Beginning, Previous Section, Section III, Next Section
Mary sat idly by the tall library windows, clutching her doll Beth tightly under the crook of one arm as she watched the large dewdrops come splattering against the windowpane in a steady beat. She sat lost in the harmonic rhythm of the rain. A flash of light, right before her eyes, shocked Mary out of her reveries as she sat back stunned in her seat. A clap of thunder rumbled in the distance. Mary held Beth even tighter to herself. The rain continued to unfold in sheets, leaving nothing under the gray, storming sky dry. Mary put her hands up to the glass and reached out to trace the patterns left behind by the lightening flashes in the sky and to wet her fingertips in the raindrops. But her hands and her fingers stayed warm and dry in the cozy confines of Pemberley's library. In the background, an undying fire crackled while wood chips flew in every direction like tiny ballerinas leaping through the air. The warmth that the fire gave off battled the chilly air that had settled over the rest of the cold, stone house.
Mary was so consumed by her own thoughts that not even the footman, coming in to stoke the fire, disturbed her peace and quiet. It was only the shutting of the door behind the footman that alerted her of another's presence. She turned around and faced the now empty room. Taking another good look at the library, she once again marveled at its magnificent size. Every wall was covered from ceiling to floor with shelves and every shelf was lined with books. Mary stepped down from her window seat, dragging Beth with her, and dug her heels into the luxuriant, silk carpets. Their rich, red tones complemented the mahogany furniture that graced the center of the room. A plush, leather chair called out to Mary and she left her spot by the window for a more cushioned seat closer to the fire.
Mary was bored. She fingered her doll's hair absently. For the past week, the rain had been one ceaseless cascade. Trapped inside, with no chance or hope of escape, Mary yearned for company. She was so desperate that even visits with Colin would have been welcomed. Colin, however, at the first hint of a winter's chill had taken to his bed and would not be stirred. Complaining of aches in his bones, he was convinced that he would soon die of pneumonia. Mary, hearing about his fears, rolled her eyes every time and wondered why he did not send for his father if he was so certain of his death. In her opinion, he was more likely to die of an apoplexy than pneumonia.
It was just as well that Mary and Colin were kept apart. Relations had not improved in spite of all the time they had spent together. And much to Mrs. Reynolds's consternation, there did not seem to be anything that could bring them together as friends. At her wits end as to what to do with the two children, she decided that a break was perhaps just the thing that they needed.
Drumming her fingers on the arm of her imposing chair, Mary unconsciously started humming to herself. The warmth of the fire and the boredom of the afternoon lulled Mary into a trance and she soon found her eyelids growing heavier and heavier as they drooped and covered her eyes. She had almost fallen asleep when she was rudely brought back to attention by Martha hustling into the room to bring her some afternoon tea.
Martha looked sideways at Mary's small frame highlighted against the backdrop of the crackling fire and chuckled as she watched Mark jerk awake and Beth fall tumbling to the floor. "Falling asleep are we, Miss Mary?"
Stifling a yawn, Mary shook her head stoically and leaned over to pick up her doll. "Of course not. I don't need afternoon naps. I'm not a baby."
Martha turned her head to the other side and hid the small smile that had spread across her face. Mary was going to be in deep trouble if she spent any more time with Colin. "Course you don't, Miss," Martha answered as she briskly went about settling the tea things on a little side table.
Mary watched on, having nothing better to do with her time. "Lord it's so dull in this house," Mary moped. "Is it always like this?"
Martha looked up at the window before answering. "It is a dreary day, isn't it Miss?"
"It's been a dreary week," Mary noted.
"So it has. But that's English weather, Miss Mary. It always rains."
"But what is there to do, Martha? I can't very well play with myself and there's nothing to do in this big, old house."
"My, aren't we in a grumbling mood today," Martha teasingly noted. She had never known her little friend to be so dispirited as she was this afternoon. She hoped that Mary was not growing to be more and more like Colin. After all, one Colin was more than enough to deal with.
"I'm just tired of having nothing to do. When am I going to get a governess?" Mary looked down at the doll her aunt had given her and fingered its dress thoughtfully. "I wish I could at least see my Aunt Lizzy."
"You have an aunt in England?" Martha asked, walking over to sit in the chair seated opposite of Mary.
"Yes," Mary nodded. "I have several actually. But my favorite aunt is my Aunt Lizzy. Mama says she looks just like me," she said proudly. "I don't remember what Aunt Lizzy looks like though because the last time I saw her I was only a baby. I wanted to meet her when I came to England and see if she really is as wonderful as she sounds in her letters, but Mama and Papa say I cannot because she is already a governess to three other little girls. I know I really do look like her though because Mama has shown me her picture before and it's true. I do look like her! And I can show you later tonight too, if you'd like, Martha, because Mama gave me a miniature of my Aunt Lizzy to bring with me when I came to England."
"I'd like that," Martha laughed. "And I'm sure that you will get to see your Aunt Lizzy at some point during your stay in England," Martha leaned forward to pat Mary's knee comfortingly. "After all, you will be here for quite some time and there will be plenty of opportunities for visits. And I'm sure Mr. Darcy will find you a nice governess soon. He is a busy man, but I know he is due back from London any day now. Just you wait, Miss Mary. The Master will find you the very best governess, I am sure."
"What shall I do in the meantime?"
Martha got up from her seat and moved towards the door. As she opened the library door, she made a backward glance and surveyed the room. "You have the whole library to yourself, Miss Mary. Why don't you read a book?" she suggested.
Mary sighed as Martha left the room and looked around her. Seeing as there was nothing better to do with her afternoon, Mary decided to follow Martha's advice and find a book to read. Leaving Beth seated on the chair, she hopped down from her seat and scanned the shelves, looking for any interesting titles that might catch her attention. From one book to another, Mary's eyes leapt back and forth. The Pemberley library was a diverse one and it held all sorts of books from all genres and on varied discourses.
