by Nicky Roth
'I see I startled you.'
'A little, perhaps.'
'Good. And?'
'I already told you, Papa.'
'So it has nothing to do with your discovery?'
'Discovery?'
'That William is really Mr Darcy, of course.'
It was but lucky that she had just put down her cup for otherwise, there was little doubt, she would have dropped it.
'You know?'
'Yes. I found out but this morning. I have suspected for a while that you liked the man but did not think it necessary to warn you against him, seeing that you are my most sensible daughter and would know that a match between you and a mere gardener could never be and besides, neither of you ever stepped out of line even when you were perfectly unaware that I was watching you. And now I think such a warning will be obsolete anyway, seeing who he really is, is it not?'
'I have to admit that in my opinion it made things more complicated,' Elizabeth sighed sadly.
The words had escaped her before she had time to check herself. But her father's revelation had been too much of a surprise to react any differently.
'How so?' Mr Bennet inquired, comfortable leaning back in his armchair.
'Well...'
'You do not know how to approach him?'
'Yes.'
'But you do like him?'
What use was there denying it? Her father had guessed too much already and any falsehood would be easily detected by him at any rate.
'Yes. Yes, I do. He is kind and caring, is intelligent and has a good sense of humour and there is no pretence about him as with so many other men.'
'Ah, I see. Well, my child, you will figure it out. But if I might make a suggestion, do not let your mother know about any of this as yet.'
That indeed was as good an advice as any, for if Mrs Bennet ever found out that such an eligible man was working for them, she would not rest until she had driven him away with her exuberant enthusiasm to see her daughters married. No, for now she would have to be content with fussing over Mr Bingley, for there was little doubt that he would soon return her father's call and visit them. And indeed, no sooner had her mother been informed about her husband's visit to their new neighbour over lunch, at first thoroughly aghast and disbelieving, before she heartily declared that she had never doubted he would do so to begin with, that she flew into a frenzy of when it would be appropriate to invite Mr Bingley for dinner and what to serve him and that nothing under two courses would do.
Chapter 34
One of the reasons people hate politics is that truth is rarely a politician's objective. Election and power are.
- Cal Thomas
The day once again had been a long one as they increasingly tended to be. The weather, though it was only early April, was fine and warm enough for the lawn to grow shaggy quite quickly and the weeds seemed to constantly threaten to take over the reign in the flowerbeds like an invading army. It indeed sometimes felt as if Peters and he fought a losing battle but then again, by the end of the day, the feeling of having exhausted himself was still satisfying, though admittedly not quite as much on the same level as it had been at the beginning.
Sitting down for dinner, Darcy felt oddly conscious about Mr Bennet's discovery about his true identity, but aside from John who of late always looked at him rather suspiciously, everybody else treated him as always. So it must have been his own guilty conscience that made him feel somewhat ill at ease. He had come here to evade all the falsehoods of society and yet he now resorted to falsehood by pretending to be someone he was not. Then again, and quite ironically, he was more the man William Hawthorne was than he had ever been Fitzwilliam Darcy if that made any sense. It was quite a philosophical problem. How could one be completely oneself while not being oneself, but at the same time not be oneself while one was?
'You seem out of spirits today, William,' Tom remarked off-handedly while helping himself to another ladle of beef stew. 'Something the matter? No bad news, I hope. Have you heard from your family?'
His letters were still of some interest to his fellow workers as he was the only one receiving any.
Half muttering Darcy answered: 'I have, but that was not what I was thinking about. As a matter of fact, I didn't have the time to read their letters yet. I was just day-dreaming.'
'And what were you dreaming about?' Peters chuckled.
'Nothing, in particular, it was more of a general thought. I was musing how much has changed since I came here. You know, with the flowers starting to bloom and the birds nesting and all that. In town, the changes were never so distinguishable as they are here in the country. With all the chimneys from the many houses, it often feels as if there is a constant fog and the only plants that are flourishing well are evergreens. I mean, there are roses and lilies of course, but it is not the same as here. - I'm sorry, I don't quite know how to put it.'
'Ah well, though I've never been to London, I don't think I would like it much,' Bob threw in. 'I had a cousin who thought he could make his fortune in town, but he's dead now. Typhus, you know.'
'In some parts, fresh water is indeed a problem and in summer the stench of the river is literally breathtaking and not in the positive sense of meaning,' he replied with some sense of compassion and an inkling of guilt.
It was hard to deny that there was an increasing need for charity of late. Ever since more and more people ventured into industrialised mining and weaving and even agriculture, some became richer and richer, but many ultimately became poorer and poorer. Working conditions were also changing, putting whole families in jeopardy if not tearing them apart. Here everything was still as it had always been, but in town, the change was all the more prominent. Where once a servant was almost part of the family, in some cases serving the same family for generations, many of the nouveau riche now dismissed them at the drop of a hat.
