I do wish my father’s library was rather less fusty; I would be grateful if you would see what modern productions are in the Pemberley library, and we shall make plans to procure some new books. My cousin’s expensive education surely prompts him to select the best and, if not the best, the most fashionable publications. Nailed as I am here at home, I am particularly interested in writings by travellers, such as those by the Frenchman François Levaillant, their accounts of mountain ranges, deserts, lakes and shores, flora and fauna new to me, exotic peoples and interesting hardships; from the furthest poles of the earth to the next county, I do not mind, as long as the particulars are intelligently and fluently expressed. I found Lady Mary Wortley Montagu’s published letters from her time in Turkey engaging, and could wish for more.
What shape does your day take now that you are enjoying what must be a sort of holiday from your usual responsibilities? I fear I must press for a reply to this letter as a small measure against the tedium of life here: I miss your contribution to conversations at Rosings.
As the days lengthen, my prison expands – it is much harder to go night riding on these evenings of golden light, even though the softness of the air and the lengthening shadows of the trees tempt me tremendously. I have to wait for full dark before venturing down to the stables. But on the rare occasions I manage it, the sensations are delicious: the night air is perfumed not just by the blooms of the day, but all the scents of the soil and grass as they give up the day’s warmth. The stars hang closer than ever, the barking of foxes carries over the hills, and Bruno and I swing along the tracks more languidly than usual. Poor creature, he does seem puzzled when I tiptoe into his stall in the middle of the night! But we have had no misadventures, and I store up the sensations to relive during the days that creep by. These excursions have the added benefit of leaving me sleepy and yawning, which is noticed, and serves as an excellent excuse for retiring from company – not on account of the frailty so easily ascribed to me by my companions, but because of the need to catch up on missed sleep.
Other than that, there is absolutely nothing of note to report. Mr Collins seems well cared for by the Parsonage staff, but he is dining here rather more frequently than usual, and seems unusually downcast. There is no doubt that he misses you and his daughters, and all my mother’s advice on how he should take this opportunity to rewrite his sermons cannot cheer him.
I hope your daughters are thriving – they are of an age to benefit from all the pleasures of Pemberley while yet being too young to be overawed by the experience. You will of course pass on my compliments to Mrs Darcy, which compliments are also due to you.
Yours, etc.,
Anne de Bourgh
Charlotte was not unmindful of the tribute paid to her discretion by the contents of Miss de Bourgh’s letter. But while she was relieved to hear that no alarming or even mildly disturbing events were taking place in her absence, she was seized by the memory of the almost oppressively opulent drawing room at Rosings, with its superfluity of heat and ornament, the incessantly ticking clock, the scents of polish and tapestry fabric and smoke and roses mingling with the slight whiff of mould. Anne’s account of the tedium that lay several hundred miles to the south rose up to choke her.
She must have made some small sound, because Herr Rosenstein caught her eye: ‘Frau Collins, may I trouble you with a request for assistance? Would it be possible to set your letters aside and turn my music sheets for me?’
Here was escape, and Charlotte sprang to her feet to oblige the musician.
‘Thank you, Charlotte!’ called Lizzy from her station: ‘Mr Darcy sent for some German lieder by a new young composer, a Mr Schubert – barely more than a boy, I understand – and I should like to choose some that fall within my poor ability and rehearse them for his return. But I fear I rely on the pair of you to carry out my purpose.’
Charlotte sat down at the pianoforte beside Herr Rosenstein, who showed her the songs he had selected, and began to sight-read them. Her role of turning the sheets was much less onerous, and she was able to lose herself in the gentle ripple of the notes he played, and his voice as he sang. Now and again he paused to repeat a phrase with a slightly different emphasis or more confident accompaniment on the keys, and Charlotte shut her eyes to better allow the music to fill her head and heart. This close to him, she became aware of the faint scent of his body, the spice of it, with a tang not unlike that of Dobbin’s coat.
