by Gail McEwen
Darcy gave a crooked smile and waved an impatient hand at his back. When he heard the door close, he found himself abandoning any thoughts on his awkward arrival and his host’s wounded sensibilities, instead pondering whether it would be too soon to inquire about neighbours and inhabitants of near-by villages as part of the upcoming dinner conversation.
THE GIRLS WALKED PAST THE trees dotted with the chaotic lumps of black crows’ nests. The inhabitants screeched as they passed and some spread their dark wings against the blue sky and flew away.
“They remind me of what it was like to walk into Meryton after the news of Lydia’s elopement,” Elizabeth said dryly. “So many hurrying off to spread their screeching opinions on the state of our nest, even though theirs were hardly models of propriety themselves.”
“You must have been very angry,” Holly said. “I mean, knowing what he was.”
“Yes. Angry. Ashamed. Desperate. Sad.”
They had set out that drizzly morning with baskets to scour the countryside for wild herbs and mushrooms before the frost set in — and to talk. They had walked a fair way before either said anything, but when she finally spoke, Elizabeth told her all about that terrible time of worry and confusion, when they did not know where Lydia was, or with whom, what her plans were or if she was safe or even alive.
Holly stole a look at Elizabeth walking slowly beside her. “Were you perhaps also sad for yourself?”
“Of course I was sad for myself,” Elizabeth answered with a short laugh. “If you had been at Longbourn during that time, you would not need to ask such a question. Who would not be sad to cut short a pleasant holiday in Derbyshire and return to such a scene?” She attempted a smile, but could not hide the edge of bitterness it held. Her cousin simply looked at her, so Elizabeth continued more sombrely.
“Yes, Holly, I was sad for myself — sad and disillusioned. At that time I was already feeling that too many of my strongly held beliefs had been proven wrong through the actions of others. I had proudly held such clear ideas on Charlotte’s sensibility, on Mr Bingley’s love for Jane, on his friend’s abominable self-conceit, and Mr Wickham’s goodness — even my own family’s behaviour, which I had always viewed as harmless folly — but Holly, how could I ever have imagined that Lydia’s morality would be as scant as her sense?” She sighed. “And through her actions came such censure and judgement upon the rest of us. Right at the time when I thought . . . ”
Leaving the path upon spotting a patch of currant bushes, Holly waited for Elizabeth to continue. When she did not, Holly tried to reassure her as she carefully plucked the berries and leaves.
“Don’t be too disheartened; at least one of your judgements has ended up being true. Mr Bingley’s love for Jane was steadfast after all, and incidentally, I doubt whether his friend has changed much in character, so you are likely safe in that area as well.
“And, as far as censure and judgement . . . it is obvious Jane is not suffering from it, and you have said yourself that the opinion of the neighbourhood is that the Bennets are now the luckiest of families — Lydia’s scandal is all but forgotten in the excitement of Jane’s marriage.”
“It is not just the opinions of the fickle locals that matter . . . ” Elizabeth began as they returned to the lane.
“Nonsense!” Holly cried with a light-hearted smile. “What else does matter? Who else would even know or care of it beyond your own small circle in Hertfordshire? And even if they did, what effect could such a thing have on anyone else?”
“Mr Bingley’s friend learnt of it and I fear it affected his opinion greatly. Holly, is not that mint over there by the stream?”
“Yes, Eliza, very good, I’ll make a scavenger of you yet! And look, there is Valerian close by as well.” In no time they were scrabbling down the bank and filling their baskets with more bounty from the countryside.
“But why should you care about Mr Bingley’s friend? We have already settled it that he is a proud and disagreeable man, but even so, he did allow Mr Bingley to return to Netherfield and propose to Jane, so the knowledge cannot have affected his opinion so greatly.
“Truly, Elizabeth, I doubt that anyone in ‘high society’ would bat an eye at Lydia’s behaviours — they likely seem tame in comparison to the goings on in Town during the season — but then, there do seem to be different standards for acceptable behaviour that vary considerably according to one’s circumstance, or one’s sex.”
