Twixt Two Equal Armies (57 page)

So there is to be a wedding! And you are cordially invited, as is my aunt (I will send her the particulars in a separate letter — I know how she despises receiving invitations through someone else). I shall be very happy to see you if you should be able to spare the time, for I miss you very much even though it is but a short time since we last saw one another. However, if you cannot, both bride and groom in their infinite sweetness and evenness of temper will quite understand and look forward to seeing you at some other time.

Nonetheless, there is another wedding taking place at the same time and I warn you right now that this bride will not be so sanguine about your inability to attend as her sister might. In fact, it is very probable that she will shut herself into her room and weep, only to emerge armed with fantastic accusations and presumptions towards you in her grief. It will most likely send the groom into a frowning state and he will dash off to Clanough to ascertain for himself the whys and wherefores of your refusal. That is his habit, as you know.

So please, Holly, say you will come! Say you will be there with me for I cannot think of anything that could make my day happier or more perfect. No protest is accepted. It has all been arranged.

As for the details of my happiness and how it came to such a joyful conclusion, I will not tell you anything here in the hope that you will soon be with me and I can tell you everything in person. I shall only venture to say what you already know and that is that I am very happy and both proud and humble in my affection for Mr Darcy, as — he has assured me on countless times — he is in mine. We are fortunate in that we will be very well suited, I think, for we already know the worst of one another’s character and can now spend a lifetime finding out the best.

And as far as breaking our mutual vow, I promise you I will only break our pact once. After I’ve married my Mr Darcy, I shall happily forswear all other men for the rest of my life.

Your affectionate cousin,
Eliza

P.S. You may also congratulate me on my goodness in still having thoughts for others than myself at such a time. In my cleverness I have chosen to have Mr Darcy include this letter and the one to my aunt in his missive to Lord Baugham. That way, I shall have done my dear aunt a service by forcing that secluded peer out of his hiding place at Clyne and into her parlour, where I know she likes him to be and where he enjoys himself despite his protestations of solitude. I hope that will go some way to make you happy, too, Holly. If nothing else, leave the two by themselves and take my letter outside while you send good thoughts and make arrangements for our imminent reunion! E.B.

As she ploughed through it, contemplating every arch of the letters and the distance between the lines, her heart jumped and skipped at Elizabeth’s words. It was as if she was speaking to her, sitting right here beside her. But as she reached the postscript, her vision suddenly blurred. She tried to blink the tears away, but they stubbornly welled up again and obscured the text.

“
Make me happy too . . . ”
she whispered to herself, unable to actually see the lines of her cousin’s letter. “Oh Elizabeth!” And with that she sunk down on her bed and buried her head beneath her blankets, where she helplessly felt her tears spill into her pillow, ending up pressing cold, wet fabric against her hot cheeks.

T
HE DINING TABLE OF
L
EDWICH
House was covered with scattered pages of manuscript and was repeatedly circled by two gentlemen in the process of sorting them into something resembling an orderly progression.

“I must commend you, McKenna,” the older gentleman remarked. “You have accomplished more in this past fortnight than you have in all the years I have known you. I am happy to see that you are finally becoming serious about advancing in your field.” McKenna just gave him a sheepish smile so he continued, “There is no reason to feel guilty about wanting to put forth your research and findings, and if, in the process your name becomes more recognisable and a few opportunities happen to come your way, there is no harm in that either.”

“I think categorising the minerals by region of origin rather than by properties would be best, Sir John.” McKenna acted as if he had not heard him and began shuffling the stacks around. “Highlands. Midland Valley. Southern Uplands. And the Hebrides.” As he worked, he commented, almost in afterthought. “You know, Sir John, if I divide them up regionally, what do you think about including some illustrations of the landscape — nice ones, you know. Almost like those colour plates you had done . . . ”

Sir John’s eyes shot toward the young man, they grew a bit brighter but betrayed nothing. The doctor continued with his thoughts, while still busily sorting and leafing through the piles and pages.

“And I suppose I should do something about these abysmal sketches of mine. I doubt I will impress anyone with my knowledge if it appears that I cannot distinguish granite from slate.”

A knowing smile spread across Sir John’s face, but he simply said, “I like your idea of the landscapes, they could add interest and colour, and I absolutely concur on the wretched quality of your sketches. Perhaps you need an illustrator.”

“Precisely what I was thinking,” McKenna agreed, keeping as unstudied a look on his face as he could. “Any ideas as to whom?”

“Hm . . . ” Sir John thoughtfully paused, “There’s always Bigsby. He has a fairly good eye and is well-travelled — he ought to do a passable job.”

“And if I want more than passable?”

Sir John sat down, closed his eyes and leaned back as if in thought.

“Then it’s Carruthers you want.” He did not let on that he heard the sigh of his colleague, but after a brief pause he added, “Of course, he’s extremely busy and you might have to wait quite a while for him . . . but then, you have already waited all this time. What would a little longer matter?”

“And if I don’t want to wait any longer?” a slightly impatient McKenna rejoined.

“Why then,” Sir John opened his eyes and announced in triumph, “you must ask Miss Tournier! Of course.”

“Of course,” McKenna said casually, but after noticing Sir John’s smug expression, gave up all pretence and smiled broadly. “My thoughts exactly.”

“Good, because I was beginning to worry about you, boy. Not only is Miss Tournier an excellent artist needing work, she is a fine girl with a sweet disposition. Very pretty, too, in case you have not taken the trouble to notice.”

“I have.” McKenna inexplicably felt his face flush.

