Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Chapter V

Posted on Monday, 2 July 2007

I found much to admire in the happy manners of Mr George Wickham, he was cheerful, friendly, jovial, everything that the Darcys were not. I was greatly amused, if not slightly puzzled, by their preference for his society, at least the father and daughter's. The son, I noticed, avoided him assiduously. It was an odd situation; he had no status, something which they seemed to value so much. I could not help but wonder at their preference for him. I managed to explain my husband's favour upon being told that Mr Wickham was his Godson, therefore it was his duty to some extent. Yet I could not imagine that he would want Georgiana exposed to one so "low," particularly given the cold manner in which the younger Mr Darcy acted around him, if there was no friendship there, then why was there with a girl several years his junior.

Evenings suddenly became less of a trial as the son of the steward was invited to be in attendance on every occasion, it was as if he were one of the family. It certainly seemed to me that he was more a member of the family than I was. Although I would not resent him for it, he showed too much kindness towards me, when for so long, there had been nothing at all. I could do no less than treat him with warmth in return. The change of society wrought not only a change in the monotonous pattern of my apparently meaningless life, but a change in my new family too. No longer were the evenings a time when nobody spoke and there was a seemingly evident lack of desire for one another's company. Instead there was cheer and good humour about the walls of Pemberley, why even the maids seemed to smile more often.

"Mrs Darcy?" I heard Mr Wickham call out to me while taking a walk about the park only a few mornings after his arrival.

"Mr Wickham," I greeted him with a smile, "I hope you are well."

"Thank you, I see you are as well as ever, may I join you?" He offered me his arm with a warm smile and I accepted it. Alice, who had been accompanying me since apparently it was unacceptable to walk out alone, fell into step behind us.

"Where do you intend to walk to today?" He asked amiably.

"I had not thought. In all honesty sir, I am not altogether familiar with the park and have yet to establish my favourite walks. I am forever getting lost and poor Alice must quite be losing her patience with me by now." I laughed at my inadequacy.

"It is a new place," He acknowledged, "But has nobody shown you about the walks in the gardens? I am sure there must be somebody other than just a servant to accompany you about the place." I could almost feel the animosity of Alice's glare behind him; evidently she did not like to be referred to as "just a servant".

"I am perfectly content with Alice's company, I confess I rather enjoy a solitary ramble from time to time and Alice never makes any demands of me." I replied as neutrally as possible.

"Of course not, but has not your husband taken you on a tour of the house and grounds yet?"

"I fear he is quite taken up with all his business demands. Your father keeps him quite occupied all day long." I replied with a laugh, not wishing my companion to know that I felt the slight of his godfather's behaviour.

"Then I must apologise on my father's behalf and offer as a replacement my own company for your entertainment, my dear Mrs Darcy." He said with a bow, "I grew up about these grounds. Darcy and I were often involved in many misadventures together as boys and I know all the best places for you to see." He grinned charmingly at me and I returned his smile warmly. Finally there was somebody willing to bear me company who was not being paid for their presence. He steered me in a different direction from the one which we had been walking in, claiming that the Rose Gardens were of no great interest to anyone at all. "And how do you like Pemberley Mrs Darcy?" he asked cheerfully. "I know I have asked you this already, but I would like to hear your honest opinion on it."

"I like it very well indeed, it is a beautiful place and deserves all the praise it has received." I replied.

"But...?" He urged.

"You are very impertinent..." I said with a laugh, showing that I was not really offended by his questioning. Truthfully, I was glad somebody was paying some attention to my feelings, "though I suppose that I am willing to forgive you for it."

"Indeed, I should hope to see you are not a hypocrite Mrs Darcy, for evidently there is more that you would like to say on the subject of your new home. I assure I am quite discreet and shall not reveal your secrets to a soul."

"It is only that I am a little homesick, and I miss my sisters a great deal." I admitted.

"Surely," cried my companion with surprise, "there are companions enough here for you and in time I am certain they shall be as dear to you as your sisters. Georgie is an affectionate and warm hearted girl; I am sure that she and you get along very well indeed." I looked at him in shock. Had he not noticed the open hostility the girl displayed towards me? One would have to be a fool not to notice it. After dinner the previous two evenings she had insisted on performing the pianoforte for "George" and demanded his attention to turn pages for her; and she had positively gloated over the gift he had brought her, saying how much she loved it and that it was better than anybody else's, especially the one I had given her. She was not going to forgive me easily for the incident with the puppy, but honestly I could not care, for I knew that I was not at fault.

"Georgiana spends a great deal of time at her studies." I replied neutrally.

"Indeed she shall benefit from some of your lively company then, before she becomes too serious like her brother."

"She has exhibited a great deal of liveliness in my presence." I returned, thinking of some of her more spirited outbursts and troublesome activities; only three days ago I had to chase her around the house for a full half an hour because she had run off with the keys Mrs Reynolds had reticently granted me with and I was not willing to prove myself so inadequate for my position that I could not even take care of a set of keys.

"I confess that I have noticed she seems somewhat jealous of you." He conceded, though I had not mentioned anything of her bad behaviour.

"Jealous?" I repeated with some amazement, is that what it was?

"Quite, she is the apple of her father's eye you know, he dotes on her something terrible, as I am sure you will have noticed by now; you are a very observant young lady. I know the Darcy family very well and if there is something that they dislike above anything else, it is to have their father's attentions focused on another. You have seen how the brother treats me. You are the new wife of her father, it is natural that he shall focus his attentions on you and she does not like this, however, she is a dear sweet girl, I would devote all my attention to her if I could."

"All your attention sir?" I questioned his exaggeration, "But what of your parishioners? I had heard that you were destined for the living at Kympton... and your wife, a clergyman must have a wife you know." I teased him.

"I am sure that you must have realised by now madam, that were it possible, there are other young ladies upon whom I would devote as much time and energy if I could." he replied with an easy smile. I frowned, what on earth was he speaking of? To the best of my knowledge, he had not been in the company of any other young ladies. "But as I was saying, Georgiana is a charming young girl and she shall overcome her jealousy soon enough. I only wish that the same could be said of her brother." He sighed.

"How do you mean?" I shivered a little from the cold February weather.

"You are cold. Perhaps we ought to continue our conversation indoors."

"No, no you have not shown me anything you promised to yet." I replied eagerly, I did so want somebody to treat me with a little consideration.

He turned to Alice, "Go inside and fetch your mistress another shawl, she is chilled... What are you about?" Alice eyed him up warily, before turning in my direction to seek my approval, I nodded to her and asked her if she would please bring me another shawl, for the weather was indeed chillier than I had suspected when I had peeked out of doors earlier and seen the watery sun in the sky. She bobbed a curtsey and hurried of with a speed she did not normally possess. I turned to Mr Wickham, a little angered at the dismissive manner in which he had treated Alice, and asked him if he thought such treatment entirely necessary. "I have had my dealings with your maid in the past, she has a great deal of servant's pride and does not believe that I have the right to ask anything of her. Besides this is not the type of thing that a servant should hear, they talk you know, and while she shall remain loyal to you, I doubt that she would spare the same courtesy for myself. Anyhow she ought to have been more observant of your needs; I would not have you take a chill." He smiled, his eyes warm, I would not chide him any further, not when he was usually so generous and clearly a favourite with the servants.

"Then perhaps, if it is not suitable for the ears of servants, it is best that I not hear what you have to say about the son either. I owe the Darcys my loyalty, Mr Wickham."

"Indeed, I cannot argue with you on that count, and you must not think that in general I would have anything bad to say of the Darcys. You know of my opinion on the daughter and as to your husband, he is one of the best men that ever breathed, and the truest friend I have ever had; and I can never be in company with his son without being grieved to the soul by a thousand tender recollections of the generosity the father. I cannot do justice to his kindness, his role as my Godfather, does not justify all that he has done for me. His kindness has been most generously bestowed. He supported me at school, and afterwards at Cambridge. I have been an inmate of the same house as the son for years and was provided with the same parental care as he. I cannot be more grateful to Mr Darcy for what he has done for me over the years, he as provided for me in a manner that my father could not.

"It pains me to speak ill of anyone connected to a family who has been so generous to me, but in a sense, I must confess that his kindness may have done me more harm than good. You must recall Mrs Darcy, that I told you of the jealousy of the Darcy children, and how little they liked others to garner the attention of their father; well my dear madam, you must understand me when I tell you that my friend Fitzwilliam Darcy may well have been my favourite childhood companion, but as we grew older he could not fail to notice his father's preference for my society, particularly as he grew so serious. We are no longer friends, much as that grieves me -- particularly given that I would wish not to think one bad thing of my Godfather, but he has instilled that wretched Darcy pride in his son and made him think to seriously of his duty and made him what he is today -- however, that is neither here nor there. The son could not fail to notice his father's preference for my society and... well, he realised that his father loved me better, and he could not stand it.

"It is fortunate that your husband had such a great degree of respect for both of my parents and their ability to raise a good son, for his son has done everything to malign my good name to the world. To some extent he has been successful, at school and at university he only had to tell people that I was the son of his father's steward for many to lose interest in my friendship. With his father, he has attempted more drastic accounts. When we were younger, around the age of fifteen or so, he began telling his father such tall tales of my misbehaviour, that were it not for my godfather's belief in me and respect for my parents I would no doubt be utterly penniless now and without a prospect in the world. Darcy's failure to turn his father against me has only made him dislike me more; it has been a long time now though, since he realised that there was no point in his stories. It is a pity since he and I were such friends as boys."

Mr Wickham finished his serious tale; we had stopped walking long ago. I could not argue with anything he said of the Darcy pride, of their belief in their superiority to every other person, their dedication to their duty and of the jealousy that the brother and sister betrayed and their possessiveness of their father. I thought back to my first day at Pemberley and everything my husband's son had said of me then, all because of my supposed low birth. My husband may well have been a good man; but his son, to behave in such a manner, was most certainly not.

Georgiana's behaviour towards me was similar to that which Mr Wickham described as her brother's to him. However, she I found more easy to forgive, she was a child and hardly knew any better. But the brother had been a man, and to treat an old childhood friend so. It was too terrible. And his behaviour still continued! Of that I had no doubt it was impossible to fail to notice the manner of cold reserve with which he treated Mr Wickham and the icy glares he bestowed. My husband's children were evidently of a very jealous nature.

"Yet, Mr Darcy seems very fond of his son, I cannot help but wonder that he must know what his son is."

"It has been many years since he realised his attempts to discredit me were futile. Besides he was young, and the follies of youth must be forgiven, and indeed they have been by his father and me. Yet it seems that he still cannot learn to forgive my birth. It never sat well with Lady Anne either, that I was such a favourite of her husband. She was a good woman, but she too placed too much worth in the circumstances of birth, and it seemed that she never could forgive me for mine. But enough of all this morbid talk, let me show you the old tree house." He began walking again, into the wooded area where the tree house had been built in a huge crooked old oak tree. "This was the tallest tree here, you can see the whole park from up there, Darcy and I would pretend that we were pirates, or spies or some other such nonsense."

The old rope ladder was still hanging fairly solidly from the construction at the top of the tree. I grasped it in my gloved hand and tugged just to check, before making my way up to the top of the tree. It was cosy inside, an old rug had been spread out on the floor and crates had been used as seats and a small table. There was a piece of paper nailed to the wall, weathered with years of disuse left in this place, but still when I looked at it closely, it was evident that once it had been a map, marked with names such as Mermaid's Mere, Phantom Forest, Crocodile Cave and Parrot's Point, a Pirate Map I concluded. "You and Fitzwilliam Darcy used to play here as boys?" I called down in astonishment. It seemed bizarre to think of my son-in-law in such a context, I could never begin to imagine it of him.

"Yes certainly, we helped to build the place." He laughed warmly, "Mrs Darcy, you quite astonish me! Whatever will people say, should they ever hear that the Mistress of Pemberley spends time up trees?"

"No doubt they would find it quite shocking." I agreed. "But should I be widely censored for it, then I shall simply live in this tree instead." It was more homely and comfortable in many ways than the place I now called my home anyway. With a few adjustments it would be perfect, some cushions would make the place more comfortable and I could hang muslin from the walls and a few vases of flowers would be perfect. My companion continued to laugh at me.

"I can see it now, you seem well placed here, the picture you portray is charming. I doubt now that I shall ever be able to think of this place in the same way ever again." he said when he had finished laughing at my silly conjecture.

"George!" I heard Georgiana's voice call out from outside the little coppice my companion had shown to me. Within seconds she had come into view, her brother and her nurse trailing behind her at a more sedentary pace, both quietly castigating her for her wild behaviour, her brother glaring more at Mr Wickham than his sister. This time I understood it better, evidently he was jealous of his sister's affection for his old childhood friend. Georgiana was very fond of her brother, but had never displayed to him -- in my presence at least -- half of the affection she showed to Mr Wickham. "We are looking for Mrs Darcy." she said crossly, "She has wandered off again and Papa needs to speak with her."

