The Portrait of Elizabeth

by Jane Angwin

  After a more animated dinner than usual with Georgiana and Frederick, they moved to the music room and Georgiana played the pianoforte for the gentlemen while they enjoyed another small snifter of Charron's cognac. Darcy noticed a perceptible change in Georgiana's mood and her choice of music, as her playing was lighter than it had been in many months. It occurred to him that the conversation at dinner was one where one of the parties was relieved to be finally sharing a long held secret, and the other was immersing herself in the clandestine nature of Charron's journey from France to his new life in England to avoid dealing with her own dark secret. Perhaps the two would develop an unexpected friendship beneficial to both.

  After a quarter of an hour or so, Frederick stifled a yawn and apologized to Georgiana for his rudeness. "My fatigue is not due to your beautiful playing, Miss Darcy. I have been sharing a prized cognac with your brother this evening, and it has had a profound effect on my manners!"

  Georgiana acknowledged his apology and claimed to also be feeling weary after a long day. "I think I too will go to my chambers and get some rest. I wish to arise early in the morning to see you off on your journey." With that, Charron and Georgiana stood and said goodnight to Darcy. They left the room together, discussing their mutual hope for good traveling weather the next day.

  Chapter Five

  The Light in the Gallery

  Darcy could not quite believe the change in his sister this evening after learning of Charron's covert escape and life as an immigrant in a strange country. "It is quite clear that she has needed some type of diversion to take her mind off her own disappointment in herself," he thought to himself. "I have been remiss in keeping her here at Pemberley with nothing but her music and conversations with her dull brother. I am not equipped to know the best ways to guide and entertain a girl of such a young age with no sister or mother to be a proper role model and to provide advice for things I know nothing about."

  With that, Darcy left the music room intending to go to his chambers to try to find sleep, but he found himself turning instead down a long corridor he rarely entered housing the portraits of all his Darcy ancestors. Someone had lit candles along the way, and he found this quite odd as it was never lit unless they had large events. He walked along, examining the portraits, noting that each large canvas was dark and solemn, providing no clue as to their trials and joys, their successes and failures, and the complex lives they had led. "Is this all there is to living?" he thought. "Is it truly so meaningless to simply be a portrait hanging on a wall in a dark corridor at the end of your life? What a disheartening point of view," he thought. "Where did these dark thoughts come from? I cannot allow these gloomy ideas fill my head."

  He walked along examining the various ladies and gentlemen in all their finery, trying to imagine them walking these very halls. He finally came to the painting Charron had done of his beloved parents while they were still alive. It was his mother's wish that instead of the usual dark and formal likenesses so often painted, she preferred that the painting be bright and colorful to depict their happiness. Charron had perfectly captured their love for one another in a multihued outdoor garden setting with a vibrant blue sky. "How like Mother to wish to be remembered thus," and he realized that his dark thoughts were lifting with fond memories of her. He silently stood in front of their portrait for a long time, noting their relaxed and pleasant smiles, and that this was exactly how he remembered them.

  His father, George Darcy, was a handsome man and a true gentleman. He took great pride in his responsibilities as the keeper of the Darcy name and his grand home, and he was regarded well by all who knew him. He was generous with his servants and the tenants on his land, and he loved and protected his beautiful wife Anne with his whole being. Nothing was too good for her. He knew that she had sacrificed the title of Lady Anne De Bourg to marry him instead, and she had also willingly defied her father's wishes. He didn't know the details of what transpired to get her wish, but she had somehow convinced her father to be allowed to marry George, and for some inexplicable reason, her sister Catherine married De Bourg instead. Darcy saw the way Charron had perfectly depicted the love of his wife on his father's face, and he once again marveled at how the artist was able to capture those nuances. There was no mistaking the bond they shared, and it was his fondest wish to someday find the same type of relationship with a woman.

