‘Do so, fair cousin, for one cannot be too prompt when dealing with exalted people.’
Elizabeth was just about to go over to the writing table when Miss de Bourgh’s phaeton appeared at the door. The carriage stopped and Miss de Bourgh stepped out, closely followed by her companion.
‘It is Miss de Bourgh!’ said Mr Collins, bowing and scraping in the most ludicrous manner, for Miss de Bourgh had passed the window and could not even see him. ‘Charlotte, what a day this is for our humble parsonage! Our guest receives an invitation to Pemberley and we are visited by Miss de Bourgh! For one such thing to happen is not unusual in our way of life, for I think I can say without boasting that I have lifted you into a very elevated sphere, my dear’ – here he smiled complacently at Charlotte, who again hid herself behind a sprig of holly. Then he glanced at Elizabeth, as if to say See what you are missing. All this elegance and superior company could have been yours if you had not rejected me - which set Elizabeth coughing again, to hide her laughter. ‘For one such thing to happen is not unusual,’ Mr Collins repeated. ‘But even we do not have two such events in one day. This is Christmas coming early indeed.’
Elizabeth had to turn away at this, for no amount of coughing could disguise her laughter, and she took up her own sprig of holly, carrying it to the fireplace at the far side of the room where she could rid herself of her merriment and force her face back into more serious lines without her struggle being seen.
The door opened and Miss de Bourgh was shown into the room.
Elizabeth had by this time recovered her composure and she made her curtsey to Miss de Bourgh. Charlotte did the same, and Miss de Bourgh returned the civility. Mr Collins made a bow that was far lower than necessary and continued to abase himself until Miss de Bourgh was safely seated. Her companion took a seat next to her.
Mr Collins then asked after Lady Catherine, enquiring as to her health and her spirits, and it was not until he had been satisfied that Lady Catherine was in the best of health and spirits that the conversation was allowed to continue.
After some generalities, Miss de Bourgh revealed that she was intending to spend Christmas at Pemberley.
‘What a joyous revelation!’ said Mr Collins. ‘My cousin, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, has been honoured with an invitation to Pemberley by Miss Darcy, and I am sure she feels everything that is right and proper about receiving such an illustrious example of Miss Darcy’s elegance and superior breeding.’
Miss de Bourgh said gravely, ‘I am sure Miss Bennet feels everything that is right and proper – not too little, and not too much.’
She looked at Elizabeth, and there was a distinct twinkle in her eye, for her improving health had improved her spirits, and it was evident that she found Mr Collins just as ridiculous as Elizabeth did.
‘If it were not unthinkable for me to contradict Miss Anne de Bourgh, I would say that there can never be too much shown or felt on such an occasion,’ said Mr Collins.
‘Then let us be glad that you would not think of contradicting me,’ replied Miss de Bourgh.
Mr Collins frowned as he tried to puzzle this remark out, and fell mercifully silent as he wrestled with it.
Elizabeth’s mouth twitched, for she had no difficulty in working it out at all!
‘I will have room in may carriage to take you to Pemberley if you wish, Miss Bennet,’ said Miss de Bourgh.
‘Thank you, that is very kind,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Then it is settled. I will call for you tomorrow at ten o’clock,’ she said.
She rose from her seat, farewells were made, and she left with her companion.
‘That, Miss Elizabeth, is an example of the kind of condescension my dear Charlotte and I are in the habit of receiving every week at Rosings,’ said Mr Collins complacently.
Elizabeth suppressed her laughter and she said, ‘I am sure it is thanks to you that Miss de Bourgh made me such an offer. It must be on account of the high esteem in which she holds you.’ But then Elizabeth’s face softened as she looked at her friend, for she did not want to make Charlotte uncomfortable. She could not understand how Charlotte had married such a man, but she did not want to make her friend’s burden any heavier and so she said, ‘And I am sure it is in token of the high esteem in which Miss de Bourgh holds Charlotte, for she was telling me how much she and her mother value Mrs Collins only the other day.’