"Then I am sorry to disappoint you Georgie, but I have not seen her." I breathed a sigh of relief; something told me that they would not be very appreciative of me climbing up a tree. "Have you tried the Rose Garden? I have noticed that it seems to be a favourite walk of hers." He continued.

"We have already looked there." Georgiana's brother broke in shortly.

"Ah well, as you can see, she is not here." Mr Wickham replied with a great deal more civility, "I just came to inspect our old tree house Darcy, it looks as strong as ever; it is a great pity that the rope ladder does not seem to have faired so well. Perhaps I should join you in your hunt for Mrs Darcy."

"With whom were you speaking?" Mr Darcy questioned him closely. I held my breath in fear of discovery.

"A gardener, I asked him about the rope." He answered quickly, "Come let us go look for Mrs Darcy." I heard him step away, and the others followed him. I waited a few moments, to make sure that I would not be discovered, all was quiet I could hear Georgiana's imperative little voice off somewhere in the distance.

So I began my descent, it was no trouble. I was used to climbing trees, although had my mother, or indeed most other people, known of my habit, they would have undoubtedly been scandalised. I was grateful to Mr Wickham for not revealing my presence to the others. I jumped down, three steps before the end, landed and turned around to return to the house, since my attendance was evidently requested. "I have been lately informed that the rope of that ladder is not particularly safe." Fitzwilliam Darcy began before I had even had the chance to turn around fully and notice his presence. He was smirking in a most irritating manner. I could not help but blush with embarrassment and guilt at my situation.

"I hear I am required by my husband." I said shortly, before turning to walk off in the direction of the house. Well there was no point in pretending that I had not heard what had been said, and I really did not wish to have to speak with Mr Darcy. Unfortunately he made to accompany me too.

"Did you enjoy the view?"

"It was lovely, I could see so much of Derbyshire, it is very impressive landscape; the view ought to be painted."

"Perhaps you ought to paint it." I looked at him closely.

"I cannot paint." I replied crossly.

"Perhaps you could learn. My father would be willing to hire a master for you I am sure."

"Perhaps." I agreed simply. It would I suppose give me something to do in this lonely place, but I had never really had any desire to learn; I had always thought it was a rather pointless accomplishment to be honest. "At any rate it was kind of Mr Wickham to show me the view, do you not think?" I asked slyly. Just what exactly would he think of this?

"Indeed, but then his manners are considered by many as impeccable."

"Genteel manners are a great attribute in a person." I continued, eager to press the matter a little further.

"But not always the best way to judge a person's character." He returned.

"Yet ill manners are certainly no indication of good character either."

"I did not say they were." He turned to me with a sharp look, "I simply suggested that not everybody with an appearance of goodness ought to be trusted, that is all."

Yet how could I trust him with his serious scowl and his permanent disapproval? When he did nothing to recommend himself with his manners, what made him think that I would be inclined to believe him? He had thus far shown me no goodness, or any reason that I ought to think well of him. His very existence seemed to contradict his very point. "I suppose that you think that one cannot be genteel without coming from a noble lineage either, perhaps this is what you mean, that one ought not be well mannered unless they have some real reason to be?"

"Certainly Mr George Wickham is not the son of anybody of great import, but he has had a good upbringing and a gentleman's education. But education is no more a precursor to goodness and trustworthiness than excellent manners, we can all simper and smirk and pretend to be what we are not."

So he did mean that Mr Wickham should not be trusted because of whom his father was, a steward. I suppose the same applied to me too, that I was pretending to be somebody I was not because I had connections in trade. What arrogance and conceit for him to think that he was better than me for the sole reason that his father was Mr Darcy of Pemberley. I knew his character, though his behaviour towards Mr Wickham and me was nothing short of disdainful. His reasons for it were that we were of lower birth and could not be considered his equal in either intelligence or character for that. How proud he was. Not even his father thought in such a narrow minded way, if he did, then Mr Wickham would not be such a favourite of his.

My husband appeared to resent my connections, but he seemed to have nothing against my own character beyond thinking me a little incapable of managing such a large household. I had not known him to chastise me for my manners and he had never once claimed that I was not to be trusted because of my birth. He was, it seemed, a better man than his son.

Upon reaching the doors to the house, moments after his declaration I hurried up the steps and asked the servant where my husband was to be found. I turned to my companion curtseyed and politely thanked him for his company, realising the irony of my statement. Certainly in this instance my good manners were not to be trusted nor were they sincere. He bowed very curtly and then turned back around and went out the door again, saying something about Georgiana. Probably he did not think it proper for her to be left alone too long in the company of somebody so inferior.

Despite the unpleasant interlude that the afternoon had brought the evening proceeded to be pleasant. Both Mr Wickhams dined with us and kept us entertained. While the father did not speak a great deal the son was quite entertaining. He regaled us all with some tales of his youth and while he encouraged his old childhood companion to join in the laughter and to recollect parts of the tale he had forgotten, all his attempts were for naught. My husband's son sat quietly in the corner all night hardly saying a word at all. For once I was almost completely untroubled by his presence except that I caught him watching me a little too closely for comfort from time to time while I was speaking with the younger Mr Wickham.

Our conversation was not so very interesting to warrant the attention of him either, but from his corner I could tell that he attempting to overhear our discussion. Did he not know that it was rude? Even Lady Catherine would have let us know that she wanted to hear what was being said, her demands to be included in a conversation were at least a step up from what can only be described as eavesdropping.

I knew very little of Derbyshire any knowledge that I had acquired of it had come from reading Gilpin, back at home, rather than having visited the sites of interest since my marriage. Actually, since my marriage, I had not been outside of Pemberley above once, though I longed to escape its confines. Nobody had shown me anything, my one attempt to go out had ended in disaster and since then I had been reticent to attempt any other such ventures. It was a pity, for Derbyshire was reputed to have some very beautiful landscapes and I had some interest to see it, more so than anything else.

Mr Wickham had been kind enough that afternoon to acquaint me with the grounds, a service my new family had failed to perform, and as such he had learnt my preference for the outdoors along with my ignorance of the country I now called home. It seemed the safest topic of conversation. From what I gathered we had a mutual appreciation for the outdoors. "Sir," he said turning to my husband after we had been engrossed in conversation for quite some while, "I have been thinking that perhaps it would be pleasant for Mrs Darcy to experience some of the country hereabouts. She tells me she has seen none of it."

"No, I suppose she has not," he agreed with a slight nod and turning to me he asked, "Elizabeth should you like to see Dovedale?"

Surprised that he should even ask my opinion on the matter, it took a while for me to regain my equanimity enough to respond, "Indeed I would, Sir, for I have read so much of it, I confess to being quite intrigued by some of the sights the county has to offer."

"You have read about Derbyshire?" he seemed somewhat shocked by my response.

"Then why do you need to see it?" Georgiana who had been allowed down after we had finished dining piped in, sounding somewhat cross.

"My dear Georgie," Mr Wickham turned to her with a pleasant smile, "A book cannot possibly do justice to the many beauties that Derbyshire owns. I have always found myself that travel writings are rather useless, they never do any justice to the place. A book is never that much use for learning." His tone was light, his point a valid one, I thought at least, in the corner of the room though, I saw the darkening of the face of the younger Darcy. It seemed he was in a proverbial bad temper of late, more so than usual anyway.

"Do you not wish to go, Georgiana?" Her father turned and asked her. If she said no, I knew that there would be no trip out, and though I did not know before that I had longed for some activity, I suddenly found myself holding my breath in fear that she would be set against it.

"There will be no lessons for a whole day if you come." Mr Wickham added as a temptation. It seemed that that was just the idea to procure the younger girl's agreement, and so it was settled that the following day we would be making an excursion.

"I suppose I ought to go an speak with Reynolds; she shall see to it that everything is settled properly." My husband rose from his chair with a little effort.

"No, I shall see to it." I spoke up, suddenly feeling a little braver than I had been, "It is what I am here for after all."

"If that is your wish." He sat back down in his seat, seemingly with no objection to my request whatsoever. I had no idea what had got into my husband of late. Why had the appearance of Mr Wickham made him so much more amenable than he had been before? I did not understand it. What I did understand though, was that I hoped that Mr Wickham would never go away if he kept my husband in such good humour as he had been. It was making my life a lot easier than before his arrival.

I bid goodnight to my companions as I left the room, saying that I planned to retire for the evening after speaking with the housekeeper. Mrs Reynolds met me with her usual chilly civility and scowled further when I informed her of our plans for the following day. "It is rather short notice, I should have liked it if you had informed me of your plan before now." she answered my request tartly, "How do you expect me to have it all organised?" she asked, though you could tell that she did not want a reply. I felt all the impertinence of her question, what right had she to question my behaviour? I was her mistress. Yes it was short notice, but she would not have spoken to anybody else so impertinently. Nor was there so very much for her to arrange; it was February, we would hardly be requiring a picnic, all she needed to do was inform the stables that the carriage was required the following day, and be aware of our absence from Pemberley.

"Mr Darcy and I just wished you to know that the family would be out tomorrow and to see to it in the morning that the carriage shall be readied. Good evening Mrs Reynolds." I told her shortly.

The housekeeper was not the only one of the servants to be displeased by the news either; when Alice arrived that evening to ready me for bed I asked her if she would clean my walking shoes for me as they were muddy and we would all be going out tomorrow, she tutted. "I am sorry that I did not tell you of this before Alice, I hope you have no objection?"

"No madam, of course not." she said with a smile, the words sounded as though she had practised them over and over in her head, not at all convincing.

"Mr Wickham only suggested the idea but half an hour ago, I would not usually be so negligent." I continued perceiving that she was still displeased by my information. She however, made no further comment. I supposed that as a servant, it was not her place to be put out by me, but I did not like to see her displeased with me; she often seemed like the only person likely to be an ally in this lonely house, despite her being under Mrs Reynolds' command. But she uttered nothing further than an "Of course, Madam." finished with my bedtime preparations, picked up the troublesome boots and left with a curtsey. With a sigh, I turned and looked in the mirror, seeing nothing in front of me. It was beginning to seem as though I could do nothing right.

But as I fell asleep and thought over my conversations with Mr Wickham, I could not help but brighten. It seemed I finally had a friend at Pemberley, somebody who was welcomed and welcoming in his turn, despite our low birth and lack of connections. While I could not understand why he was accepted by my husband, and I was still scorned, the very existence of Mr George Wickham gave me some hope. For the first time in a long while, I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

Chapter VI

Posted on Monday, 12 November 2007

The smile was still firmly planted on my face the next morning when Alice appeared with a cup of tea at my bedside to wake me early. Of late I had developed the somewhat lazy habit of sleeping in, but I could hardly forget that I had plans for the day! Mr Darcy had promised us all a trip to Dovedale, for my benefit; I could hardly credit it. Mr Wickham was the one I had to thank for the idea, but I could not help but recall that my husband had granted me the pleasure. Even if I could not fathom his reasons, it had seemed that the previous evening he had agreed to the plan for my enjoyment; after all it had been me that he had asked, not Georgiana or his son, but me.

The smile on my face did not falter while we made the long journey in the carriage. When last I had travelled through Derbyshire, my whole outlook had been so desolate that I had failed to take in the scenery properly. Today I saw it in all its splendour. Charles Cotton¹ had not been mistaken with his assessment of the "glories" of the district.

Even Georgiana's moaning about the distance we had travelled did not bother me that day; I was simply far too happy. Her brother rode alongside us on horseback and my husband was dozing in the corner of the carriage piled under a multitude of rugs and blankets. Mr Wickham quietly spoke to me of the scenery which we passed when it was of interest. Georgiana had no interest in it, she was rather too young to appreciate such things, I supposed, or was simply used to them. Her governess sat in what I supposed would be called a respectful silence. Therefore, the pair of us were left to converse quietly together, only occasionally interrupted by the gentle snore of my husband or Georgiana's demands to know how much longer we had to travel.

We stopped at the inn in Bakewell for a luncheon of cold meats and salad. My husband and I had briefly stopped at the same inn on our journey up from Hertfordshire, but I had been paying so little attention that I had failed to notice the easy pleasantness with which the proprietors and Molly, the girl who served us, were treated by the family. I thought it odd. Surely these were just the sort of folk they disliked mingling with in Lambton, yet here they were laughing with Mr Wallis and speaking with Molly about her Uncle and Aunt who were tenant farmers at Pemberley. I was left to eat my meal in silence, mulling over this rather odd facet of my new family.

