Mr. Darcy's Daughter

by Rebecca Ann Collins

  Lizzie's voice broke and soon she was in tears.

  Mr Carr, having proffered a large handkerchief, stepped away for a few moments to let her alone until she had ceased weeping. When, at last, she dried her eyes and blew her nose, he said, gently,"Miss Gardiner, you must let me take you home now; my carriage is at hand, just in the lane way behind the saddlery. We can leave by the back door and no one in the street will see you."

  She told him then that she had seen him enter the saddlery and rushed across the road in the hope that he would help her get away from Mr Jones."It was plain to me, he intended to walk with me all the way home if possible. I could not have borne that. What would Mama have thought, or my grandparents, whose son's life he has helped ruin?"

  Mr Carr agreed that such a situation would have been quite intolerable and she had done well to get away from Jones. He then thanked the saddler and his wife, paid them, and promised to return to collect his saddle, before taking Lizzie out into the lane way, where his vehicle waited. Having helped her in and tucked a rug around her knees, he drove off, taking the back roads until he was clear of the village, swinging across the common and back onto the Matlock Road.

  It was a longer and rougher route, he said, apologising for the discomfort it might cause her, but at least they were unlikely to meet Mr Jones.

  Lizzie smiled, for the first time since she had heard Mr Jones's voice in the shop, and said that the bumps in the road were far preferable to the prospect of meeting Mr Jones again.

  Mr Carr encouraged her to smile by assuring her that she was quite safe from such an eventuality."You need have no fears about this man Jones. I will personally inform him that his approaches to you are not welcome; indeed, I will take your brother Darcy with me to reinforce the message and make certain that he understands that he is to leave you alone. You must have the freedom to walk around the district that is your home, the village you have known since childhood, without fear of being accosted by some stranger you do not wish to meet. I give you my word, Miss Gardiner, that I will see he does not trouble you again."

  Lizzie's relief was so great, she could not hold back the tears that welled up in her eyes; he stopped the vehicle and provided yet another clean handkerchief, waiting a while until she was calm before driving on.

  Despite her tears, Lizzie was not unduly embarrassed, for he had been solicitous and sensible of her feelings and, it seemed to her, he was kindness and consideration itself. When at last they reached the house, he helped her out, took her indoors, and stayed with her until he could be assured that she was quite composed.

  Before he left her, she thanked him and gave him her hand, which he held for a while in both of his before lifting it to his lips.

  "Now remember, Lizzie," he said,"you have no need to fear, but if you are at all concerned, do not go alone into the village for the next week or so, until we are certain Mr Jones has left the district."

  And with that he went, leaving her smiling, despite her fears, for she was conscious of the fact that he had spoken her name and called her Lizzie for the first time in their acquaintance. Going upstairs to her room, she closed the door and lay on her bed. She felt exhausted, drained of energy, yet surprisingly elated.

  The sense of helplessness she had suffered in the company of Jones had frightened her, but the joyous relief she had felt, finding Mr Carr in the shop, had been such a wonderful feeling as she had never known before. Her emotions had swung so swiftly from one extreme to the other, she had felt breathless for some minutes, unable to explain why she was in such a state. Yet, he had been so patient and kind. Lying in bed, Lizzie relived the experience and thought deeply about her feelings. Was it possible, she wondered, that these new sensations were the beginnings of love? Or could they be merely some temporary excitement? She wished she could tell the difference.

  With no one in whom she could confide, Lizzie was reluctant to admit, even to herself, that she was in love with Michael Carr. Between them, there had been none of the covert flirtation she had witnessed between other lovers. Mr Carr was clearly not the type of man who would indulge in such a jejune pastime and, while Lizzie saw no harm in the gentle teasing in which she sometimes indulged, she despised the blatant coquetry of women like Hetty Wallace-Groom.

  The thought of Hetty and Mr Barrett brought to mind her Aunt Josie and she blushed, recalling that Mr Carr knew all about the grief and shame associated with her aunt's recent conduct. She could only hope that he would not associate her with anything similar. She thrust the thought aside. It would be unthinkable.

