by Nicky Roth
And there he was now, just as Darcy had finished raking just half the driveway, a work that became more tiresome with every passing day, if he were quite honest with himself. Where first it had been quite relaxing, satisfying even, it had now turned into a never-ending task repeated daily. At least Prickler was there again, once more curled up beneath a shrub close by.
'Good morning,' Bingley greeted cheerfully, though seemingly without recognising him, at least for the time being that was, for there was little to do but go over and take care of the horse. It needed tethering and perhaps some water and hay. Actually, Darcy could not suppress a small smile as he stepped closer and took the reins, careful to keep his head down to keep his disguise a little while longer.
'Morning, Sir,' Darcy greeted back bowing slightly, though a small smirk had crept onto his face. 'Will your horse require water? I could go and bring over a bucket, Sir.'
'Oh, that...' Bingley replied then halted abruptly.
There it was, the moment of recognition. Ha, it had been faster than anticipated, but then again, Bingley knew he was here, he must have expected to lay eyes on him some way or another. Yet, the expression of dawning realisation was still priceless. It seemed as if Bingley, despite knowing he worked as a gardener, had still had some trouble picturing him in ragged work clothes. Quite honestly, he himself had had them even two months ago when he had first decided to go on this rather unusual journey.
'Da... - Darcy?! Dear me, I did not recognise you at first!'
'I know and yes, it is I. And I guess I have to thank you for Mr Bennet finding me out...'
'Dear me! I am so sorry.'
'Surprisingly enough I am allowed to stay nonetheless, so it is of little matter, Bingley. But perhaps it might be wise to be a little less open about how you came to take Netherfield in the future...'
Again there was this odd feeling of being watched and carefully searching the windows from beneath the brim of his hat he was little surprised to see the Miss Bennets assembled on one of the upper windows glancing down at their new neighbour with various expressions on their faces. The two youngest seemed excited, Miss Bennet was smiling serenely, Miss Mary was half-frowning, and Miss Elizabeth caught his eye with a questioningly raised eyebrow.
'What is it?' Bingley at least.
'The ladies are watching us already, or rather you,' Darcy chuckled slightly forced. 'You seem to have made quite an impact already.'
'Well, they are very pleasant ladies are they not?'
'Yes, and Miss Bennet is also very beautiful...'
'Darcy, she is an angel...' Bingley cried out admiringly. 'Oh, darn! William, I mean, of course.'
'I think you should better go in before this turns ever so much more awkward,' Darcy advised, though struggling to suppress a laugh. 'And at any rate, I need to get on with my work. There is much to do at this time of year. - If you want me to, I'll look at the hind leg, Sir. Your poor horse might have stepped onto a thorn or a pebble.'
He had quickly fallen back into his role as he perceived the door being opened to reveal Mr Hill, normally working without gloves or a wig, standing there in all his glory as a butler. But still, this could only go wrong.
'Are you idling around, William?' John's voice piped up behind him, the lad grinning sneakily and with some malevolence.
He was carrying a basket with various parcels, some slightly stained, indicating that he had just run an errand for cook seemingly getting some extras she had not included in her order the previous day. A fairly frequent occurrence, not so much cook's fault as Mrs Bennet's who was prone to change the menu at the last possible moment if the fancy caught her. Not that she was inconsiderate towards her staff, no, her fickleness rather stemmed from the desire to please any guests that might come by, and unlike the more formal social environment in London, a family dinner in the country could easily end up being a party of several friends who had called on a whim. As for the sudden change in today's menu, Darcy had the slight suspicion that it had been done in the hopes that Bingley would be persuaded to join them. Again it was hard to suppress a smirk.
'No, I merely offered my assistance to the gentleman who's just arrived and whose horse seems to have trodden onto something,' Darcy replied as off-handedly as he could considering the circumstances.
The boy's mistrust as justified as it was to an extent, was quite disconcerting.
'Always putting yourself forward then.'
'It is called common courtesy and it should be quite normal to offer one's assistance when it is needed.'
'I know who you are, William. - A liar! I tried to warn Peters about you, and also suggested to Mr Hill to go and tell Mr Bennet about you having dallied with none other than Miss Darcy. Sister? Ha! You shouldn't have given us lessons, William if you intended to keep your secret. Darcy is not such a difficult name to make out.'
'I guess it is not. But pray, what exactly is it that bothers you so much about me, John?' Darcy asked calmly, ignoring the boy's accusation regarding the “affair”.
As irritated as the boy's behaviour made him on one hand, there was also something that seemed to reach deeper than mere jealousy.
'What it is that bothers me you ask? Well, ever thought of the consequences your actions might have brought about?'
'Consequences?' Darcy did have an inkling where this was going, but still part of his mind refused to go there.
'Aye, consequences. For a man it is easy, whether rich or poor, but for a woman it is not and also not for any children that came out of such a relationship.'
