Page 10 of Elizabeth and the Beast (A Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Elizabeth

Three Days Later

T he carriage rumbled along the no longer waterlogged road towards Pemberley House. Pemberley, the one place she had never wanted to see again. And now she was going there to… get married?

Elizabeth could barely believe what was happening. She glanced down at the letter in her hand and unfolded it. Her mother’s handwriting was usually neat and tidy but this letter had been written in haste, that she knew by the ragged letters and smudges where the sand hadn’t soaked up the ink properly.

“ I cannot believe the news I am hearing. All of Meryton is buzzing with the news that you and a certain Mr Darcy, the same Mr Darcy that Mr Bingley told us so much about, have been engaged in some kind of sordid embrace.

I told your father that it could not possibly be true, as you would not be so reckless or silly. Alas, we received a letter from your cousin, that dreadful Mr Collins, informing us that there seems to be more to the story than what we had been told so far. I am truly mortified, and I do not know what to say, other than for once I must agree with your cousin,

Marrying this Mr Darcy might be the only way you can save yourself from your ruination. I am certain there is an explanation as to how you found yourself half naked in the arms of this man, but I am afraid this no longer matters. Your reputation stands to be ruined entirely if you do not marry him. Goodness, I shall pray that he is willing to take you as a wife, as I remember hearing dreadful stories, my dear Elizabeth. I wish I was there so I could comfort you and advise you. I must trust that my wise brother will be a stand in for myself and your father in that regard.”

Elizabeth folded the letter again. She didn’t need to read on to know what else it said, her mother was convinced that all the family was going to be ruined if she did not marry Mr Darcy. What was worse, her father felt the same—for he too had written to her.

Her father had promised her that if she chose not to marry this man, or if, heaven forbid, he refused even if she wanted to, she could return home. He had assured her that all would be well, that he would look after her as he had always done, and that her mother would come to terms with whatever decision she made.

In many ways, her father’s letter had affected her more severely than her mother’s because his words made it clear that he understood the consequences, but would support her and love her, nonetheless. She didn’t want to disappoint him nor her younger sisters, who were dependent upon her making a good match. And the ironic thing was, despite his reputation for being aloof, Mr Darcy was indeed a good match. He was wealthy, he owned a large estate and came from a well-to-do family. Financially, the match would be superb.

“Lizzy,” her uncle said quietly, drawing her out of her thoughts, “we have arrived.”

She looked up, and indeed, the carriage had come to a halt. Last time she had been here, it had been dark, and she hadn’t been able to see much of anything. The estate was sprawled out in front of her and seeing it elicited a gasp —alas, it wasn’t the architectural details that took her breath away but the sight of the fire-scorched side of the house she could see before her now.

Blackened ruins of what at one point had surely been a truly splendid property stood before her. The scorched stonework and gaping windows frames stood in stark contrast to blue sky with the white clouds that moved past at a leisurely pace. The entire west wing appeared a shell, the internal wooden structures and flooring having been burned entirely.

Through the space where a window had been she saw what was, presumably the remains of a bedchamber. Her blood ran cold as she thought of Mr Darcy’s sister, she knew she died in the ruins of this house, along with others.

How had Mr Darcy been caught up in the fire, she wondered? Had he been with his sister when she died? He had to have been in this part of the house to receive such terrible burns. She stared at the ruin, feeling cold with horror but she had no time to ponder, as then the front door opened and older gentleman appeared. She recognised him, it was the butler who had also welcomed them that night.

“Miss Bennet, Mr Gardiner, I am Mr Cogsworth,” he said. “Please, come in.”

They followed Mr Cogsworth into the manor house. The entrance hall stood in stark contrast to the horror scene she had seen outside. The door opened into a vast space with a beautiful black-and-white marble floor. A winding, ornately carpeted staircase led up to the first-floor landing. She blinked, comprehending that she had been in this space before—the night of the storm when they had been ushered hurriedly into the drawing room.

It had been so dark and dreary that night, she hardly had a chance to take any of it in. Large paintings hung from the walls, interspersed with beautiful tapestries. Mr Darcy was wealthy. That was clear. Well, at least wealthy in possessions, if not in manners.