  The longer Lizzie considered it, the more certain she became that hers was a genuine affection. The realisation of her feelings for Mr Carr had taken her by surprise at first, but as she contemplated them, she felt increasingly more comfortable with them. As for his feelings towards her, his conduct had always been exemplary—courteous, concerned and, more recently, tending towards fondness. Today, she had detected a degree of tenderness, to which she, being vulnerable, had responded without reserve. She had felt safe with him, trusted him, and was coming gradually to believe she loved him.

  Even as she relived the day, with its terror and joy, Lizzie could feel the deepening warmth of their association. She was being drawn into something new, she was not entirely certain what, but it was more pleasurable than anything she had known before. She felt no apprehension, but wished desperately that she had someone to confide in. If only, she thought again and again, if only she had someone she could talk to, someone who knew what love felt like!

  Unhappily for young Lizzie Gardiner, at a time in her life when she most needed a confidante, one who could help her understand the turbulence of her feelings, she had none.

  * * *

  The cold fingers of the North wind had already begun to reach down and strip the leaves from the trees; those that had already turned gold and russet in early Autumn were crumpled and strewn around, as the year moved closer to Winter. In the fields a good harvest had been gathered in; it had been a fruitful season and, following the thanksgiving at the church, the young people in the parish had planned a picnic to Dove dale.

  But, a cold spell had come without warning, spoiling their plans, and a disappointed party of young folk was about to return home when they met Mr Carr returning on horseback from Matlock. Stopping to greet them and hearing of their aborted plans, he invited them up to Rushmore Farm, which promised more shelter and warmth than their original destination.

  The delighted picnickers, including Darcy Gardiner, his two sisters, their cousins from Kympton—Jessica and Jude Courtney, and a few other young men and ladies from the parish, packed up their baskets, climbed into their vehicles, and followed their benefactor up the road to the farm.

  With a great log fire ablaze, ample food, and good company, the day was spent in the pleasant est possible ways that a party of young people might devise. Jessica Courtney, the Rector's daughter, who had come along as a chaperone, had brought her book and curled up on the sofa by the window to read.

  The room in which they were accommodated was the very room, which many months ago, Lizzie had described as the perfect recreation room for a family. Since then, it had been refurbished and appointed to look exactly as she had imagined.

  Reminding her of the earlier occasion, Mr Carr asked,"What is your opinion of the room now, Miss Gardiner? Do you approve?"

  Lizzie was enthusiastic in her reply."Indeed, I do, Mr Carr; it has been perfectly done. I cannot have imagined it better."

  "I have you to thank for it. Without your most original suggestion, it may have become a billiard room or a place where the gentlemen met to drink and boast of their success after a shoot; instead we have this charming room, one that a family and its friends may all enjoy. It is now my favourite room in the house and I owe it all to you," he said graciously, and she replied with suitable modesty,"It's kind of you to say so, but I think you have done exceedingly well; the soft hues and pleasing tones of the drapes and carpets are quite perfect
."

  Despite the lowering clouds, the threatened storm did not eventuate and, by early afternoon, the wind eased and the sun came out, enabling them to leave the house and walk out to enjoy the beauty of the woods and meadows, which surrounded the farm. Those who had never visited the property followed Darcy Gardiner, whose familiarity with his friend's estate made him the ideal guide.

  Lizzie, who had not met Mr Carr alone since the day in the village when he had saved her from being pestered by Jones, found herself walking with him, as they made their way along a path that cut across the woodlands towards the stream that flowed through the property.

  As the path grew more steep, he took her hand, as if it were the most natural thing to do, and let her lean on him when they had to climb down towards the water, as she used her right hand to pick up her skirts.