The last time Mary had been in the library, she had been looking at a book on geography. Starting from the section where she had picked up that book and walking left, Mary moved into the section containing gardening and farming books. She ran her finger delicately along each spine, feeling the leather bindings and outlining the gold letterings. She continued on, hoping something would soon catch her interest. Mary's fingers stopped suddenly on a dark green book and read its title twice. Poems by Lord Byron. Mary then looked at the book to its right and to its left. There was no doubt about it, sitting in between Ponds and Lakes by Sir Arthur Wellington and Potting Flowers and Fertilization by Thomas Ashford, Poems by Lord Byron was most certainly out of place. The book appeared to have been hastily crammed into its present position and then left to be either purposefully or accidentally forgotten. Its odd and unexplained presence in a section where it did not belong intrigued Mary. After trying to gingerly pull it off the shelf, it was only after Mary had tugged and yanked the book forcefully that it finally freed itself from its wedged place on the shelf.
The book fell with a great thud to the floor. It was accompanied by a tinkling sound of something lighter and metal hitting the wooden panels of the waxed and polished hardwood floor. Mary scrambled to her hands and knees and crawled along the floor to fetch the book of poems as well as whatever it was that had fallen to the ground with it. She groped along the floor and ran her tiny hand against the edge of the silk runner. Following it underneath a nearby chair, she found her metal object tucked right beside the back left foot. Mary picked it up and felt the object in her hand. The cool, iron metal felt like ice against her warm, flushed hands. Closing her hand around it, Mary traced the circle on one end and felt the ridges of the metal cutting into the palm of her hand at the other end. It was at that moment that Mary knew she held a key in her hand. But why had it been hidden in the crevice of Poems by Lord Byron? She carried the key along with her book over to the fire. Holding it up to the light, Mary saw that attached to the key was fastened an old, faded piece of hair ribbon. The library was dark and the flickering flames played tricks on Mary's mind. She could not tell the color of the ribbon. Fingering it, she let the soft silk slide across her skin. It looked grayish-white, as though it had once been a vibrant shade of light blue but had now faded with age.
As Mary opened the book to return the key to its rightful place, the book fell instantaneously open to the middle of the book. The heavy crease in between the wrinkled pages confirmed that its crevice had once housed the key. Mary placed the key back in its fold and leaned over to read the poem that covered the pages on either side of the key. The room had grown even darker with the passing of the afternoon and Mary now squinted to make out the tiny words that had been copied onto the yellowed pages of the book. Just as her father had taught her, she read the poem slowly and carefully, forming each letter in her mouth and enunciating each word aloud.
When We Two Parted
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow--
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me--
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:--
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met--
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?--
With silence and tears.*
As Mary finished the poem, a chill ran down her spine. It was woefully romantic and filled with love and despair. The freezing rain and the howling wind, beating on the window, did nothing to lift her spirits. Her world grew darker by the minutes as she struggled to find that ray of sunlight. For some inexplicable reason, Martha's words from days before began to reverberate in Mary's head.
It has been said that many years ago, long before you were born, Mr. Darcy met his true love on the Pemberley grounds - in a garden to be exact... She especially loved the bloom of the roses and their elegant scent in the air and in the young Master's eyes, that garden became forever hers... the Master and the young lady had already met elsewhere earlier, but realized the full potential of their love for one another in that garden... People say that unfortunate circumstances separated the two lovers, though what the unfortunate circumstances were, no one knows for sure... after their separation, Mr. Darcy locked up the garden and forbid anyone from ever entering it again. To him, it belonged to his beloved and no other...
The poem spoke volumes to Mary and her hands trembled as she realized that it was Mr. Darcy who had placed the key with that poem. Martha's story about the Secret Garden might have been idle gossip, but she was closer to the truth than she probably knew. The poem confirmed everything Mary had learned thus far. Mr. Darcy had lost the love of his life, grieved in silence, locked the garden and hidden the key with a poem that only he could ever truly understand. And now she held the key in her hand.
Now that Mary held the power of the garden within her own hands, she fantasized freely over the endless possibilities that could come out of this discovery. What if I could bring the garden back to life? Would I get in trouble? What if I could find Mr. Darcy's lost love and bring her back to the Secret Garden along with Mr. Darcy? How would they greet one another? ...with silence and tears.
All of the sudden, now that Mary had a purpose, life at Pemberley did not seem so boring anymore.
* When We Two Parted, Lord Byron (1788-1824)
When Mary woke up the next morning, it was the sun and the chirping birds that greeted her and not the clouded sky and raindrops that had become so familiar to her in the past week. Not believing that her room could be filled with such rays of brightness after a week of despondent grayness, Mary first laid in bed, basking in the glory of the sun. Once she was convinced that the sun was there to stay and not going to run and hide behind some clouds, she leapt out of bed and darted to her window where much to her delight she found a pair of robins, hopping amongst the branches of the holly tree directly outside of her window. Mary watched them eat their fill of berries with great delight for several minutes before she realized how odd it was that no one had yet come for her or brought her breakfast.
She crept over to the door and opened it gently. Leaning her head out into the hallway, Mary strained to see if she could hear anything. There seemed to be a great deal of commotion taking place on the floors below, but Mary could not figure out over what. Shrugging her shoulders, she shut her door and flew over to her closet to throw some clothes on. Now that the sun was shining bright again, there was no way Mary was going to spend anymore time indoors than she had to. If she could just sneak outside for a few minutes, she would be able to solve the first mystery of the Secret Garden. How to find the door and unlock it.
Mary shrugged herself into a plain, brown dress and grappled with the buttons down her back. She had never dressed herself without the help of someone and now she knew why. It was a struggle doing it alone. But Mary refused to call downstairs for help. She knew that if she did that, breakfast would be brought up as well and she would be made to eat it before she was allowed anywhere near outside. She was eager to go outside though and she was afraid that if she waited any longer, the unsuspecting English weather might roll in and bring back the nasty weather of old, thereby spoiling any chance she might have of running amok outdoors.
Mary bit her bottom lip as she strained to reach the last button. With great determination, she finally put it into place. Then, she took her hairbrush and with one great sweeping arch, pulled her hair into a messy ponytail. Not caring a whit, she grabbed the nearest hair ribbon and tied a sloppy bow around it. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Mary grimaced. She tried to smooth the creases down the front of her dress and lightly tossed her hair from side to side. Heaving a sigh, Mary gave up all pretenses of trying to make herself presentable. She knew that without assistance, it was a hopeless case. Figuring that she would never run into anybody outside anyway, she grabbed the key from her bedside table and gingerly tiptoed her way downstairs.