  He knew he was quite partial to his mother's countenance, but she truly had been a beautiful woman, kind and dear to all who knew her. She treated the cooks and the gardeners the same as she treated her wealthy neighbors, and they all adored her. George offered to take Anne on trips abroad, but she declined, saying she preferred the beauty of Pemberley. He offered her jewels, and she refused them, wearing only his mother's gems left to her. He arranged for the finest modistes in London to make her gowns, but she wanted the local seamstresses of Lambton to sew for her. The only things she ever asked for were gardens to plant her favorite flowers, and a room at Pemberley and in London for her art studio. She also wanted children in the deepest way, and when she gave birth to her son, Fitzwilliam, she wished to fill the halls of Pemberley with many more. After many disappointments and tragic losses, ten years later she finally gave birth to her beloved daughter, Georgiana, and she felt complete at last.

  He recalled how devastated they had been that horrible night when he and his sister watched as his mother had taken her last breath, being held in the arms of their father George. She had taken to her bed with a weakened constitution soon after Georgiana's birth, but she would try time and time again to regain her strength and attempt to resume her normal life, only to lose her strength after a short time, necessitating her return to her chambers for longer and longer periods of time.

  Darcy had wanted to be near her as often as he could, and he sat alongside her bed, reading her favorite books aloud and practicing French with her. She had always worn the scent of Lavender, and that always reminded him of her to this day. Georgiana was too young to be told what was to come, and she didn't realize the seriousness of her illness, but she too visited her mother in her chambers and entertained her with her dolls and little story books she pretended she could read. Darcy's father would stay away during the day, seeing to the business of the running of the estate and the needs of the tenants on his land, but Darcy knew that he spent the nights in the same bed with his mother. The strain of her illness was taking a toll on his father, and his face became drawn and somber. There was little joy in their home during those last days, and the final night was a scene he could never erase from his memory.

  That last day, Anne had called for William and asked to speak to him alone. She drew him to her side and asked him to hold her hand while she spoke. "My darling boy, you are the pride of my life. You have grown to be such an astonishing young man, and the joy of spending long afternoons with you in our studio and now having you read to me as you do has filled my heart with such love, I cannot express myself adequately. I know that I do not have that much time left on this earth," and with that, before she could finish, and although trying to be strong, Darcy hung his head and let out a sob. "Please, William, I know that you are aware of the truth, and you must be strong for your sister. Your father may not always be there for you for some time in his grief after I am gone, and I want you to realize that this is not because he does not love you and Georgiana." She closed her eyes for a moment, and then continued in a softer voice. "Your father and I have had a wonderful marriage and life together. We have been blessed with a marriage of love, and it will be difficult for him to carry on." She squeezed Darcy's hand and continued, "And this is what I pray for you as well, William. Be true only to yourself, son. Do not abide by the strict rules of society when looking for love. There is a perfect woman out there for you, my darling boy, and one who will love you for yourself and not for who you are and what you own. Many women will throw themselves at you because of your wealth and your handsome face, but beware of their motives. I ignored all of those st
rictures when I defied my father and declared my love for your father. I was intended to marry another, but it was my good fortune that unusual circumstances occurred to change those plans of my father, and I was able to marry your father instead." She was visibly exhausted from her long dialogue, and she smiled at William and closed her eyes. After a few moments, she opened her eyes and a new sense of strength, she said, "I have been the luckiest woman in all of England to be married to your father and to have the beautiful children we were blessed with. I want you to know, my son, that I will always be with you, watching over you. If it is in my power, even in the afterlife, I will guide you toward the happiness you deserve."

  Darcy could see that his mother had grown extremely weary after this long discourse. He wanted to stay and hear more of his mother's beautiful words, but he knew that she needed her rest. He let go of her fragile hand, placing it gently by her side, and he stood from her bedside, bending down to gently kiss her pale forehead. "I love you mother," he said quietly, inhaling the lavender she wore. "With all my heart."