  They had reached a point where the stream made a shallow pool among the rocks, which one might cross by means of stepping stones. Lizzie, who was accustomed to admiring the grandeur of the grounds at Pemberley, was completely enchanted by the natural simplicity of the woodlands here and wanted very much to get across the pool, so she could do as the others had done and follow the stream to its confluence with the River Wye on the borders of the property.

  She was about to place her foot on the first of the stepping stones, when Mr Carr held her back, and standing astride the rock pool, lifted her over the water and stood her down on dry land."There you are," he said."At least, you will not have wet feet."

  Lizzie, very conscious of his closeness when he had picked her up, said lightly, as he set her down,"Thank you and I shall have you to thank when I do not catch cold."

  "Indeed, we cannot have that," he said, adding,"Come, we must hurry or we shall miss the others," and reaching for her hand again, he helped her along the rocky path.

  Lizzie's face was flushed and she did not look up at him as they walked, but she made no effort to take her hand away from his. They had walked on for quite a while, before they heard the rest of the party returning. They had already climbed to the crest of the hill descending to the river; their excited voices were heard describing the view of the valley below.

  Lizzie looked up at her companion and he seemed to understand the unspoken message in her eyes, as he patted her hand reassuringly and let it go, just seconds before Darcy, Laura, Rachel, and the rest emerged, crashing through the undergrowth and snapping the ferns underfoot.

  Lizzie cried out,"Oh, look out! You must not crush the undergrowth so, or you will kill all the little creatures that live in it."

  The others stopped in their tracks and everyone went suddenly silent.

  For Lizzie, the magic was suddenly gone. It was time to return and they tramped back to the farm and gathered up their things, preparing to leave. The daylight was almost gone, too.

  But, Lizzie could not forget how she had felt, at that moment in the woods.

  It seemed to her that Mr Carr remembered it also, for when he helped her into the carriage, his hand grasped hers firmly and stayed so for a moment or two after she was seated, while they said their good-byes. Darcy was driving and did not see them, and little Laura Ann was too tired after her walk in the woods to notice anything at all.

  When Mr Carr asked,"And may I call on you at home on Sunday, Lizzie?"

  her eyes shone and she smiled as she said,"Yes, yes of course, Mr Carr."

  * * *

  The Gardiners had scarcely reached their house when the storm that had been threatening all afternoon broke across the dales. The rain poured down relentlessly for an hour or more.

  "That must be the last of the Summer storms, returning in Autumn," said Cassy as they sat taking tea in the sitting room. Looking out at the rain as it lashed the trees and spilt the last of their leaves across the lawn, Cassy suddenly cried out,"Good God! Who could that be in this weather? I could have sworn I saw a woman run across the lawn and back towards the kitchen."

  Darcy and Lizzie, who'd been curled up on the rug in front of the fire, toasting muffins, got up and went to the windows; they could see no one."You must have imagined it, Mama," said her son, while Lizzie thought it may have been the broken bough of a tree, being dragged across by the wind.

  They had just returned to their places by the fire when Mrs Bates, the housekeeper, entered the room. She seemed troubled and wary."Beg your pardon, ma'am, but there is here a young person, says her name is Susan; she is asking to see Miss Elizabeth, ma'am."

  "Susan? Did you say Susan? Why that must be Aunt Josie's maid!" Lizzie was up and out of the room in seconds.

  "Where is she?" she asked.

  "I've made her sit by the fire, Miss Elizabeth; she was soaked through, the poor creature. It seems she has walked here from Lambton," Mrs Bates replied.

  "Oh, my God," Lizzie exclaimed, as she rushed into the kitchen followed closely by her mother, who was puzzled as to what this might mean. Sure enough, sitting by the fire, wet and bedraggled, looking absolutely miserable, was Susan, Josie's faithful maid.

  "Mama, it is Susan. My God, she is shaking with cold; hurry, get some towels and dry clothes, else she will catch pneumonia," Lizzie cried, and Cassy sent the maids racing upstairs to do her bidding.

  The girl's hands were blue with cold and she was shivering even though she sat close to the fire. She kept trying to tell them something, but Cassy insisted it could wait until she was dry and warm, with a largemug of hot, sweet tea in her hands.