Molly chattered on cheerfully as she served our meal, that her Aunt and Uncle had been vastly pleased by some improvements to their cottage which my husband had overseen. "It is to my benefit that they are happy on their farm." my husband had replied with what I could only describe as genuine humility. He did not seem shocked when, upon returning to clear away the meal, Molly presented him with a simply printed letter for her Aunt; apparently it was always the way as it saved her having to frank it. Not even at Pemberley were they that at ease with the servants. Surely it was not just Mr Wickham's presence which had wrought such a change in my husband; not if this was a common practice?

Once again I returned to the question of why he continued to hold me in contempt? What had I done? How could he be so cheerful with these simple towns people and not allow me to pay calls to Aunt Gardiner's acquaintances in Lambton? I could feel my mood beginning to turn sour, but it did not last long once we arrived at our destination. Such miserable deliberations would have to be put aside until later.

My husband, being unable to walk well and the pathways at the side of the river being unable to accommodate a carriage, deserted us at the entrance to partake of his favourite sport, fishing. The Dove was apparently well stocked, though at this time of year, it seemed unlikely that he would have much luck. His son expressed some concern at his being out in the cold, to which he assured him that if the weather became too bitter, he would have the carriage returned to the inn and he should wait for us there. "I am only sorry to be missing out on such an entertainment. Do you remember when we came here when you two were boys?" he addressed both his son and godson.

"With my mother, yes I remember it well." Mr Wickham replied. "We all played hide and seek amongst the caverns."

"Did Lady Anne not accompany you, sir?" I asked, puzzled by such an odd party.

"No, no!" he seemed almost shocked by the suggestion. "She was never one for the outdoors." I waited for some further information, watching my husband sink into some melancholy reverie. He said nothing further than, "It was a very pleasant day out."

"Despite you and my mother getting lost for an hour or two as I recall!" the godson laughed again, "Well come, come Mrs Darcy, we had best be off, Georgie, Darcy, come along you two." he cried with a swing of his walking-cane, taking me by the arm and leading me forwards.

We had a pleasant afternoon. Mr Wickham explained to me the nature of our surroundings so well that Georgiana's governess, Mrs Robinson, soon gave up attempting to explain the geography to her charge and left the task up to Mr Wickham. He guided us expertly along the pathways by the side of the river, beginning with the steep assent up Thorpe's Cloud, stopping only to pick up a fossil for my examination. I slipped it into my reticule when he had finished, and later placed in on my dressing table, though it mostly looked just like a normal rock to me.

I confess to being somewhat amazed that the small area could hold such a diversity of landscapes; an ash forest, rock pinnacles, spires, arches and caves; and we only walked about a mile along the river! "Hertfordshire is hardly comparable to Derbyshire and Shropshire." I had exclaimed as Georgiana and I stopped at one of the Cores and arranged ourselves nosegays of Solomon's seal, lily-of-the-valley, herb Paris and small and large-leaved limes with the aid of Mr Wickham, who arranged some early yellow cowslip he had managed to find, in Georgiana's hair; she giggled at his attentions.

He led us up another hill, "This is Lover's Leap." he informed me with a smile when we had reached the top.

I looked out at the view, so wild and untamed and exclaimed, "I must agree with you, it is very pretty." I thought the name an odd description, but I let him continue.

"Should you like to hear how this place came to get it's name? It is rather unusual, you must admit."

"I am sure you will tell us anyway, whether we wish to hear it or not." my son-in-law, who had been some moments behind us, commented as he arrived, I turned around to glare at him for his rudeness.

"Pray continue, Mr Wickham." I said with a smile in his direction, utterly ignoring the rude remarks of my son-in-law.

"Well, they say that not so long ago there was a young lady who lived about these parts, and her beau had been sent off to fight in the war. You can imagine that was enough reason for her to be desolate; but then she received word that he had died in battle, and being a somewhat passionate young lady, gripped by remorse that he had died, even though it was a hero's death, she decided that she would end her life because she believed that she could be with him in the next, I suppose.

"So she came up here, intent upon ending her life, and she decided that she would jump to her death. She cried out her lover's name as she jumped, only to find that her billowing skirts were caught in the branches on the way down, and she did not die. Instead she managed to scramble to safety and made her way back home again. And what do you think she found when she returned? Her lover was safe and well after all, and he was returning home to see her again.

"It is a lovely tale is it not?"

"Indeed it is, sir." I agreed.

"And what say you, Mrs Darcy, do you think that if I jumped I should be granted with my hearts desire?" he asked seriously.

"I should hope you would."

"A very nice tale, Wickham, but I am sure my father would not appreciate knowing you were filling his wife's head with nonsense. Georgiana, Mrs Darcy, there is something I would have you see." He offered us each an arm, which I accepted somewhat grudgingly as I could once again find no way of refusing. He guided us towards a small cave and motioned for us to look inside, "What do you say to this?" he asked, turning expectantly to us for a reply.

"There are lights inside!" Georgiana cried out in surprise.

"How?" I managed to ask.

"They are glow worms." he explained briefly.

"Worms that glow, do you expect me to believe that?" disbelief was evident in my voice. What absolute foolishness! Worms wriggled around in the soil and turned the earth, they most certainly did not glow! Creatures just did not glow! As usual, he did not seem perturbed by my annoyance with him; he simply reached inside the cave and collected one of the little lights for my closer inspection. Sure enough, when he removed the little lantern from the darkness, I could see clearly enough that it was a creature, though it was no longer emitting the light it had been within the cave. I could not argue with the evidence before my eyes. "How extraordinary!" I exclaimed, reaching out to touch the worm.

"Quite," he agreed, "this is the only place I have ever found them, they are the most amazing living thing I think I have ever seen, an animal which produces its own light." He handed the glow-worm over to me for my inspection, "Cup it in your hands," he instructed, "look at how he lights up again."

I peered in at the tiny gap between my hands, and sure enough, the little worm was glowing again. "So beautiful!" I gasped, almost breathless with wonder, "Georgiana should you like to hold him and see?"

"Beautiful?!" Georgiana looked utterly appalled by the thought of holding a bug; for once I was not offended by her scornful tone. I simply laughed.

Of course, one good day, when for so long all there had been was misery, does not ensure improvement. Once again, the old habits prevailed. It seemed as if the pleasant behaviour of my husband and Georgiana was merely a temporary whim of the moment. As to my heavy-handed son-in-law, he remained as ever, alternately ordering me about, treating me like a child rather than his father's wife and ignoring me while glaring aggravatingly at me. I could not even find it in myself to be thankful to him for showing me the glow worms, for he had all but dragged me to look at them; he had been quite unpleasant.

It was evident in his every action that he despised poor Mr Wickham. He never uttered a word more than civility required; sometimes he was even less than civil, even downright cutting, when he spoke to him. Anybody could tell that he despised his father's godson, just as Georgiana despised me. I could not forgive them for it. Nor could I forgive my husband, for it was he who had nurtured such a nature in his children, spoiling them with their every fancy and indulging them to an unhealthy degree.

Only Mr Wickham remained civil. He was, indeed, far more than civil! It seemed as if his sole occupation had become seeing to my entertainment; and I was wholly thankful for it. In all honesty, I think that I began to depend upon it, for it was the only pleasant thing I had to look forward to now, and my life would have been quite desolate without his company. He helped me to forget everything I despised about my new life and position. What did it matter that I had nothing to do with the running of the household, when Mr Wickham was there to show me about the gardens and the house and keep me entertained? What did it matter if Georgiana was rude and unpleasant when he was there to deflect her words? Actually she was a far more pleasant child when he was present. What did it matter that the others did not talk to me in the evenings, when Mr Wickham entertained me with stories and conversation and turned pages for me at the pianoforte?

I began to forget about all the unpleasantness there had been before he arrived, and I learnt to ignore all the unpleasantness that continued. I focused only on the more pleasant aspects of life. He became almost my every thought; I supposed because there was nothing else. When I woke in the morning, I wondered about him, and when I went to sleep, I replayed our conversations. When I dressed, I though about the clothes and ornaments he had complemented, because no one else ever praised me. I played music he had said he liked. All because I was so desirous of having somebody like me at Pemberley. I found myself dreading the time when he might go away, although no mention of such a thing had been made, for I did not know what I would do if he was not there to bear me company.

A few days later at breakfast, my son-in-law, while buttering a roll, asked me, "Do you plan to walk out again this morning, Mrs Darcy?" He did not look at me as he spoke, but concentrated on his food.

"Why yes. Mr Wickham has promised to show me the orchards today." I answered with a degree of puzzlement. When had he ever taken notice of my activities? I felt somewhat uneasy, why the sudden interest? I sincerely hoped that he did not wish to join us, that was about the worst thing that I could imagine.

"It has been some weeks now since Lady St Vincent called upon you, it shall appear rude if you do not return her call soon." He took a bite of his bread when he had finished, then rose from his seat to stare out the window.

"You have not returned Lady St Vincent's call yet?" My husband looked up from the morning paper, in which he had previously been almost completely engrossed, a frown creasing his face. Once again I had displeased him, yet it failed to rile me half as much as it usually did. Instead it only served to add to the far more outraged anger I felt towards his son.

"As you well know, she has been ill." I replied stiffly. I had not seen Lady St Vincent since the day my husband had invited her to Pemberley and she had ordered new gowns with me. She had been indisposed ever since, and I was not even certain that she was yet receiving visitors. I should have to ask Alice, whose sister was her maid.

So it was that I found myself being led up to the private sitting room of Lady St Vincent. A scenario that I found oddly intimate given the brevity of our acquaintance, Lady St Vincent had proved an odd sort of woman thus far, relatively unconcerned with proper ceremony, except in matters of dress, it seemed. Alice, however, had informed me that she would see me. Perhaps she had misunderstood, I thought, as I stood outside her doorway waiting to be announced by her maid. She was sitting on a sofa, a blanket over her knees, an awful pallor to her face and a melancholy in her eyes. A book was left open on the side table and embroidery was tossed aside, a rainbow of threads hanging limply from a basket. In amongst this discontented scene, a Pug dog sat obediently at her feet.

Clearly she was in no state to be receiving visitors; but then why had the servants let me in? "I am sorry to have troubled you, your ladyship. I was told you were receiving guests." I began awkwardly. "I hope you are well." I added, in confusion.

"No, please come in." There was a note of pleading in her voice, gone was that assured confidence which had at first annoyed and later amused me. "Would you care for tea?" She, I noticed, took none herself.

We sat in silence as I sipped my tea; my past meetings with her had always been characterised by her taking control of the conversation in her boisterous manner. Now she sat small and inconspicuous, her eyes nervously flitting around the room from one object to another, barely taking them in. She reminded me of a butterfly, their beauty was always so fleeting, and their lives too short lived.

"How do you find married life treating you now?" she finally asked. Her question held none of the implied criticism it usually did when other women asked the same thing.

"Well enough, thank you." my well rehearsed reply.

"And how does your husband?"

"He is well. He has been recently enjoying a visit from his godson, Mr Wickham. Do you know of him?"

"We are acquainted, yes. He has very handsome manners. I had heard that he is to be a clergyman and have often thought that he would do well for one of my sisters."

"Your sisters?" I found this hard to credit, Lady St Vincent seemed the kind of woman who placed value on wealth. There could be no other explanation for her marriage to Sir Edmond, surely one of the most dull and uninspired gentlemen to ever marry a pretty girl half his age. Not that I was one to pass judgment, for I knew that people thought the same of me.

"Certainly, when they are old enough." We fell into silence again.

"My new dresses arrived." I gestured vaguely towards my attire, it was a gown that Lady St Vincent had selected herself. "I believe I must thank you again for your help." I had thought that if anything, fashion would be just the thing to cheer her mood, but she simply smiled politely and observed that it suited me very well indeed. Awkward and uncomfortable, clearly she had not wished to receive any visitors; I rose to leave, thanking her for the tea. I had visited a quarter hour.

"Please do not go yet." She looked like a small child begging for a favour. I longed to leave the oppressive discomfort of the room, but found I could not; she was one of the few people who had shown me kindness since my arrival in Derbyshire. We were as opposite as could be with few common interests, however, she wanted me to stay. I sat back down.

"I hope your husband is well?" I said after more awkward silence.

She blushed and looked away uncomfortably, "He is gone away to Town, departed some weeks ago, I thought you would have heard?" I shook my head slowly, perhaps I had heard, I tried to remember, "Those women have not spoken about it yet then?"

"What women?" I was startled by her bitterness, she had always seemed so utterly unconcerned by everything and anybody's opinions before now.

"Lady Conrad, Mrs Neville, the Colonel's wife and Lady Cecilia Bertrand they always get such glee out of it."

"Out of what?" I was becoming more mystified by the minute.

