of note. A fortnight ago he travelled to escort his sister home and encourage one of his closest friends to visit.”

  Listening closely to the housekeeper’s explanation, she had paid little attention to the new room they had entered. Her aunt called her to look at a picture. As she approached, she saw the likeness of Mr Wickham suspended, amongst several other miniatures, over the mantelpiece. Mrs Gardiner smiled at her and asked her how she liked it. Elizabeth wished she had not called attention to it, but realized her aunt knew not of her altered evaluation of the man. She nodded ever so slightly in acknowledgement of her words.

  Mrs Reynolds told them it was the picture of a young gentleman, the son of her late master's steward, who had been educated at the elder Mr Darcy’s expense. She added, "He is now gone into the army, but I am afraid his character is wanting."

  Mrs Gardiner gave her niece a questioning look. Elizabeth, in hopes of stifling any conversation, met her aunt’s eyes with a weak smile and quickly turned and pretended to be studying the miniature.

  The housekeeper’s curiosity seemed to be piqued by the exchange and her aunt’s probing glance. She pointed to another of the miniatures and said, "this is my master… the likeness is very like him and it was drawn at the same time as the other."

  "I have heard much of the fine regard for your master from my friends in Lambton," said Mrs Gardiner. She looked at his picture and once again turned to her niece. "It is a handsome face. Lizzy, what is your opinion? Does it do him justice?"

  "Does the young lady know Mr Darcy?"

  Elizabeth coloured, and said, "A little, I met him last autumn in Hertfordshire."

  "Ah, when he was staying with Mr Bingley. He and his sisters and brother are the party Mr Darcy is bringing from London tomorrow. And do not you think my master a very handsome gentleman, ma'am?"

  Elizabeth was worried the observant housekeeper would see the pain in her eyes as she replied, "Yes, very handsome."

  The housekeeper’s eyes captured Lizzy’s as she continued. "I am sure I know none so handsome; but in the gallery upstairs you will see a finer, larger portrait of him than this.”

  To Elizabeth’s relief, Mrs Reynolds changed the subject. “This room was my late master's favourite and these miniatures are just as they used to be then. He was very fond of them." Their attention was directed to one of Miss Darcy, drawn when she was only eight years old.

  "And is Miss Darcy as handsome as her brother?" said Mr Gardiner.

  "Oh! Yes! She is the handsomest young lady that ever was seen and so accomplished! She plays and sings all day long. In the next room is a new pianoforte. My master used her time away to procure it as a surprise. I look forward to watching her reaction when she comes here tomorrow with him."

  Lizzy decided to keep silent. Within a few moments, she became apprehensive about Mr Gardiner’s conversation with the housekeeper. His manners were easy and pleasant, but he was consciously encouraging her communicativeness by his questions and remarks. Mrs Reynolds, either from pride or attachment, seemed to take great pleasure in talking of her master and his sister.

  "Is your master much at Pemberley in the course of the year?"

  "Not so much as I could wish, sir; but I dare say he may spend half his time here. We have been very lucky this year, as he has been here since April."

  Elizabeth stiffened at the revelation of the timing.

  Mr Gardiner said with a twinkle, "If your master would marry, you might see more of him."

  "Yes, sir; but I do not know when that will be. I do not know who is good enough for him." Her gaze settled on Lizzy whose eyes widened as she stifled a sigh.

  Elizabeth swallowed hard and her hand touched her pocket for comfort. The housekeeper’s stare seemed to be demanding an explanation. Success in calming her traitorous emotions allowed her to speak—though it was not to explain her reaction. "It is very much to his credit, I am sure, that you should think so."

  Mrs Reynolds appeared thoughtful but then continued on with her tribute of Mr Darcy. "I say no more than the truth, and I believe it is what everybody will say that knows him. I have never had a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him since he was four years old."

  This was praise that despite Lizzy’s change in estimation of him was still opposite to memory. That he was not an amiable man continued to be her opinion when she sketched his character. She had not imagined him saying, ‘My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once
lost is lost forever.’ On that point in particular, she hoped she could be mistaken. Her most fervent desire at that moment was for information… and forgiveness.

