14 March—Oh what an uproar we have caused! The only person more surprised by the announcement of our engagement than Papa was dear Mama. She blurted out, 'But, Lizzy, he is most unpleasant.' When Papa called me into his library, he asked if all the females in our neighbourhood had lost the use of their reason. 'First Charlotte and now you.' It took many minutes to convince him that we had become better acquainted at Helmsley Hall, that I had fallen in love with him, and that he was the finest man of my acquaintance. Given time, I assured Papa that he would come to know of the gentleman's many attributes. Mr. Lacey, noting Papa's lack of enthusiasm, told him that it was his intention to become the best of sons-in-law—'better even than Mr. Chatterton is to Sir William Ledger,' which he said brought a smile to Papa's face.
Geoff was looking over my shoulder trying to read the manuscript, which was something he did when he wanted attention.
“Do you have something on your mind, Geoff?”
“I believe you are going somewhere. You've been typing as if you are possessed or on a mission, or you would not have avoided conversation with someone so erudite.”
“I am a woman on a mission. I've had these diaries for weeks now, and yet I haven't even gotten to the wedding, and I'm going to keep going until I do.”
“If you ignore me, I won't tell you about James and Angela's wedding night.”
I turned around and faced him. “Okay. You've got my attention.”
“You have to keep in mind that, during their entire courtship, James hasn't done anything other than give Angela a chaste kiss. Around midnight, all of the wedding guests, including Mike and I, walk with the happy couple through the village to the Paglia house and keep on going right into their bedroom. Some of the old ladies throw flower petals on the bed cover, and then we leave, but we're all right outside the door.”
“Are you making this up?”
“Hell, no! I don't have to. James realizes the guests aren't going anywhere, and it's been a long six months, so nothing's going to stop him. While Angela's getting changed, James had to face the wall, and when he turns around, she's standing there in a cotton night gown with full sleeves. He said it was so stiff it could have stood up on its own. But it gets better. Angela gets in bed, fully clothed, and points to the bed cover, which has a hole in it exactly where a shorter man than James might insert a certain object.”
“Oh, my God!”
“Exactly. When James figures out what she wants him to do, he goes into a primal mode and pulls the bed cover off the bed.”
“And?”
“Apparently, Angela thought it was a great idea, and they had a terrific time even though everyone was just outside the door.”
Geoff and I were hysterical. It was ten minutes before I could stop laughing enough to start typing, and Lizzy's diary entry showed that Angela had a lot more fun on her wedding night than Jane did.
17 May—Jane and I have talked about what is expected of a wife. She says the experience can be unpleasant at first, but after that, it seems the body recognizes the sacrifice that is being asked of it and responds appropriately. Her response made me wonder if intimacy can be pleasurable, or is it merely a matter of a wife's duty to her husband?
19 May—Tomorrow I shall become Mrs. William Lacey. How can all of this have happened? To be so in love with one's life partner is a rarity, but such has been my fortune. I am so pleased with my beautiful ivory satin wedding gown and lace veil. My lady's maid, whom I am to call Waite, has been of great help, but I do not know how much I should say to her. Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper, insists that I must always be discreet or I could embarrass the family, as servants will talk.
According to Elizabeth's brief diary entry on May 20th, Will and his bride had “a merry wedding” with close friends and family in attendance at the church and the wedding breakfast. The food was plentiful, the wine flowed, the musicians played beautifully, and the dancers stepped lively. Everything had gone exactly as Elizabeth had hoped.
26 May—There is so much to write, but I am greatly fatigued, as I have a house full of guests, some of whom have been here near a week. This is the first opportunity I have had to write of the most important event in my life. I hope I can hold forever in my mind the look on Mr. Lacey's face when he first saw me at the church. The pastor at St Michael's received his appointment from the Laceys, and as such, performed the ceremony exactly as directed by his patron. Apparently, Mr. Lacey (whom I am now to call Will, as is his choice) leans toward brevity. The wedding breakfast lasted into the evening when the tables were cleared to make way for more food.
