Page 37 of Mission to Meryton (Pride and Prejudice Variation #25)
Pemberley
“My dear Elizabeth,” Mrs. Bennet declared in awe, “I knew that Pemberley was large but this is quite beyond what I had fathomed. Do you ever lose your way?”
Elizabeth Darcy chuckled as she and her mother walked slowly along one of Pemberley’s paneled corridors; she was nearing the end of her pregnancy, and she felt bulbous, uncomfortable, and quite remarkably clumsy.
“I have lived here for more than a year, Mama, so I know my way well now. In the early days, yes, I would sometimes wander off course and frighten a maid by popping up unexpectedly in a guest bedroom. Once, I even stumbled into the kitchen at an inopportune moment after getting quite turned around.”
Mrs. Bennet stopped and turned to face her daughter, reaching up to pat Elizabeth’s cheek in a rare caress. “Are you truly well now, Lizzy?”
Her daughter nodded and ran a gentle hand over the child who was even now moving within her.
“I am, Mama. Losing my first baby at six months along was very hard, and I still grieve the loss of my little Anna, born far too soon. But I am thankful that I have carried this little one nearly full term.”
“I wish I could have come to help you,” her mother said, her expression troubled, “but Jane was so near her time and it was not easy to come in haste so far north.”
“I know, and I do not blame you at all,” Elizabeth assured her. “Indeed, I was thankful you were with Jane. She has told me that you were an enormous comfort when her labor was so difficult.”
“It is no surprise it took a full forty hours to deliver little Christopher,” Mrs. Bennet declared with pride. “He was a full eight pounds!”
“Jane says that she and Charles will visit London in the spring, and we plan to as well, to assist Kitty in her coming out;I will treasure meeting my nephew then. But now, Mama, here is the moment for which you have been waiting.”
She opened the door and gestured for her mother to enter the Darcy conservatory. Mrs. Bennet stepped in with her mouth gaping in a rather unladylike manner. “Oh, Elizabeth, it is marvelous.”
“It is indeed, Mama,” Elizabeth agreed with a laugh. “I knew you would love it. I will leave you with Mary, if you do not mind; Mr. Darcy and my doctor are both insistent that I rest every afternoon.”
“Do go, my love,” Mrs. Bennet encouraged, smiling broadly as she approached her third daughter, who was inspecting a potted tulip plant on one of the rough-hewn tables which was set in the glorious greenhouse that stretched a full one hundred feet in length.
There were literally hundreds of plants in residence, including orange and pear trees and grape vines, providing luscious fruits to the Darcy family in spite of the climate.
Mrs. Bennet was ecstatic to note that a substantial portion of the conservatory had been set aside for tulips; Mary intended to build up a tulip business which would, they hoped, rival Longbourn’s in time.
It was sensible to split up the family business in tulips; after all, diseases occasionally swept through greenhouses, decimating plants in their wake.
“Mama!” Mary exclaimed happily. “Welcome to Pemberley! I hope you and Father and my two younger sisters had a good trip from Hertfordshire?”
“We did indeed, though it was rather long. Your father, of course, insisted on being taken to the library here immediately, and I daresay it is good that he will get hungry occasionally, or he would never emerge. I am no great reader, as you know, but even I am impressed. Now Mary, I wish to speak of your progress with the tulips here in Derbyshire, of course, but first I must know – how is dear Colonel Fitzwilliam?”
Mrs. Mary Fitzwilliam gestured to her mother to take a seat at the table even as she shook her head. “He is Mr. Fitzwilliam now, not Colonel. He resigned his commission the week before we were married.”
“Mr. Fitzwilliam, then,” her mother said impatiently. “Tell me the truth, my dear. How is he?”
Mary considered how much to tell her mother, who no doubt cared, but was unfamiliar with the mental strain of war and captivity, and had been quite doubtful when Mary had chosen to marry the somewhat broken Mr. Richard Fitzwilliam, even if the man was the son of an earl.
“He is better, Mama,” she declared, carefully inspecting the vivid blossom in front of her. The base color was pale yellow and the feathering a vibrant red, and it was quite one of her most successful efforts.
“That is marvelous,” Mrs. Bennet commented, referring not to Mary’s husband but to the blossom. “I am also most impressed you managed to force it to bloom in October!”
Mary looked around with her with pleasure. “This conservatory is most remarkable, Mother; you will have to inspect the ventilation and heating systems that control the air temperature; perhaps Father would be willing to pay to improve the Longbourn hothouse.”