  Her uncle accommodated her desire. "There are very few people of whom so much could be said. You are lucky to have such a master."

  "Yes, sir, I know I am. If I was to go through the world, I could not meet with a better. But I have always observed, that they who are good-natured when children, are good-natured when they grow up; and he was always the sweetest-tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the world."

  "His father was an excellent man," said Mrs Gardiner.

  "Yes, ma'am, that he was; and his son will be just like him. He is definitely just as affable to the poor."

  Elizabeth listened, wondered, doubted, and was impatient for more. The tour of the house became secondary to her desire to hear additional tales of him. Mrs Reynolds could interest her on no other point.

  To Elizabeth’s anxiety, Mr Gardiner became a bit too much like her father in his need to laugh at the kind of prejudice to which he attributed the housekeeper’s excessive commendation of her employer. Luckily, he was more circumspect than his brother-in-law and successfully kept mirth from his facial expression. Again and again, he introduced the subject; and Mrs Reynolds dwelt with energy on her master’s many merits as they proceeded together up the great staircase. Several times her uncle looked at her and raised his eyebrow to acknowledge the inside information she had imparted of Mr Darcy’s proud and disagreeable nature. Elizabeth was relieved they were behind the housekeeper.

  "He is the best landlord, and the best master," said she, "that ever lived; not like the wild young men nowadays, who think of nothing but themselves. There is not one of his tenants or servants but what will give him a good name. Some people call him proud; but I am sure I never saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men."

  Elizabeth knew him—from both his words in Hertfordshire and his proposal—to be proud; but she wondered whether Mrs Reynolds was correct about his relationship with his tenants and servants. His pride took on a different character when viewed through her amiable estimation.

  "This fine account of him," whispered her aunt as they walked, "is not quite consistent with his behaviour to Mr Wickham."

  In a voice barely audible Lizzy answered, "Perhaps I might have been deceived."

  On reaching the spacious lobby above, they were shown into a very pretty sitting room. It had obviously been lately decorated with greater elegance and lightness than the apartments below. “My master just had this room redone to give pleasure to Miss Darcy. She had taken a liking to the room when last at Pemberley and this is another present he has waiting for her when she returns tomorrow.”

  Elizabeth, once again, felt the need to comment. "He is certainly a good brother."

  As had become her habit in every room, she walked towards one of the windows. Outside was a view of the bridge they had crossed and the stream before it entered into the lake. The meandering water’s origin seemed to be the densely wooded hills behind the house. An urge to explore those woods for secret ‘nooks and crannies’ as her aunt had encouraged her to imagine, brought on a wave of melancholy as she observed the natural beauty of Pemberley.

  Mrs Reynolds anticipated Miss Darcy's delight, when she should enter the room. "And this is always the way with him," she added. "Whatever can give his sister any pleasure is sure to be done in a moment. There is nothing he would not do for her."

  On hearing the housekeeper’s words, Elizabeth acknowledged how much she had chosen to ignore with regards his character once her vanity had been wounded. From the moment he uttered those offensive remarks at the assembly, she had refused to acknowledge her feelings for him. A flash of memory called out the vision of their eyes meeting for the first time. Obviously on reflection—considering the words of his proposal—there had been a powerful attraction that had been denied. What an enticing moment that had been. Never had she experienced anything like his look or her reaction. Expectations for their acquaintance had been raised by that smouldering glance, only to be cruelly dashed when he publicly diminished her to tolerable. The humiliation and confusion she had felt had been overwhelming. Not waiting for clarification, she had immediately determined not to concede how much his words pained her. The conclusion he was not worth her attraction became the most important factor in how she related to him.