“So I would hazard a guess that to spend time with her in such an endeavour would not be disagreeable to you?”

“Sir John,” the doctor smiled, “you are anything but subtle, but I don’t expect that my employing Miss Tournier would entail a great deal of time spent together. No more time than you spent when she illustrated your book. But if my commission will bring her peace and comfort, I am happy to be of service.”

Sir John sat, thoughtfully rubbing his chin with his thumb as he tilted his chair back on two legs.

“Now, Philip, let’s not be too hasty,” he said. “This is your first major work, very important to your profession — it would not do to take any aspect of it too casually. I would advise you to oversee all the details carefully — even going so far as to take temporary leave from your position here so you might devote all of your time to it.”

He gestured to the table.

“What you have here is an excellent beginning, but you need to organise, to edit, to polish your text, and you need each and every illustration to be exactly what you envision.” A mischievous grin appeared on the old man’s face.

“Yes, that’s it. As your advisor and friend, I insist that you take some time off, take yourself away from the city to more . . . remote environs, a small village let’s say, and devote yourself to your pursuits — whatever they may be.”

McKenna could not mistake his meaning, but he had not thought about taking such a bold step himself.

“Take a leave? For how long?”

Still looking at him with that sly smile, Sir John simply said, “For as long as it takes.”

Chapter 25

In which the State of Things and Feelings are Reviewed Before the Reader is Introduced to New Facts and Events

At this point in the story, dear reader, a curious kind of contradiction reigns. Just as in winter, nature settles into a period of recuperation and quiet before the bustling activities of springing to life once more, so man also withdraws in the prevailing season. He stops his frantic activity and stays inside. The dark days take their toll and man becomes generally dull and fond of his after meal naps. Nowhere is this truer than in the country. Unpredictable weather, bad roads and dark evenings restrict society; social intercourse slows down or goes into hibernation. So it is also with our protagonists. But their outward resignation to the mood of the season is deceptive, because within them great spring storms and restless, unseasonable stirrings of life rob their supposed repose of comfort. Furthermore, for them there is no long rest in sight. Very soon they must challenge nature’s state of slumber, only to be thrown into events that change their lives. But this they do not know yet and so cannot prepare themselves. As is so often the case, they sit and regard their current state as incomprehensible and even reprehensible, yet are unwilling or unable to change it, believing themselves to be forever trapped in winter, whereas spring is even now, slowly and inexorably rolling in over the sea to sweep everything away.

So Lord Baugham wrote his letter to Mr Darcy, saying everything that was proper and expressing his genuine happiness at the news. He assured his friend he was most eager to be of service and would happily meet up with him and his affairs in Town. He informed Mrs McLaughlin of the joyful news as well, so she could have the pleasure of claiming intimate and timely knowledge of what was surely one of the most important social events of the year. He allowed Riemann to speculate on what implications the news held for his lordship’s wardrobe and travel engagements. And then he failed completely to commit to fixing any plans.

He did not quite understand it himself. If ever there had been incentive to move on, surely he had enough of it now, but he told himself he must still be happy at Clyne because he felt no inclination to leave, even though the actual feelings of happiness eluded him. Still, the recurring circle of these thoughts and speculations would not leave him alone, regardless of how resolved he claimed to be.

In Edinburgh, papers were sorted, notes were organised and a brief leave of absence was arranged as Dr McKenna embarked on the preparations necessary for his long-delayed entry into the world of academic publication.

Holly still ventured out into the elements almost daily in continuance of her duties as librarian and, after that initial yet painful conversation, the uncomfortable subject that stood between her and her employer was never mentioned again. They each acted as if the unfortunate lapse had never happened, and a fragile equilibrium and working relationship began to grow between the two of them. She also wrote a letter, and if her cousin, upon receiving it, expressed puzzlement at the fact that such a long, loving letter contained only one line on herself stating that she was well, perhaps one could blame the omission of personal details on the wish to award the bride-to-be all the attention.

Mrs Tournier was also forced to cease her most industrious work and, although seasons hardly impressed her with the need for reflection, she was not above succumbing to the worst consequences of them. She caught a violent cold and retired to her sofa to bear it out.

L
YING IN THE SITTING ROOM
tapping her fingers on the windowsill, Mrs Tournier was swaddled in shawls and propped up with pillows, her left leg lying on even more pillows. She was seldom ill, which was a blessing to her household, for a more inconvenient patient was hard to find. If she suffered other people’s ailments and illnesses badly, she was truly trying when she was obliged to give in to her own occasional weaknesses.

“Lie-Lie,” her mother said while gazing out the window, snivelling and puffing. “I am feeling perfectly miserable and no amount of rest is going to improve my mood. What could improve it though, would be to direct my attention to other things that bother me excessively; like you, for instance. You will call me unfair, but you cannot call me wrong when I say you are back to sighing inopportunely and showing a dull face again. What on earth is going on? There was colour back in your cheeks, no doubt due to spending so much time in argument with any guests we might have, but I had hoped your cousin’s news and enjoyable work could have induced a permanent improvement. You are not still harking back to Hockdown, are you?”

Holly’s pencil, which had been mindlessly scribbling in her journal, stopped abruptly at these questions and she kept her head focused down on the page. She had thought she had been able to look and act the same as she always had, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. Her mother’s questions came as an unwelcome shock.

“No, Maman, I have put Hockdown behind me. I am just trying to come up with a respectable purchase list for his lordship’s library. That is all.”

Mrs Tournier blew her nose and, grinning, took another sip of her tea.