“Yes sir?” asked Henry.
“Do you still remember how to care for a horse?” asked Darcy.
“Of course, sir,” replied the footman, who had grown up on one of Pemberley’s farms before going into service.
“I must ask you to stay here and care for this one, then. He cannot be moved tonight, and I would not put it past this establishment to ignore the money I paid for him without someone in my employ present. I will send an express to London, to have a groom come down and take over for you – I need Alfred to continue on as our outrider, and it may be some days, if not weeks, before the horse is well enough to begin a journey to Pemberley.”
“I’m glad to, sir. It’s a good thing you’re doing, and I’m happy to be a part of it. What’s his name?”
“I – do not know, and I am not inclined to ask, so I suppose we shall have to give him a new one. Would anyone wish to do the honours?”
Elizabeth looked at the flea-bitten grey of the horse’s coat, marred by sores from its harness. “Seagull?” she asked.
Henry snorted with laughter, then looked guiltily at his employer, who could not hide his own amusement.
“Well, you do seem to name your horses after birds,” protested Elizabeth.
“True, it is a tradition my father began,” said Darcy, “and this poor fellow does not seem to merit anything more noble at present. Seagull it is, I suppose.”
Henry was given enough coin to see to his board and the horse’s, and led Seagull off to the stable, looking rather ridiculous to be doing so in his livery. Alfred, who had been procuring himself a fresh hack – fortunately not so scarce at the Anchor as carriage horses – halted firmly upon seeing this strange sight, received some sort of explanation from Henry, and then trotted into his place beside the post-chaise.
The Darcys finally regained that post-chaise, and when it had begun to move at an even slower pace, thanks to the reduction in horses, Elizabeth clasped her husband’s hand, and leaned over to kiss him firmly on the cheek.
“I am very proud of you,” she said.
“You do not begrudge my purchase of an old, broken-down post horse for fifteen pounds, then?”
“I daresay we can afford it, and I would never presume to have the purchasing of horses in any quarter other than yours,” she said. “What will you do with him?”
“Rest him, first. If he recovers sufficiently, perhaps he can be made to pull a cart and put to use on the home farm. If he does not, I intend him to live out his retirement in comfort at Pemberley, as King should have done.”
His voice was thick, and Elizabeth thought it a good time to look out the carriage window, scrutinising the Hampshire countryside in the waning light. Yet she kept her hand on his, and they descended into Portsmouth thus. They took rooms at the George, which had been recommended by Lord Anglesey and was indeed far superior to the Anchor. He had passed them on the road, not having any reason to restrict his speed, but invited them to break their fast with him the next morning in the private parlour he had hired.
During the meal, it was agreed among them that the post-chaises that had brought them down were not the best vehicles for viewing a house and its grounds, on a day that promised to be particularly fine for that spring. Thus, enquiries were made with the hotel as to what might be hired out for the day, and a decent hack was found for the earl and a practical gig for the gentleman and lady.
Elizabeth was particularly glad over the change in conveyance, for she felt much better trotting about in the open air. They covered the distance to Bishop’s Barrow easily enough, a rather squalid-looking village for Hampshire, with a shop in better repair than all else that surrounded it: some number of rundown cottages and an inn more decrepit than anything they had seen on the journey down.
“I wonder how the inn got to such a state,” said Darcy. “It is on the turnpike road to Southampton – it has so much more potential.”
“The Anchor was on a turnpike road as well,” observed Elizabeth.
“Yes, very true. And the cottages are more troubling. I cannot see how any man would allow his dependents to live in such a state.”
The estate’s grounds proved to be in somewhat better condition, although they could never be said to attain the same degree of quality that Pemberley’s grounds were held to. The house, when they reached it, was much nearer the size of Longbourn than Pemberley, although the facade was more modern than that of Longbourn, as was generally the interior of the house. The latter, however, was in poor repair, although not so poor as Clareborne Manor or Barrowmere Park had been.