As she neared the back door and rounded the corner, she peeked her head around the wall to see what was going on. Some maids, dressed in starched black dresses with crisp white aprons, carried linen up and down the stairs while others scurried about with silver polish and dusting rags, visiting each room of the house. Some footmen, dressed in regal attire and carefully brushed periwigs, hauled hefty trunks upstairs while others carried baskets filled to the brim with produce and poultry to the kitchen. And in the middle of all the hubbub stood Mrs. Reynolds who was pointing her fingers in every which direction and calling out order after order like a true woman in charge. Before she could turn around and find Mary out of her room, Mary had already hurried past her and raced to freedom outdoors.
Mary sprinted down the hill towards the Secret Garden, looking back a few times here and there to make sure that no one had followed her. Once she was reassured of her liberty, Mary let herself go and twirled around, reveling in the joys of the morning sun. She continued on her merry jaunt, skipping the rest of the way down the now familiar path to the Secret Garden. There were many muddy patches along the way from the week-long rain, but Mary paid them no heed. Muddied clothing was nothing foreign to her and she was far more preoccupied with enjoying herself than making sure she stayed clean.
Mary had almost reached the Secret Garden when she pulled the key from her coat pocket to look at it. In the sunlight, it looked different. The faded silk ribbon shined brighter and Mary saw that it indeed had once been a pretty hue of light blue. Even the metal key, discolored with age, looked more golden outdoors. Looking at the key, Mary wondered if the morning's upheaval was in preparation of Mr. Darcy's arrival. But then she thought that Mrs. Reynolds would have given her fair warning of what to expect had that been the case. Assured that she could go about her morning in peace, Mary continued on her way to the Secret Garden.
"No matter what happens, this will be my own secret," she resolutely told herself. "No one is going to make me give up my garden." And indeed, Mary had become so entranced with the Secret Garden that it had, in a way, already become her own.
Now that Mary stood in front of the garden walls with key firmly held in her right hand, she placed her left hand on her hip to carefully consider where its door might be. Walking up to a spot, where the ivy grew thinner, she brushed the vines aside only to reveal a wall of crumbing stone. Disappointed, Mary let the vines fall and stomped away only to try another spot and again meet without success.
She was just about to walk up to the wall a third time when out of nowhere, she heard a voice. "If you're looking for the door, you won't find it there."
Startled, Mary panicked and did not know what to do. She hesitated to turn around lest she find someone who would take the garden away from her standing there. Yet, she knew that she could not stand there all morning long either and running away was not an option. She had been caught, red-handed, with key in hand as evidence and there was nothing to do but face the consequences.
But the voice from behind was not at all unfriendly. In fact, it kind of twinkled with a twinge of merriment and mirth in the lilt of his voice. "It might be easier to make introductions if you would turn around and say hello," the voice spoke again.
Mary turned around and immediately frowned. There stood a boy, with sandy-colored hair, blue eyes and impeccable dress. A teasing smile graced his face, which was altogether not unpleasant to look at. At the moment, though, that was the last of Mary's concern. Is he teasing me? she asked herself. Insolent boy.
"You must be Mary Bingley, the little girl from India," the boy held out his hand and stepped forward. But Mary took a step back and hid her hands behind her back. "Oh dear. Do forgive my manners," the boy bowed. "I forget that young ladies, if you are one, do not shake hands during introductions. They curtsey."
He glanced pointedly at Mary's disheveled dress as he questioned her femininity. She raised a hand to her messy hair, looked down at her wrinkled dress and frowned. But, she was not going to let a boy upset her. Mary raised her eyebrows and looked at the boy queerly. "Who are you?" she finally asked.
The boy chuckled. A good lad and not the least bit vain or proud, he was still not used to being asked for identification. He was more accustomed to having strangers know him even without an introduction. Though he might have been the son of a younger son and a former Colonel in the army, his family tree still rendered him to be quite a catch amongst the mothers of young daughters. That he was the grandson of the Earl of Matlock and the son of the former Miss Georgiana Darcy did much to enhance his social standing in society and ever since he had outgrown his shorts, his boyishly handsome good-looks ensured that he would never go without doting young ladies and their mothers once he was fully grown up.
Her morning completely dashed now that she had been discovered, Mary felt out of sorts. A strange boy who refused to give his name and then laughed at her only made her even more put out. "I haven't got all day to play around," Mary threw back her head and spoke haughtily. "If you're not going to bother to introduce yourself, then I'll just be on my way. Good day, whoever you are."
She had just brushed past the boy when his hand shot out and caught her by the elbow. "I'm sorry, Miss Bingley. I didn't mean to make you mad. Honestly. Can you ever forgive me and let me start all over?"
Mary continued to hold her head up high and refused to meet his gaze, turning to look the other way. "At least let me properly introduce myself if you don't want to be my friend. Seeing as how we're both going to be staying at Pemberley, we might as well be civil if not friends."
The boy's last sentence caught Mary's immediate attention. Jerking her head around, she looked agape at him and asked, "What? You're to live at Pemberley as well?"
"I'm afraid that's the case. There's no escaping me now." Mary looked down, thinking over her options. "Please," the boy pleaded again. "I promise I'm actually very nice, if you'll only give me a chance."
"All right, fine," Mary looked back up and stared steadfastly ahead, daring him to make one more improper move. "Let us start from the beginning again. Who are you?"
"Dickon Fitzwilliam, at your service madam," he bowed. "I am the only son of Colonel Fitzwilliam, cousin and brother-in-law to Fitzwilliam Darcy. My mother is Georgiana Darcy, Mr. Darcy's younger sister."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Fitzwilliam," Mary curtseyed. "I am Mary Bingley, from India. My father is Charles Bingley, formerly of Netherfield Park in Hertfordshire as was my mother, Jane Bennet. But you already seemed to know all of that," she frowned.
Dickon laughed. "You can thank Mrs. Reynolds for that," he said. "And please, call me Dickon. Mr. Fitzwilliam is my father, not me."
"And you may call me Mary."
