Page 6 of The Painting (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

D arcy arrived in Brighton around noon. It had been a long and tiresome trip from Pemberley in the hot, summer weather.

He had stopped quite often—for the sake of the horses and his coachman—but he had barely eaten and slept even less.

His thoughts were torn between his fear of the discoveries he might make regarding his mother’s past and his reflections about Elizabeth.

He had hoped that his torment would diminish as time passed but reality had proved him wrong, just as he had been wrong in everything else regarding Elizabeth.

The journey had allowed him time to think, to recollect every day, every interaction since they had met at that assembly and he rejected the mere notion of dancing with her.

How many times had he longed to dance with her afterwards and how happily and confidently had he anticipated a lifetime of opportunities to hold her in his arms after they were married.

But it had been her turn to reject the mere notion of marrying him!

‘The last man in the world’, she had called him.

Darcy felt relieved when the carriage stopped and the driver announced that they had reached their destination. He stepped down hesitantly and stood in front of the house, with a grip in his chest, disappointed once more as reality revealed itself to be completely different from his expectations.

Mrs Clarke’s cottage was barely recognisable; the sight of the place he had come with his mother so many times saddened him.

The house had fallen into a very poor condition, as though it had been abandoned.

He looked around at the other handsome and well-kept cottages and by comparison, Mrs Clarke’s looked even more pitiful.

Darcy knocked but received no answer. He called for Mrs Clarke and after few minutes an old maid appeared at a window, then finally the door opened.

Mrs Clarke—now in her late fifties, by Darcy’s estimation—looked at him, bewildered at first.

“Yes?” she asked, watching him suspiciously.

“Mrs Clarke, you may not remember me, I am Fitzwilliam Darcy; I used to come here with my mother, Lady Anne Darcy, many years ago….”

The woman stared at him dumbfounded, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes narrowed as though she was trying to see better.

When she eventually recognised him, she hurried to greet him tearfully while Darcy bowed to her.

“My dear sir, what a surprise! What a joy! I can hardly believe it! I have not seen you since you were a young boy. It must be fifteen years or more. What a fine, handsome gentleman you have become! Mrs Reynolds has written to me about you many times, but I barely recognised you! Welcome, welcome!”

“Mrs Clarke, what a pleasure to see you again,” he answered warmly.

After a brief hesitation, he embraced her with some haste and uneasiness. The woman was shorter than he remembered, so he had to lean towards her. She looked older than her age and she seemed very thin, moving with apparent difficulty.

“Come in, please. Take a seat, I beg you. As you see, we are not in proper state to receive a gentleman like yourself, but I am so happy to see you!”

He sat, glancing around at the furniture covered in dust. His observation did not go unnoticed by the lady.

“I hope you are well, Mrs Clarke. I am very happy to see you,” he repeated with genuine warmth .

“Thank you, sir. As I am happy to see you! I was devastated when I heard of your parents’ passing. I wondered if I would ever see you again, or meet Miss Darcy. I hope she is well too?”

“Very much so. Mrs Clarke, do you happen to have a couple of spare rooms I could rent? I intend to stay in Brighton.”

The lady frowned and turned pale.

“Oh, I have not rented rooms in the last three years. I have been quite ill and have been unable to take proper care of the house lately. I keep only two maids—Jenny and Abby—and Tom, do you remember them? They have all been with me for over twenty years, Jenny for more than thirty, and now we support each other, as hard as it is.”

“Yes, I do remember them, of course. So…the rooms are empty? Mrs Reynolds told me you were renting them out.”

“Oh, I did not tell her the full truth of my circumstances, I didn’t want to worry her.

You know, my daughter married and she moved to Ramsgate.

She has four children. She asked me to move in with her but I could not abandon this house.

It is my home and was my parents’ home, so I will remain here, at least as long as I can support myself.

When I am gone, she might sell the place if she wishes to. ”

Darcy felt disconcerted for a moment. “So you do have free rooms?”

She looked at him, puzzled. “I do, sir. But they have not been cleaned in a long while. They are not appropriate to host you. And we do not have a cook and…”

Her voice and her hands were trembling with distress as she tried to explain. Darcy smiled at her kindly and took her hands in his.

“Mrs Clarke, please listen to me for a moment, would you?”

She paused and nodded, still tearful.

“I know my mother loved this place and she came here for treatment for many, many years.”

“Yes. When my parents were still alive…”

“I am sorry I have not visited you lately, but I would like to do so now and in the future. I could rent a room somewhere else, but I would rather stay here if you approve of it. My sister might join me later, so…would you accept my help in hiring some more staff and restoring the house? Perhaps Jenny, Abby or Tom have some relatives that need employment? They might begin today, if possible. I will need a room for myself and rooms for my valet and my coachmen. My friend, Mr Bingley, will join me tomorrow—so he will need accommodation too. I may stay at an inn tonight if it is easier that way. And while I am here, I will gladly offer my support to restore the house to its former splendour. My servants will help too.”

With every word, Mrs Clarke’s expression changed and her distress increased. She listened in disbelief, blinking repeatedly, struggling to breathe.

“Would that be acceptable?” he asked softly.

