A Season Lost

by Sophie Turner

  “Yes, my excellent cousin is most correct. I have not had so much time here as I usually do.”

  “I will just go in and see Charlotte, then.” She curtsied and went most expediently through the gate to the front door.

  It seemed Charlotte had observed her arrival from the window, for Elizabeth found herself embraced by her friend as soon as she entered.

  “Oh, Lizzy, it has been too long! How are you? You look very well, for having borne twins not so long ago.”

  “Yes, I am very well – I suppose the useful thing about twins is that they are both comparably small,” Elizabeth said, laughing. “And how are you, Charlotte?”

  “I am well, thank you.”

  Without speaking of their destination, they both went back to Charlotte’s drawing-room, and Charlotte instructed a servant that tea should be brought in. They seated themselves, and Elizabeth examined her friend. Charlotte looked a little more worn than she had the last time Elizabeth had visited, and this matched with what had seemed a weariness in tone, in the last few of her letters. Elizabeth thought Mr. Collins’s needing to spend more time indoors was the likely cause of this weariness. They exchanged the expected inquiries on the health of various family members, then descended into a strange and awkward silence.

  “Are these curtains new? I like them very much,” Elizabeth finally said, hating that she should be reduced to such frivolities with someone who had once been one of her closest friends. Yet such a friendship cannot be restored immediately to what it was before, with nothing more than a long-distance correspondence to sustain it for several years.

  “Thank you, Lizzy. They were my project over the winter. I am sure you have far finer at Pemberley, though.”

  “In some of the rooms, yes. But the ones in my own bedchamber are ridiculous, I assure you. I have been intending to have the room redecorated, but I have not quite got around to it.” Elizabeth was not so bothered by this as she might have been, for she spent far more time in the master’s bedchamber, and both master and chamber were exceedingly handsome. She did not mention this to Charlotte, however.

  “Oh, but you have had much more pressing matters to occupy you there, with your sons. Twins! I could hardly believe it when I read your letter. My congratulations to you, Lizzy – it is so delightful. I hope I shall get a chance to meet them, while you are here.”

  “Of course you shall, and indeed I am supposed to give an invitation to dinner for tomorrow evening. The usual hour,” Elizabeth said. Then, somewhat hesitantly, she continued to the topic she had not felt comfortable broaching within her correspondence. Mr. Collins had hinted in a letter to Longbourn some years ago that a child was on the way, yet the child had never come. It could not be told whether Mr. Collins had merely mistaken the situation, or his wife had miscarried. “What of yourself – is there any hope of a little Collins on the way?”

  “No, there is not, Lizzy.” Charlotte looked down at her hands, folded upon her lap.

  “I am so sorry, Charlotte, but I am sure there is still hope.”

  “We do not – Mr. Collins and I do not endeavour to put ourselves in the family way very often, so as you say, there is still hope. I do not have any belief that there is anything fundamentally wrong, but I have little taste for the act. I hope, in time, we shall be fortunate.”

  “Oh, Charlotte, I hope you shall, as well.” Elizabeth did not know what else to say beyond this. She could not tell Charlotte that the act her friend found distasteful could actually be wonderful – so very wonderful – when Elizabeth found it difficult to believe it could ever be so with Mr. Collins. And yet she hoped very much for a child for Charlotte. She knew a mother’s love, now, and while it was different from that which a wife has with her husband when she truly loves him, it was a love that could perhaps fill some of the space left open in her heart, if she was bound in a loveless marriage.

  Thankfully, a maid came in then with the tea things, lessening any awkwardness that might have been, between two friends who had once been so close.

  +++

  The next day, Elizabeth joined the group going to call on Mr. Bradbery to see his water-cress, mostly because she had nothing better to do. Her choices were to go with her husband and the rest of the party to the cress beds at Northfleet, call on Charlotte again at Hunsford, or remain with Lady Catherine and her daughter at Rosings. The least appealing part of the latter might have been avoided by hiding in the nursery, but Elizabeth feared that if she did so, Lady Catherine would only find her there and give her unsolicited advice on child-rearing. Calling on Charlotte she considered as well, but since the Collinses were to come to dinner that evening, she favoured the expedition to Northfleet.