"My husband, of course. Taken a mistress before we had even been married a year. He keeps one in town and one on another estate of his. He always did have a fondness for pretty women, and they'll do anything for money; and me, unable to carry a child. We've been married for five years now, since I was eighteen. I've lost six children; and how they gloat over it! I begged Papa not to make me marry him, I knew what he was like, but Papa saw nothing beyond the comfort his pocket book would receive!" The words came tumbling out of her mouth, words I am sure, ought never have been mentioned by anybody polite. "I have tried so hard to make the best out of things, but he has given up on me completely now after this latest baby. I am afraid that he will stop sending money to Mama and my sisters because Papa left them penniless; he gambled everything Sir Edmond paid for me away again." She burst into tears; her face, which had been ashen grey, was now a fiery red colour. The pug remained staunchly at her feet, whimpering along with his mistress.

Startled, I rose from my own seat once again to take the place by her side. She seemed barely to notice when I took her hand in mine and tried to offer some words of comfort. She looked up after several minutes and sniffed loudly, I handed her my handkerchief which she kept gripped in her hand but never used, "I am sorry. I always promised myself that I would not behave like that."

"It is understandable... you have just lost... that is." I did not know if I was supposed to mention the child she had just lost.

"It is nothing, it happens all the time, but I cannot stand the thought of turning out like one of those women, complaining all the time about everything they do not have and their health and petty little things which do not matter one ounce to the rest of us. When I married my husband, I swore to myself I would make the best out of a bad situation. After all, everybody else would be happy; my father had regained some fortune, my mother and sisters would be secure in their futures again and would not have to make the same sacrifice and Sir Edmond would have won his prize. I ought to be grateful for it."

Just as I ought to be grateful that my sisters were secure, that my mother would never be forced out into the hedgerows and that my father now had one less daughter's welfare to concern himself with after he was gone. Lady St Vincent had been able to look at her situation with a selflessness that I never had; and which of us was worse off? I did not have the continual threat of heirs looming over my head, my husband did not make me the laughingstock of Derbyshire Society, he always treated me with respect and politeness in public at least.

"It is so hard to pretend that I am happy, lucky even. If he takes away my mother's income, then it will have all been pointless. To know that he thinks nothing of me anymore, when he was the only person I knew who did admire me and think me worth something, even if I was just a suitable mother for his children, is almost heartbreaking." The words tumbled out of her mouth like water out of a broken dam, as though they had been gathering in her mind for years.

There was nothing I could say that might offer her comfort. "You will not be like those women, you know. They are only angry because they expected more out of their marriages than they have, they have nothing to concern themselves with beyond money, marrying off their daughters and gossip, it is a rather empty existence."

"But so do I." She objected.

"At least you know it, they do not even see it."

"You think that better?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not, whichever it is, you must learn to live with your knowledge for there is no other option.

I sat quietly staring out the window that evening in the drawing room, my own book open on my lap as I watched the driving rain that had begun to come down without ceasing late in the afternoon. An angry wind whipped about, shaking the branches of the trees outside. Even with the candles burning, the room seemed drab, my husband dozed quietly in his chair, Georgiana was in bed and the younger Mr Darcy was absorbed in reading a book. A shadow fell across me, "I missed your company this morning." He sat down next to me.

"And I yours, Mr Wickham, but duty called I am afraid." I replied with a pleasant smile, I was not in the mood to moan about such things, my conversation with Lady St Vincent was still fresh on my mind.

"Damn Darcy and his interference. He really puts too much precedence in duty, he has no right to interfere in such a manner anyhow, you are not his wife."

"My visit to Lady St Vincent was long overdue." I replied neutrally.

"Of course, and it is in your credit that you pay such pains, but really you could have gone tomorrow; you and I had plans, did we not? It is just like Darcy to behave so selfishly. He only did it to deprive me of your charming company, he hates to see me with that which I covet." I felt a blush rising in my cheeks at his flattery, it certainly pleased me to know that one member of the house valued my presence. "I can only hope that he does not interfere with our plans for tomorrow."

"I think, sir, the weather may have already done that." There was not a chance that it would have improved by the morrow, that much I could tell, "I am sure though, that we need not walk out, we can do something indoors."

"No doubt your son-in-law shall find a way to meddle in the house. It is so much easier to escape his disapproval in the gardens."

"Yes, he can certainly be disapproving."

"He thinks of himself as being rather superior in his actions to other people and therefore they ought do as he demands." Mr Wickham explained, almost apologetically. But it was not he who should be sorry for that behaviour, it was not he who shepherded me about in such a judgmental manner.

"You mean to suggest he considers himself without fault?" Surely not? Nobody thought himself perfect.

"I am not without fault, nor have I ever suggested that I am, madam." There he was, standing only a few feet from the window where Mr Wickham and I were seated. We had neither of us noticed that he had placed his book aside to join us in conversation. How much he had heard, I could only begin to imagine, I drew myself up slightly and turned to face him with an imagined equanimity.

"But you shall not own to them, shall you?"

"What would be the good in people knowing of my weaknesses?" He asked with a frown.

"You should not be such a terrifying object to so many people, I should imagine."

"I rather believe that for many people to know of all my floors, it would undermine their trust in my abilities, I have a duty to them."

"Not yet though, do you Darcy? Pemberley is not your responsibility yet." Mr Wickham laughed at such pomposity, while I carefully suppressed a smile at our companion's vanity.

"Do you expect that when you take the living at Kympton, your parishioners shall forgive your past weaknesses because of who you will then be?" my son-in-law returned with a deeper frown. "It does not seem a good foundation on which to begin - asking them to place their trust in you purely because of your position, and not from what they know of the credibility of your character."

"We speak of you though, do we not, sir?" I deflected what I saw as an attack on Mr Wickham, who had done nothing of which to be ashamed.

"That is my point. From the day I was born, I owed my loyalty to my family and their position; not just my family, but the servants and the tenants. If they have a reason to doubt the quality of my character, then they have a reason to doubt the security of their own positions as well."

"Your approach seems somewhat dogmatic to me. People would surely have more confidence in you were you to be more..." I paused, wondering how I could politely explain that his demeanour was rather disapproving because he gave the appearance of thinking too much of himself, "imperfect?" I finished with some uncertainty.

"I thank you for you honesty, madam, however, anybody with any common sense knows that nobody is without fault and would realise that I simply have no wish to expose myself to ridicule."

"You puzzle me, sir, which I suppose I ought be grateful for since you own no weakness I can laugh at." I teased him.

"I am glad to be of some amusement to you." he replied with a sardonic grimace. Mr Wickham, who until that point had been oddly quiet for several minutes, then took the opportunity to petition me to play for him, offering his services to me as page turner with a gallant bow. I agreed, glad of the opportunity to be away from my stern son-in-law.

1. 1) Charles Cotton 1630-1678 owner of Beresford Hall where the valley the River Dove runs through is known as Beresford Dale, famous for his works ,i>‘The Complete Angler' and the poem ‘The Glories of the Peaks'.

Chapter VII

Posted on Saturday, 1 March 2008

A grey sky can mean absolutely anything. Sometimes it remains purely overcast, other times a light drizzle falls; sometimes it announces the imminent arrival of rain, but every so often, later in the day, a little ray of sunshine peeps timidly through a gap in the clouds, and a few hours later you forget it was ever dark and gloomy at all. The problem is that more often than not, clouds are what we are greeted by every morning, and it is utterly impossible to predict just how the day intends to pan out. I can hope for sunshine, or at the very least that it shall remain the same. Usually I am wrong. You would think I would have learnt to be more distrustful by now; unfortunately or perhaps fortunately I have not.

"She is so strong willed." Mrs Reynolds muttered from the doorway of my husband's chamber to Walters, "We can all be doing without this. It is not as if I have not enough to be dealing with already." Walters muttered something I could not make out. His demeanour and behaviour was everything that it ought to be, revealing absolutely nothing. She said nothing farther, however, which I could only take to mean that he had issued her with some form of warning. Seconds later, he shut the door and turned his attention back to the confines of the dressing room.

I looked towards my husband to see if he paid the housekeeper's comments any mind, only to find him asleep. How long had I been reading aloud to nobody but myself? I placed a marker between the open pages and closed the book, putting it quietly on his bedside table, and crept quietly out of the room, careful not to wake him. I would come back at teatime and see if he was awake. In the meantime, I had nothing better to be doing with myself than wandering the echoing hallways of Pemberley. The heavy rainfall that had not abated for the last four days kept me and the other members of the house confined within doors, and visitors in the safety of their own homes. Even a visit from Lady Conrad and her charming daughter should have been welcome.

Georgiana was occupied in the schoolroom with her governess. As to the younger Mr Darcy, he was in the library riffling through paperwork and taking care of the estate in his father's absence. I intended to steadfastly avoid his company, even if that meant depriving myself of a good book. I supposed I could always go and sew more fancy work or practice the pianoforte, yet my mood was unsettled and distracted, and my mind would not settle on either occupation for long. Instead I wandered aimlessly about the house, from room to room, trying to find something to engage me.

Mr Wickham had gone. About a fortnight before, he had left abruptly, stating that he was called away upon hearing news of a sick friend, a Mr Bunbury, I think he said. He had been eager to away. It pleased me to see such a display of devotion to his friend; yet Georgiana, my husband and I were all disheartened to see him go, "Must you leave, George? You have been with us but a month, I had expected you to stay until April at the least." Mr Darcy had said with regret over dinner that evening.

"I am afraid I must; my friend is most unwell, now if you shall excuse me, I fear I must take my leave of you all. I am not yet ready to depart, and I hope to be gone by first light." He was not to be gainsaid in the matter, which I though most admirable, that he chose instead to visit a poor sick friend than to sample the delights of Pemberley. Yet it did not help us from all being downcast at the loss of his company. It had been that melancholy which provoked my husband into suggesting a trip to see some more of the local sights. "It shall not be so pleasant as when George was with us, but I think it shall brighten us all."

"I fear the weather is determined to keep us indoors, Elizabeth. We shall have to put off our excursion until another day." My husband had announced at breakfast the next morning. I looked out of the window expecting rain, only to find the same grey clouds that had greeted me earlier that morning. Mrs Reynolds entered with a bowl of kedgeree. I had originally thought it strange that she chose to serve us at meal times, at Longbourn Hill never had, but now I had become accustomed to this strange protocol.

"It does not seem so very bad." I replied, "There has been no change since I awoke, I think it shall soon be a clear day." My husband, however, thought it not a wise plan anymore. It appeared that once again my day was to be confined to the house, with the possibility of a stroll around the rose gardens, and perhaps, if I had very good luck, a visit from one of the local ladies. Our discussion continued for several minutes, while he argued the merits of staying indoors, and I the merits of going out. All the while, my son-in-law's head went back and forth as though he were watching a game of shuttlecock, and Mrs Reynolds was quietly and unobtrusively tidying empty breakfast dishes off the side boards. I shall not bore you with the particulars, for there is nothing so very droll as the weather. "Can we not wait a few hours and see how it fares then?" I finally suggested, for I so wanted to go. Mr Darcy, with a sigh, relented to my pestering and that was that.

Suffice to say, the weather had not broken a few hours later, and I cheerfully ran into the study without bothering to inform Mr Wickham, the steward, that my husband would be taking the day off, and dragged him out while he laughed at my excitement. Unfortunately my happy mood did not last long. The heavens opened about a half an hour into our walk, and Georgiana, Mr Darcy and I were all soaked to our skins. A warm bath, a change of clothes and a cup of tea laced with brandy were enough to see me on my feet again. Georgiana did not fare as well, though she only suffered from a minor snuffle for a few days. She was young and strong, though not as used to the outdoors as me.

As to my husband, the following morning when Alice entered, she informed me that he had taken to his bed; and there he had been ever since. A doctor had been summoned from London and was staying in guest quarters until the patient was fully recovered. For a few days, he had had a fever, but the worst of it was gone now. He was just very lethargic and had no appetite. Mrs Reynolds clucked over him, reciting that age old mantra, Feed a cold, starve a fever, "Your fever is gone now, sir, you ought to try some of the gruel cook has prepared for you." He mostly slept, even when I went in to see him, and had very little to say. I had apologised frequently for insisting that we go out, but he simply patted my hand and told me not to worry, it was not my fault. That was all I could ever think to say to him, hence I had begun reading instead; but even his favourite books could not seem to keep him awake for long. It was for the best, Dr Matthews had said. The more he rested, the faster his recovery would be.