Elizabeth did not think it would take too much effort, to turn this house into a home for Georgiana, Matthew, and Caroline. This was the conclusion she shared in the evening, when the Darcys and Lord Anglesey were dining within Lord Anglesey’s private parlour. This opinion was agreed to generally by her dining companions, but with a reluctance on her husband’s part Elizabeth could only attribute to worry that not all three of them would be occupying the house.
This was confirmed when the topic shifted from approval of the house to what was to be done about it. Lord Anglesey was in favour of purchasing the house outright, Darcy in favour of a lease. They made their cases in a most gentlemanlike fashion, without raised voices, yet arguing their points convincingly, and it was just as Lord Anglesey was saying, “The house has enough potential and is an easy enough distance from town that I believe I might purchase it myself, to ensure it is off of the market, and then if Matthew and Georgiana wish to purchase it from me, they may do so,” that there came a knock at the door.
The source of the knock proved to be Henry, which caused a great deal of consternation among the Darcys, for it would not have been enough time for Darcy’s express to have reached London, and a groom to have set out and reached the Anchor. Yet Elizabeth did not think it likely that Seagull had recovered sufficiently to have been ridden or led into Portsmouth.
“Henry, what is it?” asked Darcy.
“Sir, Jack rode into the Anchor just a while ago and I was right surprised since your express couldn’t have reached him and him have rode all that way, but he was riding down to Portsmouth on account of this packet of letters, which Mr. Miller thought you would want straight away.”
Henry offered up the packet and had it all but torn from his hands by his employer. Elizabeth, feeling it a good sign that it was of the old thickness they had used to receive from Georgiana, came up beside him to watch as Darcy ripped the address page and then the oiled silk from the packet, saw the first letter to be in Matthew’s hand, and continued on to the second without reading it. It was well he did, for this proved to be from Georgiana, and in penmanship much closer to her usual hand. The rest of the letter lived up to this promise, beginning with:
“I am feeling better, although still tired and sore. Caroline continues to be well, and for that I am exceedingly thankful. She is such a dear little child, and I cannot wait for you both to have your chance to meet her.”
The rest of the letter was similarly comprised of expressions of maternal happiness, and then, with a brief note from Georgiana explaining that she had been writing what followed prior to giving birth, continued on to much older observations of the time following the Caroline’s departure from Bombay. It was strange, to read of hopeful preparations for the event that had ultimately threatened Georgiana’s life, and they were grateful for Matthew’s letter, which contained more substantial reassurances of Georgiana’s improvement and a better sense of the remainder of the Caroline’s itinerary. The result of this was a realisation that if the Caroline had only stayed a few days in St. Helena, she might trail the ship that had carried these letters by mere days – indeed, as a navy frigate, she might even have passed that ship.
“They could be in the harbour, and we might not even know it,” observed Lord Anglesey. “The Caroline is a fine-looking ship, but I cannot say I am capable of picking her out from any other frigate.”
The Darcys could not claim skil
l in picking out a frigate from any other sort of ship, much less the Caroline among frigates, but Mr. Darcy asked Henry to go down and inquire of the proprietor what navy ships had come in over the last few days, and whether the Caroline had been among them. Henry returned quickly with the intelligence that the Caroline had not yet arrived, and a promise that Lord Anglesey and the Darcys would be informed as soon as she did.
“Alas, I wish I could stay to await their return, but I have business in town on Thursday that I cannot shift,” said Lord Anglesey. “I can initiate the purchase while I am there, however.”
“Do you still intend to purchase it? Could it not wait until they return and are able to view it themselves?” asked Elizabeth.
“I fear it shall not remain on the market for so long, and as I said, if they do not favour it, I shall keep it as my little escape from town. I hardly make it back to Rutherford these days, save the summer months,” said Lord Anglesey. “Will you both be returning to town, or staying?”
Darcy looked only momentarily at his wife, who understood in his countenance a strong desire to stay, then said, “We shall stay, I think. We have no pressing engagements in town, and if you wish it, we may begin enquiries as to labourers to work on the most pressing matters on the estate.”