For some reason, Caroline Bingley came to mind. She was the very epiphany of this new, modern age. Yes, there had been ruthless scoundrels before, but in a different sort of way. Again, something that was best left to a philosopher to ponder on.
'Aye, and the rich don't care about anything but themselves, as always!' John pretty much spat angrily, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Darcy who had been pretty much lost in his own thoughts once again.
He had not had such gloomy thoughts since he had come here, and to have them now, was a little disconcerting.
'They always exploit the poor and as long as their own comfort isn't threatened, they won't stir a finger to change anything,' the boy carried on, his voice unmistakeably accusing.
'Yes, but that is only part of the problem,' Darcy admitted calmly. 'The other is that some parts of town are very much out of control as more and more people move there in the hope of work and a better life.'
'And, can you fault them?' John shot back.
'No, I can't. Don't we all in a sense? It is just that our ideas of what a better life means differ, I suppose. For some, it is to live peacefully, for others to make a fortune; for some, it is family, for others solitude.'
'Damn, you are quite a philosopher, William,' Peters laughed and seeing that Smith just ordered the girls to clear the table, stuffed his pipe with some care before lighting it. 'You know, I have come to think that if you'd put your mind to it, you could actually make something of yourself, boy.'
'Perhaps, Mr Peters. But as it is, my happiness lies in simplicity, I guess.'
'And hedgehogs,' his superior positively laughed now.
'Well, only one actually. Though now as the days grow longer, Prickler seems to finally remember that he, in fact, is a nocturnal creature. Most times he seeks me out in the morning before curling up under the nearest bush to take a nap.'
His comment produced some overall good-natured chuckles, even from John.
'So, what are we going to learn tonight then?' Fanny inquired eagerly when the table had been wiped down and the slates and books had replaced their plates as again they now did every eveni
ng.
'Hm, I thought instead of focusing on the writing, we might do some reading tonight. I had a look through this old schoolbook last evening while you were busy with your tasks and think that this story is a good one to begin with.'
He held out the book opened to a page with a simple nursery rhyme which, even if they could not read every single word, they probably still knew well enough to figure it out.
'Would you like to start, Fanny?'
Blushing, the young girl took the book from him and began to read the first few lines. It was really quite astonishing how far they had come in those few short weeks considering that during the planting, there had been no lessons since he and boys had been too tired. Had Darcy, in the beginning, thought that his fellow servants would eventually tire of his teaching, he soon found that it was more to the contrary. John was next, then Leah and since by then, it was safe to assume, that most remembered the words, Darcy decided to turn the page and have them read the next rhyme, equally well known, of course.
Reading... - He still had to read his letters, later when he was finally alone. At least no one had asked how he had come by them. It would have been very difficult to explain that their master had picked them up for him. But alas, Darcy feared that his stay here was drawing to a close nonetheless.
Chapter 35
A smile is the light in your window that tells others that there is a caring, sharing person inside.
- Denis Waitley
Lighting the small candle on the chair beside his bed, Darcy plunked down on top of his berth, only removing his shoes as yet and began to finally read his missives. As always, Georgiana's letter, or rather letters since there were actually two of them, came first and as always, they made him smile and sigh at the same time.
Dearest brother,
I wish I deserved all your praise, but I have to confess, I have been rather naughty these past few days. I stayed up late, secretly reading a book we are not actually allowed to read, but of which I had heard so much about that I was too curious to not ask Phillippa Dean for her copy, which she sneakily and ingeniously glued into an old cover of Shakespeare's Hamlet. You can be assured that I deserve all the scolding you will give me for it, but I have to say, that I greatly enjoyed Miss Radcliffe's 'The romance of the forest'.
It was difficult not to laugh out loud reading those lines. Georgiana was never disobedient, so this “confession” admittedly took him by some surprise. And while Miss Radcliffe's work was most certainly not akin to anything that deserved the title of literature, Darcy was pretty certain that the moment schools ceased to ban her books, the girls' interest in them would wane significantly. And at any rate, they were pretty harmless. Nothing but romantic nonsense if one thought about it. So, no scolding required. Seriously, it was rather amusing to see that his sister was, in fact, developing a cheeky side to her. Shy and timid as she was most of the time, Darcy preferred to assume this was a good thing.
