Pemberley (14 page)

For when the door was opened, the young Mr Gresham stood there and gave a very different reason for Darcy's distracted air and sudden departure from the family party by the river at: Pemberley.

‘Mr Darcy is gone to Matlock,' said Mr Gresham, ‘and my father is gone with him.' Then – seeing Elizabeth had rain on her hair and shawl – ‘But will you not come in and dry by the fire? You should not get wet again, after the episode in the caravan.'

Young Mr Gresham was so easy a companion – he was about her own age, Elizabeth thought, and with pleasant features, a fresh complexion and light-brown hair – that she had no difficulty in accepting the invitation. Mrs Gresham, his mother, soon came through from the parlour, and gave Elizabeth a chair by the fire, and offered a dish of tea, which was warmly accepted.

Elizabeth had not at first wished to show that she had no knowledge of Mr Darcy's intended departure for Matlock; but the Greshams were so agreeable, and the fire so warm, that she resolved to ask them also if they knew the reason for stopping the children's party at this late hour.

‘Why, Mr Darcy had no notion of going to Matlock, until he came over here and we told him the news,' said old Mrs Gresham. ‘The parson there had a fall, and died; Mr Darcy has the patronage of the church there, and had to go, to visit the widow.'

Ah, I see, thought Elizabeth; so his going does not account for his temper when he left us – it is all my mother's doing; and she wished intensely for her sister Jane, to relieve her of her bitterness.

‘He will stay the night, he told us,' said Mrs Gresham, who now looked uncomfortable on seeing the stricken expression on
Elizabeth's face, ‘because it will come on to rain, and there is no more desolate road at this time of year,' the good woman added hastily.

Mr Gresham here started to tell Elizabeth the plans for the new wing of the library at Pemberley; this he did in the gentlest and most engaging manner possible, and soon Elizabeth had only fond memories of her father's bookish habits to pass on to Mr Gresham – for he had been permitted entry since an early age, and knew every book there.

‘The new catalogue is indeed important,' said he, as Elizabeth rose to take her leave. ‘I believe Mr Darcy's young cousin Master Roper found the present arrangement most confusing.'

‘Was he disagreeable to you?' asked Elizabeth sharply; for she saw that Mr Gresham looked away when he spoke. But ‘Master Roper is perhaps not as knowledgeable as he assumes in certain areas' was all she could get out of Mr Gresham. And, as Elizabeth made her way across the room, the young librarian and his mother accompanied her to the door of the steward's house.

‘It has stopped raining,' said Mr Gresham, ‘or I would go to the village and fit up a pony and trap for you, Mrs Darcy.'

Elizabeth replied that she had a mind to go to the village herself. ‘The children looked forward to a party with carols and entertainments at Pemberley. Can you have any notion why this will now not take place?' she said. ‘I understand there must be a good reason – but we were so many, out taking a walk in the park, that I did not have time to discover – ‘Seeing this sounded lame, Elizabeth broke off.

Mr Gresham, with his mother behind him on the doorstep, appeared so concerned by her words that he was silent – but whether another instance of the lack of communication between Mr Darcy and his wife had shocked him into a loss of speech could not be ascertained, for Mrs Gresham stepped forward at this point and said with emphasis that they had heard nothing of this at the steward's house.

‘And that is why I thought he had come here, for Mrs Reynolds said she heard it from him as he left this house,' cried poor Elizabeth, who now knew herself to be less a confidante of Mr Darcy than a servant. ‘I am mistaken, perhaps – or Mrs Reynolds mistook the import of Mr Darcy's remarks. I will go directly to the village – they will tell me there!'

Both Mr Gresham and his mother came out of the house and, with voices raised, implored Elizabeth to return home; and not to take the road to the village. ‘Look at those rain clouds,' said Mr Gresham. ‘I shall certainly fetch you a pony and trap, Mrs Darcy, if you do not hasten back now.'

‘There will be a party out looking for you again,' said Mrs Gresham. ‘It is for your own health and welfare that you return to Pemberley House.'

Elizabeth promised she would; and she set off obediently enough down the lane. Once the figures of Mrs Gresham and her son had gone inside and the door closed, however, she turned and, taking a short-cut across a field behind the steward's house, soon found herself by the first cluster of cottages in the village.

