The Red Chrysanthemum

by Linda Beutler

  “May I?” she asked.

  “Certainly. With four children and an inquisitive husband, I am now quite accustomed to an audience as I work.” Mrs Gardiner’s eyes did not leave her subject.

  Mrs Reynolds gasped, “How beautiful!” The angle caught Elizabeth’s profile, chin up, gazing at Mr Darcy. Enough of his portrait was included as to leave no doubt of what it was by the stance of his legs and riding boots. As Mrs Reynolds watched, Mrs Gardiner made a rough addition of Elizabeth’s hands and flowers.

  “You work wonderful quick, ma’am,” Mrs Reynolds remarked. “Is this picture for my master?”

  “Oh no!” exclaimed Mrs Gardiner. “It is for Miss Darcy. For her birthday.”

  Mrs Reynolds blushed a little, vexed with herself for her initial assumption. “Of course. Presumptuous of me.” She muttered under her breath in the local Derbyshire dialect, “Art a balmpot — tow’d woman…” (“Silly old woman.”)

  Without a turn of her head but with an indulgent smile, Mrs Gardiner replied in the same vernacular, “Thad no need to bother thysen.” (“Do not trouble yourself.”)

  Elizabeth turned to look at them.

  Mrs Reynolds was surprised. “You’re from county Derby, ma’am?”

  “Indeed, yes, Mrs Reynolds. I had the good fortune to live in Lambton from the ages of four to eighteen. Very happy years. I was sorry to leave, but of course, if my family had not flit to London, I would not have met my dear husband.”

  Mrs Reynolds chuckled. “Well then, I had best mind my mutterings during your visit since another besides the master will be able to decipher me.” She smiled and gave a bobbed curtsy of respect, as much as her old knees would allow, and left the gallery humming.

  “Isn’t she marvellous, Aunt?” Elizabeth sighed as she returned to her pose.

  “A treasure. The new mistress of Pemberley will be lucky to have her and to be already so well ensconced in her good graces.” Mrs Gardiner let the implication of her words sink in without further comment.

  Elizabeth slowly met her aunt’s eyes with a glowing smile. “Now hold that smile, Lizzy, and turn it to the portrait.”

  * * *

  Thursday, 30 July

  The Darcy chaise and four collected Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner from the Rose and Raindrop Inn the next day at noon. Mr Gardiner had departed for London two hours earlier in his own coach after a jovial and fond farewell. In a month’s time, he would meet the Darcy coach in Oxford and transport his family home.

  As the chaise was loaded, Darcy arrived on horseback and rode escort to the guests. Georgiana met the coach as it arrived. Darcy excused himself to meet with his steward, and Georgiana took Elizabeth on a more detailed tour of the house as Mrs Gardiner rested. Her weariness was a ruse to return to the portrait gallery to improve her reproduction of the lower left corner of the painting of Darcy.

  Elizabeth stepped briefly into the bedchamber that was to be hers. An addition had been made to it. The table next to the window with the wonderful view now held a bowl of fresh roses of mixed colours, all of them open. She stared at it. Did Mr Darcy place those here? Surely not. He would not make such a presumption. Perhaps he would. It is his house. Has he been in this room where I have dressed? The notion seems so intimate. She grew flustered. She never would forget the meaning of open roses. He still loves me, but what does he mean by it?

  A tap on the door made her jump as she heard Georgiana call, “Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth was blushing as she turned, and Georgiana realised the cause. “Aren’t they lovely? That is every open rose my brother could find on the whole estate. Come, I want to show you around the house.”

  Georgiana shared with Elizabeth her favourite rooms of Pemberley. Elizabeth wandered in awe through the conservatory of tropical flowers, which had been tended by Lady Anne Darcy. They looked into the first floor music room where Georgiana spent hours at practice. Elizabeth asked to see the library, which was entered down the hall from Darcy’s study.

  It was a perfect summer day, and Elizabeth asked if they might walk outside. Georgiana suggested they visit the stables and kennels. Elizabeth was delighted. She loved dogs and always thought it hard Mrs Bennet would not allow them into the house as other neighbourhood gentry did. Georgiana informed her that Darcy was forever bringing members of his hunting pack inside to sit with him in the evenings. She suspected, but could not confirm, that he even allowed a favoured bitch to sleep on his bed, as she had once overheard chambermaids complaining of dog hair on the master’s winter counterpane.