It was not until several years later that I learnt of the existence of a conversation which was at that moment taking place elsewhere in the house. Buried behind a pile of estate papers, sat my very frustrated son-in-law. He had dealt with matters of estate before; his father had raised him to be a proper master of Pemberley. He had even taken care of things on his own before. When his father had suffered from apoplexy, it had been he who had taken care of the estate, along with taking care of his father's recovery. But this was different! Never in his life had he had to look at dinner menus for their approval! It was not part of a gentleman's education. Why had I, as his father's wife, not taken care of the matter? Furthermore, why was he being forced to look at my accounts? I should be handling such trivialities as what I had spent on dresses and bonnets. He knew my education had been poor and haphazard, but this reached new levels of absurdity! Could I not even add up some simple figures? He had thought me more sensible than that implied. He glared angrily at the papers before him, or perhaps, he thought with a hint of cynicism, I had been too busy flirting with Mr George Wickham to pay any mind at all to my duties.

He rubbed his hands over his eyes, twice, stood up from his desk and stalked angrily around the room (I know his manners well enough to be certain he did so) and then, with a frustrated sigh, rang the bell to call a servant. "Have Mrs Reynolds brought here immediately." He barked to the footman, who exited with a swift bow to hastily find the housekeeper. The young master clearly had an ill temper. I suspect he warned Mrs Reynolds of this, and likewise knowing her opinions, she sharply told him not to spread idle talk around the servants' hall. This, however, is supposition on my part, I must confess.

When she knocked and was bid enter, he had calmed his manner slightly, though only slightly. He offered her a seat and politely rang for tea. He even managed to carry out a civil conversation for a few minutes until the servant had returned, so as not to be interrupted. The conversation that he was to have with the housekeeper was one that he considered far too delicate, and far too important. She poured the tea while he began talking. "Mrs Reynolds, perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me why these were in a pile of papers which had to be dealt with today?" He placed the menu sheets on the desk and waited expectantly for the housekeeper's reply.

"Your father always looks over the dinner menus, sir, so cook assumed that you should be doing the same, and I told him I knew no different." she replied pleasantly, if with a small degree of confusion. She had been told by him that everything would be run as normal, there was no reason to make changes. The master would be well in a few days anyway.

"My father usually looks over the dinner menus?" Had he heard this properly?

"Yes sir, he has done it since your dear mother was in her final illness." Surely his son knew this?

"I see." He leaned back in his chair thoughtfully, "Then Mrs Darcy has never looked over them since she has been here?" Once again he pondered on his father's mysterious marriage. There was no evidence of love on either side. The best he ever saw was perhaps a cool fondness on his father's part even that had only seemed a recent development. No, his father had not been such a fool as to think himself in love with a pretty little fortune hunter. He then turned his thoughts to me, I had seemed almost hostile from the moment I had arrived so unexpectedly at Pemberley, but then again, he would have been more astonished had the young bride exhibited signs of affection to her aged widower husband than to see his father taken in by my wiles. Try as he might, he could simply find no justification for the marriage. He could not even understand how we had come to be in one another's company.

He had looked over my expenses briefly, and once more he had been forced to dismiss the idea that I was a fortune hunter, for I spent so little of my allowance, it could not be the case. Evidently his father did not wish for a wife to run the household, or visit tenants or the like. She does nothing; just walks in the gardens all day or sits quietly in that little sitting room she has taken such a fancy to -- had she refused to act as was expected? She does not seem to care much for propriety, spending all her time flirting with Wickham, not doing her duty and returning Lady St Vincent's call, to be sure. But then she always wants for some form of occupation, she has an active mind and I do not think that she finds much enjoyment from all that sitting around. What an odd marriage it is. He rolled his eyes in frustration, why was he pouring so much energy into the conundrum? It was done, and it was not his place to question his father's actions.

"No sir." Mrs Reynolds replied without elaboration, that was not her place.

"Is it just menus, or is there more I should know?"

"Mrs Darcy is not involved in any of the running of the household, sir." she replied.

"Do you know why?" Darcy pressed on, desperate for some further clue, and he was sure the housekeeper knew something more than she was currently letting on.

"He does not think her suited to such tasks." She replied briskly. Not suited. He was astonished. Was his father hoping for a wife to complete the perfect picture of familial bliss? If so, he had gone about it quite the wrong way, plucking a fifteen year-old girl from the obscurity of the country. The son deemed me as lacking in almost every aspect for the role I had been assigned. Not suited. Perhaps that was a fair enough assessment, though he did not consider me to be deficient either, having on too many occasions been on the receiving end of my decided opinions and cutting wit. It was merely that his pride would not allow him to consider that a girl from a family of no particular means would be totally prepared for such a role as that of the Mistress of Pemberley. He did not doubt, however, that I could learn.

Of course, if the fault did lie with me, there was no reason that a servant would know of any objections I had made against running a household. He really had to speak with me directly about it to find out the truth.

"She is being trained to take over these tasks, I take it, Mrs Reynolds?" He knew the answer before he asked. It had been nearly three months; nobody was that slow a learner. To be sure, he objected to the task, but what did it take to look over a list of dishes and approve them? There was basically nothing to it.

"No sir." It was just as he had suspected.

"Well, Mrs Reynolds, now seems as good a time as any for her to begin. We need all the help we can get, given how the situation stands." If I proved reticent to do as he asked, then he would certainly have a thing or two to say to me.

"Would you like me to take the menus to her, sir?"

"No. No, be so good as to send her to me, there is another matter that I wish to discuss with her. I would like you to go over the household accounts with her tomorrow as well. Thank you, Mrs Reynolds." He smiled and indicated to the housekeeper that the inquisition she had just endured was over. She curtsied politely and left to complete the task the young master had just assigned her.

To say that I was surprised at being confronted by a somewhat flustered Mrs Reynolds in the corridors of the east wing would be true enough. That I was further surprised that she violently hastened me to the library for an interview, could only prove to be even more astonishing. Apparently she had been searching for me for some time without success. I do not think that she liked me wandering aimlessly about the house, it disturbed the servants she seemed to think; it unnerved them to have the mistress poking around -- they felt as if I were spying on them. Why, I cannot understand, it was a widely known fact that I did nothing to contribute towards the running of the household. At Mrs Reynolds' implications, I turned sharply to look at her, eyebrow raised, though I said nothing. She knew I was not above spying, having caught me the day of my arrival at Pemberley; but it bothered me beyond words that she had so little respect for me that she would voice her opinions out loud.

My son-in-law looked up impatiently at us upon our entrance. "I am sorry, sir, Mrs Darcy took some finding -- she was exploring the house again." He chuckled softly and asked her to bring some more tea, he was sorry she would have to rush around again so soon. When she returned and served the beverage, he thanked her and apologised again.

"Thank you, Mrs Reynolds," I also said as she handed me my cup. "I hope the servants were not unduly unnerved by you presence in the kitchens." I smiled at her sweetly, she looked shocked, and he looked puzzled by my comment. It may not have been the most intelligent thing I ever said, but the point carried. It was a widely known fact in the house that the housekeeper and the cook did not get along well with one another. The cook, a temperamental French man, believed himself to be the superior, for he had once worked for an earl. Even once preparing a meal for the Prince Regent, and he liked to brag of how his Highness had sent down his complements on such excellent food. Mrs Reynolds, though the housekeeper, was just a local penniless widow, taken on, the cook believed, more out of charity than for her abilities. Their war over who ruled the servants' quarters had been going on for many years, and Mrs Reynolds avoided the kitchens when possible as a result; a fact which pleased Monsieur Ponsot greatly, for he liked to be left in peace to create his elaborate masterpieces.

With Mrs Reynolds gone, I turned my attention to Darcy, and I noticed dinner menus lying on the desk. He said nothing, just looked at me thoughtfully for several moments; he leaned back in his chair, his head to one side. Would he ever say what he had called me here for me? Eventually he sat up straight again and pushed the paper on the desk in my direction. "I found these amongst my paperwork this morning, and I was hoping you could tell me about them."

"Well, they are menus." I stated the obvious.

"And?" What did he want to know? Aggravating man! Would he not just come to the point?

"They are this weeks?" I added with a small degree of uncertainty.

"And?"

"It's a list of food that cook is planning to serve."

"And?" He looked stern

"I believe you are expected to look over them, change anything if you do not think they are right and give cook your approval." I felt as though I was about to bubble over with laughter, this was such a curious conversation.

"Wrong!" He declared rather harshly, "Though I am pleased to see that you are actually aware of what you are supposed to do with them, it shall certainly save you some time."

"You want me to look at the menus?" I could not keep the shocked tone out of my voice, I shall confess to feeling slightly flattered that he at least thought me capable of it. His father had not.

"I assume you have no problem with that." It was not a question, yet at them same time it was, he was awaiting some response. I did not know how to react; should I just thank him and leave? Should I ask why he had chosen so? Should I ask him why he was contradicting his father's wishes? While I debated the answer to make, he grew impatient, "In the future, Mrs Darcy, I do not expect you to neglect your duties, I certainly do not expect to have to do them for you." Well, who could help but be infuriated by such a statement? Who did he think he was, telling me what to do? Any gratitude I may have felt quickly seeped away, and once again my resentment of my proud and condescending son-in-law returned with full vengeance.

"I believe sir, that it is your father's decision and not yours." I said through gritted teeth. I would not lose my temper with him. "I am mistress of this house," I drew myself up with pride, despite my statement being almost no better than an outright lie. I wished I looked tidier too, but Alice had been ill that morning and I had ended up finishing my hair alone. How was I mistress of Pemberley? "You, on the other hand, are only fulfilling the duties of your father until such a time as he is well again."

"If you are Mistress of Pemberley, then I would suggest that you begin to act as such."

"I certainly shall, good day, sir." I stood up and swiped the menus from the table, marching towards the door. He rose too, following after me and reaching the door before I was even half way across the room. His hand was placed firmly on the handle; clearly he had no intention of letting me out the room.

"Sit back down." he said quietly. I would have told him no, but looking into his face I saw only an anger that scared me into obedience. Meekly, I returned to my seat. He paced over to the window and stood there for several minutes. I was glad for his silence, for it gave me a chance to repress the tears that were welling up in my eyes. I would not let him see that he had made me cry. I swiped fruitlessly at them for a while. By the time he turned his attention back to me again though, we both, I believe, had such looks of cold determination on our faces, that he would never have guessed he had made my cry.

"That," he began with an air of calm almost unbelievable given his anger of a few minutes ago. "is precisely the reason that I do not treat you as the Mistress of this place. You act as though you are a spoilt child, storming out of rooms, screaming and shouting, climbing up trees, shirking your duties. You have to be reminded to return calls, you do not see to menus or take care of your accounts. My father allows you to get away with too much. You may not be happy to be here, but I shall remind you that you married my father, you are his wife, and you will act as you are expected.

"Now am I clearly understood?" he concluded, his voice still calm and quiet.

I gulped nervously, somehow it was rather worse than had he shouted at me, but I would not let him know that he had intimidated me, "Yes sir." I was proud of my ability to look him straight in the eye. In actuality, I was rather nervous of the task allotted to me, as I wished to make a number of changes to the menus, and I knew that Monsieur would throw a fit when he found out. I had already heard a whisper that he had taken a great dislike to me and my palate for leaving so many of his dishes untouched. If I could just get one plain dish at meal times, it would be so much better. I will confess that as little as six months later, Monsieur Ponsot quit our employ saying he could not work for such an uncultured little English girl with no appreciation for his gifts. I heard he went to work at Rosings Park, the home of Lady Catherine; for she of course had the finest taste in everything.

"Good, now Mrs Reynolds shall see you tomorrow to go over the household accounts and introduce you to the servants. I assume that you have no objection to that." I could tell that my apparent lack of repentance bothered him exceedingly.

"She already did that when I first came here." I answered simply, "She does not need to do so again."

"Then why is it that you have not taken over the tasks from her?" He was waiting for some refusal to do so from me.

"I suggest you ask your father." I smiled sweetly at him.

"I am asking you." He leaned further forward in his chair, an indication of his implacability.

"Well then I find that I cannot account for his decision that I not be involved in such matters."

"You mean that it was his decision?" He sounded amazed; clearly he thought I was just refusing to behave as I ought.

"His, and Mrs Reynolds' if I am not much mistaken. She once inferred that she did not need my help as she had been doing such jobs for years." Was I wrong to say that?

"That makes no sense. Why would she show you, if you would have nothing further to do with it? The only way I can understand it, is that you the refused the role. I wonder what you thought being my father's wife entailed?" I thought him rather rude, the way he was prying for information regarding his father's marriage. I thought back to the last time I had heard the two of them discuss the matter, his father was tight lipped and refused to reveal any of the details of the marriage, I assumed that the situation remained the same, in which case I would not be the one to reveal it. Though perhaps it was time that he heard, for then he may stop simply thinking badly of me alone.

"No, and I cannot account for it either. When I asked him to have Mrs Reynolds show me, I believed that I would be undertaking such tasks only to find that I would not. That was not what I was brought up expecting of marriage. I believe your father was simply acting the part of the bridegroom and catering to his bride's every whim and fancy. But that is just conjecture on my part, sir. You would do better to ask him, for he has never justified it to me."