“Mr Darcy expects you in his study, Mr Gardiner, please allow me to escort you. Miss Bennet, excuse me, Mrs Potts will be here to attend to you,” said Mr Cogsworth.

“Am I not expected to see Mr Darcy?” she asked, confused given this was her future they were planning. Mr Cogsworth swallowed nervously and her uncle looked away when an older woman came down the hall and the butler exhaled. “Ah, there she is now.”

The woman stepped into the room then and smiled up at her. Mrs Potts was shorter than Elizabeth, stout and jolly looking. She wore a plain blue dress with a white apron. A chatelaine hung from her waist and keys dangled from it, jingling with each step. She looked exactly as one would expect the housekeeper of a grand home to look.

“Miss Bennet, it is so nice to meet you. I am Mrs Potts, the housekeeper. Would you care for tea or something to eat?”

“Nothing, no. I am not in need of anything,” she said, finding the words were not coming with ease. She’d expected to see Mr Darcy, had braced herself for it, but now the butler took her uncle away, leaving her behind. The two men would negotiate her future without her and all she could do was accept the outcome.

Not one to be easily deterred, the housekeeper gave a curt nod. “Very well. Would you like to see the house?”

“Of course,” she said though she’d rather have retired to the drawing room to await her fate.

“Very well,” said Mrs Potts. “Pemberley is a splendid home. It was once one of the most beautiful estates in all of Derbyshire. Until... Well, you know.” Her smile faded, but she recovered herself in a moment. “I hope one day it will be again. Once Mr Darcy decides to repair what was damaged. He’d gone into town to speak with a carpenter to start but he did not hire anyone. But I’m sure soon enough…” She chatted on, Elizabeth followed from one room to another, paused in front of a large pianoforte in the music room.

“Mr Darcy plays the pianoforte?” Elizabeth asked.

Mrs Potts shook her head. “He does not. It was his sister’s and his mother’s, before that. She played like an angel, Miss Darcy did. She was like an angel. Looked like one too. She had the loveliest blonde hair. Reached all the way down to her waist. I used to braid it for her when she was little.” Her eyes shimmered with the onset of tears.

“She sounds like a lovely young lady,” Elizabeth said quietly.

“She was. It was a great loss,” she said.

“That is what I understand. Mr Bingley was very fond of her.”

“Mr Bingley? You know him?” The woman sounded delighted, then, her lips turned down. “Of course you do. You were here with him a few nights ago, I heard. I am ever so sorry for how you were treated.” Without leaving room for Elizabeth to reply, she pressed on. “Your sister is married to him?”

“Indeed,” she said, and Mrs Potts beamed.

“Oh, how lovely. I always adored Mr Bingley when he was a wee boy. He and Mr Darcy met at Eton, as you likely know. Mr Darcy was two years older than Mr Bingley, and always felt as though he had to look out for him. Do you know how they met?”

Elizabeth pondered for a moment but shook her head.

“It was Mr Bingley’s first day and some other boys were bullying him. Some aristocratic boys who didn’t think Mr Bingley belonged, because he was not a gentleman’s son. They pushed him and he fell to the ground crying when Mr Darcy came upon the scene. Mr Darcy always did hate to see any kind of injustice. He made short work of those boys, rang a right peal over their heads. They never bothered Mr Bingley again, and the two remained the best of friends…” Again, her smile faded, and she shook her head.

Elizabeth marvelled at the story because she had never heard it before. Mr Darcy coming to Mr Bingley’s aid—how strange that their friendship had changed so much since then.

“I did not know they were so close,” said Elizabeth.

“They were. The three of them, along with Colonel Fitzwilliam—he’s Mr Darcy’s cousin—were like brothers. A shame how it turned out. But I will tell you, I am hopeful that by marring a woman such as yourself, he will find himself again. It would be a blessing to us all.”

“Mrs Potts, we have not even agreed on terms yet…”

“I know. I do not wish to be too hasty, but I will tell you, the entire household is hoping and praying that this will turn Pemberley’s fortunes around.”

The entire household—Thus far Elizabeth had seen very few servants, which was unusual for an estate of this size.

“Pray, how big is the household?”