I am glad to say, that as yet, I have evaded an introduction to Aunt Josephine's cat, and if I can at all help it, I will try and keep it that way. Though she cannot possibly be quite THAT bad, can she? But at any rate, your new friend sounds delightful and I would dearly love to see him. But you always had a knack with animals. I remember when you first got Brutus. Oh dear! How shaggy he looked and how timid he was and always ready to defend himself. Poor thing! Though I have to say, that in the first few weeks, I was slightly scared of him, especially when you were out of the house. He would yelp when no-one was around and growl as soon as someone approached him. I can only imagine what he must have suffered at the hands of the people who owned him before. Good thing you found him! And look at him now, there couldn't be a more trusting animal, could there? And besides, I could not imagine a more beautiful dog than him with his glossy black fur, even if he is not the most expensive breed. Have I ever told you that his one floppy ear makes me smile every time I see him running around in the garden? It looks so funny. By the way, does he still growl at Caroline Bingley?
It would be so wonderful if I could come back home, Fitzwilliam. It is not that everything is bad down here, but it is just that I miss you and Brutus and everyone else so much. This is not home and I feel it every day. It also appears now that as we are all getting to an age where our coming out is drawing nearer, there is some competition arising as to who is more elegant, accomplished and pretty and though most girls are nice enough, there are increasing jabs that though I find them silly, are still making me uncomfortable for many different reasons. It is not Miss Hanson's fault that she has red hair and freckles, is it? Or how can Miss Dean, the one I borrowed the book from, change that she is rather short? And Emily Bryson has a very deep singing voice so whenever she fails to hit all the high notes, she is made fun of since none of the other girls seems to have any trouble with them, except perhaps Miss Cartwright who cannot sing to save her life, but is really good at playing the violin. I greatly enjoy listening to both of them and am saddened that they are made fun of just because their skills differ from that of the others. I hardly dare sing at all these days for fear I will be made fun of.
Having met with so many young ladies in society, Darcy could easily imagine the increasing competitiveness, even that such behaviour was encouraged by their teachers. It was not without foundation that he himself had often sarcastically compared the marriage market to that of a cattle one. It was just that the former was less fun to attend and any acquisitions therefrom was one that lasted basically forever. No re-selling, no going back until death finally took a pity.
Darn, did he have to think about those things again? This day had been rather vexing in that regard. It was as if speaking to Mr Bennet had brought back all the reality of his actual life and that this was nothing but an all too short break from it.
There were only his sister's farewells left in this letter since once again, she had written it after retiring to her room and consequently was obliged to finish it in haste due to her curfew.
The next one was but a short note asking frantically whether he was alright or not, seeing that he had not written in almost two weeks. Those two weeks when he had had no time to go into Meryton. Sitting up, he decided that, despite the candle already burnt down low, he had to answer her directly and postpone reading Bingley's letter. He could not have her worried any longer.
My dearest little sister,
I am so sorry for having you worried, but let me assure you that after a slight cold I am very well indeed, but have been extremely busy these past two weeks with helping the other lads plough and plant the fields. I will not go into the particulars, for I have to hurry, it is getting late and as always, I only have a small stump of a candle that will not last me very long and at any rate, it might astonish you, that only today I was able to get your letters from the inn and even that more by coincidence than anything else.
However, several things have occurred since I last wrote that might affect my current situation:
First of all, I have been found out by Miss Elizabeth and, as of today, her father. Surprisingly enough, I am allowed to stay as long as I like, but I do think that my stay is slowly but surely coming to an end, especially in the light of another occurrence that came to pass. Bingley has taken up a house in the neighbourhood. Now if it were only Bingley coming to Hertfordshire, it would not be much of a problem seeing that he already knows not only of my whereabouts but also of how I presently live, but naturally he has also brought his younger sister with him, since Miss Bingley is now, at least according to my calculations, married. - I have received a letter from him this morning but did not yet have the time to read it but in his last, he said something along the lines of the wedding taking place sometime around now.
And right now, his candle burnt out, leaving Darcy no choice but to finish his letter in the morning and going to sleep instead. And surprisingly enough, sleep came quickly, despite the many things on in his mind. Over-thinking things could be a curse if one was in want of a restful night, b
ut alas, the physical exhaustion and time in the fresh air won out, which quite honestly was something to be thankful for.
Chapter 36
It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
Truth be told, Darcy was not much surprised to see his friend arrive early the very next day after Mr Bennet had paid him a call, but thankfully he was on horseback and without his youngest sister in tow. That was something to be thankful for, for though Bingley had already said too much and Mr Bennet now knew his true identity, as long as he could avoid Caroline, he would be safe. Or at least so he hoped unless Bingley somehow inadvertently gave him away. He really should have taken into account how open a person Bingley was; he was simply incapable of deceit and on top of that, he was chatty, not in the negative sense, but Charles Bingley liked to converse. There were no two ways about it.
