Page 10 of The Winter of Our Discontent (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
ELIZABETH DARCY, THE GREAT NORTH ROAD
Nottingham could not have been reached by anyone more grateful than I.
The remaining journey had consisted of four miserable, anxious hours.
Mr Darcy, ashen and furious, had entered the coach after being sick on the side of the road.
He glared at me when I made some small noise of commiseration, so I fell silent, as was his apparent wish, and watched covertly as he shivered and clutched his belly from time to time.
When he appeared to have fallen asleep, I dared not make a sound lest he wake, or worse, lest he only be striving to calm his nausea.
Two more stops were required in order for Mr Darcy to purge his stomach.
Each seemed to mortify him beyond bearing, and I was at a loss as to how to look.
To appear sympathetic would convey I was witness to his misery.
Yet, to appear indifferent would affirm all he believed about me—I entrapped him for wealth and position and would be delighted to see him die.
I settled for sobriety and concern, for I honestly felt both.
Such a wedding trip we had endured! Could any two people suffer more for a stupid mistake than Mr Darcy and me?
When we stopped for a change of horses, Romney led Mr Darcy inside to a private parlour. When the valet emerged to fetch some tea, I took him aside.
“Your master suffers twice as much, having an audience for his misery. Wilson and I shall sit in the second coach with the luggage. You must not let him argue against my decision.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The second coach was anticipated within a quarter of an hour after Mr Darcy’s principal coach pulled out of the yard, but in fact, it had been delayed by a broken harness and arrived nearly an hour later.
As we waited in the private parlour set aside for my husband’s use, I drank tea and read while Wilson sewed one of my gowns.
In a lull between chapters in my book, I asked if I had overlooked a torn hem.
“I am taking in this seam just a little, ma’am. This gown will fit you much better when I am finished with it.”
“Truly? How very convenient for me. I have never had any notion how to make a dress fit better. That one, if I recall correctly, was made by my aunt Philips from some muslin sent from London.”
“ ’Tis a fine weave with a pleasing pattern. It will look new when it is made over. You might have been—well, I shall not say plump, for you must have always been slender. But perhaps you have lost some weight since it was first made?”
“Oh well, what with such a tumult as is brought on by a wedding, leaving my family, and travelling into a future completely unknown, I suppose my appetite has dwindled a little.” To say it had absconded would have been more accurate, but I could not say so without inviting questions.
Seeking a diversion from this disheartening truth, I spoke with a particle of mirth.
“If I become plump at Pemberley, will this alteration not be a waste of your effort?”
“Mrs Darcy of Pemberley will have all new gowns made twice a year, and this one will end in the poor box in under a month.”
“The poor box! Twice a year!”
“At the very least, ma’am.”
“I suppose you are an expert in such requirements. Tell me, how many gowns should I bespeak when we arrive in Derbyshire, and where will we find a proper modiste?”
“I am told Miss Darcy, when she is not in town, gives her custom to a dressmaker in Derby, which is not more than an hour from Pemberley. As to the number of gowns, ma’am, I have made a list.”
“Gracious!” I cried after perusing the list she brought out of her pocket.
“Just so, ma’am.”
“But I can hardly acquire all this in one sitting. To do so would hardly be prudent. Two ball gowns! Mr Darcy does not strike me as a man enamoured of entertaining, and I do not anticipate so much society as to make use of half of this wardrobe.”
Wilson handed me a second list. “I anticipated you might not wish to buy everything all at once, and having been through your trunks, I have devised a list of essentials for now.”
“Thank goodness. I shall only ask that you add a serviceable walking dress and a new pair of walking boots.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And I shall give up two pairs of slippers in order to make sure my boots are as comfortable and as well made as possible. When we reach Pemberley, will you enquire as to a suitable boot maker for me?”
Wilson of course committed to do so, and then the second carriage was ready for us at last. Given the gravity of the situation, I wondered how I had spent that quarter of an hour in which I did not think of anything save such frivolous concerns as my wardrobe.
But what else could I think of? I could have thought of my mother, my sisters—but no.
Bringing them to mind even in passing caused tears to build behind my eyes.