  Some half an hour later, they took Susan upstairs to Lizzie's room, where sitting in front of the fire, she related an extraordinary tale that both Cassy and her daughter heard as though it concerned some fictitious character in a melodramatic romance, so incredible did it seem.

  Susan gave a terrible, bitter account of foolish, misplaced trust and cruel betrayal. Josie, she told them, was in dire need of help. She had tried, during the first few weeks after she left her home, to discover how and when Mr Barrett intended to have her book of poems published. He had led her to believe it had all been arranged with his friend Mr Jones, but then he had made several excuses—his friend had gone overseas to Italy on business, was attending a family wedding, had become involved in some important business in Scotland, and so on.

  Lizzie, knowing exactly where Jones had been for most of the Summer, bit her lip to keep from interrupting.

  As each month passed, Josie had become more impatient and Barrett had grown less and less considerate of her feelings, Susan said.

  "Poor Mrs Darcy, ma'am, she wanted so much to hope that he would do as he had promised. She hoped he would keep his word about the book; she tried to keep her spirits up, but sadly, ma'am, he never said nothing to her about it.

  And if she would ask him, he'd get angry and shout at her, telling her not to bother him."

  Cassandra looked at her daughter and saw the compassion in her troubled face as Susan continued,"Then, when most of the money she had brought with her was over, she was too proud to ask him for any, so she sent me out to pawn or sell her pieces of jewellery and her trinkets. She will never have the means to redeem them; they're gone forever, ma'am, all her lovely things Mr Julian had given her, all but her wedding ring, are gone and all of my little savings, too."

  "And where is she now, Susan? Is she still with Barrett?" asked Cassandra.

  Susan shook her head vigorously."Oh no, ma'am, we left the house one day while he had gone down to Richmond to a friend's wedding. Miss Josie was keen to leave. I had found us a couple of rooms in a boardinghouse on the other side of town," she said.

  "Is that where she is?" asked Cassy.

  "Yes, ma'am, but Miss Josie is very sick, ma'am. It's her chest; you should hear her wheezing—it's something terrible. Please, ma'am, she needs a doctor,"

  said the girl, and Cassy asked,"Did she send you?"

  "No, ma'am, she did not want me to come; she was ashamed and sorry, but I knew she would die if I did not try to get her some medication, at least. I had to come; I knew Miss Lizzie would not refus
e to help her. Please, ma'am, will you help?" she pleaded, and there were tears running down her tired, woebegone face.

  Stunned, Cassandra stood mute, but Lizzie said,"Of course we will help.

  She needs a doctor and Papa could probably recommend one in London. You were quite right to come, Susan. Mama, how soon can we go to her?" she asked and Cassy, realising that time was very short, said,"Well, we shall have to wait for your father, but I daresay we can make preparations, get our things together, and be ready for an early start tomorrow. Susan, you will come with us and take us to this boardinghouse?"

  Susan nodded eagerly."Yes, ma'am, but Miss Josie is very poorly and needs some good food. She has not eaten a decent piece of meat or fish in weeks. She has no appetite; I did ask the woman who runs the house to look after her and see she eats her meals, but she is very busy, ma'am, and has no time to spare."

  Cassy sent for the cook immediately to ask that some simple, wholesome food be prepared and packed to be taken on the morrow to London.

  "She will need nourishment as well as medication, if she is to recover," she said and later she would pack a basket of fresh fruit, cheese, and honey from the larder for the ill-nourished patient, hoping they would not all be in vain. If Josie was as ill as Susan had made out, Cassy was very afraid for her, especially if the Winter was a harsh one this year.

  * * *

  When Richard Gardiner arrived home, the whole sorry tale was retold by his wife and daughter, as he sat, shocked and appalled, before the fire, wondering how a young woman of intelligence and sound upbringing could have been so totally bereft of judgment as to let herself be so badly deceived.