Page 27 of Mistress of Pemberley
With each mile that took her closer to Longbourn, Elizabeth recalled the young woman who had departed three months prior, a version of herself she had all but forgotten, engulfed as she had been in events beyond even the realms of fiction.
Accompanied by Pemberley’s steward, Mr Balfour, and the housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds, she had set out early. She wished to spend as many hours as possible with her family.
They had taken a frugal breakfast at their first stop, then Mr Balfour read while Mrs Reynolds dozed in a corner as though understanding Elizabeth’s need for silence. For the first time in a while, she had a moment to collect her thoughts, to reflect upon past and present. However, she still shied away from the future—a future she would rather not acknowledge, though it seemed, most regrettably, already inscribed.
She had been surprised at how swiftly she had been accepted by Mr Balfour and Mrs Reynolds. She had discerned on their faces the same relief she had observed among the servants in London, as if she alone could set things right and restore life to its proper course. Together with Darcy, they had discussed Pemberley’s affairs at great length, and she had appreciated the firm assurances of both Mr Balfour and Mrs Reynolds that she would receive every assistance she might require. Yet, deep within, she still feared the tasks ahead of her. There were so many unknowns—the management of a vast estate that needed to bring in an income, the oversight of homes far grander than any she had ever known, and, most dauntingly, the care of the many servants—a small army with lives intertwined in ways she could scarcely comprehend.
She looked upon Mrs Reynolds as she slept, admiring the features that, though aged, retained traces of beauty. She was of her mother’s generation, and Darcy had once mentioned that she was a distant cousin. Elizabeth could not help but wonder whether such a life might have awaited her had she chosen not to marry. Yet, Mrs Reynolds seemed content; she managed Pemberley and was treated with particular respect. At Longbourn, as among their neighbours, servants occupied a wholly different status. Elizabeth had to admit that what she had discovered in Darcy’s homes greatly pleased her. She suspected not all houses in London would be the same, but this contrast made her love the Darcys all the more.
In time, she had come to know the Duchess of Nantwich and the Countess of Matlock, who visited Darcy frequently, and she found those ladies of the ton friendly and devoid of arrogance. On their final visit before Elizabeth’s departure, Darcy had entreated them to care for her as they did for Georgiana—a request the ladies had assented to with tears in their eyes, their words imbued with sincerity. Through those she had come to know in Darcy’s world, she resolved to view that world with greater generosity and to acknowledge that good and ill existed in all walks of life.
Strangely, Darcy’s world had surpassed her expectations, and as she neared Longbourn, she realised change must also come to her childhood home. Her mother, no longer plagued by anxieties for their future, might finally be at ease and allow her daughters to choose their husbands without interference. Lydia would have to learn to conduct herself with decorum, for in the circles she would soon find herself, men expected more of young women than mere coquetry.
Elizabeth was relieved to find that Longbourn had undergone a subtle transformation in her absence. The knowledge of her marriage to a wealthy man, coupled with what she assumed were her father’s frequent letters—containing more commands than advice—had rendered the ladies of Longbourn unusually reserved and devoid of unnecessary chatter. And to her surprise and happiness, Longbourn was immaculate. This newfound order and peace reassured Elizabeth and made her feel at ease.
The joy her family showed at seeing her was so great that even Mr Balfour and Mrs Reynolds, despite themselves, were drawn into its warmth. The genuine love of the family reunion deepened their trust in Mrs Darcy.
Then Mr and Mrs Phillips arrived, and embraces were exchanged once more.
Not long after that pleasant welcome, Mrs Reynolds was escorted to her chamber to refresh herself, while Mrs Bennet’s curious glances betrayed her inability to understand the lady’s exact standing or role in the Darcys’ house. To Elizabeth’s surprise, she did not pose any questions—a departure from her usual inquisitive nature that left Elizabeth pleasantly surprised.
Meanwhile, Mr Balfour departed on a mysterious excursion with Mr Phillips into Meryton, leaving the ladies to their own devices.
Elizabeth, finally filled with a sense of peace after the adventures of the last few months, gazed about herself, taking in every detail of the room where she had spent most of her life. No matter how splendid the house in London might be, Longbourn remained the enchanted place where she had enjoyed a cheerful childhood and a delightful adolescence, nurtured by parents who had placed their daughters’ happiness above all else.