It was well past midnight by the time I went to my bed chamber. All my night clothes had been laid out by Waite, who helped me to get into my silk night gown. After she left, Will came to my chamber and asked if my mother had talked to me. I said that she had, and he was visibly relieved. I found it to be a most curious ritual, but Will was very kind and patient. After five days, I do not make any claim to being a proficient, but it certainly has become less awkward and more pleasurable which, as Will explained, is as it should be. He has been excessively attentive, and after he has fallen asleep, I lie in bed and count my blessings.
A week after their wedding, the couple went to London to make the requisite visits to the social elites who were then in town for the season. The couple seemed to have been given a warm welcome by everyone except Lady Jersey, but because she was the de facto leader of the ton, her behavior, no matter how offensive, had to be tolerated. But one person was missing, the Duchess of Devonshire.
2 June—We rode past Devonshire House, and I asked if the Duchess was still visiting abroad. I was astounded to learn that Her Grace has been exiled by her husband to the continent for having a child with Charles Grey. She has been gone for more than a year and a half, and while her children remain in England, the Duchess waits in Naples for word from the Duke that she may return. None of this bothers Will, as he has already written to Her Grace at her residence in Naples and has received a response in which she invites us to call as soon as we arrive.
At this point, Geoff coughed to let me know that he was once again being ignored. “Surely, Elizabeth and Will must be grandparents by now with as long as you've been typing.”
I was ready to quit for the night anyway, so I asked him what was on his mind.
“You are leaving us. I know you are. So why don't you just tell old Geoff what's going on.”
“Do you know what the fourth Thursday of November is in America?” I asked.
After thinking for a minute, he said, “Yes. It's Thanksgiving Day. When I was at Yale, Beth's Aunt Laura was kind enough to invite me to celebrate the holiday at her flat in New York. The table practically bowed from the weight of all that food.”
“That's right.” I laughed to myself at the thought of skinny Geoff biting into a turkey drumstick.
“Two years ago, I celebrated Thanksgiving in an Army mess hall at an air base. Last year, I had dinner in an office cafeteria, and it looks as if this year may be a repeat of 1947. In our family, Thanksgiving is a big deal. We have tomato juice and fruit cocktail, a turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, biscuits, bread stuffing, corn, green beans, cranberry sauce, apple and pumpkin pies, all chased down with strong black coffee.”
“And you want to spend Thanksgiving with your family,” Geoff said sympathetically.
“I know that's not possible, but I'm thinking about how I can get home by Christmas.”
“Is this a permanent relocation?”
“It would have to be. I don't have the money to go back and forth across the Atlantic. There's a big part of me that wants to stay in England, but then there's another part that says I'm an American, and it's time to go home. I've been gone for more than two years.”
“Does this have something to do with your flyer?”
“If you're asking if I'm going home so I can run Rob to ground in Atlanta, the answer is 'no,'” I said defensively. “Of course, I'll let him know where I am, but I'm not expecti
ng anything to happen.”
“And what about Michael?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked too loudly.
“I'll give you credit for being clever by burying your questions about him in more general questions about India or the war. But when I talk about Michael, your interest level goes way up. I know you've had a letter from him recently.”
“We had something of a flirtation for a few days before and after the ball at Montclair,” I admitted. “But, if you'd like, I can show you the letter I received from him in which he apologized for that very same flirtation, saying he doesn't know what came over him. He assured me there would be no repetition.
“And, yes, I'm interested in him in much the same way I'm interested in you. You don't have any idea how fascinating your life sounds to a girl who grew up looking at the black hulk of a coal breaker. You talk so casually about Paris and Brussels, skiing in the Alps, climbing the Acropolis. These are places I can only dream about, but I'm a very practical working-class girl, who knows when it's time to go home.”