She made her way over the puddles that had increased in size since the storms of two nights age; and turned down by the forge, in search of the blacksmith's wife, who had been a helper and guide with the planning of the children's entertainment at Pemberley. A light rain started to fall again; and she pulled her shawl over her head. A mass of loose stones in the middle of the thoroughfare caused her to stumble, and lay her hand for support on the wattle wall of the blacksmith's cottage – and it was then, as she righted herself, and received a curious glance from a passing villager – for surely this was not the mistress of Pemberley, in this rain and on a gloomy day such as this – that she saw Mr Darcy stride out of a house at the end of the street, with a boy of about six years old at his side.

Mr Darcy and his young companion crossed the street and turned up by the church – and, as Elizabeth ran after them and
called Darcy's name, they turned again into a cobbled alley where the houses were of extreme antiquity, and went through an entrance to one of them – the building in such decay that the door swung open on its hinges – and disappeared.

At first Elizabeth thought she must have dreamed the entire episode. The light was dim; the rain was falling now steadily; and it was possible – was it possible? – that a man of the height and presence of Darcy had stopped in the village, in need of the black-smith – but then, where was his horse? And, if there was no horse, why was Darcy on foot, when he was supposed to have gone to Matlock? Certainly he would have gone that distance on horse-back. If he was not in Matlock, what was he doing here?

Elizabeth's thoughts were in turmoil, and she felt her colour come and go and her breathing grow harsh and short. Had Mr Gresham and his mother purposely misled her, when they told of her husband's mission of mercy to the widow of an incumbent parson? Was there a good reason for them to try all they could do to dissuade her from visiting the village? She could barely bring herself to consider the implications of this – for, if Darcy had a secret from her, all the love and trust built up and maintained since their marriage would be nothing. And this could not be true. So Elizabeth's thoughts went wildly, until she saw, on retracing her steps to the forge – for an exploration of the ancient alley had shown only that the houses there acted as mere conduits to the lane on the far side – that there was a pony and trap, with Mr Gresham in the driver's seat, waiting in the small square at the head of the lane.

Elizabeth was torn between anger and relief on perceiving this. Had Mr Gresham followed her, then? Did she have no freedom, no independence of movement, as the mistress of Pemberley? Must the son of the steward be appointed steward of the wife of Mr Darcy, as his father managed the land? She turned, with a sudden idea to go through the abandoned houses and play hide-and-seek with her pursuer – when Mr Gresham, alighting from
the pony and trap, came down the lane and civilly enquired whether he could offer Mrs Darcy a ride back to the house. As, by now, several pairs of eyes were trained on the bedraggled Mrs Darcy – and tongues wagged that this was the second time in as many days that she was seen here, getting a soaking – Elizabeth could do no other than accept Mr Gresham's offer with a good grace.

The drive back to Pemberley took place without a word exchanged between Elizabeth and Mr Gresham. If she wished to enquire further as to the whereabouts of Mr Darcy – or, this pushed once more into the background by dramatic events, demand a reason for the cursory arrest of the children's party Elizabeth found she could not do so. She did not know where she could place her trust, now; she needed her sister Mrs Bingley's calmness and counsel; and she prayed that Mrs Bennet would be satisfactorily engaged elsewhere, when she came back into the house.

Elizabeth's prayer was not to be answered. After thanking Mr Gresham in a manner that showed her dislike of being followed, and over-protected – a stiff expression of thanks which provoked in Mr Gresham a wounded and startled look – she went into the west entrance and found her mother in the hall, in a state of great agitation.

‘Thank the Lord, Lizzy – you are here! I have told Mrs Reynolds I would watch for you, as she awaits the doctor and gives orders to the servants – '

‘The doctor?' said Elizabeth, whose blood ran cold at the thought that Darcy had fallen from his horse – that he was dead – that she had seen his phantom in the village, just half an hour before.

‘Jane is started on her confinement!' cried Mrs Bennet. ‘The doctor from Barlow has been sent for, but the rain makes the road so bad …' Here Mrs Bennet broke down and wept; and Elizabeth went to comfort her as best she could.