"Done. Well, Mary. Now that I have watched you sneak outside, followed you to the garden, introduced myself, and hopefully become your friend, can you tell me how you came to have the key to the Secret Garden?"
"You know about the Secret Garden?" Mary asked astonished.
"Of course I know about the Secret Garden. Everyone knows about the Secret Garden. It's such a romantic tragedy that I don't think even Shakespeare could have written one better."
Mary looked at Dickon oddly. "If it's so widely known, then why was I told about it secretly and by my maid?"
Dickon shrugged. "I don't know. I was told by my mother. She thought that if I were to hear about it, I might as well hear it from her and get the story straight rather than relying on rumors. Mind you, we don't go about talking about it all the time. It's not something my mother enjoys gossiping about and my uncle talks about it never."
"It is a romantic story, isn't it, Dickon?" Mary clasped her hands together and looked up at the sky, lost in her thoughts.
"Yes, but a tragedy too. My uncle lost the love of his life in this garden."
Mary brought her thoughts back to Earth. "What if we could resurrect the garden? Do you think it would bring her back?"
It was Dickon's turn to look at Mary oddly. He was not sure if he was hearing her correctly. "What are you trying to say, Mary?"
Mary opened her mouth to say something and then immediately clamped it shut again. "What is it, Mary? You can trust me."
She looked good and hard at Dickon, twisting the key around in her hand. She did not know if she could trust him. He looked nice enough though and interested enough in the garden's history too. Mary thought it would also be nice to finally have a friend and in the end, decided to trust and confide in Dickon. "If I tell you a secret, will you promise not to tell a sole?"
"I solemnly swear not to betray your confidence." Dickon held out his hand and they shook on it. "Now what is it?" he asked.
"I have found the key to the garden, Dickon. All I have to do is find the door and then we can go inside and bring the garden back to life. The only thing we have to do is continue to keep it a secret. Will you help me?"
Dickon looked at her as if she were insane. "The key? Are you sure? How can you possibly have the key when it was thrown away years ago?"
Mary shook her head and held the key up for inspection. "That's what everyone says, but I don't think so. I found this old key in a book of poems, by Lord Byron. I don't think Mr. Darcy ever threw the key away. I don't think he could bring himself to throw it away. Instead, he hid it, in between his favorite poem."
Dickon looked at Mary in amazement. "I can't believe I'm actually standing here having this conversation. And I can't believe what I'm going to say next."
"What?"
"There's only one way to find out if that's the key to the Secret Garden or not. Follow me."
"You know where the door is?" Mary squealed.
Dickon nodded and turned to walk in its direction. Mary was just about to happily follow when a footman came running up to them. Out of breath and clearly cross, he told them in no uncertain terms that they were both wanted immediately inside the house. Crestfallen, Mary and Dickon abandoned their plans to unlock the garden and marched back to the house with the footman leading the way.
When they arrived in the front hallway, a tall, graceful woman with blonde hair piled atop of her head stood beside a bristling Mrs. Reynolds. "Mary Bingley," she began. "I have sent four maids running all over the house looking for you this morning. It was most inconsiderate of you to run outside without letting anyone know of your whereabouts. I had someone I wanted you to meet after breakfast and I was just telling her what a good, well-mannered girl you are, but I see that I spoke too quickly. You have let me down this morning and I am seriously displeased. You may go to your room now, Martha will see to it that you get your breakfast and then you may remain there for the entirety of the morning until I give you leave."
Mary hung her head in shame and was just about to apologize and make her way upstairs when Dickon spoke up in her defense. "Please, Mrs. Reynolds, don't punish Mary. It was all my fault. She saw me sneak outside this morning and followed me outdoors to see what I was up to. She was just trying to convince me to come back to the house with her when the footman showed up. Don't punish her, Mrs. Reynolds. I was in the wrong. Mary never would have stepped foot outdoors had it not been for me."
Mrs. Reynolds looked from one child to the other and relented. Mary looked at Dickon aghast. She could not believe that he was actually taking the blame for her. It was the tall, graceful woman that finally spoke. "Really, Dickon. How could you? Didn't you hear a single thing your father told you before we left home this morning?"
Dickon hung his head repentantly. "Father told me to mind my manners and always listen to my elders."
"And what have you gone and done instead?"
"Disobeyed your instructions and gone outside to play when I shouldn't have."
"What have you to say for yourself, now?"
"I'm awfully sorry, Mother. It won't happen again, I promise."
Georgiana Darcy Fitzwilliam sighed. She hated having to discipline her child. She usually left that job for her husband, but he had remained at home while she and Dickon had traveled to Pemberley to offer what little assistance she could to the aging housekeeper. The moment she had received Mrs. Reynolds's letter, she and the good Colonel knew that something had to be done, though they knew not what. In the end, they decided that Georgiana would take her son to Pemberley to keep Mary company while she and Mrs. Reynolds tried to think of a way to lessen the blow that was sure to come once her brother met Mary Bingley.
"I hope it won't. Now apologize to Mary and to Mrs. Reynolds. After you have done so, you may go to your room to think about what you have done for the rest of the morning. I hope that this will be the only time I shall have cause to send you to your room while we are at Pemberley. I should like to send a good report home to your father."
"Yes ma'am." Dickon turned to Mary and looked down at the ground as he softly mumbled his apologies. Mary could not bring herself to look at Dickon. She was touched and humbled by his act of generosity. No one had ever done such a thing for her before and his sacrifice was not to be forgotten or taken lightly. As Mary watched him make his apologies to Mrs. Reynolds and then climb the stairs towards his banishment in the upper rooms, she watched him go with such a warmth in her heart that she knew then that she would be able to trust Dickon with all her secrets forever.
Georgiana sighed wearily as she followed Mrs. Reynolds into the morning room. She sunk heavily down onto one of the couches and smiled gratefully as the good housekeeper summoned some tea. "I don't know what got into Dickon this morning. He's usually such a well-mannered boy, with such an easy temper. He takes after his father, that's for sure. A Darcy would be more stubborn."
"As we have daily proof," Mrs. Reynolds rolled her eyes upwards in the direction of Colin's room. She sat down next to Georgiana and poured two cups of tea, filling each one to the brim and then adding a dollop of cream and two cubes of sugar. She offered one to Georgiana, who accepted it with thanks.