He looked confused, but at least he seemed to believe me, despite my confession being only a half-truth. I had my suspicions regarding why I was not permitted to oversee the running of the household, but I was not about to tell him that it was because his father thought me to be so inferior. That was one mortification I was not willing to face. "As I recall it," I continued, "I was sent clothes shopping with Lady St Vincent instead of having to plan meals."

"Yes, yes, so you were I was just going over your accounts. In the future, I would prefer it if you organised those for yourself as well. I am sure that you can cope with the figures." I smiled at this unexpected vote of confidence.

"You do not want to check that I am not a fortune hunter who cannot control her spending?" I asked innocently.

"Clearly you are not, you spend hardly anything. You may go now." He dismissed me as unexpectedly as he had asked to see me.

What surprised me more, was just as I reached the door, he stopped me from leaving again. "Mrs Darcy?" I turned round to look at him again, "How do you like it here?" I smiled, shaking my head slightly. I had been at Pemberley for several months, yet it was the first time any of the Darcys had even thought to ask me the question.

"It is very beautiful." I said, and dropping a curtsey, I left the room.

The following morning, I was so busy that I did not have time for a walk. I had briefly stopped by my husband's rooms to ensure that he was comfortable at least, he was still sleeping, and I spoke with Dr Matthews regarding the state of his health. But I was so busy learning the names and roles of the household staff, reviewing menus and getting to grips with the accounts, that I did not even find the time for a walk. It did not bother me in the least. For once, I did not find myself dwelling on the morbid state of affairs my life was in, nor did I miss the companionship of Mr Wickham. In short, I felt a little happier, though I would not say that I was happy.

At teatime, I went and sat with my husband. He was propped up against a mountain of pillows waiting for me. "Elizabeth, where have you been?" he asked. "I have not seen you all day."

"I came early, but you were asleep. Did Walters not tell you?" I was less inclined to snap at him now, usually I would have felt as though he were criticising me for something I had not done, but that day I had a reason.

"No, oh perhaps he did. But you know how he is; he talks so much I often do not listen to him." I smiled, I had very rarely actually heard the valet talk beyond a "Yes, madam;" but I had heard from Alice that he certainly liked to talk. He was an old man with many stories to tell. My husband liked him for it, for he liked lively conversation, and Walters had that in abundance. "Where have you been? Tell me about your day."

"I have been with Mrs Reynolds. She has been showing me the accounts again and introducing me to the servants, at your son's bidding. I went to speak with Monsieur Ponsot too. I think I have offended him, I asked him not to serve ragout at dinner tonight."

He looked at me with amused suspicion, paying perhaps more attention to me than he had ever done before, "You enjoyed yourself?"

"Yes, sir."

"You want to have a role in running the house?"

"Yes, sir." Had he thought then, that I had no interest in the matter? I had never said so; what had made him think that? My behaviour, I do not think, in anyway indicated that I had no interest.

"Forgive me then, Elizabeth, I had thought that you would do better not to be involved, given how opposed to the marriage you were. I thought perhaps it was best if you did not have to have any involvement in the household. Why did you never say anything?"

"Why did you never ask my opinion?" I countered.

He reached out and took my hand, patting it gently, "It seems I have underestimated you, my dear, I shall not do so again." He smiled, and I smiled back at him. "Now where were we in that book of yours?"

"I was hoping you could tell me that, actually." I answered laughingly. It was the first completely civil conversation that the pair of us had ever had.

Chapter VIII

Posted on Tuesday, 18 March 2008

"You wished to see me?" I peeked my head around the door of the study with some uncertainty, surprised by the scene that greeted me. There was my son-in-law looking as severe as ever and Mrs Reynolds looking stern and deeply concerned. Perhaps something which ought not shock me, given what I knew of the characters of each. Indeed I should not have been, were it not for the third person in the study. Seated quietly next to the housekeeper and looking tearful sat Alice, my maid. I stepped forward with more concern than I had felt before entering. This was not at all what I had expected. "Alice?" I was by her side immediately; she looked up at me and burst into tears.

I had imagined that I had been summoned forth after my altercation with Monsieur Ponsot the previous day. Pots and pans went flying along with one volume of his beloved Le Nouveau Cuisinier Royal et Bourgeois and freshly cooked velouté sauce ended up on the head of a footman. Sarah had informed me that morning that he was still in a rage about it and was threatening to leave. Apparently that was not what I was doing here; this matter was a clearly more serious. Otherwise, Alice would not be crying her eyes out. "Has the doctor been sent for?" I asked Mrs Reynolds.

"There is not need for one." Mrs Reynolds stated plainly, not an ounce of pity in her voice for the poor girl.

"No need?" how could she say that? "She has not been well all week and before that, she should see a doctor, Alice why did you not say something, I am sure Dr Matthews could have seen to you before he left yesterday."

"We will not be needing a doctor for Alice, Mrs Darcy." Mrs Reynolds repeated more firmly.

"Why?" it sounded petulant to my own ears.

"Alice will be leaving your service as of today." Darcy spoke for the first time since I had entered the room. His face was closed; I could not read his thoughts at all. Alice cried with even greater earnest than before, and Mrs Reynolds cuffed her around the shoulder and muttered, "silly girl." Alice continued to sob freely, as the housekeeper simply tutted her disapproval.

"Sarah shall be placed as your new maid; she is a very sensible girl." Mrs Reynolds added. She was not wrong; Sarah was incredibly sensible and organised. She had been acting as my maid in Alice's stead all week, arriving promptly at nine o clock every morning to wake me up with a cup of tea. My clothes for the day were ready selected and awaited only my approval. In many respects, she was a far superior maid. But I liked Alice, not that Sarah was not a pleasant girl either; she had a very sweet almost motherly nature.

"I appreciate you telling me so," I began again more politely. I really did mean it. As a rule, I would not even have expected them to tell me of their plans. "But why must Alice leave and be replaced by Sarah?"

"If you do not approve of Sarah, you can interview for your own maid, madam." My son-in-law said. It seemed he just did not understand.

"No, Sarah shall do very well." I waved that concern aside. Alice let out a little whimper, and Mrs Reynolds glared at her. I turned to Alice with a smile and took her hand in mine, "Alice, do you wish to leave Pemberley?" perhaps she could tell me what they would not.

"Oh Ma'am... I'm... so sorry, Ma'am." she sobbed.

"So you should be, you foolish child." Mrs Reynolds hissed at her. She then turned to me with a look that implied she was not speaking just of Alice, who, if possible cried even harder than she had before.

"Excuse my ignorance, Mrs Reynolds, but perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me just what crime Alice has committed, for I can think of none." She had always been a very good maid; though she did have a penchant for wild experimentation that often took hours to rectify. That, however, could hardly be considered a sin.

"Alice has herself a follower." Mrs Reynolds answered, looking me straight in the face. It was a phrase I recognised, but I could not credit it with Alice. She told me almost everything; but apparently she had not trusted me with this.

"Why did you not come and speak to me, or Mrs Reynolds, of it, Alice?" I asked. She should have been well aware that fraternizing would lead to her dismissal. But really, it was unfair, given that she was such a good maid; she was almost exemplary, and I knew how hard such a thing was to come by, no matter how much money you had.

"That is not the worst of it. We would have been lenient with her if that was all; for there has never been a thing we could complain of in her work." Mrs Reynolds continued.

"Worse?" I queried, what could be worse?

"She says she will not marry him, Ma'am." Mrs Reynolds added crossly.

"Can't!" Alice wailed, finally adding her own voice to the conversation, only to be swiftly clipped around the shoulder again.

"Well, she possesses the power to choose, I believe." Feeling that she deserved to be defended in some manner or another, "Though Alice, you ought to have told him before he started calling round. I know it is not always so easy to do, but if you had told Mrs Reynolds, I am sure she could have helped you." I really though that Alice would have had more sense that the situation implied. But still, just because she would not marry him was not excuse enough.

"I do not think Alice ever had any intention of telling him to leave her be, Mrs Darcy. There is a baby coming, that much is clear." Mrs Reynolds said stiffly.

"A baby?" I could not believe my naivety. I felt a blush rising. Would it indicate to them the situation of my own marriage? I only hoped that they would be too absorbed otherwise to pay any attention; but my eagle-eyed son-in-law never allowed the slightest thing to escape his attention. I resolved to be composed and not be embarrassed by the talk. "Alice, is this true?" I said in a cold voice that evidently shocked her. It startled me too. She nodded solemnly, the only acknowledgement she was capable of.

Alice was a responsible girl; the oldest of three children at eighteen. Her parents were dead both dead; her father for many years, her mother since Alice was twelve. That was when she had first arrived at Pemberley as a Scullery Maid. It was an unfortunate reversal in fortune for the girls. Their father had been a tailor; their mother had laundered for a little extra money. All three girls had been sent to the Dame School, but beyond that had received little education. Alice was a smart girl though, and had impressed everybody at Pemberley. By the time she was fifteen, she was an upstairs maid in the great house. She had been the natural choice for my ladies maid, though she was not trained for the situation. Nothing of either her character or her history coincided with her current situation.

A woman from Lambton had cared for the two younger girls, and in those years, the familial bonds had frayed. The younger two, now both serving at Pemberley as well, refused to accept Alice's authority as the eldest. Sometimes Alice struggled with her youngest sister, Amy, at that trying age of thirteen. Annie, the middle girl, coddled the youngest, and Alice often felt more like an outsider than a family member. Amy made it no easier either, for she would always do as Annie asked. As the responsible eldest, she was required to be decisive and take control, but she could not. The two younger girls, still angry with their older sister for deserting them, felt that they owed no loyalty to Alice.

Many girls who went into service lived comfortably. With food and board provided, they often spent little of what they earned, only having to clothe themselves and pay for the occasional luxury or entertainment. Anything else would be saved and taken with them upon their marriage. The charity of neighbours had not come without a price. Practically all of Alice's wages had gone towards caring for the two girls. She had nothing to offer a child. And for me, at least, it was hard to forget that.

Her plight, even to my innocent mind, was evident. Even were her sisters to support her and a baby in the same manner she had them, few would be willing to take in an unmarried pregnant girl. Likewise, she would be driven from Pemberley without a reference, and would never be able to find work in another house. The presence of a child alone was enough to discourage any form of charity. It was like keeping a mouse in your house when you did not own a cat, or asking a thief to hold your reticule while you tied a bootlace. It just was not done.

Alice and her child would end up living on the streets begging for their bread; for I knew that she would not marry. I would not see her married to a man she did not wish to wed either. It was her only recourse; the only chance she may have for a better life. Yet she did not want to wed him, and that must count for something. "Who is the man, Alice?" I asked, gently taking her hand. She shook her head and a snort escaped her as she had been trying to hold in her sobs. "Please, you must tell me."

"I can't." she said.

"Cannot marry him or cannot tell me his name?" I asked, recalling her comment from earlier. The venom, the determination in her tone; it was as if she been asked to drink all the water from the Thames.

"Both." She continued to cry; tears of bitter anger though; not tears of pathetic futility, as they had been earlier.

It has been many years now since that morning when I learnt of Alice's plight. In that time I have spoken with other young girls who have found themselves in similar situations. Yet never in twenty-nine years have I experienced in any of these girls the same emotion as Alice. Never have they been so vehemently opposed to the man in question. So utterly hopeless, yet completely unflinching in resolve, a life in the gutter, was to Alice, by far the better of the two fates. Another girl could easily have been talked round, too daunted by the prospect of exile or independence, they would with little persuasion enter a marriage that would make them more miserable, but more respectable. One girl even begged to be married to the father of her child; it did not seem to matter to her that a footman had come to her rescue after her heard her scream. A different solution was found though, as it always was.

Even without the benefit of foresight, I could not tolerate the prospect of seeing her married where she did not wish to be. Perhaps the bitter sting of my own situation was still too fresh. Perhaps I was too young to see the good sense in Mrs Reynolds' chosen course of action. "Alice," began my son-in-law, who until this moment had been nothing more than an observer in the conversation. He sounded tired and defeated.

"No," I broke in, coming to the defence of my maid, "if Alice does not want to marry him, then she shall not have to."

"Do you understand the repercussions of what you are saying?" He looked at Alice, but he was speaking to me, the angry tone was indication enough of that.

Alice answered with a quivering "yes," before I could attempt a tirade on the repercussions of marrying where she had no desire.

"You ought to have thought of that," Mrs Reynolds entered the foray once more, "before you committed yourself in such an unsavoury manner." Mrs Reynolds was not a woman inclined to marriage. She had never wed herself, and in general had the greatest suspicion of all men, with the possible exception of men who bore the name Darcy. My husband was the only man whom she was willing to adopt the moniker of marriage for, as a housekeeper, not a wife. She was married to Pemberley, and she found it the most felicitous of unions.