“I would appreciate that very much,” said Lord Anglesey. “Presuming there are no difficulties in completing the purchase, I should be able to return late Friday. For now, I shall take my leave of you for the evening, and plan to see you again then.”
He rose and walked to the doorway, but then turned and said, “Mr. Darcy, I wonder if you have had time to consider the other query I put to you?”
“I have, my lord, and my answer is still no,” Darcy said.
Lord Anglesey nodded. “I will not press you on it, then. It would not be fair of me to do so when I have not even pressed my own son. Yet if you do ever reconsider, you need only say so to me, and I shall find you a borough. We could surely use more men of your qualities.”
Darcy nodded. “Thank you, my lord.”
Elizabeth waited until Lord Anglesey had left before murmuring, “May I presume that was regarding you running for Parliament?”
“This has all been about Parliament, I think,” replied Darcy. “Bishop’s Barrow must be a pocket borough, and I do not think they come up for purchase very often.”
“But Lord Anglesey said the purchase price was a bargain.”
“Perhaps it will be, if he resells it to Georgiana and Matthew, but I expect there is some sum that shall be paid on top of what the house and the land itself are worth, and that Lord Anglesey will bear, in exchange for the seat in the Commons.”
“Oh – and if you do not fill it, I expect he will want Matthew to.”
“Precisely, and if that is how matters come out, I shall be glad enough of it, for it should keep them much nearer England. This estate is not exactly close to Derbyshire, but it is certainly nearer than China.”
“Yes, I suppose everything is proportionate.”
“Indeed.” He took up her hand and kissed it. “Thank you, for being willing to stay until they return. You will, I presume, be wanting to send for the children and your maid.”
Elizabeth nodded, and then kissed him deeply, for this had been precisely what she was about to ask for.
Chapter 40
“Do you believe it ready for them?” asked Mrs. Nichols. “I see nothing else that needs to be done.”
“Yes, let us bring them up,” Elizabeth said. “I shall be glad to get them out of that little bedchamber.”
The little bedchamber had been the home of James Darcy, George Darcy, and George Nichols, as well as Mrs. Nichols, for several days now. It had been the best place to house them temporarily, as the only one aside from the two bedchambers claimed by the Darcys and Lord Anglesey that was presently fit to be inhabited. Elizabeth had made the fitting-up of the nursery her priority for the house, thinking it likely to be of greatest importance to Georgiana, as a new mother.
Georgiana, however, was yet to arrive to pass her own judgment on the place. It had been a week since Henry had come in with the letter, and despite Lord Anglesey’s reassurances that any number of things, from a long tarry in St. Helena to a lack of wind, could account for the Caroline’s lateness compared to the ship that had carried her mail, Elizabeth could see the delay was wearing upon Darcy.
Fortunately, at least, the fitting up of the house and the estate had been keeping both Darcys and Lord Anglesey fully busy. Skilled labour had been easily enough found – there were any number of out-of-work carpenters and labourers, in Portsmouth, and as many as could be successfully managed had been hired on. Elizabeth had claimed the nursery as her first project, Lord Anglesey the most critical repairs within the village cottages, and Darcy the stables and carriage house. The latter had been necessitated both because Jack had deemed Seagull fit to move, and Darcy had sent word to Murray to bring down the Stantons’ horses and landau.
The children were brought up – George Darcy insisting, as he seemed to do more often than not, that he climb the stairs himself – and Elizabeth passed the hours before their nap in seeing they were fully settled in. The men who had repaired and painted the nursery had now moved on to their next project, seeing the mess cleared out of one of the other bedchambers so that it could be made habitable, and so she decided to walk out to the stables to see how her husband got on. She was met on her way there by Sarah, who strangely appeared to have been coming from the stables and looked distressed to be doing so. The reason for this was explained when Sarah said, “I’m so sorry, ma’am – I had no notion she intended to come down. I told her she could not expect you to give her board and she’ll have to stay at the inn, and it was wrong for her to ride with Murray without having your permission to do so – ”
“Sarah, of whom are you speaking?” Elizabeth asked, halting an apology that seemed it was to go on for far longer, but without any more clarity.