“I didn't tell you,” Geoff said. “Beth called. She's coming to London next week. She's planning a party and asked if you could help her out. Michael is coming home on the 18th, and the party's for him.”
Chapter 38
ALTHOUGH WILL AND ELIZABETH'S honeymoon had nothing to do with Montclair, I did want to spend some time on it. By twentieth century standards, their journey would be exciting, but taking into account the couple had traveled in 1793 in a Europe menaced by French revolutionary armies, their journey was remarkable. After visiting Spa in the Ardennes Forest and touring castles along the Rhine River, they went on to Lausanne on Lake Geneva where they were guests of Edward Gibbon, the historian and author of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, at his lakeside home. It was there the couple learned that the Duke of Devonshire had recently sent for his duchess, and the party had immediately set out for England.
After visiting Milan, Verona, and Venice, they settled down for the winter in Florence in a sixteenth-century palazzo fronting the Piazza del Signorini. Inspired by the sights of Florence, Lizzy tried her hand at painting watercolors, with Georgiana as her instructor. However, she was so unhappy with the results, she “donated” all of her canvasses to a fellow Englishman and painter when the party moved on to Rome and Naples.
After an early bout of homesickness, Lizzy eagerly embraced her nomadic existence with her “beloved.” Lizzy was a faithful diarist from the time she married Will. Her entries also recorded the intimacies of the newly married couple from the earliest days of their marriage. When Will and Lizzy made love, she made note of it by referring to her husband as “my visitor.” Will was a frequent visitor.
The Laceys' stay in Naples was particularly interesting. The Duchess of Devonshire had provided the couple with an introduction to the British Envoy to the Court of Naples, Sir William Hamilton, an amateur vulcanologist, whose beautiful wife was the famous, or infamous, Emma Hamilton, the future mistress of the hero of Trafalgar, Lord Horatio Nelson. I was scanning the pages for interesting entries, when one caught my eye:
14 April—Lady Hamilton never fails to amuse. Tonight, by request of the King, she posed in one of her attitudes as Cleopatra, ending with the Queen of Egypt's death scene. With little more than a few shawls, including one that served as an asp, Lady Hamilton portrayed the grieving queen taking her life after learning that her lover, Mark Antony, was dead. I found myself drawn into her tableau and was deeply touched when at last Cleopatra closed her eyes. However, Will was offended by the suggestive nature of her poses but did not object when I struck a similar pose that evening after we had retired.
I was so glad that Lizzy and Will had married before the Victorian Age. Two generations later, a woman would never have written about the intimacies of marriage, but it was obvious these two lovers complemented each other in so many ways.
I was about to type out the entry regarding Lizzy and Will's journey to Mt. Vesuvius, where Will burnt the soles of his boots on the lava, when the doorbell rang. When I opened the door, I nearly broke Beth's ribs I hugged her so tightly.
“I thought you might be going dotty typing all those diaries, so I decided to come to London for a few days to see how you were getting on,” Beth said, putting down her suitcase.
We went into the morning room, and Beth rang for Andrews. Andrews entered the room with a look of disapproval, believing I was the one who had summoned him. When he saw Beth, his whole demeanor changed.
“Andrews, is it possible to have some sandwiches served in here on a tray? Whatever is in the larder will do.” This was the Beth I rarely saw, but when I did, it was apparent she had grown up in a household full of servants and was quite comfortable in giving orders.
I told Beth I had come up with an idea that could possibly make everyone happy. A timeline showing events taking place in the lives of the Lacey family, along with transcriptions from Lizzy's diary, would be juxtaposed with quotations from Pride and Prejudice.
After thinking for a few minutes, Beth said she liked it, and after finishing the history, she hoped I would continue working on the diary “at my leisure.” I didn't say anything about going back to the States.
I told Beth how Lizzy called Will “her visitor” whenever they made love. “They were really and truly in love, just like you and Jack.”
Smiling, she said, “I can take a hint. But let's wait for Andrews to bring the sandwiches. He is positively Victorian, and he wouldn't appreciate hearing a discussion of my love life.”
