The Darcys of Pemberley (28 page)

The whole encounter had been unsettling –
Wickham’s taunts, his reminder of their past friendship, the
leering way he had looked at her. Still, Elizabeth’s greatest
perturbation proceeded from Wickham’s allusions to a clandestine
business association with her husband. Could there be any truth to
what he said, she wondered? Did she really wish to know the answer?
That was another question entirely. Her natural curiosity mingled
with a heavy dread at the very prospect of what she might
discover.

However, it was not only the questionable
conduct of others that troubled Elizabeth. Her conscience told her
that her own behavior was suspect, when she reflected on her hasty
decision to keep the encounter with Wickham to herself. Although
she was sincere in her desire to spare her husband distress, the
ease with which she chose to withhold the information alarmed her.
She had acted on impulse, and
her first instinct had been to
conceal the truth from him!
The very idea shocked her.

“Oh, my dear Darcy, how have we come to this
sad state of affairs?” Elizabeth silently lamented. “We used to
have no secrets from each other. Now it seems we have
both
become adept at disguise.”

Moving Day

Elizabeth’s preoccupation with the disturbing
episode at Heatheridge made her a poor traveling companion on the
journey back to Pemberley. In her agitated state, she had no
patience for prattle. Caroline and Louisa were soon left to their
own society as Mr. Hurst lapsed into deep slumber shortly after
they got underway, and Elizabeth delivered a convincing performance
of the same so she could be alone with her thoughts.

Upon more thorough rumination, Elizabeth
realized it was pure folly to suppose she could keep her husband
ignorant of her encounter with Mr. Wickham. Considering his serious
reservations about her going to Heatheridge in the first place,
Darcy was sure to ask if she had seen the man. She would have to
own that she had. Withholding information for good reason was one
thing, but a barefaced lie was quite another. Besides, it was sure
to come out on Friday. Mr. Bingley could easily mention it to his
friend or, more likely, Wickham himself might refer to it for
purposes of his own.

No, she must tell him and make as little of
the incident as possible. She hoped to avoid revealing much about
the content and tenor of the conversation, however. With Wickham’s
warning still ringing in her ears, Elizabeth felt inclined to heed
his advice, despite the source. She could not yet countenance the
idea of confronting Darcy with her questions. And telling him of
their brother-in-law’s impertinence would only serve to jeopardize
the project of resettling the troublesome couple.

Darcy met the carriage when it arrived at
dusk and ushered the party into the house. “Good to have you back,
my dear,” he said to Elizabeth as they walked up the front steps
together. “I trust you encountered no significant difficulties
today?” he pointedly inquired.

Elizabeth understood his question to
encompass both the issue of Wickham and the letter for Mr. Bingley,
as well as the travel itself. “Everything went well,” she assured
him. “We had a very agreeable stay at Heatheridge and no serious
complications.” Further intelligence would have to wait.

Over supper, Mr. Darcy received a detailed
account of the day from the visiting sisters. He was informed of
the health and good appearance of all the Bingleys, regaled by a
thorough description of the excellent fare at their table, and
given benefit of all particulars relating to the condition of the
roads along the route. Caroline reported only one thing amiss at
Heatheridge, which was an unpleasant degree of familiarity on the
part of the servants. Louisa reluctantly allowed she had noticed
the same, and had gone so far as to give Jane a kindly hint that
she would do well to exercise a firmer hand in her management of
the help.

No one in the group that evening made any
mention of Mr. Wickham, though he was never far from Elizabeth’s
mind … or from her husband’s either, judging from his solemn mood.
As she expected, the first question from his lips, once they were
finally alone, was whether or not she had encountered the man.

Elizabeth had her answer ready. “Yes, I did
see him. It was unavoidable; he appeared just as we were taking
leave. The meeting was brief, and I was never in any danger. So you
need not be concerned, Darcy.”

“Did he speak to you?”

“Just a few words.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing of consequence. He made believe we
were still friends, and I very firmly disabused him of the idea.
That is all it amounted to.”