Upon writing my new name in the church registry, I had felt my former life to have been amputated like a critical limb, and by instinct I knew my survival hung precariously upon a resolution to face only what lay directly before me.
Those of more tender dispositions may have mourned more openly and thought me strangely callous to think of dresses and such, but I would have countered that sorrow has many faces, and far from being a virtue of which I could be proud, my stoicism only betrayed how near I was to forfeiting my sanity.
With the past closed to me and a future entirely unknown, I then lapsed into contemplation of how I could possibly sustain my spirits under such trying circumstances.
The change in the landscape outside my window soon pulled me out of such useless rumination, however, for the air smelt sharply of black dirt and tall grasses unknown in Hertfordshire, and we climbed up and down hills and through valleys of rock fall.
Thankfully, the inn in Nottingham was a superior establishment. I immediately sent for Romney. He arrived promptly to speak to me.
“How is Mr Darcy faring?” I asked.
“Resting, ma’am. I believe he might be slightly improved. ”
“Should we not summon a doctor?”
“He has forbidden me to do so, ma’am.”
“And I suppose we do not contradict him?”
“No, ma’am, we do not.”
“I see. However, if he is no better in the morning, we will send for someone. I shall send up a note later. Please ask for me if he worsens, no matter the hour.”
I did not stop to think about my note. If I gave it undue consideration, my courage would fail. I wrote:
Sir–
I am so very sorry you have suffered such a day. Hopefully a night of rest renders you much recovered in the morning.
EMD
Once the note was dispatched, I was free to fret.
I would be condemned either way. An expression of sympathy from someone he resented would be wholly unwelcome, while an absence of any acknowledgement he was ill would confirm my inferior upbringing.
Much of my life now would require I walk through these dreadfully defeating circumstances in which I was a villain no matter what I did.
Morning found Mr Darcy recovered from his stomach ailment but in the grip of a violent cold. He looked gaunt, pale, and shaken as he and his valet entered the coach, and he promptly turned away from me and stared out the window.
“How long before we reach Pemberley?” I asked his valet in a hushed voice.
“Four hours without rain, ma’am.”
Of course there was rain and plenty of it. We arrived six and a half hours after we left Nottingham. The coach was covered to the roof in a foul-smelling mud, and the horses, poor beasts, were splattered with clods to the top of their heads .
At last, Pemberley became visible in the mist. I noted it was a large house.
Nothing else struck me about the place save the delegation standing on the steps with umbrellas.
My heart pounded in dread. This army of servants was nothing like the small brigade I faced in London.
Had it been only three days ago? It seemed already a year.
I took a deep breath, stepped out of the coach, and strode straight-backed to the waiting butler.
He was known to me from London, having arrived before us, presumably due to the misery of travelling day and night on the mail coach.
“Welcome to Pemberley, Mrs Darcy,” he said in the ponderous tones of an undertaker.
“Thank you, Mr Harrison.” I turned to the solemn figure standing beside him and said, “You must be Mrs Reynolds. I am sorry to cut short our introductions, but Mr Darcy is ill. I wonder if Romney might have a little help in getting him out of the wet and into his room this instant.”
The entire household must have had their ears on the prick.
They swarmed past me to the coach and saw Mr Darcy shuffled up the stairs to his room, leaving Wilson and me standing on the stairs holding our umbrellas.
I advanced towards the front door, greeting a few straggling maids left behind in the uproar.
Inside the entrance, I saw a tall, pale-faced young lady standing wide-eyed next to a plump matron with a kindly face.
I handed my umbrella and wet cloak to the footman, who had just arrived in the second coach, and went straight to the young lady.
“You must be Miss Darcy,” I said, taking her hands.
“How distressing to see your brother helped up the stairs just now, but I believe he is only suffering from a bad cold on top of having been served a ragout that was gone off yesterday. I am hopeful a good dose of rest and a bowl of light soup will see him much better in the morning.” I paused and looked at Miss Darcy’s companion without releasing Miss Darcy’s hands.
“You must be Mrs Annesley? I am Elizabeth Darcy,” I said with a curtsey, “and I am very pleased to meet you both.”
“Mrs Darcy,” the lady said, “forgive us for our poor manners. We were expecting Mr Darcy to make you known to us.”