by Nicky Roth
'Yes, I heard it at White's this morning and I have to say, it took me somewhat by surprise. I never had much of an idea you cared for that woman.'
'I do not. Or at least in no other way than that she is the sister of a friend of mine.'
'And yet, I heard that you basically spent a whole evening with her by your side. Darcy, do be careful, I know you are eager to keep the ladies at bay but to resort to using another young lady as deterrent has its dangers,' his cousin continued with some seriousness. 'You know how quickly people talk, and with you being seven and twenty and unmarried still...'
He need not say more.
'I did, Fitzwilliam, and it was no pleasure, I assure you. However, there is little I can do to avoid her. She is, after all, Bingley's sister and as it stands, I have been invited by him to join their party on the morrow to go and see an exhibition. What I have most certainly not done, is encourage her in any way.'
'I would not have thought you had, but perhaps you should distance yourself from that family for a while to show there is nothing to the gossip.'
He would do just that. Tomorrow he would go to the museum with his friends and then... - well, what then? He could actually do with a little break. A little rest from the treadmill of sheer endless social obligations. But where should he go? If he went to the continent it would be a change of scene, but not necessarily of society. He would have to think about it, but for now, there was little to do than to follow the call for dinner and march into the dining room.
Two full courses of fairly decent food, dull conversation and awkward smiles from across the table where the eldest Miss Brandon had been placed by obvious design. Nothing out of the ordinary. The leaving of the ladies while the gentlemen stayed behind for cigars and port was the highlight of the meal.
'I heard you have an estate in Derbyshire?' a man unbeknownst to him approached Darcy.
Oh, but he did know him, at least by sight. It had been the pasty-faced man who had asked Louisa Bingley for a set just before Darcy himself had left the last ball.
'I have indeed, Mr?'
'I am so sorry, Mr Darcy, I have only just arrived, after attending a dinner at Lord Fairbank's house, you know? Very noble family. Anyway, my name, Sir, is Walter Hurst. How do you do?' the man simply introduced himself, reaching out a sluggish hand that went perfectly d'accord with the man's drawling tone of voice.
'How do you do, Sir.'
Already he had no opinion of the man, but since they were now introduced, he could scarcely avoid speaking to him.
'Then I take it you know how to deal with gardeners, Mr Darcy? Miss Bingley, I believe, mentioned that you had extensive grounds and the most beautiful gardens she has ever seen.'
'Gardeners?' Darcy once again more stammered than actually asked from sheer perplexity.
Oddly enough, the one time Bingley and his sisters had visited him at Pemberley for a week before carrying on to Scarborough both ladies had determined that the park had looked far too natural and could do with a bit of artifice here and there and practically everywhere. What were gardens without a hermitage or a folly? Without a Grecian temple or an impressive fountain? And the lake... - No, better not think about Pemberley at this moment.
'Yes. You see, I have only recently purchased a house in town and the gardens, quite small, of course, do need a lot of tending to be of any lady's liking. But the man who has seen to the grounds seems unable to think of anything but lawns and hedges.'
'If that is the case, I recommend you consult Mr Rapton or Mr Dawlish. The latter is perhaps less renown, but I have to admit that I myself much prefer his style.'
And not only that, Darcy doubted that Humphrey Rapton would concern himself with any garden smaller than ten acres unless his client happened to be an Earl at the very least.
'Do you, indeed? I have never heard of the man. But perhaps, you could have a look?'
'I am afraid not as I am currently engaged in preparations for a journey I intend to take and which I have planned for a while now.'
What had possessed him to say that was beyond him, but all of a sudden, what had been nothing but a vague idea, had manifested itself out of thin air. Yes, he would go travelling... - no actually, he would leave society for a couple of weeks and Mr Hurst, of all people, had just given him an idea.
'Oh, a Grand Tour?' the man, unaware of his involuntary helpfulness, asked familiarly.
'Yes.'
Well, not quite, but to voice what his real intentions were would raise more than an eyebrow, no it presumably would cause a scandal and possibly have him end his days in Bedlam.
The rest of the evening, Darcy spent deep in thought, and as was his habit, excused himself as soon as was possible without giving too much offence. Not that he was too fazed by it if he did, but as with everything, it was a matter of not overdoing things.
The walk home was a relief. To breathe the fresh air, humid and cold this early in the year and despite the denseness, it always possessed in town, was more than welcome after the increasing stickiness of the over-crowded salon and the noise from the entertainment that had been provided by the ladies as soon as the gentlemen had joined them. He liked music, but where conversation and singing competed with one another it was bound to quickly turn into an ante-chamber of hell.
Chapter 3
I think we are becoming the best informed society that has ever died of ignorance.