She wondered if their proximity now, along with the cascade of music, might cause him to recollect their maze excursion, of which they had never yet spoken; and as if reading her mind, he wove into the piece he was playing the air from the variations he had performed for her first in the schoolroom, and then in the maze. The phrasing was so slight and subtle, she wondered at first if she was mishearing, but he repeated the brief sequence of notes and, as she turned to look at him, he lifted his eyes from the music to flash a smile at her.
She sat more upright, breathed more deeply. The sensation of stifling fell from her like hands releasing her throat. Perhaps Anne’s account of her nights, if not her days, indicated that there were indeed means of escaping daily routine – that it was possible to suspend the demands of duty rather than abandon them.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE PICNIC CONCERTS, AS LIZZY began calling them, proved so popular with all, especially the children, that they were regularly repeated; a search of the nursery toys turned up a few instruments, including a drum that Laura seized as her own. Herr Rosenstein also gave both girls rudimentary singing lessons, teaching them to clap rhythms and warble breathy tunes.
On one such occasion he spent half an hour teaching them German folk ballads, notably the one about the Lorelei. The children were rapt at the tale of the rock in the River Rhine, the beautiful maiden who sat on it combing her golden hair and singing for her lost love, attracting sailors whose crafts foundered on the rocks and drowned.
‘I want to be the maiden, Mama!’ cried Laura. ‘I want to draw sailors and ships onto the rocks with my song! And when they crash, I want to dive off the rock into the river and save them all.’
The grown-ups present could not hide their laughter, and Jacob said, ‘In that case, you need to be word-perfect with your song, Fräulein. Let us rehearse it again:
Ich weiß nicht
was soll es bedeuten
daß ich so traurig bin;
ein Märchen aus uralten Zeiten
das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.
These watery scenes were matched by external ones; Lizzy and Charlotte had fallen into the habit of taking a walk most afternoons, often accompanied by the girls, and a favourite path followed the course of the river. Charlotte was glad that Lizzy felt strong enough for such exertion, but her friend had always been a great walker, climber of stiles and jumper of ha-has, and years of marriage and three miscarriages had not altered this aspect of her character, however much some might think it beneath the dignity of the mistress of Pemberley to ramble the grounds and surrounding countryside like a shepherdess in Arcadia.
Each step along their preferred path presented a nobler fall of ground or a finer vista of the woods, until the circuit brought them to the water’s edge. Here the valley contracted to a glen that allowed room only for the stream and a narrow walk alongside the coppice-wood that bordered it. Their object was a rustic and unadorned bridge that allowed only foot traffic, a good spot to rest before retracing their steps back along the opposite side of the river, with its verdant twists and turns.
Herr Rosenstein, once again waiting for a coat of varnish to dry before he could continue his work on Miss Darcy’s harpsichord, joined them on one of these excursions. He walked on ahead with the children, who were squabbling over who would get the honour of pointing out to him the trout flicking their lazy tails in the pools along the way. Sarah poked her sister in the ribs, and Laura responded with a push that had the elder child staggering perilously close to the water’s edge. Charlotte called out,
embarrassed by the boisterousness of her girls, but also feeling the fear that had trailed her ever since Tom’s death step up to breathe on the back of her neck. But her warning came too late – with barely a splash, Sarah disappeared into the swiftly flowing river.
There was no time even to feel alarm: in seconds, Herr Rosenstein had toed off his boots and plunged in after her daughter, diving to scoop her up, then splashing back to the bank and depositing her there, soaked but otherwise unharmed. It was only then that the seconds slowed down. Elizabeth called out for assistance, gardeners came running, the usually imperturbable senior nursemaid arrived at a flustered trot, and was dispatched back to the house with the girls – Sarah uncomplaining, but Laura now howling so heartily one could be mistaken for thinking she had been the victim of the accident.
Charlotte moved to follow, but her limbs had turned to wool; to her perplexity, she sank to her knees, snatching for air, her head spinning. She heard Lizzy’s voice, high with agitation, and then Jacob’s, closer as he bent over her: ‘Breathe, Mrs Collins. Sink your head. Yes, like that. Do not try to rise just yet. Breathe slowly and regularly. Mrs Darcy, there is no reason for alarm, but your friend might benefit from your chafing her wrists.’