“Well, you are perfectly right in that, Holly. It is only the sex of the offender that determines whether the offence receives winks and nods, or censure and shame.” Elizabeth’s brows wrinkled. “Holly, I cannot tell the Valerian from the weeds. Why don’t I gather the mint and you can carry out the difficult work.”
Holly agreed and began pulling and stuffing the roots into her basket. “That mint will be a nice change in the teapot, will it not? Oh, I had better leave some room in my basket for the rose hips. Further on down, toward the grounds of Clyne Cottage, are some hedges that have grown wild. Since we’re so close, we might as well see if there are any left from last year.
“But, about what you were saying, while there is a marked inequality in matters of morality, at least those who suffer from it are suffering due to their own actions and decisions. What I find to be even more grievously unfair are the antiquated attitudes toward education — as if only men, and only those men who are rich and high-born at that, are capable of improving their minds or even deserving of the chance to attempt it.”
“I should have known our conversation would somehow end up on your favourite subject!” Elizabeth said. “But you may have a point. I wonder . . . if Lydia had been taught something other than the importance of catching a husband, would things have been different for her. Of course, we were all brought up similarly, and it was impressed upon all five of us that we should seek to marry above all things, but what would the result have been if even a small attempt had been made to expand Lydia’s mind, and Kitty’s too?”
“Exactly,” Holly declared. “As it says in Vindications, most of us are taught only what we need to know to attract husbands and little of what is necessary to become desirable partners after the marriage takes place. What is so wrong with broadening the mind of the female so that she can carry on an intelligent conversation? Or have an opinion, well-thought out and of her own reasoning? Not everyone has your natural inclinations, Elizabeth, or Jane’s innate goodness, but most can be taught to think at least a little bit and control their impulses.”
Elizabeth was about to say something but stopped short. Holly sent her a quizzical look while she carefully bowed down over a cluster of hedgehog fungus and folded the withered leaves away.
“Elizabeth?”
“Impulses,” Elizabeth said. “Controlling one’s impulses. Is it a good or bad thing at the end of the day?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean an impulse can be offensive and rude and completely unwelcome and misguided and yet . . . there is always some truth in all impulses, don’t you think?”
“I suppose that depends on what you mean by truth,” Holly answered carefully as she cleared away the detritus hiding the mushrooms from view. “I would say that our impulses are more a reflection of our nature — they urge us toward what we want, but not what we ought . . . ” She laughed softly. “I am not explaining myself well at all, but I mean to say impulses are true, but it does not necessarily follow that they are good or right.”
“No,” Elizabeth said slowly, “certainly not always good or right. But a reflection of our nature — yes, that is well put. And isn’t nature always true?”
Holly looked thoroughly confused as Elizabeth met her gaze squarely. She stood up with a sigh.
“Holly, there was another proposal. And if Mr Collins’ offer based on pretentious aspirations and misguided feelings of propriety was too ridiculous to accept, this second one was scrupulously honest and forthright and equally impossible to accept as it was offered aga
inst all reason and sound judgement.”
All attempts at work were abandoned and Holly stared at her in confused amazement.
“I don’t think I understand you correctly, Elizabeth. Who proposed to you — and why would any such proposal defy reason and sound judgement? What possible argument could anyone have against you? It is preposterous!”
Elizabeth tried smiling wryly, but she did not quite succeed and looked pained instead.
“Mr Darcy. And rest assured his reasoning was good — excellent in its logic, in fact.” Her smile faded away. “His professed emotions were . . . well, at least very sincere and passionate. In fact, I suppose I cannot fault him for any of his words. Only the coupling of them together while forming an unexpected proposal of marriage.”
To Holly’s amazement Elizabeth seemed to wipe away something in the corner of her eye.
“Stupid,” she muttered.
“Mr Darcy? That unpleasant friend of Mr Bingley’s?”
