Page 42 of The Winter of Our Discontent (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)
I arrived at twilight. The ladies of the house were in their rooms, I presumed, as no delegation of welcome met me.
In fairness, I conceded I did not send word ahead of my coming, and I was happier not to speak to anyone in the mood I was in.
After a wash and change of clothes, I retreated to my study and summoned my steward.
We spoke for half an hour before I summoned Mrs Darcy.
She was prompt, no doubt warned of my arrival by then and expecting a reckoning.
I had never seen her look so fierce. Her eyes glinted with black fire.
Her hair was pulled back in a perfunctory way, and she wore a serviceable wool dress with a plain fichu up to her chin.
She certainly did not strive to influence my judgment through the expedient of comely looks.
“Mr Darcy,” she said with a curtsey. As she straightened, she looked at my steward and nodded. “Mr Johnson.”
“Will you not sit, ma’am?”
“I think not. Clearly, I am here for a reprimand. If we might accelerate the inevitable, we will then be at leisure to part company.”
“If you wish.” I stood behind my desk suddenly feeling fairly unnerved by her lack of trepidation. “I understand you have roiled the entire neighbourhood.”
“Apparently so. On a very icy afternoon, I was returning from Curate Hodge’s house and saw a bedraggled family at the side of the open road.
I stopped the coach, shuffled them inside, returned to the parsonage, and begged shelter for them in a room beside the stable.
I then selected clothing and blankets from the poor box, went to Swanson’s for meat pies and such, begged Miss Hodge for milk, saw them settled, then stopped at the carter on the edge of Lambton and paid him to drive the family to Sheffield to catch the Yorkshire stage in the morning with the fare I gave them.
That is my account of it, but I am sure you know all this already. ”
To her credit, she did not glare daggers at Johnson—the tale bearer—who stood with his arms crossed.
“You were aware they were Irish, were you not?”
“I suppose so, though I had no reason to think twice about where they came from. They had with them a child of not two years, another just out of leading strings, and two more besides. Their father attempted to sell me his seed potatoes in desperation. They were half frozen and would not have survived the night, having walked ten miles from Clarkston and finding themselves done for in that deserted stretch between Lambton and the Maunders’ estate. ”
A heavy silence fell. The Irish were despised here, looked down upon by even the poorest of our cottagers.
Charity to an Irishman was nigh on heresy, and my wife did not simply slip the man a handful of shillings and drive on.
No. She made a great, roaring show of sheltering, feeding, and transporting them to their destination.
There are chalk mines in Yorkshire that draw the displaced Scots and Irish who labour for far less than the workers they replace.
“You understand feelings run high against the importation of workers who allow mine and mill owners to replace the local men who command higher wages?”
“I do now. I have placed our curate in a particularly uncomfortable situation, and though I regret that very much, I do not know what I would have done differently.”
“You would not learn from your mistake?” I asked coldly.
“I wonder, Mr Darcy, what you would have done had you seen a child with his shoes frozen to his feet, pulling a thin shawl around his ribs, standing two miles from anywhere.” A sob escaped, and she swallowed it angrily, though she could not stem the sheet of tears that poured down her cheeks.
She stood there, however, defiant and ramrod straight, adding, “I have been told by Mr Johnson that fate is cruel, and I should have left them to it.”
This shocked me. I could think of nothing to say, so she continued in a tone that bordered on outrage.
“I see you agree with him, sir, and can only congratulate you. To be unburdened by the feelings of compassion must be liberating indeed.”
“It does not follow that my silence constitutes agreement, madam.”
“Does it not?” She spoke with such righteous irony that I felt a blush crawl up my neck.
“I am not without compassion.”
“Oh? I was unaware, sir. If you are in earnest, and if there is to be a punishment phase to this interview, then I would consider it a mercy to hear my fate without Mr Johnson in the room.”
I was now fully flushed—abashed, really. I had handled the meeting in the most deplorable manner. I should have excused Johnson directly after he explained the circumstance. One hard glance at my steward and he bowed himself out.
“What do you mean by a punishment phase, madam?”
“A rumour is afoot that I will be sent to your estate in Scotland. Mr Johnson seems to relish the notion, having teased me just this morning with sly jokes about haggis and sheep’s pelt coats.”
“You put great stock in rumours, do you?”
“No, I do not, but your sister came to hear the gossip and made me aware of it. I could hardly tell her I would not listen to her concerns.”
“If you knew me at all, you would know I would never stoop to such an expedient as sending you to Scotland without extreme provocation.”
“By your account then, your sister knows you no more thoroughly than I, for she is wretched at the near-certain prospect that I am, at this moment, being sent away.”
This was the fourth or fifth time she left me floundering for speech. I was so utterly bewildered I did not even know how to bring that disastrous conversation to a dignified end. I stood silent, swallowing, until she asked if she was free to go, and I awkwardly bowed her out.
I was alone in the room where I was master of my world, with my palms clammy and my heart hammering against my ribs.
My thoughts were a cacophony of jumbled, half-formed remnants of reason.
From somewhere in the roar in my head, the notion coalesced that if I did not make a sharp course correction, I would go down in flaming ruin and have only myself to blame.
The hour was late, my head throbbed, and my brain stood still in revolt. Come morning, I hoped to be able to think. For the present, however, I skulked my way up to my room and closed the door against the world.