"No sign of improvement with my nephew?"
"How can there be, when he is convinced that he is going to die at any moment?"
"Poor thing. That must be a dreadfully depressing manner in which to live one's life. Isn't there anything my brother can do?"
"What can he do when he cannot help himself, Mrs. Fitzwilliam?"
Georgiana had always been a softhearted person. And just as she often did when someone touched on the subject of her elder brother and his sad state, her eyes began to water. Mrs. Reynolds pulled out a white, linen handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to the sniffling woman along with some words of solace. "There, there, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. You needn't make yourself so upset over things. Your brother has pulled through thus far, hasn't he? He'll weather it all, I'm sure."
"But it isn't fair," Georgiana wailed. "He is such a good man - a wonderful landlord and the best of all brothers. All his life he has worked to make others happy and comfortable, me most of all. It's Fitzwilliam's turn. He deserves a chance at his own happiness, but he seems destined for one disappointment after another. When will I get to see my brother smile at his own good fortune, Mrs. Reynolds?"
"I don't know, child." Mrs. Reynolds was no longer dealing with a grown woman with her own family and son. She was now talking with a little girl who had lost so much at such a young age and doted on her older brother as though he were the only parent she had ever known. Georgiana loved her brother so very much and Mrs. Reynolds knew she would do anything in the world to see him happy, just as he would do the same for her. "These things are foreordained," she wisely counseled. "There is nothing you can do, Georgie. Except be there for him and help him in any way that you can."
"I know," Georgiana nodded. "But it's so hard sometimes and I feel so helpless."
"Your brother loves you and knowing that you are well and happy is already one less burden for him to bear."
"I wish I could do more for him. He's done so much for me. I can't help but feel a little guilty at times."
Mrs. Reynolds looked surprised. "Guilty? Why, whatever for?"
"It's something that's always unsettled me." Georgiana leaned forward and put her cup of tea back on the teacart. "What if this is all my fault?"
"Your fault? What on earth could you have possibly done, child?"
"Ruined Fitzwilliam's chance with Elizabeth Bennet and made him the most miserable person who has ever lived," Georgiana burst out.
"Shhhh!" Mrs. Reynolds looked shocked by Georgiana's outburst. "Not so loud, Georgie." She got up from her seat and walked over to the door, opened it and looked around in the hallway. Reassured that it was empty, she returned to her seat and continued. "There's no need to give the servants something to gossip about in the kitchen."
Georgiana nodded and kept her mouth tightly shut. "Now Georgie. Tell me why you think you are responsible for Fitzwilliam and Miss Bennet's separation?" Mrs. Reynolds took the young woman's hand into her own, encouraging her to go on.
"There are so many reasons, oh, I don't know." Georgia pressed her hand to her forehead, shaking it in confusion. "Sometimes I blame myself for getting involved with George Wickham." She spat his name energetically. At one time, saying his name might have been a difficult task for Georgiana, but she was a stronger woman now.
"Maybe if I had never run away with him, he never would have blamed Fitzwilliam for stopping us and seeking revenge by using the Bennet family. Their youngest would never have been lured by his wicked charm, Miss Bennet would have stayed and the garden could have continued working its charm in brining her and my brother together. My folly, Mrs. Reynolds, was the root of all this evil."
Mrs. Reynolds stared at Georgiana, sitting forlornly and looking down at her hands, in shock. She never knew that Georgiana harbored such remorseful feelings. "Georgiana, darling," she began softly. "Miss Bennet's going away had nothing to do with you; surely you must know that. You mustn't feel bad about the errors you committed in your youth; your brother certainly wouldn't want you to. He doesn't blame you and you shouldn't blame yourself either. George Wickham, you must remember, is an evil, frightening, black-hearted man. He didn't seek revenge on Miss Bennet and her family solely because your brother foiled his plans regarding you. Your dowry was not the only interest he had in running away with you. You were also a pawn used by George Wickham to hurt your brother, just as Miss Bennet's youngest sister similarly fell victim to his master plan to ensure that your brother would never realize his greatest desire. George Wickham's hatred for your brother runs deep and he would do anything to keep your brother from being happy."
"And he seems to be succeeding," Georgiana noted sadly.
"I don't know about that," Mrs. Reynolds comforted. "I have more faith in God and fate. Who knows, maybe that is why Providence sent Miss Mary Bingley to us."
"Mary," Georgiana said slowly. "I'd almost forgotten about her in all this talk. She does look like her aunt, just as you mentioned in your letter. I could hardly keep my countenance when she came scampering into the hallway alongside of Dickon, with her hair blowsy and her petticoat all dragged in the mud. Looking at young Mary was like looking at a portrait of the past. It was as though I could feel Miss Bennet's presence with us in the foyer just then."
"She does look like Miss Bennet, doesn't she? And you'll find that they're quite alike in personality too." Mrs. Reynolds nodded enthusiastically. "The Master is bound to notice it when he returns to London."
"But what good will that do us?" Georgiana asked pessimistically. "What if Fitzwilliam grow angry at the sight of Mary's face. Or, what if it only sends him into more depression and he retreats even further into his solitary confinement? Or worse, Miss Bennet is no longer a Miss?"
"You needn't worry about that Mrs. Fitzwilliam. Miss Bennet is most certainly still Miss Bennet."
"Why, how can you be so sure?"
"I have heard it from the child's own mouth. Her aunt has been a governess to a respectable family from the North for many years now. She never married and has no intention of doing so, so it seems."
"Really?" Georgiana asked with interest.
"Really," said Mrs. Reynolds matter-of-factly. "Oh, you'll find that Mary is a bevy of information about Miss Bennet. She loves to talk about her aunt. They are kindred spirits though they haven't seen one another since Mary was a baby. But that's not much of a surprise given the close relationship that Miss Bennet has always had with Mary's mother, Mrs. Bingley. Do you know, ever since Mary arrived in England, she has been clamoring to see her aunt? It is her dearest wish that they might meet."
"This is very interesting news indeed," Georgiana exclaimed excitedly. "Well, perhaps we shall have to see to it that Miss Bennet receives an invitation to Pemberley one of these days."
