Page 28 of Return to Pemberley
It was not until the light had faded, and the first notes of a supper bell sounded, that the sisters realized how much time had flown.
They moved to the dining room arm in arm, Elizabeth pausing only to snatch a sprig of lily from the arrangement in the hall and tuck it into Jane’s bodice, declaring, “You must carry a bit of Pemberley with you, or I shall not believe you are truly here.”
As they entered the dining room, the candles lit and the table set to perfection, Elizabeth glanced at Jane and saw in her sister’s face a look of such satisfaction and peace that she felt, at last, the full measure of her own happiness.
Whatever struggles the world might offer, here, at least, was a home—and a welcome—that could not be shaken.
The sisters exchanged a smile, one as old as memory itself, and together walked forward into the evening.
T he morning that followed was one of such clarity that every object in the garden appeared edged with silver, as if the world had been newly minted overnight.
Elizabeth, who prided herself on never permitting an hour of beauty to escape unobserved, was among the first to emerge into the dew-soaked quiet of the south terrace.
She found Jane already waiting in the vestibule, bonnet in hand and eyes alight with that singular combination of expectation and serenity which had always made her the more reliable sister.
The two, without exchange of plan or even a glance, set off together along the principal walk, their arms entwined as naturally as if the months and miles of separation had been only a dream.
Pemberley’s gardens were, at this hour, the province of the birds and of the women who had, for centuries, steered the fortunes of the house with a subtlety far exceeding that of their more visible masters.
The great roses, trained against trellises as old as the estate itself, blushed and nodded in the breeze; lavender, in disciplined rows, sent up clouds of fragrance so intense as to make every breath an event; and, beneath it all, the hum of bees provided a bass note to the treble of the sisters’ laughter.
They strolled at first in comfortable silence, allowing their senses to do the business of observation. But as they approached the ornamental fountain—a confection of stone nymphs and leaping trout set in a pool as clear as any mirror—Elizabeth could no longer resist the urge to unburden herself.
“Jane,” she began, her voice pitched low enough to be lost in the splashing of the water, “I do not mean to complain, but I sometimes think that being mistress of Pemberley is like being given command of a ship in full sail—everyone watches to see if you shall steer into disaster.”
Jane smiled, her hand tightening on Elizabeth’s arm. “You were always the cleverest helmsman, Lizzy. I cannot imagine anyone managing better.”
Elizabeth laughed, but the sound held a shade of anxiety.
“You flatter me, but you have not seen the course. The neighbours judge every decision—nay, every syllabub served at table—against the memory of Lady Anne. And the staff, though unfailingly polite, have perfected a system of communication by eyebrow which, I am convinced, contains volumes of censure.”
Jane regarded her with open affection. “I cannot think they will long find fault, Lizzy. Indeed, if the extent of their censure reaches no further than the disposition of the syllabub, you may consider yourself to have achieved that rarest of distinctions—a legendary reputation founded entirely upon pudding.”
“I wish it were only dessert. Lady Catherine has made it her occupation to visit and pronounce upon every innovation—she declares I have set the county by the ears, and that the house is in imminent peril of being overtaken by foreign ideas. It was but a fortnight since she scolded me for the placement of a vase.” Here Elizabeth, unable to resist the theatre of her own predicament, mimicked Lady Catherine’s imperious tilt of the chin.
“She said, ‘Mrs. Darcy, it is astonishing that you should imagine a vase belongs there. And lilies—how could you not know?—they are the death of all conversation.’ ”
Jane laughed, the sound as gentle as the morning, and Elizabeth felt some of the tension dissolve.
They turned down a narrower path, where the shrubs formed a tunnel of green shade.
The soft click of horses’ hooves on the distant avenue reached them, and through a gap in the hedge Elizabeth glimpsed the figures of Darcy and Bingley, astride their mounts, their heads bowed together in conversation.
“I see the gentlemen are as united as ever,” said Jane, a note of pride in her voice.
Elizabeth followed her gaze, then looked away, her expression softening.
“I sometimes wonder if they are not the true masters of Pemberley, for all my efforts. Darcy has an instinct for justice, but he will not always see that mercy must come with it. He has been troubled by the matter of the Shepherd’s Lot—a parcel of land on the western boundary, long in dispute.