"I know, Mrs Reynolds, I'm sorry."

"Then why did you do it, if you knew better?" Darcy asked.

"I thought..." she stopped and sniffed loudly, "I though he loved me, but he didn't. I hate him. Even if you could make him marry me, I wouldn't do it, sir, I'd rather starve on the streets than be married to that brute."

"Silly girl." Mrs Reynolds clacked her tongue against her teeth, "It is what they all do. I would have thought you were more sensible than to fall for such a common tale." With a wry smile, I realised that in fact this sentence was as close to flattery for anybody but a Darcy as I had ever heard the housekeeper speak. Praise shrouded in condemnation.

"No matter, Alice, I am afraid you will have to tell us his name, and you will have to marry him, like it or not." I looked at my son-in-law with surprise. I had thought him more inclined to listen to her case than that; after all he had taken the trouble hear her tale thus far. Underneath her tearstained red face, Alice turned pale in terror.

"No!" the words tumbled out before I had thought twice, or even once about them.

"Mrs Darcy." He shot me a warning glare.

"No, she will stay on as my maid. The final decision is mine, after all. Alice shall not be married off to a man she can neither like nor respect, just because she made a mistake."

"A mistake she would not have made had she had proper guidance." Mrs Reynolds muttered under her breath. Darcy did not seem to hear it.

"You shall not foist all responsibility at my door, Mrs Reynolds. You are head of the staff; you must claim responsibility for her mistake too."

"It does not matter who is to blame, it is done now. It cannot be undone." Darcy spoke calmly in an attempt to diffuse the argument now brewing between the housekeeper and me. It was hardly helpful to the situation we were attempting to resolve, I confess. We had returned to the same point in the conversation as we had been not five minutes before.

"Mrs Darcy, you must see why it is that Alice needs to marry, and why she cannot stay on as your maid." He turned to me. There was no pleading in his voice; no pity for Alice. It was a tone which brooked no arguments. He was telling me what I ought to think.

"If Alice is prepared to face censure, then so shall I. Alice, come with me." I got up to leave the room, looking astonished Alice did not even have the opportunity to move before he spoke again.

"Stay where you are, Alice. Mrs Darcy, if you cannot behave in a rational manner, then I am sorry that I even thought to have you involved in this discussion. Alice shall be leaving Pemberley, and more importantly she will marry."

"I shall speak with your father." He was, after all, only resting in his rooms upstairs. Almost recovered from his bout of influenza, Dr Matthews had requested only that the patient rest a little more before returning to his duties running the estate.

"By all means, if you must behave so, but he shall tell you only the same as I have." He sounded dismissive of me, not even looking in my direction. Evidently I was no longer required in the room. That arrogant and presumptuous man!

Only a week before, he had been handing over the household reigns to my care. Suddenly it suited him no longer though. For no other reason than we could not agree, he had taken control off me all over again. The decision was mine. As mistress of the household, the staff was my responsibility and ultimately my decision. In fact, Mrs Reynolds had no right at all to even be involving herself with the hiring and firing of my maid; yet the pair of them together had presumed that much and more. Not only had they dismissed Alice without consulting me, they did not even having the decency to respect my opinion. They had proceeded to hire me a new maid without asking. That was my job. I just would not have it.

I found myself in my sitting room without even realising it. I was so angry; at them, at Alice, at myself. My own behaviour could not be excused either. For all that Darcy had promised me a week ago, I too, had promised him to stop acting a child. Yet there I was storming out of rooms and running to Mr Darcy (not that I had any intention of actually going there). It was little wonder that they were so disinclined to value my opinion. Who would listen to a child? Certainly not Darcy and Mrs Reynolds; it would be like a bricklayer asking a woodcutter how to build a house.

Alice, however, would not marry that man, whoever he was, since she was so disinclined to do so. I could not stomach the thought of condemning her to such a fate, despite my opposition. I would carry my point. Even if she was not allowed to stay on as my maid, there must be some other solution. I would have returned to the room that instant were it not for the arrival of a footman who announced Lady St Vincent had come to call on me. It would have been rude to turn her away; Wednesday was my At Home Day. "Sophie, how well you are looking." I greeted her with a pleasant smile, and we enjoyed a pleasant visit together; despite the preoccupation of my mind.

When Lady St Vincent left, I had every intention of returning to the study to speak with my son-in-law again, only to find that he had been called away on estate business. Nobody could tell me when he would be expected to return. Indeed, they would not even tell me where he had gone. I wondered briefly if he was just avoiding me. He did not even appear at dinner that evening. My husband had come down, and I was grateful for the company; but he was still easily tired, and after our meal, he returned to his rooms to retire for the evening. I may have gone and read to him, but I was determined not to miss the homecoming of the younger Darcy.

At about nine o'clock there was a knock at the door of my sitting room. I put aside my needlework and bid enter to the visitor. "I do wish, Mrs Darcy," he began, "that you would not walk away from conversations." Not a word of apology for his own behaviour. Still, what was to be expected, a sudden revolution of temperament? It was hardly feasible.

"There was little point in my staying. You did not seem inclined to listen to my view on the matter." I picked up my sewing once again. It almost burnt my hand as punishment -- I had to be civil for Alice's sake, so why must I be perverse with him now?

"I do value you opinion. As you said, the final decision rests with you."

"Then why do you question me?" the words came out as a whine, I wanted to stamp on my foot to silence myself. It was embarrassing really.

"Your intentions are well meaning, I grant you that. But you think of only Alice in this matter, and perhaps yourself."

"I think of the baby."

"Do you think of the other servants?" He asked quietly.

"It is not their business."

"Do you not think of the example you are setting for them? It is an awkward position we are in. Keep Alice on, and it appears we condone her behaviour. Neither you nor I can, I am sure." On that much at least we could agree Alice's behaviour was reprehensible, but it was a mistake, and mistakes ought to be forgiven.

"Your father once said to me," I was still hoping to argue Alice's cause, "that it would be easier for everybody to forgive past transgressions for future harmony." I had thought about that earlier in the afternoon, remembering what he had said to me on the carriage ride to Pemberley in January. In words I had forgiven him, yet I still held the past against him, and living together had certainly not been easy these past few months.

"He is a wise man, my father; but in this instance his wisdom falls short. Letting Alice go is better for everybody. We cannot be seen to be condoning her actions, or every maid here shall find herself in the same situation..."

"You exaggerate." He was not a man prone to any form of misrepresentation.

"But you understand my meaning; Alice has not set a good example. Why have more than one girl in the same situation?"

"You want to make her a martyr."

"Now who exaggerates?" He looked cross at my flippancy, but then he never did seem to have the patience for it. He walked over to the window and was silent for many minutes. Though his back was turned and I could not see his expression, his disapproval was evident. Eventually he turned and took the seat next to me on the sofa, instead of standing as he had been.

"You know of Alice's situation? She has no family beyond two sisters on small wages, no money of her own, no home but this one. Her reputation will be ruined. Nobody shall hire a maid of uncertain morals, for no matter what we may say of her, the presence of a child will always contradict that. I will not, I cannot in good conscience just turn her out the house friendless. She would end on the streets.

"It is far better for her to marry the man than that, do you not see that?"

"No, I do not."

"Her sisters, is it fair to them? They shall always be connected to the unmarried girl with the baby." It was an argument similar to the one I had heard when my father told me I was to marry Mr Darcy -- though I had not even come close to being with child. I lived in relative comfort though, my husband was kind, and nobody could ever call him a brute. In this case, two people had the chance at happiness while two would be destined to misery.

"She is so adamant against him though."

"She was not at one time." he argued.

"Do we know who he is?" I asked, for when I had left the room that morning he had been unidentified.

"No, we do not."

"She will not tell you." Alice was as stubborn as a mule,that much I had learnt. Though the issues we had quarrelled over had been only trivialities -- which bonnet matched which coat best and other similar matters -- I had learnt not to argue with Alice; she was not to be moved in matters she felt passionate over. Her current predicament was most definitely one of those situations, more so than any bonnet could ever be.

While I could not fault Alice for not wanting to be married to a man she clearly detested, I could admit it was foolhardy of her to even attempt to raise a child alone when she had utterly nothing to offer. "What if I were to set her up in a cottage on the estate?"

"Would you do the same for every servant who did not wish to marry?"

"If I had to, yes." I thought him rather uncharitable for asking this.

"But to support her so, it is foolish." I bristled, but said nothing, the argument was not about me, and for Alice's sake I would keep my temper with him allowing any of his superior slurs on my character to pass unmentioned.

"You are immovable, is marriage her only option?"

"Yes," he replied slowly, he seemed distracted.

"Yet she thinks him such a man." I shook my head; he did not even seem to hear the comment though.

"Tell me, are you opposed to her marrying, or marrying a man of whom she now has such a low opinion?" He suddenly seemed alert again. "Mrs Darcy, if I were to find a man, another man, of whom both you and Alice approved, would you then be willing to let her go?"

"If Alice approved, then I would not stop her."

"It shall cost, of course, but the whole thing could be made to look completely innocent; she shall be safe and respectable." He broke into a smile, pleased, I supposed, with his own cleverness. "I know just the man." He said nothing further on the matter, but got up to leave. At the door he turned, "Are you quite content with Sarah, you know you can always interview if you wish?"

"Oh no, why bother? Sarah is as good as any other maid." I had almost forgotten about that. What did it really matter who my maid was? To be sure I was sorry it was not to be Alice any more. I would miss her company, but now she had other fates awaiting her.

It has been said that many an infatuation has been cured with evidence of a beloved's imperfection. The myth did not hold true with William Wainwright though. A shy and rather unfortunate looking man, he had admired Alice since she was fifteen and he nineteen. He had recently acquired his father's farm -- a tenant of Pemberley. A wife could only make his situation complete. He refused to take the hundred pounds that was set aside to waiver her situation. They made a pleasant couple, he doted on his beautiful wife, and she was so grateful to him as to make him quite content. In fact, I believe that she eventually came to love him, for there was no kinder and more generous man to be found that he. They were married within a month, and six months later Lizzy Wainwright was born.

Author's notes:

It was common practice to call a step relative an "in-law" instead in Regency England. So when Lizzy calls FD her son-in-law this is not a mistake.

Mrs Reynolds isn't married, but as a housekeeper she gained the honorary title "Mrs" as opposed to "Miss" this was common practice.

Chapter IX

Posted on Wednesday, 9 April 2008

A tiny black clad foot emerged from the carriage, a black lace veil concealing her face. Shrouded in a coordinating ebony ensemble, she was a most perfect example of widowhood. She remained silent as the grave as she followed Mrs Reynolds into the house. From the upstairs window of my sitting room, I could see quite clearly as her daughters followed behind her. As they looked up at their surroundings, I shrank back from their view. Somehow I found myself dreading seeing them all again. We had not parted on the best of terms; but the meeting was to come, sooner that I would ever have liked and yet later than I would wish too. They were led straight to me in my little yellow sitting room before they were taken to their rooms.

Removing her bonnet, her whole appearance was dramatically altered. The glint in her eye and the smile on her face exposed her true state. She plopped herself down on a sofa without waiting for an invitation. "Well." She looked around the room, "It's rather small." I could only hope she referred to the room and not the house, but perhaps she thought ten thousand would bring more than this vast expanse of emptiness in which she was now ensconced.

"Would you like some tea? After being on the road so long, I am sure such a luxury will be welcome."

"Green?" She sounded excited.

"No, black." She looked disappointed, yet one was no better than the other.

"Well, would you believe it, your father has gone and died and that wretched Mr Collins and his smarmy son have thrown us out of our own home? I never met a more useless man than your father in all my life. He never would've insisted on you marrying if it weren't for me; and then where would we all be? Huh?"

"Mama..." I began, but found already I did not have the energy for her.

Everything I did seemed to displease her, from the room to the tea, my dress (ordered on very short notice from Lambton, and not fine enough, I suppose) and my manners. Not to mention her and my sisters' rooms. They had been placed in the east wing, not in the family quarters, which displeased her greatly, especially given that the younger girls were to be placed in the nursery with Georgiana. Gradually she looked more and more disappointed with what she was discovering.

I could not help but feel my ire rising. It was lucky for her that I was married, for otherwise we would all have been utterly destitute. When looked at in a prudential light, I had far exceeded my expectations. She had decided that we -- Mr Darcy and I -- would take care of her. It was, of course, a given, but it made me uneasy that she did not even wait to be invited by us. She simply announced, in the same letter that informed me of Papa's death, that she would be with us within the week. I was not entirely sure how Mr Darcy felt about this unasked for visit. He claimed that he would never deny me my family, but I knew he would only abide them all for so long. Mama though, seemed quite determined to stay.