"I don't mean to sound out of place in saying this, Mrs. Fitzwilliam, but I do think that it is going to take more than an invitation to Pemberley for anything to be solved. What if Miss Bennet is not interested in Mr. Darcy?"
The thought of anybody not being interested in her brother unsettled Georgiana. But she quickly recovered. "Of course not," Georgiana flashed a winning smile. "But it's like you said. We must trust in Providence. And in the meantime, you don't think it would hurt to do a little planning and maybe even indulge in some... underhanded affairs... do you?"
Mrs. Reynolds smiled broadly as she began to grasp the full meaning of Georgiana's words. She stood up and held her arm wide open towards the door. "Not at all, Mrs. Fitzwilliam, not at all. I must say, I do like the way you think. Lead away, my child, lead away and I shall follow!"
Georgiana stood up and curtseyed in return before strolling regally out of the room and onto business, with Mrs. Reynolds right in step behind her.
When Dickon was finally released from the confines of his room, Mary was waiting for him outside of his door, dressed and ready to go outside. She had waited for Dickon all morning long, and now that he was finally standing in front of her, she found herself at a loss as to what to say.
"Thank you," she began shyly. "It was kind of you to take the blame this morning." She twisted her right leg round and around, fidgeting as she spoke and looked down, unable to meet Dickon's gaze.
"It was nothing," Dickon insisted. "It was the gentlemanly thing to do. And actually, being sent to one's room is not so bad a punishment. I have certainly had worse."
Mary looked up, her eyes filled with instant mirth. She was no stranger to punishment either. Her penchant for mischief saw to it that she was quite used to being sent to her room. Rather than letting Dickon know that, she thanked him again instead. "It was nonetheless appreciated. And I promise to make it up to you."
"I shall keep you to your promise," Dickon said solemnly, with a twinkle hidden in the depths of his eyes. It was about this time that Dickon finally noticed Mary wearing her coat and hat. "Is it safe to go outside, do you think?"
"What else is there for us to do?" Mary asked in reply.
Dickon cocked his head to one side in thought before answering. "Fair enough. Let me put on my coat." Dickon hurried back into his room to retrieve his things before they headed for the outdoors again.
Georgiana was sitting at the piano in the music room, practicing her music as she often did in the afternoon. The room filled with melodious sounds of music as she pounded out each note with her heart and soul. Though Georgiana had a light frame, she nonetheless played her music with a great amount of command and force. Her slender fingers flit effortlessly across the ivory keys; harder and louder they played until she reached the crescendo. Georgiana held her breath, her hands remaining perilously still, suspended over the keyboard, and heightening the climax of the moment. She was just about the descend the scale when all of the sudden the sound of doors opening and closing and then the pitter patters of tiny feet running across the wooden floors broke the moment. Georgiana's concentration was shattered and her hands slipped from their perched state and came crashing down on a discordant chord. She sighed with slight irritation. Georgiana hated when that happened.
"Dickon," she called out loudly. "Come here, child."
Outside in the hallway, Mary cast Dickon a bemoaning glance while Dickon groaned silently, rolling his eyes upwards. Once again, their journey to unlock the Secret Garden had been thwarted.
As Dickon inched his way towards the music room, he paused in the doorway. Looking at his mother's back, he wondered, How does she always know it's me?
Georgiana turned around and smiled as she saw her son. "Hello, son. How did you enjoy your time spent in your bedroom?"
"Fine, thank you."
Georgiana looked past Dickon and saw Mary. She called out another greeting, "Why hello there, Mary. I did not know that you were with my son. Come in, child. Come in, both of you."
Dickon walked over to his mother, planting a kiss on her cheek before taking a seat across from her. Mary walked forward and curtseyed. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Fitzwilliam."
Georgiana laughed. "Oh my dear child, there is no need to be so formal around me. Your father was a great friend of the family's and like an elder brother to me. I do hope you'll feel comfortable calling me Aunt Georgiana, I'd much prefer it to Mrs. Fitzwilliam. It makes me feel quite old to be addressed as such."
Mary took an instant liking to this merry, young woman. "I should be glad to do so, Aunt Georgiana."
"Wonderful!" Georgiana clapped her hands together. She was so pleased with everything thus far. "Come and take a seat with us, my dear. I would so like to get to know you better. And you must allow me to enquire after your parents. It has been so long since I have seen Charles and though I have only met your mother but once at her own wedding, I did like her a great deal. It is a shame I never had a chance to visit your parents at Netherfield for they left for India only a few years later. I should've liked to have known your mother better."
Mary did as she was bidden, seating herself next to Dickon and answering Georgiana at the same time. "My parents were both well when I left India and I have had one letter since then, confirming that they are still in excellent health. I thank you for asking after them."
"Good. I am glad to hear it." Georgiana took note of the children's hats and coat, eyeing them suspiciously. "Were you two planning on going outside again?"
"Only for a little bit," Dickon hastened to answer. "Please, Mama. I promise we won't be long. Won't you let us go out for a bit?"
"I'm afraid not, Dickon. Mrs. Reynolds has informed me that your cousin is feeling much better this afternoon and I thought it might be nice if we joined him for tea today. Would you not like to see your Cousin Colin again?"
Dickon's shoulders fell with disappointment and Mary's own physiognomy looked no better. The thought of taking tea with Colin did absolutely nothing to excite her.
"Now, now, children. There will be many more opportunities for you two to enjoy the outdoors, but there are very few times when Colin can claim himself to be well enough to receive visitors. We must make the most of such a precious opportunity and I'm sure that Colin would appreciate the company."
Appreciate my foot! thought Mary bitterly.
"Now run along and change out of your things. And while you're at it, do put on some happy faces," Georgiana implored. "I'd hate for Colin to have to see any more somberness."
"Yes, mother."
"Yes, Aunt Georgiana."
"Thank you. Go on then, I'll meet you in the upstairs hallway and we'll walk over together." Mary and Dickon dragged their feet out the door. Georgiana watched them leave bemused. She could not understand why they were always so eager to go outside. As an addendum, she ran after them and stood by the staircase, calling up to them, "And for goodness sake, don't dawdle!"