Andrews brought in a tray with cucumber sandwiches and coffee. After making sure he was safely out of the room, Beth said, “Actually, at first, it wasn't Jack whom I was attracted to but his brother, who was exactly my age. You've seen pictures of Tom at Crofton Wood, but they don't do him justice. He had these incredible blue eyes and the most engaging smile. He was also a comedian, which made him everyone's favorite.
“When I was about sixteen, Tom had invited me to go to a dance in Stepton. Matthew dropped the two of us and Billy, the footman, off at the dance hall. About an hour later, Jack came in with some friends and asked me to dance. He was most unpleasant.” Straightening her skirt, she continued, “He said the local girls had been waiting all week to come to the dance to show off in front of the boys, and then I had walked in and hogged the limelight.”
I couldn't help but wince. Apparently, Jack didn't approve of masters and minions mixing.
“I was terribly hurt because the thought had never entered my mind. After I had a few dances with the local boys, Jack offered to take me home. I had no choice because, if I rang the house, they would know what I had got up to. I was really quite intimidated by Mr. Crowell, and I didn't want to have a lecture about above stairs and below stairs not mixing. When I got out of the car, I said to Jack, 'You don't like me very much, do you?' And do you know what he said? 'If anything, I like you too much.' From that time on, I certainly paid more attention to him, but nothing exciting happened until the motor tour.”
“I'm surprised your mother let you go.”
“No more than I. But I didn't know until later how much maneuvering my grandmother had done behind the scenes. We were a couple of weeks into the trip when we arrived in Brighton. While Reed was busy sketching, Jack and I went for long walks. Finally, he kissed me. There was nothing chaste about these kisses. We just about devoured each other. When we returned to Montclair, he acted as if we hadn't been at each other for weeks. But before I knew it, he was on his way to Manchester, and I was off to Cambridge.
“At our annual Christmas tea, I slipped Jack a note asking him to meet me at an abandoned cottage the following day. I nearly froze waiting for him, but he did come. He was very agitated, and we had a violent argument. He said something to the effect that if we were ever to be together, I would have to be willing to give up Montclair and everything that went with it. I told him I would come into some money of my own from a trust fund when I turned twenty-one t
he following year. This is what he said to that, 'Christ, would you listen to yourself? Someone who is going to come into some money from a trust fund shouldn't be sneaking around with the butler's son.' And he stormed off.
“After the Lenten term, Jack came home, as he always did, but made no attempt to see me. Then one day my mother sent me to find Clyde, who was not quite normal, but who was capable of exercising the horses. Often, when out on his rides, he'd find a nice shade tree, tie up the horse, and have a lie-down. When I got to the stables, Jack was mucking out the stalls, filling in for one of the grooms. He asked if I was looking for him, and I said 'yes.' And he said, 'What do you want?' And I answered, 'I want you to love me.'
“'I already do. What else do you want?' He said it just like that. 'What else do you want?'
“I told him that I wanted him to marry me, and he dropped his rake and asked, 'Have you gone off your head?' I stood my ground and said, 'No, I'm just in love.'
“I don't know why he finally gave in, but we had a most pleasant afternoon. We met whenever we could, usually at an abandoned cottage at the far end of the property. But then he had to go back to Manchester, and I had to go through the motions of my third season. My mother was nearly in a panic because it was believed if a girl was not married by the third season, something was wrong with her, or why had she not made a match?
“The previous season I had met a handsome and intelligent gentleman named Colin Matheson. He had quite a reputation as a ladies' man, and although I found him to be attractive, I was not going to be one of those who practically swooned when he came into the room. He asked if he could call on me, and not wanting to encourage him because of Jack, I told him I had a very crowded schedule. He didn't like that answer, and he didn't call. When my mother saw him in Paris, he told her what I had said, and she was not amused.
Searching for Pemberley Page 29