‘My dear!’ said Mr Collins to Charlotte. ‘This is high praise indeed. Only think, Miss de Bourgh and Lady Catherine de Bourgh hold you in the highest esteem.’
He continued to talk in similar vein until Charlotte sent him out into the garden to collect some pliant fir branches to wind around the banisters.
‘Oh, Charlotte . . . ’ Elizabeth could not help saying.
‘You are not to feel sorry for me, Lizzy. I am quite content,’ said Charlotte. ‘I knew the bargain I was making and I have not been disappointed. I married Mr Collins with my eyes open, and although there are things to be endured, there is also much to be enjoyed.’
Elizabeth said, ‘Yes. I can see you like running your own household and helping in the village.’
‘I do.’ But then she became more serious and said, ‘Take heed, Lizzy. Time passes more quickly than you think. Do not take this invitation to Pemberley lightly. I know you do not like Mr Darcy but you would have a very pleasant life as his wife. You must marry someone, or else stay at home and live with your parents forever, and if you neglect this opportunity you, too, may have to marry a Mr Collins when one-and-twenty becomes seven-and-twenty.’
‘I will think about what you have said,‘ Elizabeth replied seriously, for her friends’ warning was kindly meant.
But Charlotte’s words were unnecessary, for Elizabeth was already in love with Mr Darcy. She did not need to talk herself into liking him and she would not need to talk herself into marrying him if he proposed again. But she was sure he would not do so. He had not visited her since he had heard about Lydia’s elopement, and the reason for that seemed all too obvious: Lydia’s behaviour had given him a disgust of the Bennet family. She very much doubted that he was in love with her, whatever Miss Anne de Bourgh might think, and he would certainly never propose again, for marrying Elizabeth would render his worst enemy, Mr Wickham, his brother.
But she could not help loving him, and if she could bring him any cheer in his time of darkness then she would do so.
Chapter Six
Mr Darcy went out to the stables a few days later, unaware that his sister had invited Elizabeth to Pemberley. It was a cold, crisp morning and his breath misted in front of him as he strode across the stable yard, while his feet crunched on the frosty ground. Despite the cold, it was a beautiful morning, with a clear blue sky and a watery sun, but he did not take any pleasure in it. He was so morose, it seemed he would never take any pleasure in anything again.
He saddled his favourite horse, Nightsong, and rode out of the stable yard. He was soon cantering across the countryside in a bid to rid himself of the blue devils that assailed him. He wanted to forget his troubles, at least for an hour, and return to Pemberley with a clear head so that he could face the problems that must be faced.
As he rode, his mind drifted back to his boyhood, when everything had been safe and secure. His parents had been loving and he had had nothing to do but enjoy himself. He remembered long, lazy summers which he spent fishing and swimming with the companions of his youth, and he remembered skating and tobogganing with them on invigorating, snowy days. His chief friends in his early childhood had been his cousin, who even then had been obsessed with the army, the steward’s son, George Wickham.
He felt a lump rise in his throat. He missed George. He should not miss him, after George’s wild ways had created a chasm between them, but he did. As boys they had played together through long hot summers and long cold winters; they had wrestled and fished and raced, and done all the things boys liked to do. They had been inseparable, as good as brothers, and they had almost been trea
ted as such by Mr Darcy’s parents.
How idyllic those days had been! George had lost his mother early, and subsequently Mr Darcy’s mother had become like a mother to him, taking a maternal interest in his achievements and his scrapes. And George, a sunny boy, who was as charming as the day was long, had repaid her interest with filial devotion. At her death, the two boys had become even more inseparable, consoling each other for the loss, after which Mr Darcy’s father had decided that the two boys must go to school together. George’s father had not been able to afford the school fees for the exclusive boarding school and so Mr Darcy’s father had paid for both boys to be educated together, and then he had paid for them both to attend the same university.