Mrs. Reynolds appeared out of nowhere. "I thought I taught you children never to use loud voices while inside the house."
Georgiana turned around, frightened by the housekeeper's sudden presence and grinned sheepishly. "Old habits die hard, I'm afraid."
Mrs. Reynolds returned the grin with a gentle one of her own. "Are you ready for tea, madam?"
"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. I'll just go and gather Dickon and Mary and we'll be there in a minute."
"Very good, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. If you need me, I'll be in Colin's room, preparing tea."
Heaving a sigh, Georgiana headed for her own room to change into an appropriate afternoon dress. Meanwhile, Mary and Dickon had already finished changing out of their outerwear and were now congregated in the upper hallway, talking in hushed voices while they waited for Georgiana to collect them.
"Do you like Colin?" Mary asked Dickon directly.
Dickon shrugged his shoulders. "He's my cousin. It doesn't really matter what I think of him. I have to like him."
"That's not true," Mary snorted. "My Aunt Caroline is family, but I don't like her and neither does Mama, though she will not admit it."
"That's different," Dickon said. "Your aunt is a pushy, overbearing woman. Nobody likes her! It's no wonder that she has not found anyone willing to marry her."
"You know my aunt?" was Mary's shocked response.
"Unfortunately," Dickon complained. "Miss Bingley is always the first person to be on our doorstep the day morning after we have arrived in Town. And you should see how she fawns over my uncle. It's positively sickening. I don't know why he puts up with her, except that she's your father's sister."
Mary cringed in sympathy. "You poor thing. I have thankfully only met my aunt once and that was enough. I can't imagine having to see her every Season! Do you know? When she visited us in India, she did not have one kind word to say about the country. Every thing was too rustic and uncivilized. She complained that it was unbearably hot as though we controlled weather. She claimed that the maids did not know how to clean her clothes properly or arrange her hair satisfactorily. The food was unpalatable and everything in the house was poorly arranged. My unfortunate mother was constantly being indirectly attacked about her housekeeping skills and she kept pestering my father about working for the English government. Aunt Caroline, you see, does not approve of anyone who must work for a living. She finds it positively scandalous, never mind that her own father made his living in trade. I always find it hard to believe that she and my father are siblings, they are so different."
"I think that you are not the only to ask that very question," Dickon bobbed his head in understanding. "Though I have never met your father, I gather that he is very different from your aunt. My parents and Uncle Darcy have only talked about him in the most positive light and my uncle, especially, holds him in great esteem. From what they tell me of your father and from what I know of Miss Bingley, it is difficult to see them as brother and sister."
"Exactly. So, if it is possible for a person to bear a great dislike for one's aunt, how is it impossible for you to dislike a cousin? I find Colin to be most disagreeable. He is forever making disparaging comments and I haven't had a kind word from him since we've met. Do you know, the first night we met, he actually told Mrs. Reynolds that I was 'tolerable, but not good enough to be his playmate'? Of course he didn't actually say such a thing to my face, but I overheard it."
"That was wrong of him," Dickon shook his head.
"Very wrong!" Mary agreed. "And he has never made any attempt to apologize for his unseemly behaviors. He seems to think that he owns the world and can order everyone in it to do as he wishes and treat them unjustly."
"He does... think he owns the world, that is. To understand my cousin, Mary, you have to place yourself in his position. He leads the most miserable existence. Imagine never leaving your room and always thinking that you are going to die at any moment. That's no way to live, but it's the only way that Colin knows how to live. Acting proud and disagreeable is how he gets attention. Colin has never been taught how to behave properly. He doesn't have much of an example to follow and he is incredibly starved for affection. My uncle feels guilt every time he looks at Colin's face and so never does. Though he loves his son, his son does not know it. Colin thinks his father hates him and why shouldn't he? If your father never came to see you and was always away from home, wouldn't you think the same thing? No, I don't like Colin, to answer your question honestly, Mary. My cousin has never been nice to me either. And it's always something of a chore to be in his presence. But I can't dislike him either. Compared to Colin, I lead a much more privileged life and I consider myself fortunate. I feel... compassion for my cousin. I wish I could so something for him, but there's nothing I can do to help him."
Mary thought over Dickon's words. She knew that she spoke the truth, yet Colin irritated her so much that she found it difficult to be as magnanimous as him. She opened her mouth to say something, but Dickon quickly shushed her.
"Shhh... quiet. I hear Mother coming and she won't like it if she overhears us discussing this matter. Mother doesn't like gossip, especially when it involves Colin. Just try to keep an open mind this afternoon and don't take everything he says to heart. He doesn't really mean half of what he says."
Georgiana had already rounded the corner, so Mary simply choked back her words, nodded and smiled.
"Children," Georgiana spoke. "I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting. Well, are we all ready?"
"Yes, Mother."
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Good," Georgiana looked approvingly upon both children. "Follow me," she said as she whisked around and started down the hallways towards the opposite end of the great house.
Mary tagged along behind, trying to keep up with Georgiana's brisk pace. Every two steps were followed by a little skip. She wondered what the hurry was. Dickon kept turning around, casting her wary glances. She tried to intimate to him that she would do as he asked. As Mary walked, she had been deliberating as to how she should proceed. Dickon's words had struck a chord within her and she began to see that she too ought to grit her teeth and endure Colin's antics as best as she could. And now she tried to convey that understanding back to Dickon in silence.
As they neared Colin's room, a great fuss could be heard. Georgiana slowed, taking it all in and Dickon and Mary halted in their steps behind her. Servants were rushing in and out of the room, bringing random items into the room and carrying them back out. Every face looked grim. Master Colin, it seemed, was at it again. Above the din could be heard Colin's high-pitched, wailing voice and Mrs. Reynolds's softer, but firm tone.
"NO! I don't want to have tea with them!"
"Master Colin! This is your aunt, cousin, and friend!!" The explosion was followed by an awfully loud thrashing noise.
"I DON'T CARE! I said I don't want to have tea with them!"
"Must you be so difficult this afternoon?" Mrs. Reynolds asked exasperatedly. "What is so terrible about having tea with family and friends? Your aunt is eager to see you again as is your cousin. And don't forget Mary who has been so kind as to spend time with you every afternoon that you have been well."