Her eyes shone joyfully as she looked at her sisters, mother, and aunt, who gathered around her in a circle of delight. Even Mary, usually reserved, seemed to partake in the elation, and Elizabeth recalled the promise she had made to herself—to look after her.
“I am going to Brighton with Mrs Forster,” Lydia declared gleefully, launching into a torrent of details about her friendship with that lady.
“And Aunt Gardiner has invited us to London,” Kitty added, glancing at Mary with less enthusiasm. She had wished to accompany Lydia, but only her younger sister had been invited.
“I do not think I shall go to London,” Mary said, and at that moment, a plan took root in Elizabeth’s mind.
“What if you came with me to Pemberley tomorrow?” she suggested. In the next instant, under the astonished gazes of the other ladies, Mary embraced Elizabeth—a gesture no one could recall her making since she was a child.
“Yes!” Mary exclaimed with rare enthusiasm, and for a fleeting moment, even Lydia and Kitty felt a twinge of regret. But only for an instant, for so many things had happened in Elizabeth’s absence, the conversation soon erupted into lively chatter. For several hours, she was once more the girl who had left for Kent, unaware of what the future held for her.
∞∞∞
They gathered again at dinner, and after the delightful afternoon Elizabeth had spent with her family, she found herself admiring the dining-room, which gleamed beneath the chandelier—lit only on exceptional occasions—its reflections dancing across the fine china, the ‘best set’ gifted to Mrs Bennet upon her marriage by her godmother and which Elizabeth had seen used only in recent years, as the daughters had come of age.
Indeed, Mrs Reynolds seemed to admire the porcelain plates, edged with a broad band of gold, their elegance lying in their simplicity. And when the food arrived, it was apparent that Mrs Bennet had, as always, prepared a veritable feast.
“What have you been doing in Meryton?” Elizabeth asked of the gentlemen. She was not particularly curious, but she still dreaded her mother and aunt’s preferred topics of conversation.
“Mr Darcy wrote to me some time ago,” her uncle responded, “asking me to find someone to oversee the management of Longbourn, and Mr Balfour has come to speak to the man I have chosen.”
Elizabeth forgot to eat, so astonished was she by her uncle’s words. The revelation brought back all she had left behind in London, and the pain that had momentarily receded returned with redoubled force. At every step, she encountered Darcy’s care and love. She wondered what she could offer in return, how she could ever repay him for the life he was bestowing upon her—not only for her sake but for her family’s as well.
“I liked the gentleman,” she heard at last, returning to the present and the conversation unfolding around the table.
“We shall do here as we do at Pemberley,” Mr Balfour continued, “and I am certain Mr Smith understands our expectations. Longbourn’s revenues must increase in the coming years.”
“And Papa finally has the life he has always wanted,” Elizabeth said with elation.
“Reading all day long,” said Mrs Bennet, yet without the acid tone she usually used when referring to her husband’s love for books that made him absent from his family’s life.
“Yes, dear mother!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “And he already has a trunk full of books from London.”
They all laughed, picturing Mr Bennet secluded in his library.
“And that means more time for us at Aunt Phillips’s house and in Meryton,” cried Lydia, for it was well known that Mr Bennet required his daughters to spend two hours each morning in the library—a blessing for Elizabeth, Jane, and Mary, yet an ordeal for Lydia, and ostensibly for Kitty, who followed her younger sister in all things.
“That will not happen,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “You need those hours to acquire an education.”
“We are ‘educated’ enough!” Lydia exclaimed in that lively, playful tone that never failed to bring smiles, no matter the company.
“You are mistaken,” said Mary with great seriousness. “In this day and age, gentlemen prefer accomplished ladies—even officers.”
Elizabeth smiled at her words and felt compelled to add for their guests, “Father was not very pleased when a militia regiment arrived in Hertfordshire for the winter.”
“Mr Bennet exaggerates the matter,” said Mrs Bennet. “If it were up to him, the whole world would spend their days at home reading.” On many occasions that winter, she had permitted the girls to visit the officers without Mr Bennet’s knowledge.
“Not entirely,” said Mr Phillips. “While there are true gentlemen among the officers, such as Colonel Forster and Mr Denny, the militia also harbours certain…undesirable elements.”
