Posted on Wednesday, 30 July 2003
Bess looked out the window of the drawing room. Yes, it was Mr. Darcy approaching on his horse. She turned back to the room.
“Susan, have the tea brought in now.”
“Yes ma’am.” The young woman exited the room to relay the order.
Bess smoothed her hair and gown as she heard the knock at the door. She bid the housekeeper to enter.
“Mr. Darcy,” announced the woman, bobbing and allowing the gentleman to enter.
“Mr. Darcy, so good of you to come today for tea.”
“Mrs. Sheffield, you look very well today.” He bowed and took her hand, bestowing a gentle kiss before releasing it.
“Please sit. Tell me, how is your sister today?” She poured the tea and they talked about everything but the one thing neither would discuss.
Every Tuesday when he was in residence, the current Master of Pemberley came to tea at Bess Sheffield’s. Sometimes he was called away, but he always sent a note to let her know. There would be months or years without a visit, as he was needed elsewhere for family or social or business obligations. He would always return to Pemberley and Tuesday tea with Mrs. Sheffield.
He wasn’t sure when he had fallen in love with her. He was in the middle before he was aware of it. She was witty and entertaining and challenging and she had the most beautiful eyes. Bess made him feel whole and relaxed. She was always honest and direct. The Darcy fortune never impressed her; it was the man.
Bess watched him drink tea and make small talk with her. Mr. Darcy was all a woman needed in a husband. Bess wished her late husband had been half the man, or even a tenth of the man across from her. Marriage to him had not been her choice, but he had given her the introductions she needed. She wished she could have married marry the man in her drawing room, but it could never be. They were too far apart; the difference was too great. She knew he should not come to tea any longer. This was not right; there was talk. It was painful for her.
Perhaps just one more time…
“Mr. Darcy, will you come to tea again next week?”
“Yes, Mrs. Sheffield, I will be here.”
He did not come. He sent a note saying that he needed to be with his sister at Ramsgate. He promised to come the following week.
Bess lay in bed mad at interfering doctors and servants. It was Tuesday and Mr. Darcy was coming to tea today. No matter. They would have it in her bedchamber, propriety be damned.
“Ellen, when Mr. Darcy comes, we will have tea in here.”
“No, you are too ill, and a man in here!”
“Ill indeed, dying is more like it. No, I must see him. Remain if you must but in the corner. I don’t think this Mr. Darcy will compromise me.”
“Very well, I will leave you alone. But there is gossip about the two of you.”
“There has always been gossip about a Mr. Darcy and me. We have never cared for the opinions of others. Help me to sit up and get my blue shawl. And fix my hair.”
“Mrs. Sheffield, I would not have come if I had known you were ill.” He sat by her bed, holding her hand.
“I wanted you here. We are friends and friends must comfort each other in illness. Now, I need your comfort now, more than ever, for I am not just ill, but dying.”
He bowed his head to hide the tears forming in his eyes. “Have you been seen by a doctor? A good one?”
“Yes. I sent for a specialist from London. He will probably bill you for the visit.” Darcy chucked at her unexpected humor. Pemberley had been paying her modest expenses for years. He sighed and looked at her again.
“Bess, you cannot leave me.”
“Mr. Darcy, I would stay if I could, but it is more and more difficult. Mourn me for a short while and then find a new friend for tea.”
He leaned forward and stroked her cheek. “Bess, I love you. I would have married you if it had been possible.”
She smiled at him. “I know, but you could not have. Wealthy, handsome, young men do not marry infamous courtesans without a causing scandal. That is why I did not marry your grandfather when he asked.”
“I do not care about your past. It was just that…”
“William, I know, I know. Better than you. But I cannot allow you to come any more. After today, we cannot meet again. I will be gone soon. Shh.” She pulled her hand from his and placed a finger on his lips.
“I know this is difficult. I have made arrangements for everything. I am to be buried in my family plot. My family has allowed this.” A wave of weakness overcame her and she leaned back on the pillows as her eyes closed. She lay still for a few minutes, resting. When she had recovered, she opened her eyes to see a face filled with concern and love.
“I have left something for you, William. You will receive it after I die. I have done something else for you. You must have a wife and I know of a woman you can love. My pearls, the ones with the jeweled butterfly clasp, the ones that were once a part of the Darcy family jewels before they were given to me. I have sent them to her. Find the pearls and you will find a woman that can replace me in your life. It will not be hard.” She was held out a hand to him. He took it, tears running down his face.
“What will not be hard, dearest? Finding this woman or replacing you?” She held out a hand to him. He took it, tears running down his face.