  Although Elizabeth could barely sit a horse, it was a pleasure to feed them treats, and she was charmed by the two colts born just the week before to different mares on the same day.

  When they returned to the house, they were met by Darcy dressed for dinner. Georgiana checked her little pocket watch with alarm. “I am so sorry, Brother. I was having such a good time with Lizzy! We went to the stables and kennels. I showed her where the library is, and we spent a long while in the conservatory.” Georgiana endeavoured to cast Elizabeth a sidelong glance. “She loved it so much; I thought I might have to drag her out of it.” Elizabeth smiled at her attempt to be teasing, much to Georgiana’s relief.

  Darcy had longed to show Elizabeth the library himself and could not mask his annoyance. He took in a deep breath as he attempted to alter his grumpy-brother face, reminding himself that, in the eyes of the world, Elizabeth was Georgiana’s guest, not his. “Cook will not be happy, Georgie, unless you can dress in fifteen minutes. I know for a fact, you cannot.”

  Georgiana grabbed Elizabeth’s hand. “He has thrown down the gauntlet, Lizzy!” They ran down the hall, with Georgiana giggling like a mad thing.

  * * *

  After dinner and a harp recital by Georgiana, the ladies withdrew to their bedchambers. Darcy and Bingley sat in the study. Bingley was unusually quiet, although he fidgeted over the book he was reading. Darcy did not pretend to any concentration of attention and gave himself over to musing as he stared at the fire. Sometime the next day, Jane Bennet would arrive, and knowing Bingley’s impulsiveness, Darcy assumed a proposal could happen anytime thereafter. Once Bingley and Jane were betrothed, Darcy could see no impediment, other than Elizabeth’s reticence, to renewing his addresses or at least making it known to her that he considered their acquaintance to have progressed to a courtship.

  Darcy reviewed Elizabeth’s behaviour since their exchange of flowers. Clearly, she was pleased when they met at the church in Lambton. She seemed to respond best when his actions differed from her expectations. He was reminded of her flirtatious behaviour at Arbor Low, which had very nearly made him forget himself. Those closest to her believed her to be in love with him or at least disposed to now think well of him, and yet she held back.

  It is true, I have not said I still love her, but the flowers were explicit. Even today, she finds a bouquet of open roses in her bedchamber. Her bedchamber. She is here. Elizabeth Bennet is my guest. She sleeps next door to Georgie. Does she read herself to sleep? Yes, she would. Did I tell her she might use the library? Oh, yes, I did, at dinner. Anytime…I told her to use it anytime, day or night. What if I found her there? Would she make a confession to me? No, I must say it. I must speak the words first before she will. There is some lack of faith in me that I must overcome before she will speak. Elizabeth is more like Jane than she thinks. When it comes to the point, she does not wish to be caught vulnerable, so I must not be missish.

  Bingley stood. “I am too excited for anything, Darcy, even to be good company. I shall take a little port and go to bed.”

  Darcy glanced up. “Tomorrow night you will be in my shoes, Bingley: under the same roof as the woman you love.”

  “You forget Netherfield when Jane was ill. I have faced these demons before.”

  Darcy was annoyed with himself to be selfishly mired in his own turmoil once again. “Of course, Bingley. Stupid of me… Perhaps tomorrow night I will be too exhausted not to sleep, but I will sleep ve
ry ill tonight.”

  “Darcy! You hound! Is the temptation so great? This does not bode well for your gentlemanly reputation.” Bingley slapped Darcy upon the shoulder as he turned to leave.

  Darcy stood and chuckled. “I am a pitiful thing, Bingley. When I am realistic, I hold onto a tremulous hope, but with her here, my fancy runs away with me.”

  “Steady on, Darcy!” Bingley laughed as he left.