Mrs Potts hesitated. “Well, there’s me and Mr Cogsworth and then there’s Mr Lightower who is Mr Darcy’s valet and oft-times his coachman. Then we have the kitchen staff, the gardener and the lads working in the stables. There are also two young lassies who help me clean a few days a week but as most of the rooms are shut, there is not that much to do.”

“So few?” Elizabeth was shocked to hear this for a household size that wasn’t even a third of what would be required at a minimum. “Is this because Mr Darcy is frugal?” she asked, not wanting to use the word miserly, which had popped into her head. It would make sense for it would suit his character.

“No, not at all. He’s not frugal. He’s very generous indeed. He always has been. It is just after the fire… Well, you see we lost Mrs Reynolds, who was the housekeeper before me. The coachman was badly hurt in the fire as he attempted to rescue Mrs Reynolds and Miss Darcy. One of the housemaids, Maisie, also died and one of the footmen—they were already outside but the floor in Miss Darcy’s chamber collapsed and they were killed by falling debris. Well,” she waved a hand as if to chase away the images flashing before her.

Elizabeth gasped, she’d know the fire was bad, but hadn’t realised it had cost so many lives.

Mrs Potts continued, “The coachman was unable to return due to his injuries, though Mr Darcy still pays him a monthly wage. Some of the others were also hurt and chose not to return. And of those who remained, some left because of the changes in Mr Darcy’s personality. That is also the reason why he has not hired anybody new.”

Elizabeth remembered the words of the coachman when he had driven them down the night of the storm. Hadn’t he mentioned hounds? She’d seen none on the property, something else unusual for such a large estate.

“I hear he has a terrible temper,” she said, though didn’t give details of what she’d heard.

“He does, but it is not entirely fair to judge him. He has suffered a lot. People ought to be more understanding of that. People were kind when it first happened, the fire. But with time they have made a sport out of it, first wondering what his injuries look like, and then when they saw him, gossiping about him. It has been hard for him. Do not fear him. He is a good man.”

“I am not afraid of him,” Elizabeth said quickly, the woman taken by surprise.

“I am very glad to hear that. Well, we should perhaps walk back,” she said, “I am sure your uncle and Mr Darcy will conclude their business soon. Then I hope to see more of you, Miss Bennet. Mr Darcy, once he has made up his mind, does not procrastinate.”

Elizabeth furrowed her eyebrows, thinking of the ruined parts of this grand manner. “This does mean that when it comes to the repairs necessary, he has not made up his mind?” she asked.

The woman’s visage darkened. “As I said, he had intended to meet with a gentleman about it but then was distracted. Besides, it is very hard for him, for the fire started in his sister’s chamber and the repairs will mean tearing it all down. I think that is what’s holding him back. Not that he told me.”

Elizabeth rubbed her lips together before asking the question that had been troubling her.

“What exactly caused the fire?”

Mrs Potts let out a deep sigh. “I wasn’t here that day, but it seems as though a spark from the fire must have set the rug alight. The fire spread before she even knew what was happening. She sometimes tended to woolgather and become so absorbed she forgot where she was. Likely, she was so distracted by her book that she didn’t notice it, or perhaps she was sleeping. From what the coachman said, Mrs Reynolds went up to bring her a warm cup of milk. That is when she raised the alarm.”

“Mrs Potts?” A voice called and the housekeeper looked up at Elizabeth.

“Excuse me. That will be the master now.” She rushed away, leaving Elizabeth to follow into the main hallway.

Mrs Potts walked up the stairs and disappeared from sight. Elizabeth stood in the entrance hall alone, and she shuddered, thinking about the horror that had unfolded that night. It was odd—Mrs Potts seemed genuinely fond of Mr Darcy, the same way Charles always appeared to be. Could it be there was more to the man than she’d assumed? For her own sake, she could only hope that was the case.

“Elizabeth?” her uncle’s voice came, and she looked up and she saw his expression peering down from the landing. His eyebrows were drawn together and his lips pressed into one thin line. She knew at once what his expression meant. He’d come to an agreement with Mr Darcy—and her future had been decided. She was to become Fitzwilliam Darcy’s wife.