“Both. She is a good woman, better than I am, for she is not weak willed. She will love only one man. You will not find her in the ton, but she is your equal in rank. She is your equal or superior in all ways that matter. William, promise you will not overlook this woman because of your pride. She is worthy of you. When you find her, you will need to ask yourself, are you worthy of her?”
Darcy stood beside Bess’ grave. He had ordered her coffin followed from Lambton to this small cemetery. He was surprised how close her final resting-place was to London. He read her headstone. Elizabeth Bennet Sheffield. The dates and inscription blurred as tears filled his eyes. Apparently, only her brother and two nieces had come to the funeral. He looked down at the miniature of her in his hand. She had left it to him. The accompanying note stated it had been painted during her first season. She had been very beautiful. He put the miniature in his pocket and leaned over to put the flowers on her grave. The soil was still fresh.
“I need to move those to plant the spring bulbs,” a soft voice behind him said. “Will that be all right? I will replace them when I am done.”
He turned to find a pair of fine dark eyes. Eyes that hauntingly reminded him of Bess. She didn’t wait for his answer. Moving past him, she knelt and began to dig.
“I must finish this before my mother discovers that I have left the estate. Sod will be laid tomorrow. Would you like to help me?”
Darcy looked down at her. “Why are you doing this for Bess?” he asked.
“You’re Mr. Darcy, aren’t you? Bess would often write of you, but towards the end I believe she was a little confused. Her last letter talked of three men all named Darcy. ” She continued her work. Digging, planting, covering.
“Yes, I am Mr. Darcy. The other men were my father and grandfather. How did you know Bess?” He knelt across from her and took the trowel she offered. He began digging holes.
“She said not to tell you; you must discover it for yourself.” The woman stopped working. He noticed her inactivity and looked at her. Other than her eyes, he had not paid much attention to her appearance before. Now he saw dark hair trying to escape from underneath her bonnet, creamy cheeks, pink lips and a pearl necklace with a jeweled butterfly clasp. She looked exactly like the miniature of Bess.
“Do you know where Bess got that necklace you are wearing?” he asked.
She shrugged. “One of her lovers I suppose. Her husband would not have given her such a beautiful item. When I received it, Bess had requested that I wear it all the time, until I wed. It was not to be removed until my wedding night. I thought that was a strange request, but at least this way my youngest sister cannot take it.”
Darcy looked at the headstone. He had always assumed ‘Mrs. Sheffield’ was an assumed name, one used in order to save face. It came as a surprise that Bess had been married. He briefly wondered at the path that had led Bess to become a courtesan. He looked back at the lovely, young woman beside him. She had resumed working. She had expected that as a friend of Bess, he would plant flowers on her grave. Remarkable. All other women of his acquaintance would have simply instructed the gardener on what to plant on a friend’s grave, if they even thought of it. Certainly, they would not have soiled their delicate hands. Surely this young women was Bess reincarnated.
“You are Bess’ niece, aren’t you?” He asked softly.
“Yes.” She started digging and he joined in again. When they had finished, she grabbed his hands and looked at them.
“You have ruined your hands. Come with me. You can clean up and have some tea. Papa will want to meet you. He loved his oldest sister very much, even if the rest of the family had disowned her.” She picked up her empty basket and started winding her way around the headstones.
“Miss Bennet. Please wait. I need to tell you the story behind your pearls.” She stopped and turned.
“You may tell me on the walk back to my home. Come.” She held out a hand to him. He grasped it and allowed her to pull him along.
After the wedding, Elizabeth and Darcy visited Bess’ grave together. He had ordered a blanket of greenery and roses to cover it, for despite the cloak of snow on her grave, he knew she would want to dress in something finer for the wedding of two people she loved very much.
“William, you never did tell me the story of these pearls.”
“Bess was my grandfather’s mistress and my father’s for a short time after my mother died.” He leaned down to kiss Elizabeth before she could interrupt. “No, she was never my mistress. I respected her too much to use her for that. I thought I loved her enough to marry her, but I realize now that the strength of my love for her cannot compare with my love for you. She was my grandfather’s greatest love, as my mother was my father’s and you are mine. She told me that I needed to be worthy of you.” He paused and looked into the distance. “I still cannot believe that you love me.”
Elizabeth pulled him down for another kiss. “Believe that I do, my love. Now, finish telling me of the necklace.”
Darcy reached out to touch the necklace that lay on his wife’s skin. “My grandfather gave her that necklace, from the family jewels. It is the necklace for Darcy brides to wear at the wedding. Bess returned it when my father married, and he gave it back to her when my mother died. Three generations of Darcy men loved her very much. And she loved all of us.”
He could look at the headstone now without blurring.
1752-1811
Beloved of Many