‘Hush, Mama! I am certain there is no need for you to wait down here – come upstairs and be more comfortable – where is John?'

‘John is called to the cellar by Master Roper,' replied Mrs Bennet distractedly. ‘And I wish to accompany the medical man myself to the bedside of poor Jane!'

‘I shall go to her immediately,' said Elizabeth, and she went to the stairs and began to go up. ‘Why does Master Roper instruct John to visit the cellar?' she now said, as the notion appeared to her very odd.

‘Mr Darcy is away at Matlock,' said Mrs Bennet, who peered up at Elizabeth, and spoke through her tears. ‘So Master Roper chooses the wines for dinner, Lizzy.'

Does he indeed? thought Elizabeth – but she would not permit herself to be distracted, and ran on up the stairs to reach her sister Jane.

‘He has been kind enough to extend an invitation to dinner to Colonel Kitchiner,' Mrs Bennet called after her; ‘and he chooses the port, also, and some fine liqueur brandies, for we are, after all, dear Lizzy, arrived at the eve before Christmas.'

These last words were lost on Elizabeth, as she went the length of the long gallery and found the stairs to the floor where Jane's bedchamber lay.

Dinner at Pemberley in Mr Darcy's absence was a flustered affair. Elizabeth was downstairs late a second time, after her visit to Mrs Bingley, and a wait for the medical man, a Dr Mason from Barlow who came with difficulty through snow, in the dark of the closing of a winter's day. Mrs Bennet came and went throughout the meal, complaining of her nerves as much as expressing anxiety over her daughter. And the servants, hoping for direction from the mistress of the house, found themselves, as a consequence of Mrs Darcy's not unreasonable distraction, given orders by Master Roper, who had placed himself at the head of the table.

Elizabeth knew this was grotesque – but there was little she could do to change the situation; and what gave her, probably, more annoyance than the posturings of Darcy's cousin was the clear expression of pleasure and satisfaction at this placement to be found on the face of Miss Bingley. It was mortifying, also, to see Miss Georgiana Darcy giggle with Miss Bingley and cast looks that were not all friendly at Elizabeth – it would only be concluded that the girl had fallen under the influence of a young woman both older and more accomplished than herself and that she would soon regret it – but, for the present, the camaraderie of Caroline Bingley and Georgiana was provocative to her in the extreme.

If only Jane were here – if only Jane could be confided in now! – for, on looking round the table, Elizabeth could swear there was no one she could feel for, no one she could tell of the strange vision of Mr Darcy and the child in the village today; no one of whom she could ask simple advice. Indeed, it appeared to her that
she was surrounded more by enemies than by friends. Master Roper, who had seated Lady Catherine on his right hand, looked down the table at her with what she saw as an air of evil complacency; George Wickham – with whom once she had fancied herself almost in love, before she knew him for the fortune hunter and rascal that he was – ogled Miss Darcy across the table and gave no attention to the desperate attempts on the part of Lydia to claim his conjugal attentions; and Colonel Kitchiner, who sat by Mrs Bennet when she was
in situ,
huffed and puffed in a manner so obsequious and false that Elizabeth knew there could never be any serious colloquy with him. Only aunt and uncle Gardiner, in their innocence and kindness unaware of the impudence of Master Roper at claiming Mr Darcy's chair as his own, bore all the affection for Elizabeth which any hostess of a large family gathering might hope to expect. But how could she confide her doubts to
them
– of all people the most certain, after initial wonderment at the grandeur of Elizabeth's match, that she had done the right thing? – to reveal to
them
that she knew little of her husband's movements; that she did not know, even, that Mr Darcy was really gone to Matlock to see about the living become vacant there? No, the Gardiners, who spoke now of the snow gathering outside and of the urgent necessity to return to Rowsley before they were unable to use the roads, must consider the marriage of their dear niece and Mr Darcy as sacrosanct.

‘My dear lady,' Elizabeth now heard Colonel Kitchiner address Mr Darcy's aunt, ‘I am most intrigued by your method of eating a pear! So exquisite a slicing method; such delicacy of poise on the fork of purest mother-of-pearl!'