Elizabeth nodded, apparently not trusting herself to speak quite yet. At the sight of her cousin’s distress, it took all of Holly’s self control not to give into impulse herself and begin a long rant against anyone who could cause her pain. A rant, however, is difficult to manage when one is as curious about the details as she was, so she deferred it momentarily.
Taking a deep breath, she asked as calmly as she could manage, “Will you tell me about it? What did this man say to you — what possible objections could he have had? And if they were so great, why did he propose at all? Has he no honour?”
Elizabeth hesitated. Of course, she remembered every word he had said to her that evening at Hunsford, but could she explain why she felt so very differently about them now than she had then? Nevertheless, this was the exchange she had so often rehearsed in her mind, anxious for the relief of putting words to her thoughts, so she began at the beginning.
“When Mr Bingley arrived in Hertfordshire last fall, he brought a small party of friends to the assembly rooms . . . ”
When she finished by repeating all Mr Darcy’s confessions and all his objections, both of them were blushing with emotion and the baskets with mushrooms and herbs had been abandoned on the ground.
“But you must understand, Holly, at the time I dismissed it as an embarrassment and despised him as before. But then there was the letter and then — ”
Holly’s head shot up and she fixed her eyes upon her cousin’s.
“Elizabeth! Do not tell me that you think anything he wrote in that letter in any way excuses the way he spoke to you just the day before! I see nothing in it that redeems his behaviour at all.”
“But Holly, he did warn me about Mr Wickham. He had very good reasons to doubt his character, but I was too pre-occupied with upholding my prejudices to take him seriously enough. And now Lydia is paying the price for my negligence.”
“Nonsense,” Holly scoffed. “Even his explanations about Mr Wickham were given too late and only to excuse himself — where was his concern when that scoundrel was freely roaming about Hertfordshire, charming your neighbours and defrauding the merchants of Meryton? His conscience was only raised when it reflected badly upon himself. So, not only has he participated in the downfall of one Bennet sister and actively sought to ruin the prospects and happiness of a second, he then proceeds to insult and degrade a third — along with the rest of your family. What excuse can there be? What does this man have against you, Eliza?”
“Besides my championing Mr Wickham’s cause at the expense of his own reputation, cheering my sister’s capture of his friend in opposition to his wishes and the publicly disgraceful behaviour of my entire family? Why, I have no idea, Holly.”
There were a thousand protests on Holly’s lips and she would gladly have given vent to each and every one in turn, but Elizabeth talked on, staring at her hands and not even noticing her cousin’s outraged expression.
“And despite all of this he admitted he ‘admired’ and even ‘loved’ me enough to want to make me his wife. Perhaps that is my greatest sin — making him want to go against everything he believes in. Making him give in to impulses he is ashamed of. Maybe that is why he dislikes me so much. And when I was at Pemberley with Aunt and Uncle Gardiner and there was a safe distance from our differences, he was civil and even — courteous. Until he found out about Lydia. His regrets must have turned to relief in an instant.”
Holly’s face grew dark and angry. “Your sin! Making him go against his beliefs — give in to his impulses! What sort of rubbish are you speaking, Eliza? If you had deliberately set out to attract him I might understand your regrets, but . . . ”
With this, Holly snatched up her basket and, too outraged to sit still any longer, stood up and began furiously plucking what few leaves remained on a nearby bush.
“I . . . I am speechless . . . ” she sputtered. “What right . . . oh! how dare he . . . if it is possible to truly despise a person one has never met, then I must say that I do — so intensely — dislike this Mr Darcy that I could easily . . . agh! ‘I would eat his heart in the market place’!”
In spite of herself, Elizabeth had to smile.
“Thank you, Holly. Your outrage on my behalf is really very comforting and if I had to choose a champion on whom I could rely to gladly overlook all my faults and stupidities and fight for me to the bitter end, I would, without hesitation, chose you. Thank you for letting me wallow in my self-pity and misery for a while. I rarely do get the chance and it was very refreshing. But all this is nonsense. Things are as they are and Mr Darcy is as he is — whatever that is. I must stop. I want to stop. And I hope I never have to turn over Mr Darcy’s most inconsiderate and annoying unpredictability again.”