I am convinced we must do right by the Blackwoods, but the legalities are a jungle.
I have pored over ledgers until my eyes are crossed, and still the answer slips away. ”
Here she bent to pluck a leaf from the path and turned it in her fingers, her brow furrowed. “Do you remember, Jane, how Papa always said that the easiest way to discover a secret was to ask a servant?”
Jane’s smile was tinged with nostalgia. “I do. And you were always the boldest in doing so.”
Elizabeth grinned, the mischief returning to her eyes. “I have found that Mrs. Reynolds knows more about the history of this house than all the lawyers in Derbyshire. If ever I solve the question, it will be by her guidance.”
They walked on, emerging into a parterre where the scent of box and thyme mingled in the warming air. Jane, who had been silent for a moment, now spoke with a calm directness that was her chief strength.
“Lizzy, you have always possessed a remarkable understanding—of people, of justice, of what is right. Mr. Darcy chose you not despite your differences, but because of them. If there is a solution, you will find it. And even if the world is slow to change, it will come round, I am sure, to your way of thinking.”
Elizabeth, momentarily unseated by the force of her sister’s confidence, stopped in the middle of the walk and turned to face her. “How do you do it, Jane? How do you always know exactly what to say?”
Jane laughed, a sound that vibrated with old secrets and new affection. “I only say what is true, Lizzy. You make it easy.”
They stood thus for a moment, the breeze tugging at the ribbons of their bonnets, before continuing their walk. Elizabeth, emboldened by Jane’s faith, resumed her customary pace, pointing out each improvement in the garden as though the act of sharing would confer legitimacy.
“You see, Jane, the new temple pavilion over the far walk? It was Darcy’s idea, though he protests that he knows nothing of such things.
He said only that it should provide a place for shelter, should the weather turn.
I have planted morning glories all along it, and by next summer it will be a vault of blue and white. ”
Jane admired the pavilion, then, more quietly, “He is a good man, Lizzy. I hope I may be as happy in my marriage as you are in yours.”
Elizabeth caught the shift in her sister’s tone. “Are you not, Jane? Is Bingley—?”
Jane shook her head, smiling. “Bingley is all I could wish. He is so kind, so eager to please—sometimes too eager, if I am honest. We are content, truly. It is only…” She trailed off, her gaze lowered.
Elizabeth waited, then prompted gently, “Only what, dearest Jane?”
Jane was silent for a moment, before venturing to say, "I had perhaps allowed myself to indulge certain expectations which have not yet—but I do not wish to appear impatient with Providence, which has already bestowed such abundant happiness upon me.
It is only that when I observe the children at church, or listen to our aunt's fond recollections, I find myself contemplating.
.. but this is foolish talk, Lizzy. There is no want of time, and I should not repine at what may yet come to pass.
Yet I find myself thinking of it more frequently than I had anticipated, with a degree of earnestness that rather surprises me. "
Elizabeth stopped again, this time taking both her sister’s hands in hers. “It is not foolish, Jane. You will be the best mother that ever was. I am sure of it. It will happen, soon enough, and then I shall be forever asking you for advice.”
Jane’s eyes glistened, but she smiled through it. “If I am even half the mother you are mistress of this house, I shall count myself lucky.”
Elizabeth embraced her, a moment of pure feeling that needed no words. They stood, heads together, as if sheltering each other from the complexities of the world.
At last, Jane drew back, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “Well. I have made you melancholy, when I meant only to enjoy the morning.”
“Impossible,” declared Elizabeth, looping her arm through Jane’s once more. “This is the happiest I have been since Michaelmas. Let us walk to the pavilion and take our tea; Mrs. Reynolds will have despaired of us by now.”
They proceeded along the gravel path, their steps in perfect time, and soon reached the stone pavilion that overlooked the west lawn. A cloth had already been laid, with cups and a covered dish, and the sight of it drew a laugh from Elizabeth.
“See? Mrs. Reynolds is a prophet as well as a housekeeper. She knows we are slaves to our appetites.”
They sat, the sun now warm upon the flagstones, and poured out the tea. For a while they sipped in silence, content to watch the play of light on the distant hills, the motion of the men on horseback, the busy choreography of bees and butterflies among the flowers.