  Darcy paced slowly in front of the fire. He knew the view from the windows of the room assigned to Elizabeth. She would see down to the river, beyond the formal watercourse near the house. Would the river’s wildness call to her in the morning? Or would she climb the hill behind the house to take in the view? In Hertfordshire, she wandered farmland and lanes, but at Rosings Park, she had chosen the shaded glades rather than traversing the open meadows. But of course, that was to avoid the prying eyes of my aunt. He could imagine her wandering his walled gardens, the kitchen gardens, the herbs and roses, and his mother’s flowers. Perhaps she would find the Arboretum planted by his father with its rare trees and odd foreign shrubs. The point is, if I do not see her leave in the morning, how will I find her? “God in heaven,” he muttered aloud. Why does Pemberley have to be so damn big? he wondered for the first time in his life.

  Darcy exited his study and looked beyond the entrances to the largest drawing room and dining room, past the music room used for entertaining. The hall extended to Georgiana’s end of the house, where he, too, had slept before becoming master. He had thought to put Elizabeth in his old room but decided it would be better to house her in a room closer to Georgiana. He told himself the two new friends might sit up late chatting as ladies liked to do, and it would not be wise to have Elizabeth wandering Pemberley late at night trying to find Georgiana’s room.

  His feet, unbidden, guided Darcy down Georgiana’s hall. There was candlelight under his sister’s door at the far end. He stopped some feet from Elizabeth’s room and crossed the hall to view the space under the door. Yes, candlelight. As he watched, the door opened, and he held his breath. He tucked himself into a doorway insufficient to the task of hiding him. What if she makes for the library? She will certainly see me.

  It was Georgiana. She closed Elizabeth’s door, glanced down the hall absently and turned towards her room. Suddenly, she stopped, turned back and, without looking at her brother’s face, approached him and took his arm. Saying nothing, with only a sardonic smile upon her lips, Georgiana escorted him to the end of the hall and the stairway landing that led to the public rooms. He did not resist.

  “Thank you, Georgie,” Darcy whispered when she released his arm. “Thank you for protecting my virtue.” He smiled and kissed her forehead.

  “Hmm, yes, well…and Lizzy’s. It is going to be a long month if you cannot control yourself on the first night.”

  “I only came to see her door — to make sure nothing was amiss.” Darcy’s whisper was distinctly defensive.

  “Perhaps we would have done better to put her on the guest floor, but we cannot make the change now. How would it look?”

  “You are perfectly right. I shall regulate myself better, Georgie; really, I shall.”

  “See that you do, or neither of us will get a wink of sleep the entirety of August.”

  Georgie had turned away when Darcy blurted, “Are you not at least going to tell me what you were speaking of together?”

  His sister turned back with a withering stare. She accompanied the expression with a stern shake of her head.

  Chastened, Darcy walked to his dressing room.

  * * *

  Friday, 31 July

  Elizabeth spent a fitful night but put it down to the first attempt at sleep in a different bed and her excitement over Jane’s pending arrival. She awoke early and dressed quickly, foregoing a corset and donning a light cotton walking gown with her boots. She pinned her night braid upon her head and fluffed the curls around her face before tying a bonnet in place. She carried a little watch borrowed from Georgiana, so she would know when to return for a bath and breakfast.

  Although the whole of Pemberley’s woods was a wonderful mystery to be solved in the coming month, Elizabeth set out to find a few paths Jane might enjoy. Jane was not so prodigious a walker as her sister, but Elizabeth entertained the fanciful notion that she might find some romantic wayside where Bingley would be moved to propose if Jane would steer him thence. Wondering whether there was a path through the woods to the spot where she had first seen Pemberley, Elizabeth headed Northwest, passing over the lawn where she and Darcy had unexpectedly met ten days earlier.

  Her thoughts of that happy meeting, or so it now seemed in hindsight, caused her to begin humming and increase her pace. That the meeting had been alarming and awkward was something she meant to forget as soon as possible. If she and Darcy ever did unite in marriage, that day would always be a holiday in her heart.