– Reuben Blades
The idea that had come to him the night before sounded all the more tempting as he strolled through the latest exhibition of one of the many private museums in London, once again with his friend's sisters on either arm, while Bingley himself attended the very lady that had captured his heart three nights ago. Knowing his friend, he would soon enough come to his senses. Charles Bingley was by no means fickle, but easy to impress nonetheless. Although Miss Catrell was pretty enough, as soon as she opened her mouth, the picture of near perfection was somewhat disturbed. Si tacuisses, philosophus mansisses[1]... - A prime example.
'Why would anyone mummify a cat?' Louisa Bingley suddenly asked, staring with incredulity and disgust at the shrivelled creature in the cabinet before them.
'Because for the Egyptians cats were holy creatures,' he answered flatly.
They had all received a neatly printed guide at the entrance that among some truths, in general, was nothing but the fantastic nonsense of an overly imaginative mind. Still, ever since Napoleon, though rightfully perceived as an arch-enemy, had tried to take over Egypt some ten years ago, interest in this ancient culture had spawned all over Europe and it was some achievement to not have read at least one extract if not a whole book that covered the topic. Miss Bingley had obviously excelled.
'How can a cat be holy?' Caroline Bingley promptly chimed in as if intent to outshine her sister in regards to her ignorance. 'It is nothing but a lowly animal.'
'For you that might very well be so, Miss Caroline, but the Egyptians have worshipped many animals as manifestations of their gods. The ibis, the crocodile, the cat, the ram as well as the bull are but few that come to mind.'
'You are so well educated, Mr Darcy...' Miss Bingley all but fawned. 'How do you know all these things?'
'I read.'
'But, of course,' her younger sister picked up the conversation he dearly wished to end in order to actually be able to look at the exhibits, for they were rather interesting, despite the pathetic attempt of a brevier. 'You always buy books and on so many varying topics, it always baffles me. Then again, the library at Pemberley is an impressive one.'
'It has been the work of many generations, I should think it well stocked and extensive.'
'And yet, you have added so many volumes yourself. You always seem to buy books.'
'With so many works of quality published in recent years, whether it be literature, history or science, I would be negligent if I did not. Never before has there been a time when knowledge was so abundant and new discoveries made so frequently. One would be
considered careless not to make the most of it.'
'Oh, let me assure you, no-one could blame you of negligence or carelessness, Mr Darcy!' Miss Caroline cried out, ignoring his little jab even if she had realised that it had been one.
'I wonder why they depicted people so awkwardly,' Louisa Bingley sighed, pointing at a stela with elaborate hieroglyphics carved into it. 'And they are always shown from the side, never from the front, it seems.'
'If you look at medieval paintings, you will find that they are rather one dimensional as well. Styles change and differ from culture to culture. I dare say it is futile to ask why and safe to assume that in a couple of hundred years people will look at our culture wondering what we were thinking when decorating our houses with a Grecian style frieze and Roman columns.'
'But that would be obvious, surely. Because it is tasteful, of course,' the lady on his other arm threw in.
'And perhaps that is just what the Egyptians thought, that it is tasteful to depict a person from his or her side instead of from the front.'
'Now that is nonsense, Mr Darcy!'
'It might very well be, but it could also be accurate for all we know.'
'Oh, shame on you, Mr Darcy! You are teasing us.'
Teasing either of the Miss Bingley's was the last thing on his mind, getting away from them was decidedly closer to the truth.
'And, Darcy, what do you say to this marvellous exhibition?'
Bingley, sans his companion, had finally re-appeared, all smiling and bubbly as always.
'It is interesting,' was all his reply.
'And, have you gotten through it yet?'
They had not, nor, at this point had he much inclination to do so. Again his mind strayed towards the outrageous plan he had hatched the night before and thankfully Miss Bingley then yawned claiming to be in need of a refreshment, which was just as well.
'It is so very interesting, but I have to admit that I have had quite enough for one day. There is so much to see, one can be quite overwhelmed by it!'
Her sister seconded her and ten minutes later the whole party had taken a seat in the tea room across the street from the museum. The time had come to break the news to his friends.
'It might surprise you, Bingley, but I have decided to go on a tour.'
'Oh, to Egypt?' Miss Caroline asked interestedly, while her brother seemed thoroughly perplexed.
'Perhaps,' Darcy blatantly lied.
Well, he could hardly tell her that he fully intended to stay in the country, just not as one Fitzwilliam Darcy Esquire.
'So suddenly?' Bingley, at last, managed to inquire. 'When are you going to leave? I never knew you had much inclination for travelling, Darcy. Not abroad at any rate.'
'I had not, and yet, of late I have thought of how much I would miss if I did not. Books and pictures are all nice and well, but they are nothing compared to the actual experience of seeing the ancient monuments for oneself. I am quite determined. As soon as I have settled my business affairs, I will be off.'