'Children?' Darcy stammered, wondering where this conversation was going and moreover, what had caused it.
While he quite agreed with John, that men got out of such affairs comparatively easy, that some even made a disgusting sport out of it, there was an underlying passion about the boy as he now stood before him that was a little disturbing. Well, perhaps passion was not even the right word for it. Hate, perhaps? Anger? Desperation? It was hard to make out. On the one hand John was abrasive to a point where one just wanted to put him in his place, and on the other, thinking back on his own youth and the time his mother had passed away, seeing this seething lad in front of him was like looking into a mirror and seeing his own younger self.
'John,' Darcy hesitantly started, 'I can assure you that nothing untoward has been going on between Miss Darcy and myself. Ever! But you are correct, I have written to her...'
Perhaps it was just as well that John did not let him finish his sentence, as he swiftly turned around and stalked off, seeing that Darcy had no idea how he would have finished it. One thing was clear, however, his time here had come to an end. It definitely was time to leave.
Chapter 37
Honest communication is built on truth and integrity and upon respect of the one for the other.
- Benjamin E. Mays
It was a good thing that there was so much to do around the garden, and mainly work that did not require much attention, so that Darcy had some time to contemplate on what best to do while he was taking care of the moss and weeds. When leaving London, he had everything so carefully planned out. Everything but one tiny little detail: returning to his old life. It should have been easy enough, but knowing that people had come to rely on him was one thing he then had not taken into consideration; that he might feel bad for leaving them behind, especially now that he had given them the hope of at least a basic education only to now... - Well, and there was also Prickler. As silly as it was, he would miss the little creature dearly.
The lunch hour was approaching slowly but surely and Bingley had already left a while ago and he was still no closer to a solution as to what he should do. The thought of letting so many people down was still as uncomfortable as it had been when he had first started to contemplate the issue.
'Are you quite alright, William?' Peters spoke up behind him all of a sudden.
Darcy had not heard him approach.
'Yes, Sir. I'm fine, Sir,' he stammered back then though
t the better of it.
Better be done with it than ponder on this dilemma any longer and probably make it worse. It was like having a toothache; the short sharp pain that came with pulling an aching tooth was nothing compared to the constant agony when leaving it untouched.
'Sir, I... - I will need to leave by the end of next week if not sooner. As soon as you have found a replacement for me.'
'Pardon?'
'I know it is a bit abrupt, but as said, I cannot stay here any longer.'
Peters stared at him aghast, a picture of complete and utter bewilderment.
'But why?' the gardener eventually asked. 'What have you done, lad?'
Now he sounded positively suspicious as if he half expected that William Hawthorne would suddenly confess to being a criminal on the run.
With a sigh Darcy got up from the ground where he had been kneeling to pull out the weeds, wiped his hands off on the rough frock he sported and hesitantly began: 'What I have done is quite simple, Mr Peters, I came here to find myself, but now it is time to go back home.'
'I can't quite follow...'
'No, of course not, for the situation is a rather awkward one and all of my own doing. - Well, John was right in one respect, that I have indeed been writing to Miss Darcy. - My sister.'
It took a while for his words to sink in, but when they did, Peters, much to his surprise, started laughing until he was clutching his sides. This was most certainly not the reaction Darcy had anticipated. Anger? Yes. Annoyance? Certainly. But laughter? Definitely not!
'Sir?'
It took another minute or two until the man had calmed down enough to reply: 'Ah, my boy, the moment I saw your hands when you applied for the position I knew you were no gardener or anything that had to do with manual labour. You were quick to learn, however, but it was fairly apparent that while you knew much in theory, the practical side was an altogether different matter. You could, of course, have been a footman, but you were far too keen to work, if I may say so. You are not much of an actor, Mr Darcy, but you are, by far, the best under-gardener I've ever had.'
Now it was on Darcy himself to let the words of his superior sink in.
'You knew?'
'That you were Mr Darcy himself? No. That you were not who you claimed to be? Yes. You are not the first young man who had his heart broken and consequently sought to get away from it all and do something like this, though most would probably turn to drink and gambling,' the old gardener smirked.
'I have to admit that I never suffered a broken heart. There never was a woman, rather many who sought to marry my fortune and it became increasingly tedious.'
'I can imagine. And so you came here to get away a little?'
'Yes. - Mr Peters, if you suspected me to be a fraud right from the start, why did you hire me nonetheless?'
'What do I care who you really are as long as you do your work?' his opposite shrugged. 'And since you were very diligent with your chores, I had nothing to complain about. Besides, it is a truth universally acknowledged that a man whom animals trust can never be a bad one and seeing that that little hedgehog of yours is never very far from where you are... - By the way, where is it?'
'Oh, Prickler is over there, Sir,' Darcy pointed at the large hydrangea bush under which the little creature once again had curled up, snoring peacefully.