After a few minutes of such assiduous attentions from her companions, Charlotte felt able to get to her feet, supported by the musician’s arm about her waist, and Lizzy’s encouragement. Embarrassment began to break like a wave, even as her friends assured her apology was unnecessary.
Lizzy was the first to thank the musician: ‘How fortunate that you were with us, Herr Rosenstein, and reacted so speedily and with such courage! Is there no end to our indebtedness to you, sir?’
The enormity of what the young man had done for her, her child, their family, began to dawn on Charlotte, and she turned to him, stammering: ‘My child! You saved my child!’ It was all she could utter, her mouth dry. In a tempest of unchecked gratitude that would mortify her in retrospect, she clutched at his hands and covered them in kisses, only to be soothed and quietened: ‘I did what anyone would have done, Frau Collins, but do not try to speak just yet. Let us get you settled and comfortable back at the house first.’
After a few minutes, she was able to walk unassisted, although Lizzy still held her arm: ‘You shall rest before dinner, my dear Charlotte, and a fire shall be made in your room. Warm milk with brandy and sugar, too; you have had a sad shock indeed.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Herr Rosenstein added. ‘Mrs Darcy is correct; you have been overset by shock and must recover yourself.’
Much later, after everyone had been rendered warm and dry after the afternoon’s misadventures, and Mrs Darcy had at last left her, after twice instructing the servants to keep her bedroom fire burning, Charlotte found herself with time to reflect. She had been doubly struck by both terror and the surprise of that terror. A monster had leapt at her and pinned her to the ground, leaving her gasping as if she were one of the fish in the river and had been tossed into cruel air. No matter that she was safe, her child was safe, she was among friends: a giant hand had squeezed her chest, sending panic racing along her nerves. No amount of reasoning with herself, nor the comforting of her companions, could assuage or stop the shuddering that still wracked her body intermittently. Perhaps it was the reminder of how quickly disaster could step into the path, how helpless mortals were in the face of it. Fate could seize them by the scruffs of their necks, rendering them as helpless as fieldmice in the jaws of the fox – indeed, there were few shocks as great as at those moments.
But then had come the rescue: the sight of Jacob wading out of the river, Sarah safe in his arms, Charlotte’s worst terror turning to relief in a tumult of feelings so sharply pitched as to be almost unendurable – the scene was imprinted in her mind, playing again and again.
Her heart was still so full, she found she needed to find some form of expression, and went to the writing-desk to seek pen and paper.
My dear William,
Pray be assured we are all well and in good heart, but what an alarm we suffered today! We were walking beside the river that flows through the valley. The girls were, I regret, not behaving as well as they ought, and as a result of some horseplay, Sarah was accidentally plunged into the stream. The river was running strongly, and the current immediately seized at her little form. Oh, the sight of her head disappearing under the surface! It will haunt me forever. My instinct was to throw myself after her but, as you know, I cannot swim and was helpless to aid her. I believe that was the worst, in thinking back on it: my powerlessness.
By the mercy of Providence, we were not alone – Mrs Darcy and I were accompanied by one Herr Rosenstein, a piano-tuner from Austria here to set Miss Darcy’s instruments to rights. He did not hesitate: he dived in at once and plucked Sarah from the torrent – she was too shocked even to struggle – and had her on the bank before we could so much as call out for help.
To my embarrassment, it became necessary to administer aid to me more than our daughter, but we were all got back to the house in due course, where I was pressed to rest in my chamber while fortifying drinks were brought me. Mrs Darcy was all kindness and did not leave my side until I was more comfortable.
I was deeply anxious about Sarah, but the nursemaids had her dry and warm in a trice, and she seems unharmed in either body and spirit. There is so far no sign of a chill or fever, and she is in fact inclined to paint herself as the heroine of the hour, and her sister (the originator of the accident) as the blackest of villains. I almost feel sorry for Laura, whose habitual boisterousness is subdued, although I have no doubt that this is temporary. Both girls are sleeping now, looking like veritable cherubs: I have been to check several times.