  One of Pemberley’s undergardeners, Michael, had come to Rosings well in advance of his employer, skipping the sojourns at Hilcote and Stradbroke and riding in the waggonette driven by Jacob Murray, who was the Stantons’s coachman. Given direction by his employers that he was to take their horses and carriage to Pemberley, then serve as suited Mr. Darcy until the Stantons returned, Murray had been asked if he would mind driving the waggonette across the country. Murray was young and had been promoted from groom when he was hired on by the Stantons, and did not find the request demeaning as an older head coachman might have. Assured that the four horses under his responsibility would be well cared for in his absence, he had taken the assignment without complaint, and on this day he, Michael, and an undergardener from Rosings had set off well before the carriage.

  Thus it was Elizabeth, Darcy, and Mr. Leyland, Rosings’s steward, in the carriage bound for Northfleet. When they arrived, they found both undergardeners already speaking with a gentlemanly looking man, and looking out over long, parallel rows of water fed in from the nearby stream, in which clusters of a leafy green plant could easily be said to be thriving. Mr. Bradbery appeared surprised by the fineness of the carriage and the gentleman and lady who stepped down from it, followed by Leyland, who introduced them. Mr. Bradbery explained that he had corresponded with Mr. Leyland and thought this to be a call like those already paid to him by other stewards and bailiffs who sought to try the crop on waterlogged fields, and wished merely to make a business transaction. This was the first time an estate owner had taken such an active interest in his water-cress, and if he had known, he would have received them in his house first, rather than meeting here beside his cress beds.

  “We do not mind at all,” Darcy said. “We came to see the water-cress, and I am sure you have many demands on your time, if others are seeking this out as a crop for fields that will not drain.”

  “I will not say I have had a tremendous number – a dozen, perhaps, so far,” said Mr. Bradbery. “I believe most people are still in hopes that the rain will stop, and things shall turn around.”

  “I share their hope, but one does not run an estate on hope,” Darcy replied.

  “I understand completely. However, before you choose this as a solution, there are a few things I should warn you of. The plant does not do well in still water – as you can see, we have diverted a little of the stream here to keep up a steady flow. Now, if the rain continues as it has, I think it should grow well enough this year, but it should not be a crop you expect to grow well in the future. Nor would it be something you should expect to sell in London – it is exceedingly delicate, and I do not think it would bear the transport from Derbyshire.”

  “I did not expect it to be,” Darcy said. “We will purchase it from our tenants for use on our own table, and they may also sell it locally, but I doubt it will market farther than Matlock. My primary wish is for something productive they can grow in troublesome fields, so long as they remain flooded.”

  “That is where you shall have a bit of additional complexity,” said Mr. Bradbery. “It does not do well in mud – the flavour is quite ruined. These beds you see here are all lined with gravel, and you would need to do the same with your own fields. I suppose that could be done without draining them, if you have labourers willing
to do the work in standing water.”

  “There is no shortage of cheap labour in our county,” Darcy said. “I understand it would require effort upfront, and then additional work to clear the fields for their original purpose when the time comes. Yet I am inclined to try it, at least for our very worst fields.”

  Mr. Bradbery responded positively, then proceeded to give them a great many more details as to how the plant should be cultivated and harvested, a speech which was attended carefully by Darcy, Leyland, and both undergardeners. Then he named a rather exorbitant price for enough shoots to fill the waggonette, and once the shock of this had passed, explained that although he had no concerns of competition from Derbyshire, this was the rate he had been required to establish for selling the plants to those from nearer afield who visited him, for who was to say they would not set up as his competition?

  Darcy agreed to the sum anyway, and Elizabeth began to understand that this expedition was less about attempting to grow a profitable crop and more an extension of what he had promised in the carriage ride, that no one associated with their estate or the villages it supported would starve. Such an insubstantial vegetable grown in a few fields would not make much of a difference to the sustenance of those dependent on Pemberley, but it seemed likely to create a great deal of work – work that could be paid for. And it would give the farmers with suffering fields the pride of selling something to the great house and coming closer to paying what they owed, rather than asking for the charity of having their rents forgiven or postponed.