“It sounds as if you managed the situation
well.”

“I should hope that I did.”

“Are you certain he did nothing to upset you?
You do not seem quite yourself tonight.”

“I am just a little tired; that is all.”

For whatever reason, Mr. Darcy did not press
her further. Elizabeth was surprised, but relieved, to be spared
giving detailed explanations – or the necessity of lying to avoid
them. This failed to cheer her, however, for she could now, for the
first time, sense the faint shadow of a wall dividing her from her
beloved husband. There was no longer any question in her mind that
facts and feelings were being deliberately withheld on both sides.
A veil of doubt had drawn between them. Darcy was aware of it too;
she could see it in his eyes.

~*~

Friday dawned through a dark blanket of
clouds, which shrouded the morning in a general air of gloom. The
rain began about nine o’clock and continued into the afternoon
unabated, painting the entire landscape a dozen dreary shades of
gray. Elizabeth gazed out the drawing room window at the dismal
scene, and hoped that the inhospitable weather was in no way
indicative of how the day’s events would play out.

Mr. Darcy had departed for the cottage hours
earlier, taking Mr. Adams and Sarah Thompson with him in a
carriage. Sarah, a sturdy girl of sixteen and the daughter of one
of Pemberley’s best maids, had been engaged to wait on the Wickhams
as their maid-of-all-work. The Darcys provided her services along
with the cottage itself in the hope that it would make the
situation more agreeable to the new tenants, and success,
therefore, more likely.

As her eyes traced the rivulets racing down
the window glass, Elizabeth’s thoughts ran far afield – to the
cottage. About now, she surmised, the party would be arriving from
Heatheridge. She wondered how her sister and brother-in-law had
taken the news that they were being removed from their fine
accommodations with the Bingleys to more modest lodgings of their
own. Reasonable people would be thankful for the kindness so long
extended to them by their relations, and grateful to have a
permanent home made available to them at no cost. However, as
Elizabeth knew all too well, the laws of reasonable behavior did
not always apply to the Wickhams.

She wished she could have been of use in
making the arrangements or easing the transition somehow. But Darcy
had insisted on doing everything himself and keeping her well clear
of it. So she was consigned to wait and worry at home, with no hope
of learning how things were progressing until her husband returned.
Elizabeth was roused from these contemplations by Miss Bingley’s
voice, calling her back to the room and reminding her that she was
not alone.

“So sorry, Caroline, my mind was miles away.
What were you saying?”

“I just wondered what had captured your
attention so completely. I declare, Eliza, you have been standing
on that very spot and staring out of doors for fully twenty
minutes.”

“It is nothing. I was watching for Mr.
Darcy’s return, I suppose.”

“Yes, his absence is a sad loss to us all. I
fail to understand why he could not have postponed this so-called
‘important business,’ whatever it is, for another day,” Caroline
said peevishly. “After all, he is the master of Pemberley and not
the other way round.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath before
answering. “You must remember that this estate is an enormous
responsibility, Miss Bingley. It often happens that Mr. Darcy must
set aside his own convenience in order to keep things operating
smoothly. Today’s errand is an example. I know for a fact that he
would much rather have stayed at home had he consulted only his own
preferences.”

“How tiresome!” Caroline exclaimed. “What is
the point of ownership if it does not afford one the privilege of
doing as one likes?”

“It is fortunate for you, then, that you do
not suffer the burden of that kind of obligation,” Elizabeth
concluded.

The company languished for lack of
occupation, the hours progressing at a snail’s rate. Their periodic
forays into conversation proved too feeble to be long sustained;
each soon faltered and died away, once again plunging the room
headlong into a vast sea of silence. Mr. Hurst finally resorted to
the solitary pursuit of playing Patience. His wife took up a book,
which busied her hands and held her eyes if not her interest. The
other two ladies divided their time between worrying the furniture
with fidgety sits and wearing the carpet with restless pacing.