I have of course given fervent thanks to the Almighty for Sarah’s safe deliverance, most especially for the instrument of her rescue, the musician who went to her aid with no thought for his own safety or comfort. My dear William, what a debt we owe this young man! No words, no thanks, no gesture can ever repay his gift to our family, the nobility of his deed in saving us from unimaginable anguish.
He has been a most pleasing companion and adjunct to our visit here, lending cheer not only to Mrs Darcy and myself, always amenable to joining us when we grow tired of women’s chat and require our small circle widened, but also a great favourite with the girls, to whom he is giving some lessons in singing and musicality. Now of course he leaps even higher in my estimation, as high indeed as the firmament of angels.
I beg you to join me in prayers of thanksgiving for his selfless intervention, and in wishing every blessing upon him. I shall never cease thanking him for the gift he has bestowed on us: the safety of our daughter.
Charlotte paused, and reread what she had written. She considered the letters her husband sent her once a week, in which domestic duty and fondness were equally mixed. Fairly brief, considering his volubility in speech, they rehearsed the essence of his sermon that Sunday, repeated Lady Catherine’s glosses, gave an account of the loaves distributed for poor relief, and enumerated the nettles and sow-thistles he was clearing from the garden beds, or the palings he and Mr Brown had replaced where the cows had trampled them down. They always ended with sincere professions of affection for her and their daughters.
She sighed. It would not be an act of kindness to introduce alarm into their correspondence, not even at the same moment of alleviating that alarm. She crumpled the stiff, costly paper in her hand and tossed it into the banked flames of the hearth, where it flared briefly before thinning to ghostly grey flakes.
CHAPTER XIX
OVER BREAKFAST THE NEXT MORNING, Lizzy and Herr Rosenstein showed no lessening of solicitude, and Charlotte was closely questioned as to her and her daughters’ well-being. She was able to reassure them that Sarah seemed to have suffered no injurious consequences from her watery mishap. But she was unable to hide the tremble in her voice, and her friends exchanged a glance before Jacob put forward a proposal: ‘Frau Collins, would it make your mind a littl
e easier if I taught the young Fräuleins how to swim? Then we need not fear a repetition of yesterday’s alarm.’
Charlotte demurred at first, imagining all kinds of unforeseen consequences. Would there not be an element of danger? Might not the girls perhaps fall ill as a result of their immersions? But her companions gradually overcame her initial reluctance. The musician assured her that it would be no trouble to him, and indeed a form of healthful exercise and diversion for them all, while Lizzy exclaimed, ‘That is an excellent plan! If we choose fine weather, there can be no danger of chills or rheumatism. Our waters are fresh and clear, and cannot possibly be injurious. You and I can sit by the river and watch as Herr Rosenstein schools your girls to be ducklings.’
Charlotte had to agree, especially once the plan had been broached with the girls, who, far from being daunted by the previous day’s accident, were seized by the notion and its novelty. The housekeeper was dispatched to search trunks for suitable garments and, to the amusement of all, she produced the skeleton suits Mr Darcy had worn as a very small boy, which were admirably suited to the purpose, their high-waisted trews held in place by sashes. At first, however, with the arrival of showers of rain, it seemed that the proposed aquatic adventures would have to be postponed, and the girls shook small fists at the clouded sky as they pressed their noses to the nursery windows. But the sun came out warm and bright in the afternoon, and the project grew more appealing to all.
Their party, including the more senior nursemaid, who came armed with an ample supply of towels and cloths, set out for the rustic bridge, and prepared themselves for either sport or spectating. Charlotte and Elizabeth seated themselves on the edge, where they had a good view of the pool below, and Herr Rosenstein removed his boots, waistcoat, cravat and the tooled straps attached to his trousers, then waded into the water. Next, he had to coax the girls, already overcome by the excitement of wearing their strange new costumes, to join him, as they were now as shriekingly desirous of avoiding immersion as they had previously been enthusiastic. Laura at last closed her eyes tight and launched herself at the river as if she were one of Mr Darcy’s spaniels, creating maximum splash and noise as she landed. Sarah was left with no choice but to follow her younger sister, which she did to less spectacular effect.
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