  "I know, William." She whispered. "And I love you too." With that, he turned away and tearfully left the room. Not many hours later, their housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, came to his room and told him to quickly come with her, and together with his sister, Georgiana, they were escorted to his mother's chambers, where they observed his father holding his mother in his arms, sobbing as she passed from the world.

  His father had never been the same since that night. He had loved his wife with all his heart and soul, and the emptiness and sadness of their home was palpable. He watched his father's once seemingly invincible strength diminish slowly over time, and the loss of Anne rendered all of them paralyzed with sorrow for a very, very long time.

  He stared at his parents' portrait for what felt like a prolonged period of time, and then his eyes shifted to where there appeared to be a faint glow of some sort illuminating his mother's position in the painting. He had never noticed that before. It was almost as though there was a halo around her, and he felt it was yet again something that only Charron could accomplish to show her true essence.

  He spoke out loud as if they could hear him, "I am so very sorry for my mistakes with Georgiana. I will endeavor to make this right somehow." He hung his head and thought to turn and leave, but just at that moment, he felt a slight breeze waft past him with the smell of lavender, his mother's favorite, which was unusual since there were no open windows in the corridor. He knew that it was impossible, but it was undeniably there. To try to explain the sensation, he told himself that perhaps he also had imbibed too much of Charron's cognac that evening.

  His eyes scanned past the empty space next to their portrait where Georgiana's portrait would hang when it was completed, and focused on the last portrait which was of himself as a younger man. "You still have a lot to learn Fitzwilliam Darcy," he said in a loud voice. The young man in front of him had the look of confidence and optimism, with a full life of adventure and goodness in front of him, and it hurt Darcy to know that the boy in the painting could not know what was to come so soon. He could not know that he would be robbed of the freedom of choosing one's own path in life, and the need to shoulder the tremendous responsibilities that lay ahead. "Enjoy your youth while you can, young man. Your life will certainly not be what you imagined."

  Darcy decided to turn and go back to his chambers, but noticed the bare space where his future wife's portrait would hang if he should marry. It was almost as if he could hear his mother say, "You need a good woman in your life to be Georgiana's sister and confidant, and you need a loving wife to end your loneliness." He shook his head, remembering his final conversation with his mother, and knowing that thus far he had not met any woman that he could imagine being with for the rest of his life. The ladies of the ton who relentlessly sought his attention were either dull and of simple minds, or purely mercenary, and his idea of marrying for love as his parents did was quite rare in his sphere. The thought of marriage of convenience to combine large estates and family names for greater wealth and prestige was inconceivable to him. "I cannot abide that life for myself," he thought. "If I am to share my sister, my home, and my bed with a woman, it must be for the deepest love and mutual respect. Perhaps it isn't my lot to ever find that perfect woman. She truly may not exist." But then he shuddered when he recalled the great loss his father had experienced and how it had changed him. "Perhaps I should not marry for love after all," he thought. "Father married for love, and losing Mother is what killed him. I am not sure if I could go through what he did."

  As Darcy stood motionless staring at the bare wall, he once again felt a slight draft of air across his face and noticed the distinct scent of lavender. There also seemed to be a faint luminosity on the dark wall where the portrait would hang, but the heavy drapes behind him were pulled shut, and only small candles were lit nearby. He blinked hard, and the glow was gone. "I think I must be losing my wits," he thought and quickly turned and strode back down the corridor to find his quarters. "I truly must be careful if I drink Frederick's cognac in the future. I believe it has some hallucinogenic component, and it has addled my brain."

  Chapter Six

  Lady Catherine

  Darcy entered his bed chamber and sat on the bed to tug off his tall Hessians. He removed his waistcoat and cravat and unbuttoned his shirt. Weary from the day, he sat down in his reading chair and closed his eyes. He thought of watching his father at the end of an evening, weary from his responsibilities and society, going through the same motions so as not to bother his valet at such a late hour. He was so much like his father in many ways, but he knew in his heart he was more like his mother; A loving heart, ready to give to others, thinking rarely of herself. "I have a constant inner battle to outwardly show the world that I am like my father, strong, resolute, decisive, but inside I am quite the opposite. I am so tired of holding those traits in. I dearly wish for a companion to share all of me, both parts, with no pretense."