When at last Mr. Darcy did return, he stopped
only briefly in the drawing room to apologize for his unavoidable
absence before excusing himself to change for dinner. Elizabeth
could discover nothing in his demeanor or voice to satisfy her
curiosity about his errand, so she made her own excuses and
accompanied him upstairs.

“Well? I can bear it no longer; tell me what
happened,” Elizabeth urged him as soon as they were beyond the
hearing of the others.

“There is not that much to tell, Elizabeth,”
Darcy said wearily. “It is accomplished; that is all that can be
known for certain. Only time will answer the rest.”

“So they were successfully moved. That is
some relief. But, did things go smoothly? How do they like the
cottage? What was their mood? Since I could not be there myself,
you must tell me.”

“Very well, I will do my best. Your sister
was in animated spirits, and I had no complaints from her. She
scurried about investigating the whole house and making plans … for
how she wanted the furniture arranged, what sort of curtains she
would hang, and so forth. I believe she decided to be content as
soon as she learnt she was to have a maid. Wickham was a different
matter.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Did he make trouble for
you?”

“Nothing overt. My concern is not so much for
anything specific he did or said; it is rather for his stormy
outlook in general. I know the man. Wickham is not one to suffer
his resentments quietly. I suppose there never was any real reason
to expect his cooperation, but still …” He trailed off, shaking his
head.

“Do not give up, Darcy. Even Wickham is
capable of behaving sensibly when it benefits his own interests.
Perhaps once he has had time to adjust to the arrangement, he will
choose to give it a fair try.”

“God grant it, but I doubt it, Lizzy.”

All was tranquil for the next two days. On
Monday, according to the master’s instructions, Mr. Adams rode by
the cottage to assess the Wickhams’ progress and render any needed
assistance. He found everything in good order. The new residents,
who received him courteously, were well settled, and Mr. Wickham
had already familiarized himself with the farm and its operation.
Mr. Adams had answered a few reasonable questions and then
continued on his way, quite comfortable with everything he had
observed.

On the strength of this account, the Darcys
adopted a more optimistic view than they had reason to envision
before.

An Altercation

The next day, a message from Heatheridge
arrived saying that the guest quarters were now available, and
inviting the Hursts and Miss Bingley to come just as soon as they
could be spared from Pemberley. Recognizing the Bingleys’ higher
claim, the Darcys kindly gave their visitors leave to go
immediately if they so wished. Yet their guests would not consider
departing so abruptly. Thursday morning, then, was settled on as
the time for their removal.

On Wednesday – their last full day at
Pemberley – the sisters begged Mr. Darcy to treat them to another
outing on horseback. He consented, considering that riding would be
one of the more pleasant ways to entertain them. As on the previous
occasion, Mr. Hurst stayed behind and Elizabeth chose the
alternative of a walk for her outdoor exercise.

After the riders set off, she strolled down
the path by the stream where she had passed so often before, on
foot and in the saddle. Never did she tire of this route, which
offered so much delight to the senses. It seemed ever-changing and
new with each season. As she rambled along, midday sun filtered
through the dancing leaves overhead and glittered across the face
of the water. The freshening breeze at her back and the burbling
sound of the little waterfall ahead carried her forward. With every
step, she drank in the musky scent of the wood and of the rich
earth beneath her feet.

Elizabeth wandered on without a care. Only
when she had ventured quite far down the trail did her mounting
fatigue prompt the idea of turning back. Yet by then she was too
tired to attempt it. A repose of ten or fifteen minutes would soon
set her right, she thought. So, choosing a particularly inviting
patch of grass, she sat down and leaned back against a tree stump
to rest before starting the return trip. With the warmth of the sun
to blanket her and its brightness to shut her eyes, Elizabeth
relaxed and let her mind drift.

How long she remained in that attitude and
whether or not she slept, Elizabeth could never be certain. When
she at last came to herself, it was with a start and a sense of
apprehension. She had the strong impression that someone else was
present, watching her. At the sound of rustling in the underbrush,
Elizabeth darted her eyes first in that direction and then in every
other without result. Yet the threat seemed no less real.