  This was confirmed during the carriage ride home. They left the waggonette behind – it had been filled with what seemed every pot and bowl that could be spared from Pemberley, and these in turn were being filled with water and the dearly paid for shoots. Within the carriage, they carried a very small amount meant for the dinner table that evening, and Elizabeth, glancing at it, said, “I wish I could better recall the taste of Mr. Hurst’s soup. I do hope I like this water-cress, for it seems we may have an abundance of it.”

  “If it grows well enough in our fields, I will gladly feed it to my horses if you find you do not prefer it, Mrs. Darcy. All I wish for it to do is grow,” said her husband.

  +++

  As it turned out, Elizabeth liked the water-cress very much. She assumed Rosings’s cook had been warned in advance by Lady Catherine that a French water-cress soup must be put on the table that evening. It was, and was praised by both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Collins, although Mr. Collins’s praise was substantially more extensive and exuberant than Darcy’s was.

  Elizabeth liked the soup well enough, but what she found she really preferred was the sallad. She had never favoured rich or heavy foods, and here was something of a very pleasing lightness and mildness. She liked it so well she asked Darcy to serve her more of it, and he gave her a sceptical look in return.

  “I do truly like it,” she murmured in protest.

  “Mrs. Darcy, Mr. Darcy, what are you speaking of?” asked Lady Catherine.

  “I was just telling Mr. Darcy how much I liked the sallad, Lady Catherine. If your cook does not mind, I would like to get the directions for how it was dressed before we leave.”

  “Oh yes, yes, of course. Cook minds what I tell her to mind, and you shall have your directions.”

  “It is a most elegant sallad,” said Mr. Collins, who, having not touched what little of it he had endeavoured to put on his plate, now attacked it vigorously. “I would not have thought to dress a vegetable in such a way, but it is a statement of your cook’s superiority, Lady Catherine, that she should do so.”

  “Mr. Collins, are you well?” asked Elizabeth, for he seemed – even in the candlelight – to be very flushed.

  “Mrs. Darcy is kind to ask, but I am quite well.”

  “Your cheeks do have a little of the look of scarlet fever,” Elizabeth advanced, hesitantly. “We had an outbreak of it in our neighbourhood, when I was young – two of my sisters had it.”

  “Scarlet fever!” exclaimed Lady Catherine. “What nonsense! Scarlet fever is a wintertime disease.”

  “True,” said Elizabeth, “yet I think our present weather is more like winter than anything else.”

  “It is not scarlet fever,” Lady Catherine said, firmly. “Mr. Collins, do you have a sore-throat?”

  “I do not, your ladyship. My throat feels in perfect health, and I am honoured that your ladyship should condescend to inquire about it.”

  “Scarlet fever always begins with a very bad sore-throat. Now let us see your hands.”

  Mr. Collins duly held out his hands, one of which showed a horrific rash.

  “Scarlet fever!” Lady Catherine scoffed. “Mr. Collins has been out in his garden, and very likely got at some tansy, or something else which has clearly irritated his hands. He must have touched his face with his hands, and that became irritated as well. We have a salve from Dr. Gibson that will be just the thing; Mrs. Jenkinson can retrieve it for you after dinner.”

  “Ah, yes, you are correct as always, Lady Catherine. I recall scratching it while I was working on the roses, and I had been pulling some tansy. Your ladyship is so insightful to have realised it so quickly – I am always telling Mrs. Collins that there is none so perceptive as your ladyship.”

  Elizabeth did not press the subject any further, for Lady Catherine’s explanation did seem far more plausible than her own, particularly given the lack of a sore-throat. But she remembered that horrible blotchy redness of Jane’s and Catherine’s faces, and could not think with certainty that Mr. Collins’s countenance did not match it. She stayed as far away from him as she could for the rest of the evening, and was glad Darcy did the same.

