Prologue

Posted on Monday, 23 September 2000

Last night I dreamt I went to Pemberley again. As I rounded the edge of the wood I was once again drawn to the stone building that had captured me such an age ago. In the pale moonlight it had not altered, the redbrick walls of the secretive and silent stone building still reflected in the rippling waters of the lake and from a distance I could swear there was light coming from some rooms as if it was still inhabited.

I believe I expected to find, were I to look inside, that Pemberley had not changed, that rooms still bared evidence of our presence. I began to walk towards the house once more, ignoring the bridge and walking around the lake as I had always done before. Maybe I expected to see him again climbing up out of the lake after taking one of his impulsive swims. He would run to me and wrap his arms around me, laughing as he did so. I would complain that he was making me wet though secretly I would relish the contact and Muffin would come racing from his hiding place, barking jovially and trying to join in the fun. We would walk back into the house hand in hand, Muffin dancing at our heels, and for a little while we were happy and nothing could harm us. Closing my eyes I could almost hear in sneaking up behind me and I waited for his wet embrace. It did not come.

The moon disappeared behind a cloud and Pemberley became, once more, the empty shell we had left it. A desolate shell, soulless, with no whisper of the past coming from its walls. Our fear and suffering lay buried in the ruins and when I thought if Pemberley in my waking hours I would not be bitter. I would think of it as it might have been had we being able to live there without fear or unhappiness. I would remember the murmur of the sea and the rippling waters of the lake, the birds chirping in the woods and the first view of Pemberley across the water that I loved so much. These memories could not hurt. All this I resolved in my sleep for like most sleepers I knew that I dreamed. And when I awoke not many seconds later, in our bare little hotel room, comforting in its lack of atmosphere, I would sigh and look forward to the day to come. It would be long and uneventful not doubt but we preferred it that way. There would be nothing to harm us. We would not talk of Pemberley, I would not tell my dream. For Pemberley was ours no longer. Pemberley was no more.

We can never go back again, that much is certain. The past is still too close to us and the things we have tried to forget would only come back. He is wonderfully patient and never complains, not even when he remembers... which happens, I think, a lot more than he would rather I know.

The devil does not ride any more. We have conquered our demons or so we believe. We have come through our crisis, not unscathed though. There will never be children of course but we are happy. We have no secrets anymore. We march in unison, noting between us.

Our little hotel is dull and the food indifferent but we would not have it otherwise. We should meet too may people in any of the big hotels and be forced to remember all that has gone before.

Sometimes I do think back to what seems an age ago now. Sitting in the dining room in that gaudy and ostentatious Monte Carlo hotel with Mrs. Van Bennet, playing with the plate of dry ham that I had not the courage to send back. I saw him as soon as he entered. Tall, dark, handsome, a man who looked as if he carried the world on his shoulders. Mrs. Van Bennet watched him with interest too. Her eyes bright with excitement, she turned to me and said, her voice a shade too loud, "That's F. Darcy de William. He looks awful, don't you think? They say he can't get over his wife's death..."