“Oh, I’m sorry, my mamma. She heard Murray had received word to bring the horses and carriage down, and she rode with him.”
“Well that is no difficulty. I should have thought she would wish to see Moll and made the invitation myself, but I am glad she has come. And she need not stay at the inn, so long as you are willing to share your space with her. I do not believe any of the other bedrooms in the servants’ quarters are usable, at present.”
“Nay, ma’am, they aren’t, but she can help with that, I’m sure – cleaning and the like. She ought to earn her board, if she’s to stay at the house.”
“If she does so, we shall pay her for it, of course, in addition to the board.”
Sarah nodded, curtsied, and walked away, and Elizabeth walked on, amused. It seemed Mrs. Kelly and Moll Kelly were not so different after all, she thought, for they both seemed to show up when they were not expected.
She found the stables looking much nearer the standard of Pemberley’s, smelling of fresh paint and straw, with Darcy leading one of the new arrivals into a stall. This was him at his most natural and comfortable, she thought, walking along in dusty top-boots, speaking with Murray about how the journey had gone. Distractions did him well in such times, and this was the best sort of distraction for him. It was a shame, Elizabeth thought, that King’s death had made horses bittersweet for him during Georgiana’s absence, during the time when he had needed this comfort most. She wondered if Seagull – resting comfortably in one of the loose boxes after having been slowly walked over from the Anchor – would help to restore the balance. Yet Georgiana’s return would do more than anything else could, and Elizabeth prayed it would come soon.
Once the horses had all been safely ensconced in their stalls, Darcy walked over to where Elizabeth had been standing, watching this.
“You seem to have made much progress, here,” she said.
“Yes, once the leaks in the roof were fixed, little more was needed than a good scrubbing and some fresh paint,” he said. “How does the nurser
y come along?”
“We’ve just moved the children into there, and all is in readiness for the addition of another baby.”
He nodded, silently, concern once again overspreading his features.
Elizabeth took up his hand. “It should not be long now, and then at least we will know,” she said. He made no response beyond the slightest endeavour at a smile, and when Alfred led Seagull out to the aisle and Darcy approached the horse and began making a closer inspection of his limbs than he had done in the Anchor’s yard, Elizabeth slipped quietly out of the stable, leaving him to his equine comforts.
She returned to the house and had four letters given over to her by the butler, one each from Countess Esterházy, Lady Tonbridge, Lady Ellen, and Mrs. Gardiner. Relieved to receive such prompt replies in response to her letters of apology for not taking her leave as she had left town – under the expectation that she would return in a few days rather than making an extended stay in Hampshire – she carried them up to her bedchamber to read them, seating herself in an old chair that was nearly threadbare in places, but quite comfortable.
Countess Esterházy’s letter was short, but forgiving of Elizabeth’s hasty departure, and sympathetic to a family that had waited so long to be reunited. She was glad Elizabeth had at least managed one visit to Almack’s during her brief time in town; the countess hoped in the next season that she would be able to attend more often, and closed her letter not only in anticipation of this, but indicative that she hoped they would maintain a correspondence until they met again. Elizabeth gazed contemplatively at the letter and felt a little more at ease, as regarded Countess Esterházy. Perhaps she was not being made a pet of, and instead these were overtures of true friendship.
Overtures, however, from a lion, she reminded herself, and opened Lady Tonbridge’s longer letter. It indicated similar forgiveness, but then the dowager’s flowing script said, “although you really should not apologise. I do not believe you calculating to such a degree, but your disappearance after such a brief – but notable – appearance could not have been better had you calculated it, my dear. It was delightfully elusive, and I believe your new friend misses you most of all. Your absence was much lamented on Wednesday evening.”
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