She came up to her cousin and lifted up the basket that was lying askew on the ground at her feet.
“Come Holly. We are even further away from Mr Darcy’s and my troubles now than I thought I was in Derbyshire. And I would like it to stay that way for this little while, at least, now that I am here with you.”
TO BOTH MEN IT WAS inconceivable to tarry over breakfast, or spend more time indoors than absolutely necessary. Their motives for this restlessness were not the same, but the result was that one offered a tour around the immediate grounds which the other accepted with alacrity despite the slight drizzle.
As they walked around the house to admire the view of the river to the east, Baugham’s housekeeper, Mrs McLaughlin, and another woman came towards them up the slope. Darcy paid them scant attention at first, but after Baugham sent both of them a smile and a good morning, he took a closer look. They were carrying baskets of eggs and other crudely wrapped victuals and a pail of milk — presumably bought for their enjoyment the next morning.
“I must say you live more frugally than I would ever have expected of a man as fond of his comforts as you,” Darcy said as the two women made their way up past them again. “Only two maids and a stable hand?”
“One maid. Or actually, one housekeeper and no maid; Mrs McLaughlin takes care of all I can ask. Mrs Higgins is Mrs McLaughlin’s cousin. She works down in the village for some old French widow and her daughter. Comes up here to gossip with her cousin as often as she can, I believe. Although it is hard to know which cousin has the most to impart about the scandalous manners and habits of her employer.”
Darcy felt his heart contract.
“A French widow? That is unusual.”
“I dare say it is. I think her husband was some sort of revolutionary; he was exiled from France and died here in Clanough. Although strictly speaking I think the woman herself is English. She’s notorious enough, but you hardly ever see the daughter. Mrs McLaughlin tells me she is a teacher at a seminary for young women up in Edinburgh.”
There was silence and Baugham’s thoughts drifted to the cutting of wood, then to trees on his estate in danger of collapsing with the first autumn storm, and whether walking would be preferable to riding if he took Darcy with him on a more extended tour to check on them.
&n
bsp; Darcy on the other hand had one fixed thought in his head: That must be them!
By the time they passed the stables, Darcy’s train of thought had moved on from hesitation and doubt of his good fortune to a definite resolution and plan of action.
“Clanough,” Darcy said. “Any society worth mentioning? Or visiting?”
“No,” Baugham said shortly. “Well,” he amended, “Mr Robertson down at the Caledonian Thistle Inn has decent ale and takes in papers from Edinburgh. But to be fair, I don’t know anyone else. Nor do I wish to. I don’t think I have missed much.”
“That French widow sounds intriguing though. Why here? And you said she was English.”
Baugham shrugged his shoulders as they walked back toward the warmth of the house.
“And the widow of an exiled Frenchman,” Darcy was unwilling to let the subject drop so easily. “Hardly well off then. Do you know her history?”
“I do not. I know Mrs Higgins works for them and they live at something called Rosefarm Cottage at the end of some village lane by the backfields. That’s all. Surprisingly enough for me, I am not curious in the slightest to know anything else about them.”
“You have no interest in romantic pasts or gallant revolutionary tales,” Darcy said tartly.
“No. And if I did there are plenty of horridly tawdry novels I could indulge in to produce the desired thrills that would not involve actually meeting these people. It is much easier to close a book than it is to break an acquaintance. I’m sure I would never get away from them if I made the mistake of showing an interest. People like that live only in the past and have no interest in a present that does not suit their old notions and preconceptions of the world. Tiresome and vulgar.”
Darcy’s face was grim, but he said nothing.
“And considering the fact that you sent me away from Town because I had too much to do with women, you can hardly expect me to seek out any female company here,” Baugham said.
“I didn’t send you away. I gave you good advice and you took it.”
“True,” Baugham said quietly. “And I am glad I did. You were right. But it does not affect my antisocial inclinations.”