  Chapter 26

  It was scarlet fever. This was confirmed in a short note from Charlotte, sent over to Rosings in the morning. It was raining heavily, and so they were all seated in the drawing-room when the note was brought in. Upon hearing Mrs. Darcy had been correct, Lady Catherine fainted with none of the dramatics that might have been expected of her: she simply and quietly collapsed in her chair. She was brought around by Mrs. Jenkinson, who carried smelling salts at all times in chance Anne should swoon; when she came to, Lady Catherine, with utmost reluctance, admitted to feeling feverish, with a touch of a sore-throat.

  Having rung the bell immediately after his aunt’s collapse, when a footman entered, Darcy told him: “Your mistress is ill. Have her physician summoned immediately.” Then, turning to Elizabeth, “Mrs. Darcy, may I speak with you, privately?”

  Elizabeth rose, and followed him from the room.

  “I will order the carriages readied,” he said. “You must get the boys away from here immediately. I wish you could return to Stradbroke, but we cannot risk bringing an infection on their house. You would do best to go somewhere you can keep to yourselves, somewhere healthy. The seaside, perhaps.”

  “Why must we go without you? What are you going to do?”

  “I am going to stay and manage things here.”

  “For Lady Catherine! You are going to stay and put your own health at risk, for Lady Catherine?”

  “She is family, and she has no one else. Anne cannot manage things – you should take her as well, now that I think on it. In a separate carriage, though – she is most likely to be susceptible to the disease. I will order one of Rosings’s carriages for her. She should take Mrs. Jenkinson to attend her.”

  Elizabeth felt fear clutching at her stomach. “Charlotte came up with me to the nursery last night, to see the twins. If her husband is ill, she may be as well – ”

  “We must not think of that right now. Let us hope for the best, but I do not want you or our sons in this house any longer than is necessary.”

  “Darcy – ” she could say no more, for she was beginning to weep over her concern.

  “I will write to you, every day. Send me your direction once you have settled.” It seemed he was saying his good-bye to her, yet he made no attempt to kiss her, or even touch her.

  �
�Please send it express. I do not want to go a minute longer than I must without knowing how you fare.”

  “I shall do better than that, and send it by our own grooms, who will prioritise our correspondence above all else,” he said. “Elizabeth, you need to go. Remember that I love you.”

  “Oh, Darcy, I love you, too,” she whispered, and turned to leave the room.

  “Elizabeth – wait.”

  “Yes?” She turned back towards him.

  “You had better keep the twins separated, as well.”

  The thought of this frightened her more than anything else had done, and with tears streaming down her face, she fled up the stairs to begin making arrangements to leave.

  +++

  In half-an-hour, they were approaching the turnpike road. Elizabeth had seized on Darcy’s suggestion of the seaside, and thinking through the options available to them, decided on Margate. She had no intention of ever going to Brighton if she could help it, and even East Bourne she considered too close to the town of Lydia’s ruin. This left the east coast: Ramsgate might have been a little nearer, but it held that same negative association for her that Brighton did, as a place where a young lady could be seduced.

  She rode in the first carriage, with James. This was not the result of any deliberate decision on her part; instead, when she had put the situation to Mrs. Nichols, including Darcy’s request that their sons be kept separate, Mrs. Nichols had said, “Perhaps I should take both Georges?”

  Elizabeth had been dreading the decision before her – to choose which one of her sons she would take, leaving the other to Mrs. Nichols’s care, with Rachel to assist her. She agreed readily and with some relief to Mrs. Nichols’s suggestion, which freed her from the need to make the choice herself. It was easier, and yet still, that last glimpse of George as he was lifted inside the carriage was tremendously painful. That carriage was second in their little procession; in the third was Anne de Bourgh and Rachel, for Mrs. Jenkinson had felt a little tickle in her throat and thought it too risky to travel with Miss de Bourgh if she did have the fever. Rachel, who had dressed Anne before during her visits to Pemberley, would attend her in Mrs. Jenkinson’s stead, and Sarah was to help Mrs. Nichols with the Georges.