  He stretched his legs out and thought about his mother's goodness and the unexplainable difference between her and her spiteful sister, Lady Catherine. How he disliked having to go to her estate each year at Easter to play the part of a dutiful nephew. How he detested her insistence that it was his mother's fondest wish that he marry Catherine's daughter, her namesake, Anne. Darcy vividly recalled his final conversation with his mother and knew that his mother had never agreed to such an arrangement, so this could only be the fervent wish of a deranged woman with a sickly daughter and no other wealthy prospects.

  In spite of Catherine's bitter jealousy toward her younger, more beautiful sister, and her offensive and spiteful behavior toward anyone and everyone, lovely Anne had still professed a love for her sister, and she held no rancor toward her. Darcy and his father had merely tolerated Catherine when she visited, and it pained his father to watch her torment and browbeat their staff as if they were hers to direct. She never mentioned the promise that she claimed his mother had made to join their children at maturity in front of his father. It was only when she had Darcy to herself at Rosings that she pressed her ridiculous point.

  Catherine was a miserable woman. Darcy had heard the rumors about the compromise of Lord De Bourg and her hasty marriage, the unfortunate result of which was the birth of a child that interrupted her plans for a grand lifestyle, expensive gowns, and social status. Instead, in the first months of her marriage, she was forced to wear unattractive and expanding attire, she felt sick and swollen every day, and she secluded herself at Rosings. Lord De Bourg had hoped that a child would soften Catherine's tyrannical nature, but her confinement only made her mood worsen. It was a long and miserable period of time for De Bourg and the long-suffering staff at Rosings, but at last she gave birth to the child, and it was hoped that she would return to her easier to handle dictatorial ways instead of screaming and throwing vases and figurines against walls and into the various fireplaces. This was not to be. If anything, she screamed louder and quickly ran out of
vases to throw.

  She had named her daughter Anne, probably to endear herself to her sister to encourage her nonsensical plot for their children, but Catherine never did anything in the slightest bit altruistic, and George correctly felt there must be an ulterior motive, perhaps even something underhanded. He never voiced his feelings to his wife, but he was certain it would become clear at some point and he was ever on guard for whatever was to come.

  The girl was born a sickly child. Living at Rosings under the watchful eye and overpowering control of her mother, she was not allowed the life of a normal child, and she was confined to her chambers with little activity and no companionship except for her Governess, Mrs. Barrett. Lord De Bourg doted on his daughter and wished to take her to Brighton for the good sea air, but Lady Catherine adamantly refused. De Bourg wanted to teach her to ride to exercise her weak body, and he bought her a small and gentle horse of her own, but Lady Catherine scoffed at the plan. He bought her a pianoforte, but the woman claimed it would make Anne weary sitting so long. She claimed that the books he bought for her would over stimulate her, and they were thrown out.

  And so it went for several wretched years living under the same roof with this woman he called wife. She ignored his every suggestion, and ultimately, she ignored him altogether. He was now a man of fifty years to her eight and twenty years, and she had no use for him in her parlor, her dining room, or her bed. She lived in her own angry world, and he was merely an unnecessary annoyance . Late one evening, after years of living with her domineering personality and her insufferable cruelty, his unhappy heart stopped, and he succumbed in his library while smoking a cigar. He wasn't missed until his valet became worried and searched for him. Lady Catherine was infuriated that his cigar had fallen and burned a hole in her expensive Persian rug, and she insisted that the room be aired out immediately once his body was removed. She had no funeral for him, she never mourned, she never mentioned it to her family, and she told her daughter Anne that he had left them for another woman and her children.