'And for how long?'
'I do not know. Does one ever?'
Charles Bingley only shrugged, his brows knitted. His friend was not a fool, he knew that something was afoot and yet, thankfully he did not pursue the matter. Not for the time being.
Chapter 4
A true friend is never getting in the way unless you are happen to going down.
- Arnold Glasow
'Now, Darcy, would you kindly tell me what is going on? It is not like you to just go on a journey.'
It had been a matter of course that his friend would appear on his doorstep the very next morning, though the concerned look on his face was somewhat unsettling.
'Nothing is going on, Bingley. I just decided to travel, that is all.'
'Are you ill? Have you committed an offence and need to run? It all comes a bit suddenly. I mean, I have never heard you even mention a journey before yesterday.'
'Neither, I assure you. I am in perfect health and I have not committed any crime, nor caused a scandal. All I want is a little bit of peace and quiet, nothing more. I will be leaving in a couple of days.'
'So soon? Are you trying to escape the Season?'
'Yes, one could say so,' Darcy admitted with disarming openness. 'I have long thought of how tedious it is to constantly socialise, especially when one is just game for the “matchmaking mamas” and their daughters. I am tired, Bingley, tired of putting on a mask every evening to please the crowds. For weeks now I have felt a desire to just turn my back and I guess I would have already done so, were it not for Georgiana.'
'Now is that not a bit of an exaggeration, old friend? Is it not enjoyable to spend an evening with friends?'
'With friends, yes, but not necessarily with acquaintances. I am seven and twenty, Bingley, and the expectations everybody seems to have for me are weighing me down. I just need a little time to myself, be it alone or amongst people who see and value me for who I am and not for my wealth and status. It is a sham Bingley. All this is a sham and I am heartily sick and tired of it. I have grown so cynical to an extent where I hardly recognise myself anymore.'
Understanding lit up in his friend's eyes. Though possessing a completely different disposition, this did not mean Charles Bingley did not know that for his friend an evening engagement was more of a chore than the pleasure it was for himself.
'And so you are travelling to Egypt?'
'No, I will stay in the country.'
'Hiding away at Pemberley?'
'Of course not! It would be the first place people would presume to find me. What I intend on doing is... - different.'
Darcy hesitated. Was it safe to confess to his friend that what he was about to do was dress up as a labourer and just live a simple life for a couple of months? Yes, it was. Bingley would neither betray his trust nor would he judge him for it.
'And your responsibilities?' was indeed all his friend's reaction.
'I am just now busy sorting everything out. My cousin will take care of all matters regarding Georgiana, the letter to my steward is already written, and as soon as I know where I will stay, I will send on my address to both of them.'
'And what about me?'
'Oh, do not worry, old friend, I will write to you as well as long as you promise me to answer in an intelligible manner.'
'That I cannot promise, but I will at least try. Perhaps you could add false missives of your journey in case somebody asks me how you are faring,' Bingley now grinned. 'You know, I am starting to agree with you, you do need some time away and once you return, you might even enjoy the hubbub of society again. You already seem more relaxed than I have seen you in weeks.'
That he would ever truly enjoy his social tasks Darcy dared to doubt, but at least he would be more able to tolerate its follies.
'Thank you, Bingley. I appreciate your discretion and understanding.'
'What are friends for, eh Darcy? If there is anything you need help with, let me know.'
'I will.'
'Good. Then I will leave you to your preparations and carry on with my seemingly endless search for an estate of my own. My sisters are quite insistent I purchase one just like our father had intended. Louisa is all for a house close to town while Caroline insists that there is no better county than Derbyshire.'
If Caroline Bingley had been sincere, which he doubted, he would be inclined to agree with her.
'And what do you want?'
'If only I knew, Darcy. But as long as the neighbourhood is a good and lively one, it does not really matter where it is located, I suppose.'
This statement made Darcy chuckle. His friend indeed was a man as easy to please as that. How he still managed to be so sensible was a mystery, but somehow Bingley did manage to combine perfect amiability with sense and on top of that made it look as if it was the easiest thing on Earth.
Chapter 5
It is not easy to walk alone in the country without musing upon something.
- Charles Dickens
>
Five days later, Darcy's carriage stopped in front of his house in Mayfair, trunks strapped to the back of the chaise to give the right impression of him taking off towards the continent, though in truth they contained nothing but a couple of papers and letters to be delivered to his housekeeper and steward at Pemberley. The only things he would take on his “adventure”, as he had begun to call it, was a small knapsack containing some paper, a pencil and a penknife for writing letters, a spare shirt and stockings, second-hand shaving utensils and a comb, as well as a small sum of money, a battered hymn book, after all one never knew, a slice of pork pie and a bottle of admittedly rather stale ale.