She was the type of woman who was born for a life of luxury. There was nothing Mama did better than order servants about for her comfort and pleasure. The servants at Pemberley were most happy to oblige her, naturally, for they were nothing, if not efficient. But it made me cringe to see it; the way she ordered them about so freely, as though they were her own servants, and she was not a guest at Pemberley. On the second morning after her arrival, she looked disappointedly as the last breakfast dish arrived, "Are there to be none of those little mushroom shaped meats this morning?"

"You mean Pigeons a la Crapaudine?" Georgiana asked in an impervious little voice; she was never particularly shy of Mama. It was too obvious that the little girl found my mother astonishing. She had thought that nobody, I imagine, could be more uncultured than she had found me. Kitty looked at the younger girl in amazement.

"No, Mama, only on Tuesday." I told her as I buttered my toast.

"We used to have them more often, but Mrs Darcy insists on only one French dish at breakfast now."

By the next morning, the little French delicacy had appeared on the table again; for news had, of course, managed to get back to Monsieur Ponsot through Pemberley's talkative staff. His triumph on the occasion, Sarah informed me, was great; only to then hear that he had sent her up pièces montèes before she went to bed. I was rather fond of this little spun sugar treat myself, but he had stopped preparing them, even as just decoration, since I had requested more English dishes at meal times. Mama had him wrapped around her little finger; he was having a love affair with her taste buds. Whatever she desired, it only needed to be mentioned, and it was served. It vexed me greatly that she had usurped me. That she had the French man charmed was an irritation in the extreme.

It was only three days later, while we were all seated in the drawing room taking tea, that she began with further suggestions as to how the household ought to be run. As if changing the dinner menus was not enough for her, "Mr Darcy," she suddenly called out across the room, "I have been thinking that it is time Lizzy redecorate; your furnishings are outdated." It was the first time that she had said anything on this subject to me. Perhaps she was trying out a new tactic; fed up with my implacability and deafness to her ridiculous pleas.

"Mama!" I was appalled that she would raise this subject.

"Oh Lizzy, stop fussing so. It is only proper that you change the furnishings." She folded her shawl carefully about her as she said it.

"There is no need for it."

"Lizzy you're mistress of a grand house now, you need to act like you are one."

"I find," my husband finally decided to enter into the conversation which had been aimed at him, "that Elizabeth runs this house impeccably. I have no complaint to offer with regards to her behaviour." I am sure he did not mean no complaint; I was far too obstinate in other aspects of our life.

"Besides, Mama, the furniture is comfortable, elegant and in excellent condition," Georgiana did not scramble over the furniture as my sisters and I had been allowed. "Lady Anne did a remarkable job. I could not pretend to do so well."

"What will visitors think? They'll think we have no money. I will be ashamed to have them in the house." Mama cried. I flushed in embarrassment for her and looked towards my husband. He, thankfully, had tactfully pretended not to hear, and with a nod, had resumed reading his paper once again. However, I knew his temperament, and it would not be long before even he would be incapable of tolerating her silliness with pleasantries.

I sincerely hope you do not think that I was becoming too proud for my own family; that I was wrong to be embarrassed by my own mother, and that I did not wish to have them with me. Most certainly it was not that at all; but with my mother behaving as if she owned the place, taking over a role that I had struggled to adapt to for so long with nothing more than a blink, it was hard not to feel resentful. Twenty times a day I had to bite my tongue to keep from yelling out, "Why did you not marry Mr Darcy then?"

Naturally, I would always have invited her to come and stay with us. I would have protected her, even if she were guilty of murder; it was my duty. Besides, I could not bear to see her or my sisters destitute; and no matter what, I loved them. In many ways, I was glad to have them with me again. The noise and laughter in the house made the whole place so much more cheery. It was only Mama's manner of going about Papa's death that troubled me. She seemed not to mourn his passing in the least. She did not wait to be invited (perhaps she should not have), and never showed any gratitude, but continually made suggestions as to what could be improved upon.

We did not mention Papa ever, unless Mama was berating him for something or other. However, in general, she had no reason to complain, she liked her new situation exceedingly. Nor did she ever thank me for my sacrifices, which kept her and my sisters in such comfort now.

Only Lydia had found a cause to complain. She hated that she was not queen of the nursery. That Georgiana had toys, and more importantly clothes that were far nicer than her own, made her greatly envious. That she had to attend classes with Georgiana's governess in the daytime made her angrier. Then there was the shame of finding that while she was only a few months younger than my daughter-in-law, the older girl's education far outstripped her own (and Kitty's too). Lydia had grown up being constantly praised by Mama. She was the cleverest, prettiest girl in the world. Yet for all the self-confidence my youngest sister possessed, she could not fail to notice that Georgiana had the best of everything, and was the best at everything.

In the daytime though, I had Jane for company, and nothing could have made me happier. When we were not with Mama, who was being delivered special treats from Monsieur, we passed our time in the still room making toilet waters and such, or the gardens walking, or the conservatory and hot house tending to the plants. It was almost as if we were back at Longbourn before one disaster after another befell our family.

"Lizzy?" Jane began one afternoon while we were out in the garden, "You know that we are all very lucky to have you and your kindness."

"It is I who am lucky to have you here with me, Jane; you and all my family."

"Have you been very unhappy here? In your letters you have not seemed yourself. I know you were unhappy with what occurred; but truly, Lizzy, it does not seem so bad. Mr Darcy seems very kind and Pemberley is lovely. I am sorry for what happened."

"It is not your fault. I chose this path, it just took some time to adjust, that is all. And now I have you all here with me; nothing could make me happier." Unless, I added privately to myself, Papa was with us too.

Papa, he was the only thing I regretted now. I could only wish that we had not parted on angry terms. I could only regret that I had not written to him these many months; but regret could do nothing now. It was too late.

My son-in-law had been away for some time in London for the season. His father, on recovering his health fully, had insisted he attend. It was high time, he had said at the beginning of April, that his son started seeking a suitable wife. For the first time in our acquaintance, I began to feel rather sorry for him. I knew only too well the mortifications one endured when a parent's sights settled on ones matrimonial happiness. "I had thought," I said, trying to keep my face serious, eyes wide and innocent, "that the matter was settled, and he was to marry his cousin, Anne."

Which of the two was more discomforted by this was unclear for a moment, until my husband said with an equally straight face. "To be sure, Lady Catherine has decreed it, and she is not a woman to be gainsaid. Fitzwilliam, do not bother going to town, there is no point."

When the younger Darcy opened his mouth, I could not resist interrupting. "What would be the point of it they are formed for each other?" I continued, repeating something I had heard her say to him on her visit two months before.

"To be sure, descended from the same noble lines." his sincerity seemed evident.

"With great fortunes on either side."

"Your only misfortune is me... but..." he paused and sighed overtly dramatically, "at least you and Anne are equal in that respect." Was he laughing at his own supposed failings?

"There could be no match more desirable. Really, sir, unless you wish to bear the brunt of your Aunt's ‘most serious displeasure,' then there is no need to journey to town." I imitated the grand dame herself. Darcy seemed about to protest, squirming uncomfortably in his seat; but before the opportunity arose, my husband could contain his mirth no longer and laughed boisterously.

"Elizabeth, we must not tease the poor boy so on a matter so important." he addressed me, still chuckling. For a while, he laughed at the idea of his son marrying Anne de Bourgh, but he was still intent on his son making a dazzling match to some wealthy and connected society beauty.

So Darcy had journeyed forthwith to the great cattle market of town to seek out a suitable bride. Naturally, he returned empty handed, but then there was always next year, or the year after, or the year after that. He was a man not particularly inclined to marriage, or it may just have been that his standards were beyond exacting. I would wager though, that on his return, he regretted his choice instantly. Nothing could march a man to the altar more quickly than my mother. It was either retreat or surrender from her attack. She was throwing poor dear Jane in his path before his horse was even up the driveway.

Without waiting to be introduced to her by either his father or me, she rushed forwards and took his arm, "Ah so you're Mr Darcy's son, arrived from London; goodness how tall you are!" I instantly blushed and looked down and my shoes. Jane, standing next to me, tightened her grip on my arm, the only indication of her own discomfort. "Well, I'm certain you've heard all about us. I'm your Grandmamma Bennet," Oh please no; could this be any worse? "and over there is my eldest daughter, Jane. She is a beauty, is she not, I doubt you found any girls as pretty as her in town, come Jane, come and meet your new..." She seemed to flounder here; ‘nephew' would have sounded too incestuous even for her.

"Mama, I am sure Mr Darcy is weary after his ride, and would far rather come inside and rest." Jane sounded serene and unconcerned.

"Oh, of course, goodness yes, come inside, dear. Lizzy, ring the bell for tea. Whatever were you thinking? And have it sent to the blue sitting room." She remained attached to him like a limpet, and dragged him inside, forgetting to even introduce Mary. I would have felt sorry for him, had he not appeared so disdainful of her attentions.

With us all adjourned to the blue sitting room and tea served to everyone, tea which she had insisted that Jane actually serve (as though she were the hostess's daughter), she began her tirade of chatter again. Thankfully, by this point, she had managed to regain some semblance of calm. "So, I am sure that you have heard that Mr Bennet has gone and died. He does so love to vex me."

"I am sorry for your loss, madam."

"Oh yes, my losses, they have been great indeed. Really I don't know what was wrong with Mr Bennet entailing Longbourn on that wretched illiterate cousin of his, and depriving our girls of their proper inheritances. Still, we are all come to live here now, and it has worked out very nicely." Neither Jane nor I attempted to correct her. We had tried many times to explain why Mr Collins had inherited the estate, but all to no avail. "If it was not for Lizzy, we would have all been thrown out to starve in the hedgerows and fend for ourselves, oh if only we had been able to have sons! Lizzy, you are a lucky woman, you don't know how lucky you are; such a fine son you already have." She looked at him with a sudden degree of suspicion, terrified that he too might one day inherit and banish us.

Her attention once again returned to forwarding a match between my sister and my son-in-law. She had security, but now she wanted some insurance; insurance that she would not be left penniless and homeless again. She was content to stay at Pemberley forever. He remained silent, staring into his coffee with an angry frown. "I have five girls, you know, aye but Lizzy must have told you so," (actually I do not think I ever had), "Jane, she is my eldest, and by far the most beautiful. Do you not agree, Mr Darcy?" She looked on this occasion to my husband, as opposed to the younger Mr Darcy, for a response.

"Even the angels are envious of Jane's beauty, I am sure." He acknowledged with an easy grace that can only have come from spending years in the highest of circles at court.

"Indeed they are. She shall make an excellent match, I am certain. Two years ago, a young man at my sister's house in town wrote some very pretty verses on her, but it all came to nothing."

"And that put an end to it." I suddenly found the courage to interrupt her constant flow of embarrassment. "There is nothing more effective than poetry in driving away love." I spoke at the same quick pace my mother used, terrified that she would find an opportunity to interrupt if I were to pause for breath, "I wonder who first discovered it?"

"I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love," said Darcy,

"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may, everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away."

"Oh Lizzy, how you do run on. You would have never have married if it had been left to you. Chasing all the men away with your wild notions. It is all your father's fault, I tell you. Now Jane, Jane is a good girl. Jane would never be as impertinent as Lizzy is, Mr Darcy." She once again renewed her attack with vigour. "Such a dear, sweet girl, so obliging."

"Mrs Darcy, how is your music coming along? I should like to hear your progress." He was clearly desperate for anything to distract Mama; as if he had ever been interested in hearing me before. He knew I hated exhibiting. He knew that I never practiced. Still, I hoped at least it would save Jane from mortification.

"Of course, though I have not practiced properly. Jane," I turned to my sister who looked as if she had paid no mind to the conversation that had passed, "shall you come and turn pages for me?" Jane naturally obliged willingly, good-natured soul that she was. Mama managed to sit in silence for the duration of my song at least, swaying slightly, very out of time to the tune.

She began again as soon as it was over. "Lizzy does not play so well as Mary, my other daughter over there, Mr Darcy," she finally managed to introduce another of her daughters to his attention. Poor Mary, until this moment she had been almost completely invisible. "Mary, go on, play, play for the gentleman."

Mary was ever happy to oblige. It had been made clear to her throughout all our younger years that she was not a pretty child. She was shy and withdrawn, with an air of disinterest that annoyed many. However, she was only too happy to display one of her accomplishments, for she toiled harder over them than my other sisters, and I had never bothered with her education. She stood up and made her way to the pianoforte. Mr Darcy rose a few seconds later, "Oh, shall you turn pages for Mary? Oh! How very obliging of you!" Mama looked as though she had been given the world.

"Excuse me." He bowed curtly and left the room.

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