'He'll surely miss you.'
'And I him, truth be told. By the way, Mr Peters, if you could keep my true identity hidden, for the time being, I would be very grateful.'
'Well, it would be very odd, if I suddenly addressed you as Mr Darcy, wouldn't it? Anyway, it's not my secret to share but yours. - And now get back to work, boy.'
With a broad grin and cheerfully whistling a tune, Peters made his way back over to the vegetable garden. Planting the first sturdy seedlings was something he preferred doing himself and as it was, Darcy had enough work of his own and was quite happy not to have to plant row upon row of onions, leeks and cabbages, the last of which would need to be carefully protected against any sudden frost by some straw and twigs.
Kneeling back down, he continued pulling the weeds from the bed at the side of the house, but not before, and with some regret as to what would soon come to pass, checking on his little friend. Prickler was sleeping so peacefully as if he had not a care in the world and likely he hadn't. Where before, right after winter he had been rather gaunt, his now plump and round belly spoke of him being especially well fed.
And talking about food, only another half an hour and it was time for lunch.
Darcy's stomach was grumbling while at the same time he still dreaded facing the others to break the news of his leaving. But it had to be. And besides, he fully intended to come back and possibly even quite soon. As soon as was possible.
Chapter 38
It's not the situation, but whether we react negative or respond positive to that situation that is important.
- Zig Ziglar
'Oh, what a nice gentleman Mr Bingley is,' Mrs Bennet repeated herself for the umpteenth time. 'And I am so glad that I thought of inviting him and his sister to dinner tonight. Not that I dared hope he would accept, but I am very glad he did.'
Mr Bennet only huffed before continuing to eat; Kitty and Lydia giggled violently; Mary, back to her usual stern hairstyle and drab gowns, rolled her eyes; Jane blushed most becomingly; and Elizabeth herself merely nodded absent-mindedly. Her thoughts were far away and by no means occupied with tonight's dinner. Ever since the conversation with her father a few days ago, her mind had been reeling. Not that she had gotten anywhere close to a solution as yet. In fact, the whole situation was still as vexing as it had ever been.
'I wonder whether Miss Bingley is as nice as her brother,' Jane currently addressed her.
'Well, we will see, I suppose,' Elizabeth replied thoughtfully, finally waking from her most unsettling reverie.
'Oh, she surely will be. And there can be little doubt that she will also be a very elegant lady. All of you will have to wear your best, girls,' their mother chimed in. 'Jane, you should wear your new white gown and the blue sash with it. I know you wore it at the ball but Mr Bingley, being a man will hardly recall. Men never do.'
'But Mama, the invitation was merely for a family dinner. Do you not think that our usual dresses will suffice?' Jane tried to reason.
'Nonsense! You will want to look your best, Jane. After all, Mr Bingley paid you quite a bit of attention at the ball.'
That much was true and yet not at all surprising seeing that Jane was by far the prettiest woman in their admittedly rather limited circle. Not only that, but she was also the kindest of them all.
'I for my part believe that too much attention is paid to how a person looks on the outside instead of on the inside,' Mary interjected. 'Vanity can never be a virtue, and I for my part shall not take part in such folly.'
'Oh shush, girl, who asked you?' their mother promptly reprimanded her while Elizabeth could just about catch the words Lydia whispered into Kitty's ear: 'Well, that explains why Mary is always wearing the plainest gowns of all of us...'
Kitty in turn merely giggled.
'No, nothing will do but your new white gown, Jane, and the blue sash will complement your eyes quite charmingly.'
Knowing full well that there was no point in brooking any opposition, Jane resigned herself to her fate.
Their father, as was his habit, had barely said anything, but his rising from the table was a clear indication that the meal was over as far as he was concerned and eager to get away, Elizabeth followed his lead and likewise stood up.
'Oh, Lizzy, I do recommend you keep your tongue in check for once,' her mother held her back. 'It will not do if what you like to call wit scares Mr Bingley away or that you should make a bad impression on his sister. She is bound to be used to the very highest of society and with that to exceedingly good manners. Do think of your sister.'
'Yes, Mama,' she calmly managed to reply, and even without rolling her eyes once again
, before following her father out of the dining parlour.
'And Jane, you have to do something with your hair. Have you seen what Mary King did with hers the other evening? Now I think it looked very becoming, do you not agree?'
Though Elizabeth, already on her way up the stairs, could not hear her sister's reply, Mary King's hair had looked anything but becoming. And besides, it was not as if every invitation they ever received was not followed with the same endless tirades of their mother as to what would do best. In the end, neither of her daughters would pay her much heed and would instead take her own counsel or, on occasion, that of one of their sisters while Mrs Bennet would congratulate herself that her daughters' charm and elegance had been all her own doing.