Elizabeth regarded her uncle closely, attempting to discern whether he knew anything of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s suspicions. Her uncle likely knew only what her father had written to him, and Elizabeth realised that she did not know either how much her father had learnt of the story or what he had written to Mr Phillips.
Before she could enquire further, Lydia spoke again.
“Not here among us, Uncle! We know all the officers—none of them are dangerous.”
“There, you are mistaken,” said Mr Phillips. “Among us was one who was most dangerous indeed. One whom we welcomed into our homes, unaware of his true nature.”
“Who?” Lydia demanded sharply, her face contorting into a grimace, unwilling to hear anything that might spoil her pleasure in the officers’ company.
“I do not know whether we should bore our guests with such local tales,” interjected Mrs Bennet.
“No, pray tell!” said Mrs Reynolds unexpectedly. “It is essential that young ladies understand the dangers of the world.”
Elizabeth thanked her with a smile, wondering whether she had once been a governess before becoming a housekeeper.
“It is about Mr Wickham—”
“Wickham?” exclaimed Mr Balfour. “Surely not the same—”
“Indeed, it is,” said Elizabeth, immediately grasping the meaning of his astonishment.
“The son of Pemberley’s former steward?” he asked, still incredulous, for the coincidence was remarkable.
“Yes, the son of Pemberley’s late steward,” Elizabeth confirmed, casting another glance at her uncle, who appeared to know more than what her father had written to him.
“And what has that scoundrel done now?” asked Mrs Reynolds, her contempt for him unmistakable, making Elizabeth suspect that she knew of the incident at Ramsgate, where Wickham had attempted to seduce Miss Darcy.
“Oh!” exclaimed Mr Phillips in surprise. “Then you in Derbyshire are also acquainted with his misdeeds.”
“Misdeeds is too mild a term,” declared Mrs Reynolds. “He is a scoundrel, and I am astonished that the militia does not select its men more carefully.”
“The militia is not the army,” Mr Phillips explained. “Almost anyone may join, provided they meet certain requirements, none of which pertain to character or morality. Colonel Forster summoned me only a few days ago to witness something unpleasant. Wickham was taken under escort to London—to debtors’ prison. It appears he has amassed enormous debts.”
“To Fleet Prison?” asked Elizabeth, so shocked that all at the table noticed her distress.
“Most likely. The Fleet is where most of those unable to pay their debts are held, particularly those from certain social ranks,” replied Mr Phillips.
Elizabeth realised she must immediately offer an explanation for her agitation, especially to her family, who knew that she had once regarded Mr Wickham with favour. Under no circumstances did she wish them to believe she harboured any regret.
“I am shocked because Mr Darcy, too, suffered greatly at the hands of this man, whom I now consider not only a villain but a dangerous one.”
Immediately after dinner, her uncle made a discreet gesture, and they withdrew to a corner while the others conversed over a glass of sherry.
“Why were you so shocked?” he asked.
Elizabeth hesitated for a moment before deciding to tell him the truth. She trusted him; after all, he was a solicitor well-versed in the law and its applications.
“Darcy’s cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, captured the man who shot him—”
“My goodness!” Mr Phillips exclaimed in astonishment.
“But the story does not end there. It seems he was paid to do it.”
Her uncle’s expression turned to utter shock, and she continued.
“He was a deserter from the army…but here the tale grows strange. He and others had hidden themselves in the woods around St Albans—”
“And Colonel Forster and his regiment were tasked with searching for them?”
“Exactly. It appears they found them, but this one escaped. He was helped by an officer—the very one who paid him to shoot Darcy.”
Silence fell between them, heavy as murky water, for both were deeply disgusted. The same thought that had crossed Colonel Fitzwilliam’s mind now occurred to Mr Phillips.
“The villain who fired the shot is at Fleet Prison,” Elizabeth whispered as the others interrupted, inviting them to share one last drink. But Mr Phillips needed no further explanation. To him, everything was clear—Wickham had been taken to Fleet Prison, likely to be identified by the assassin.
Elizabeth remained silent, incapable of joining in the merriment around her, for she knew not what would come next, nor whether Darcy or Georgiana remained in danger.
When her uncle and aunt departed, she withdrew to her room and penned a long letter to Colonel Fitzwilliam, asking for answers and comfort that nothing would happen to her family while she was gone.