It was about that time that everything had started to go wrong. George’s father had died and George had consoled himself with drink. He had fallen in with the wrong crowd and gone from bad to worse, spending his time drinking and gambling and wenching. And then had come the one thing that Mr Darcy could not forgive: George had attempted to elope with Georgiana. Everything else could have been overlooked, if George had mended his ways, but this one thing could not be overlooked, not even if George had apologized. But George had not apologised. He had never apologised for anything in his life, unless forced to do so by adult sanctions. George Wickham was a man who did not say he was sorry.
Mr Darcy reined in his horse and looked out over the estate. He wished it had not happened. He wished there was no chasm between himself and George. Because George was one of the few people who knew how much his mother had meant to him, and who would understand how devastated he felt at the wreck of her small sitting-room, for in that room both boys had been praised and loved and scolded, and made to feel they were important and loved. And George was one of the few people who understood how much Pemberley meant to him, not just as a possession, but as blades of grass and meadowsweet; as tumbling waterfalls; as sun-soaked meadows and rustling leaves and trees to climb; as wide open spaces across which the horses could gallop in the early morning, when the dew was on the grass and the air was sweet with the promise of a new day. And George was one of the few people who would understand how devastated he was to feel he could not afford the repairs to the house or the home farm, and how helpless it made him feel to know that he might have to sell some of the land or even sell Pemberley altogether.
But that was all over. Their friendship had gone, destroyed by George’s betrayal, and no matter how much Mr Darcy wished it was not so, he could not undo the past.
He set his horse in motion, walking slowly forward in keeping with his low mood.
His other great friend from his childhood was his cousin, and he longed for his cousin’s presence. It would be a relief to him to talk about his troubles. He did not want to talk to Georgiana, since he would do everything in his power to protect her from the knowledge of how bad things had become. He could talk to his men of business, but those were dry conversations at which he had to be the master dealing with matters of the estate, not a man who was almost broken by the sorrow that was bearing down on him like a lead weight. With his cousin he could be himself. He could speak of his worries and his feelings and unburden himself, safe in the knowledge that the conversation would go no further, and that his cousin would not think him any less of a man for having feelings.
It was a privilege to be Mr Darcy of Pemberley, but it was also a burden, for he had to put on a strong front before the world. He had a position to uphold, and a family name to protect, and he had to appear in public as if he was always in control. But with his cousin it was different. He could be himself.
He thought briefly of writing to his cousin, but felt he had no right to burden him. Colonel Fitzwilliam was dealing with weightier matters than the ruin of Pemberley. He was dealing with the safety of the realm, as Napoleon continued to wage war across the Channel and might easily wage war in England if he managed to cross the sea. So, with a heavy heart, Mr Darcy turned his horse’s head and returned to Pemberley.
He left his horse at the stables, where the grooms took it from him, and then went indoors.
‘Colonel Fitzwilliam is here, Sir,’ said the butler, as he took Mr Darcy’s hat and coat.
‘Colonel Fitzwilliam?’ asked Mr Darcy in surprise.
‘Yes, Sir. He is in the drawing-room.’
Mr Darcy strode across the magnificent marble hall to the drawing-room. He found Colonel Fitzwilliam sitting there with Georgiana.
‘What brings you here?’ asked Mr Darcy with a rare smile.
‘I was on my way to London and so I decided to call on you on the way.’
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s family lived in the extreme north of the country and Derbyshire was about halfway to London.
‘I was hoping you would offer me a bed for the night,’ he continued.
‘That I can do,’ said Mr Darcy warmly.
He looked at the tea things which were set in front of Georgiana and said fondly, ‘I see my sister has been looking after you in my absence.’
‘Yes. She is an excellent hostess,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam with a warm smile for his ward. ‘She has given me tea and cakes and has invited me to dinner. In fact, she had already invited me to stay the night before you offered your invitation.’
‘I am very glad of it. She was right to do so,’ said Mr Darcy. ‘You are always welcome here.’
‘Would you excuse me?’ asked Georgiana, rising. ‘I have to finish a painting and I want to do it while I still have the morning light.’
‘Of course.’
The gentlemen both rose as she left the room and then sat down again.
‘She is a lovely young lady, and growing lovelier every day,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam.
‘Yes. I am very proud of her,’ said Mr Darcy.