  By the time she disappeared into the shrubbery, she was skipping and soon was running along a gently rising path. It forked downward to the stable yard, but she continued upward until she was above a hidden pond and could look back at Pemberley awakening. She stopped to gather her breath, and as she watched, a handsome riding horse was led towards the house. Georgiana mentioned she might ride early. Two gardeners with tools in their carts laughed along the path bordering the watercourse and disappeared to the south. A young man with a pack of foxhounds following him ran out to exercise them. Georgiana emerged in her riding habit, and she was helped onto the horse. She rode away, disappearing around the far end of the manor. Two chatting kitchen maids entered the house with baskets of freshly gathered eggs. Men on foot emerged and receded. Pemberley was a veritable beehive. Elizabeth was fascinated. Of all this she might have been mistress.

  * * *

  Darcy stood with his morning coffee in hand. The night had offered him little sleep. Elizabeth’s nearness would be a trial. It was vexing that she could exit to the outside from any of ten doors, only three of which Darcy could see from his balcony. He believed he was dressed early enough to intercept Elizabeth’s walk and was thus dismayed when he looked to the north and saw a flash of pale green gown and bonnet plunging out of sight. So early! “Damn!” he cursed aloud.

  “Sir?” His valet stepped towards him.

  “It is nothing, just an opportunity I let slip. It is nothing.”

  Darcy’s valet knew full well when the master said, “It is nothing,” twice — or more — the issue at hand was not nothing.

  “May I be of any assistance, sir?”

  Darcy handed him his empty cup. “No. No, thank you. It is an opportunity that will likely present itself again.”

  “Very good, Mr Darcy.” Garrick left the room.

  Where is she going? Maybe she will find the pond, but it is not far, and she would not tarry there if she means to exercise. He smiled to himself. She is no doubt running by now.

  * * *

  When Darcy joined his guests in the breakfast room, Elizabeth was wearing a fresh gown, and Georgiana’s maid had dressed her hair. The tantalizing clean scent of lavender floated to Darcy’s nose as he asked, “You have already walked this morning, Miss Elizabeth? What did you see?”

  They were standing side-by-side at the breakfast arrayed on a sideboard. She lowered her voice. “You will think I am a foolish creature, Mr Darcy, and I daresay not for the first time, but I went in search of a romantic place where a gentleman might propose if a lady were to lead him there.” Her sidelong glance was full of merriment.

  Darcy inhaled sharply. His heart gave one strong beat and seemed to stop. She is speaking of Bingley and Jane. You know she is, Darcy. She is not speaking of you. He swallowed and replied, “And you were successful?”

  “Oh, indeed. I am quite spoilt for choice.”

  Darcy watched as Elizabeth helped herself to several kinds of fruit, bread and jam.

  “But I own, I was more intrigued by watching the big house awaken. It was a remarkable sight to see everyone goi
ng about their tasks. Other than as regards a certain man whom I shall not name, your father must have been a keen judge of character, Mr Darcy, and so must you be.”

  “Am I?”

  “You must be. You do not supervise each task directly. That is not possible. You must have entrusted authority very well to overseers who organise the work. Everyone I saw seemed purposeful, some even quite happy — not a querulous face in the crowd. It does you credit.” She smiled up at him and turned away, seating herself at the table.

  Darcy stared after her. Was there ever a visitor to Pemberley who would notice such a thing? No woman guest setting foot on the estate gave consideration to its efficient function. Darcy was used to compliments on the beauty of the house, his possessions and the grounds, but never had he been extolled as the master who chose the staff who had the running of it as their charge. He was flattered for his looks and fashionable dress, for his dry wit and generosity. Never had a lady praised him as an able manager of a complex estate, let alone made a careful observation of its workings.

  Bingley looked up to see the strange aspect of Darcy’s face. The man looked as if he had been slapped with a cold fish, but then broke into a wide grin as he gazed adoringly at the back of Elizabeth’s head. Bingley smiled and tucked into his ham.

  * * *

  The house was in a nervous state for the rest of the morning. Outriders would arrive half an hour before the carriage bearing Miss Jane Bennet and the Gardiner children, but the Darcys and their guests found themselves at the north windows of the public rooms, peeking up the entry drive. A basket of agrimony was waiting for Bingley to strew at Jane’s feet as she alit from the carriage. Elizabeth stole into the library but found herself pacing. She smiled, and had Darcy approached her then, she would have thanked him again and again for, as he had said, “righting a very great wrong.”