"Are the shades of my room to be thus polluted???" Colin cried. "How can you be sure that they aren't carrying some sort of a disease? Especially Miss Mary. Are you positive she didn't bring some sickness with her from India? I declare I haven't felt the same ever since she moved into this house." He fingered his throat. "My throat feels so dry and tight all of the sudden. It's getting harder and harder to breathe." Colin began to hyperventilate.
"COLIN DARCY!" was Mrs. Reynolds's appalled response. "How can you say such a thing? Your aunt! Your cousin! Miss Mary! And of course Miss Mary hasn't got some sort of a disease. Where ever did you get such a notion? I don't know what I am going to do with you!" Mrs. Reynolds's incensed outrage stopped Colin immediately. He knew he had gone too far this time.
Georgiana rolled her eyes and muttered, "Goodness, he has inherited some of his grandmother's qualities," referring to Lady Catherine de Bourgh of course.
Dickon looked no more taken aback than his mother, but Mary was properly horrified. She was ready to storm into Colin's room and shake some sense into the boy, but one look at Dickon's face stopped her.
"Take care, remember what I said," his eyes seemed to remind her.
Mary nodded her head ever so slightly. Every muscle in her body had tightened and she clenched and unclenched her fists unknowingly. She was seething mad, but for Dickon's sake she would try and not let Colin aggravate her.
An uneasy silence suddenly fell along the hallways and then only the low murmurs of Mrs. Reynolds's voice could be heard. Nobody knew what Mrs. Reynolds said to Colin, but when they entered the room, they encountered a subdued boy, lying on his bed with his back towards them. He looked stubbornly out the window and refused to acknowledge the presence of the visitors whom he had so recently loathed.
"Colin, your friends are here to see you. Don't you want to say hello?" Mrs. Reynolds asked pleasantly.
His only effort at civility was a small grunt.
"Mind your manners," Mrs. Reynolds whispered tersely. She then shook her head resignedly and gestured for the guests to take their seats and ignore his discourteous manners. Dickon and Mary took their seats, with Mary sitting as far away from Colin's bed as she possibly could, but Georgiana walked around the bed and leaned down to look at her nephew.
"Hello, Colin," she smiled. She brushed a damp and errant curl away from his flushed forehead and looked deep within his eyes. "It's good to see you again. How are you?"
Colin stared back and rounded his body into an even tighter ball. A stray tear ran rampant down his left cheek and landed with a tiny splash onto his crisp, white, linen pillowcase.
"Well I can see that you are well. You have grown so much since I last saw you! I do think you are growing into quite a big boy, Colin."
Colin bit his lip and refused to break his silence.
"Won't you join us for tea this afternoon?" Georgiana pleaded.
Colin pulled his sheet cover close to his face and shook his head. He repeated the same response when Georgiana asked if he would mind if she took tea in his room with Dickon and Mary.
Georgiana pulled up a chair alongside of Dickon and Mary and indicated to the servants that all was well and could leave the room to carry on with the rest of their duties. Picking up the teapot, she commenced the serving and motioned for the children to fill their plates with the delectable food and fresh fruits that Cook had so thoughtfully prepared. Behind them, lay Colin in his bed. Out of the corner of her eye, Georgiana watched for movement and smiled knowingly to herself every time she detected him inching his way around. Though Colin refused to join them, she knew that curiosity would eventually bring him around and in the meantime, she would show him what he was missing by having one of the gayest tea parties that had ever been held in his own bedroom.
"So Mary," Georgiana began the conversation. "Mrs. Reynolds tells me you are very fond of your Aunt Elizabeth. Tell me about Miss Bennet. I have not seen her in years, I am eager to know how she is doing."
Mary's eyes instantly shined brightly as they often did when she talked about her aunt. She hurried to swallow her watercress sandwich before asking, "You are acquainted with my Aunt Lizzy?"
Georgiana chuckled at Mary's excitement. "A little. We met but twice a long time ago, several years before you were born. I liked her a great deal then and was sad to not have continued our acquaintance. I should like to resurrect it if I could. Tell me, what recent news do you have of your aunt?"
"There is not much for me to tell," Mary answered honestly. "I have never seen her since we moved to India and I was only an infant then. These past few years she has been serving as a governess to a family up north by the name of Moffet. That is all I know, she does not write much of herself in her letters to Mama."
"Moffet," Georgiana muttered to herself. "The name sounds vaguely familiar. I wonder if I do not know them from Town."
"They have three little girls," Mary offered.
"Hmm... perhaps. I shall have to ask the Colonel the next time I write him. My husband has a better recollection than myself."
"Indeed he does," Dickon teased. "If it were not for my father, my mother here would never remember a thing. We all have to pitch in to keep her in line."
"Why you little scalawag," Georgiana reached out and tousled her son's hair affectionately. "Always quick to defend his father. There are times when I am quite outnumbered by them both," she confided in Mary. "You shall have to be my ally if I am ever to survive."
The three laughed joyfully as Georgiana and Dickon teased one another back and forth in good nature and Mary happily participated in the fun. The sounds of laughter stirred Colin from his indifferent state. Though he had at first rejected their company and then refused to even look at him, little by little, he turned his body until he was able to look at them without obstruction. He watched mother and son share the bonds of filial love. And he saw how easily Mary fit in. He looked longingly at the camaraderie shared by all three. The rumbles of starvation for love and friendship grumbled deep within his soul as he yearned to be a part of their group.
At one point, Mary looked over and saw Colin watching them intensely. The gleam of jealousy in his stare made her falter in her laughter. It sent a prickle down her back before she could tear herself away and push him out of her mind. Georgiana, the ever-observant mother saw it all. Secretly, she was satisfied with how the afternoon had turned out. After hearing Mary ramble on, extolling the virtues of her aunt, she had high hopes of bringing Elizabeth to Pemberley yet. And as for her nephew, although Colin had not joined them for tea that afternoon, Georgiana was confident that some day he would. She had a strong feeling that Mary and Dickon would play a large part in that. Sitting back in her seat, she felt very smug. Georgiana was convinced that this trip back to Pemberley would be by far the most interesting and fruitful one ever.