  The picture and sculpture gallery was all that remained to be shown. Elizabeth was anticipating his portrait, but as they walked down the huge hall she noticed many lovely landscapes and a series of beautiful white marble sculptures. Mrs Reynolds seemed a bit discomposed as she pointed out the nude life size statues of mythological characters. Elizabeth was arrested by a depiction of Achilles observing his ankle. Despite her country origins, she had seen the naked male form depicted in paintings in museums in London. However, this was the first time she had encountered one in all its dimensions. She was drawn by the broad expanse of chest and shoulders, the muscles of his legs… and… She blushed at the level of detail and quickly turned her head. However when her aunt and uncle and Mrs Reynolds had moved on, she peeked again and was overcome by a feeling of warmth and a tug way down in her belly while observing that which was between the legs of the statue.

  She walked on and was arrested by a statue of a reclining woman with her posterior on display for all to see. Once again she blushed, but did not avert her eyes. Since it was of a woman, she figured she was not breaching proper behaviour by inspecting the woman’s bottom. She found its shape quite lovely and hoped hers was as alluring. Once again the sight brought to mind those desires she had been having since first meeting him, and she experienced one of those spasms she had come to associate with some form of urge.

  Leaving the sculptures behind, she turned her attention to the landscapes. Lizzy noticed from the nameplates that the one of an approaching storm was a Turner; and another one of a country village that reminded her of Meryton was by Constable. Further down there was a grouping of some landscapes not as proficient as the ones they had just viewed, but interesting, none-the-less. One in particular caught her attention. It was of a stone cottage with an arbour of pink roses over the door. The cottage was backed by a heavily wooded hill with a stream meandering down beside the structure. In the background a small waterfall’s cascade could be seen. The place had an enchanted appeal. Mrs Reynolds told her that Lady Anne, her late master’s wife, painted all the landscapes in this grouping. The scenes were all sights somewhere in Derbyshire. Next to these delightful landscapes were some drawings of Miss Darcy's, whose subjects were also scenes around Pemberley. Elizabeth liked the one of the swans swimming on the lake in particular.

  Further down the gallery the family portraits began, there were many going back several centuries. None captured her attention until she arrived in front of a family portrait that appeared to be Mr Darcy at around five years of age with his parents and a spaniel. Mrs Reynolds indicated Thomas Gainsborough was the artist. Elizabeth noted he looked a great deal like his father, but he seemed to share his mother’s smile and he did, indeed, appear to be a good-natured boy. Elizabeth lingered in front of the family portrait, and noticed another had not been done after the arrival of Miss Darcy. Soon the quest for his face continued. At last it arrested her with such a smile as she remembered to have sometimes seen when he looked at her. She stood several minutes before the picture in earnest contemplation. Mrs Reynolds informed them that it had been taken in his father's lifetime.

  There was in Elizabeth's mind, a sensation towards the original that had been building since she first arrived at his estate. The commendation bestowed on him by Mrs Reynolds was of no trifling nature. As a landlord, a master and a brother, he was now exemplary in her eyes. Elizabeth considered how much of pleasure or pain it was in his power to bestow or how much of good or evil could be done by him. Every idea that had been brought forward by the housekeeper was favo
urable to his character. As she stood before his portrait, his eyes seemed fixed upon her. She recalled a similar look and another much more intimate at the time of his proposal when his eyes had been alternately filled with admiration, anger, passion, and finally pain. Standing before him, his gaze seemed only for her and she flinched as she remembered her cruel words. Tears threatened to spill and it was becoming impossible to hide her laboured breathing.

  Several times, Mrs Reynolds had noticed Miss Bennet sighing. Now she was standing before her employer’s portrait on the verge of tears. During the tour, more and more, it became obvious that these two disappointed souls were connected. Some of the housekeeper’s questions had at least partly been answered—both the master of Pemberley and Mr Wickham were known to this pretty young woman. Her expression had been filled with regret as she spoke of Mr Darcy’s handsomeness and that wistfulness had prompted the conclusion that Miss Bennet was somehow involved in the erratic behaviour of her employer. For this assumption, she had little evidence other than instinct. Compassion as the young lady stood gazing at Mr Darcy’s portrait played on her sensibilities. The least she could do was provide her with some privacy. Mr and Mrs Gardiner followed her back down the corridor with little prodding. They also seemed to understand that their niece needed some time alone. When the man in the portrait returned home tomorrow, she would tell him the particulars of this visit and observe his reaction.