‘She is very intelligent, too,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam, but he did not explain, for he thought it better not to tell Mr Darcy that Georgiana had written to him. ‘I was sorry to see that you have had a fire,’ he continued, ‘especially as it has come so soon after the destruction of the home farm. Will you manage to finish the repairs before Christmas, do you think?’
‘There will not be any repairs. Or, at least, none but the most basic,’ said Mr Darcy heavily.
And then out it all came, the news of the failure of his investments, the damage done to his finances by the poor harvest, and his fear he might even have to sell Pemberley. He did not hold back. He said everything that he thought and everything that he felt and everything that he feared, and he felt much better at the end of it.
Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had listened attentively without interrupting, said, ‘This is grave news indeed. But are you certain things are so bleak?’
‘You are welcome to read Tranter’s letter yourself,’ he said. ‘If you will come with me to my study . . . ’
The two men rose and went across the hall into the study. It was a masculine room, without any of the feminine touches that marked out the drawing-room. There were no flowers and no embroidered cushions; no china ornaments or landscapes. The paintings on the walls were of horses and dogs. The room was lined with leather-bound books and the chairs were deep-buttoned and made of leather.
Mr Darcy went over to his desk and opened the top left-hand drawer. He took out a letter and handed it to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Colonel Fitzwilliam read it and his face was somber.
‘Things do indeed look grim,’ he said. ‘But surely you will not have to sell Pemberley? I know that much of your income comes from your investments but much of it also comes from land. You have tenant farmers paying you rent and you yourself farm much of the land.’
‘That is true. But we have had three poor harvests in a row. I could, of course, keep Pemberley to the bitter end and I might yet do so. But I do not want to see the estate fall into disrepair and perhaps it would be better to sell it to someone with enough money to keep it in good heart, rather than cutting down the staff and neglecting repairs so that the estate becomes a mockery of what it onc
e was.’
‘There is no need to decide now,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam, handing the letter back to Mr Darcy.
‘No.’ Mr Darcy breathed a huge sigh of relief. ‘You do me good, Cousin. Without anyone to talk to, things were bottled up inside me, but now they are out in the open they do not seem quite so bad. As you say, there is no need to decide now. I will not have to take any big decisions in a hurry. But I cannot carry out the repairs as I would wish. I must defer them until such time as I know more about the future. Once that is done, I can take my decisions accordingly.’ His mouth gave a bitter twist. ‘There is one expense I can economise on: the Pemberley Christmas ball. My friends and neighbours have all discovered they have somewhere else to go, or something else to do. Many of those who accepted my invitation when I was prosperous have declined it now that rumours of my difficulties have spread.’
‘Then you are better off without them,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam
Mr Darcy heartily agreed.
‘The only reason I regret it is that Georgiana was looking forward to it. She is growing up before my eyes and although she is not yet out, there would be nothing improper in her attending a private ball, held in her own home.’
‘There will be plenty of balls for her in the future,’ said Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Mr Darcy thought of his present troubles and the effect they were likely to have on his sister and said under his breath ‘I hope so.’
Chapter Seven
Elizabeth felt a mingled sense of relief and a sense of expectation as the de Bourgh carriage rolled through the gates of Pemberley and made its way up the long and winding drive. She had been there once before, when touring Derbyshire with her aunt and uncle, but then the park had presented a very different appearance. It had been summer and the sky had been blue. There had been the scent of newly-scythed grass drifting in through the open carriage window and there had been colourful flowers blossoming in stone urns by the side of the drive. But today, as they drove through the wood, they saw bare trees instead of leafy green canopies. The house became visible much sooner and was viewed between a tracery of branches which were etched against the sky. It was a large handsome stone building but today the stone was not softened by sunshine. It was instead thrown into stark relief by the whiteness of the frosty ground. The descended the hill and crossed the bridge, beneath which the stream flowed more slowly than it had done in the summer. Elizabeth saw slivers of ice in the water and she shivered, pulling her cloak more firmly about herself.
Darcy and Elizabeth What If? Collection 4 Page 13