“Perhaps,” Mrs. Bennet said, her mind shifting back to their earlier conversation. “So Mr. Fitzwilliam is recovered?”
“He is not recovered, no,” Mary disclosed.
“He is substantially better, however. Living here at Pemberley is much better for him than living in London. There are days when Richard needs quiet, and while Lady Matlock tried to provide that silence, it was nearly impossible in Town. Richard is also finding comfort in working with Darcy’s horses; he finds it soothing not just to ride them, but to work with the young ones.
He also finds peace and pleasure in working with the tulips.
We have spent many happy hours here in the conservatory, working with the seeds and bulbs and flowers. ”
“Are you happy, Mary?” Mrs. Bennet asked in a troubled voice. “I do worry about you.”
“I am entirely happy,” Mary returned firmly. “I love Richard very much, he loves me, and he is an excellent husband.”
She refrained from telling her mother that she was almost certainly pregnant. It was early days yet, and she would wait until the quickening to announce her joyful news.
/
Rosings, Kent
Mr. Fitzroy placed a careful finger on the map which showed Rosings and its environs.
“It is the settlement of Conford which concerns me, Mr. Collins,” he said. “I do not quite understand the history of the Hunsford living, but you can see that the inhabitants of Conford live a full ten miles from your church, which is too great a distance for most to travel on a Sunday morning.”
“I agree, Mr. Fitzroy,” Mr. Collins replied with a sad shake of his head. “Nor is there a church building in the village itself now, since the last one was destroyed by that dreadful fire eight months ago.”
“Precisely, and as we are both men of God, I know we would agree that the spiritual needs of the village are our combined responsibility,” Mr. Fitzroy said firmly.
“What do you intend to do?” Lady Catherine demanded irascibly as she dipped her toast in her tea. “I hope you do not imagine that the estate is responsible for rebuilding the church that was destroyed!”
“It is not our responsibility, Mother, no,” Anne Fitzroy declared, “but we can easily afford to rebuild not just the church, but find a curate who can minister to the people there.”
“What absurdity! Mark my words, Anne, if you continue to let Mr. Fitzroy spend so freely, Rosings will be destitute by the time your son is of age!”
Anne turned toward her mother, her back straight, her expression unyielding.
“I have no fears on that score, Mother; my husband does not spend great sums on wine, clothing, horses, and the gambling tables. Furthermore, we intend to sell the de Bourgh house in Brighton, which will offset the costs of the church and vicar in full.”
Lady Catherine’s eyes bugged in horror. “Sell the house in Brighton? Are you quite mad?”
“No, Mother, I am not,” Anne responded calmly. “None of us have journeyed to Brighton since my father died; it is ridiculous to keep paying for the upkeep of the house when none of us are using it.”
“But we might wish to use it someday,” her mother insisted. “ I might wish to use it! Now that Mr. Fitzroy is master of Rosings, I have far more time available. In fact, only last week I was considering a trip to the seashore. Anne, I forbid you to sell the house in Brighton!”
“It is not in your legal right to prevent me, Mother, and you know it, as it is part of my inheritance. If you wish to visit Brighton, or any other town, for that matter, you can hire a house. Your jointure is easily able to bear the cost.”
“Hire a house? Me? It is not to be considered!”
“That is quite all right,” Anne returned with an amused smile. “You have no wish to travel to Brighton anyway. Now come, Mother, you know you will not win this battle.”
“I do not know what has gotten into you, Anne!” her mother declared, trying, and failing, to produce a wobble in her tone.
“I married a strong man whom I love,” her daughter declared staunchly. “I am proud that our son will grow up with a father who cares for the physical and spiritual well-being of those under our care and direction and oversight.”
Lady Catherine was incredibly tired of the same argument with her daughter, and even more tired that she never won such arguments, so she merely turned to glare at Mr. Collins.
“What do you think, Mr. Collins? Is it appropriate for Mr. Fitzroy to take the money meant for my grandson and use it to build churches in tiny hamlets?”
Even a year ago, Mr. Collins would have been reduced to a quivering bundle of contradictions at such a question, but almost two years of marriage to Charlotte Collins, and the positive influence of Mr. Fitzroy, enabled him to answer Lady Catherine with remarkable calm.
“Lady Catherine, I believe that the estate is well able to bear the expenditures involved, and the people of Conford need spiritual assistance.”