“But… Mr Darcy, why… This is… I cannot accept. I would never be able to repay you. I might not live so long and—”

“Mrs Clarke, all I wish is to see this place as I remember it, and as my mother loved it. There is nothing to repay since it is I who wish to make all these changes. It is my request, so I will be responsible for it. It will be worth it to know that my sister and I have a place where we can enjoy the sea and our family memories. That is … if it is not too much trouble for you, of course.”

“Mr Darcy! My dear Mr Darcy, how can I thank you? If I could only…I cannot believe it...If only…”

She was about to kiss his hand, but he startled and withdrew it in haste.

“Mrs Clarke, if you want to thank me, let us fetch Jenny, Abby and Tom; I will call my valet too and let us proceed with the arrangements. Never speak of gratitude or repayment again.”

His voice was harsher than he intended, but it helped the lady to regain her composure and jolted her out of the paralysis caused by her astonishment.

She wiped her tears while she called for the servants, gathering them around the table, together with Darcy’s valet and the two coachmen.

Everyone started to talk excitedly and chaotically.

“I will take a short walk if my help is not needed,” Darcy said.

“Oh no, I mean yes! Of course, you may go, sir. We will take care of everything. And we will prepare dinner ready for your return,” Mrs Clarke replied, her face and voice animated.

He was about to leave the house when she called to him again.

“Mr Darcy! One more question, sir. Would you like to stay in the chamber that Lady Anne usually occupied? Or would you prefer another one? We will clean a room for you right away, sir!”

Darcy hesitated a moment. “My mother’s room will be fine,” he replied.

A short while later, he was walking towards the beach, with a strange tightness in his chest. It pained him to see the cottage in such a state and he felt grateful he could do something to remedy it.

Abandoning Mrs Clarke would be like a betrayal of his mother’s memory and he regretted that he had never made enquiries about her in all those years.

He glanced back. Just as he had noticed on his arrival, from a distance the cottage looked even more like a ruin—like a glimpse of the past that had returned to demand its rights. He had come there precisely in search of the past and he could not allow it to vanish into the dust.

Darcy’s thoughts were disturbed by the sound of a pianoforte. Somewhere nearby, someone was performing in a most praiseworthy manner.

The contrast between the sound of the music and that of loud, lively voices was distressing, and he looked around, trying to ascertain which of the houses it was coming from.

He felt intrigued yet nervous, without any good reason, so he turned back towards the house, the music following him.

The person who played was doing so with equal mastery and feeling, proving they were not only talented but also fond of music.

Just like his mother, his sister—and Elizabeth.

This last thought offered him the answer to why he felt so anxious. It was because of her, of course—as it always was—adding yet more grief to his turmoil .

With his musings changing from one minute to the next, he saddled one of his horses and mounted, galloping along a path out of Brighton.

Soon enough, the sound of music, voices, and people all disappeared.

But his torment did not—quite the contrary.

With the soft summer breeze blowing in his face, the tumult inside him increased.

After a while, Darcy discovered a narrow path that led from the main road through a grove, down towards the shore.

It was a completely secluded place, several miles away from the last house on the road out of the town, where the sea met the shore in a bay with restless waves.

There, he stopped and allowed his horse to rest, while he sat down in the shade of a tree.

In front of him, there was nothing but the endlessness of the sea, meeting the skyline.

He had been in Brighton for only a few hours and was already questioning his decision.

What did he expect to accomplish? And to what purpose?

Stirring up the past meant betraying his mother’s dying wish; she asked him to burn the painting just as it was, with all the letters hidden within it.

That was what he had to do. The only honourable thing.

He needed to know nothing further and to act in no other way!

The only fortunate outcome of his presence in Brighton was the opportunity to help Mrs Clarke.

Once the house was properly restored, perhaps Georgiana would like to visit it too.

His sister had always loved the sea—apparently an inheritance from their mother—but after the tragic events at Ramsgate, he was uncertain she would agree to visit the sea again soon—if ever.

His reflections over Georgiana caused Darcy’s thoughts to travel to Wickham again—and from him back to Elizabeth. Everything took his thoughts back to Elizabeth—always.

Trying to calm himself, he closed his eyes and leant against the tree, listening to the sound of the waves until he lost track of time.

When he returned to the cottage it was almost dark and he was met by Stevens and Mrs Clarke’s concerned enquiries, as though he had been missing for hours.

He apologised for worrying them, then asked if his room was available.

It was—and quite clean and reasonably arranged, as he noticed when he opened the door.

His luggage was already unpacked and his valet was awaiting his instructions.

“Stevens, please bring me something to eat, if there is anything. And then you will not be needed until morning.”

When the valet had left, Darcy moved over to the window.

It was a warm night, with a clear sky full of stars and a bright moon mirrored in the water.

The same sound of the pianoforte could be heard again, intriguing and enjoyable.

Near the shore, he spotted the silhouettes of two women, walking arm in arm.

Considering they were alone at that late hour, they must live in one of the houses nearby.

As he watched the strangers, he felt disquieted again, for no apparent reason.

A moment later, Darcy found himself wondering if Elizabeth liked the sea and wondered if she would enjoy taking long walks on the shore, with the waves gently caressing her ankles and the breeze dancing in her hair.

Even if she did, he knew he would never have the opportunity to join her and that he was only torturing himself in vain.