Beginning, Section II, Next Section
Posted on Monday, 26 May 2008
Elizabeth made it to the end of the path before the rider had even a chance to hand his horse to their stable boy who had been tardy in his duties. It was not a surprise; they had not received many visitors during the period of her deep mourning, and never two in such quick succession.
"My sister?"
The gentleman stopped short at Elizabeth's sudden appearance.
"Kitty? She is quite well."
Elizabeth shakily let go of a breath. "Oh, I had thought..."
It had been the only explanation for the sudden appearance of a brother-in-law she had only ever seen at his wedding. Her head had then been full of buzzing thoughts and she'd only thought of his circumstances, of Kitty's circumstances. Not of him as a person.
He was older now; older than her in fact, but his countenance had not changed, neither had his attire. It was a blessing for men that their fashions had not changed so much. If she looked deeply, perhaps he even had something of Mr Darcy about him.
"I had business in Scotland, one of my father's estates, ma'am" Lord Ashbourne replied.
Elizabeth nodded, aware that the Squire must be staring from the parlour, and even perhaps her children from upstairs. It was a perfectly reasonable answer to her unasked question, but it did not perhaps explain it completely, after all he must have managed his father's estates for quite some time including many trips to Scotland. Never before had he chosen to visit them.
As if he had read her thoughts, Lord Ashbourne answered; "Kitty thought you might be desirous of an escort for Thomas."
Elizabeth blinked, "Yes, I am worried -- overly so, I know - but I would not have you -- I mean Thomas --" she was annoyingly lost for words.
"I was not thinking of informing him that I am here in the guise of a chaperone." She could tell that his lips were twitching in an effort not to smile.
Elizabeth could not help mirroring the action, "I am afraid my son already knows his mother's overactive imagination. I cannot believe he would be convinced by any other explanation. But you should not have troubled yourself ... "
"After twenty years of marriage, you do not think I have learnt to do as I am commanded?" He was sardonic, but Elizabeth did not necessarily think he disliked the notion.
There could be no more conversation as Thomas bowled out of the house, clearly astonished to see his uncle. As Thomas started talking away and inviting the Viscount inside, Elizabeth belatedly realised her rudeness and how peculiar her actions must appear to all. Perhaps not to Lord Ashbourne himself, although she had no idea what, if anything, Kitty had ever told him.
She followed them up the path and thought that perhaps it was like chess; Elizabeth had played her son, and Kitty had responded with her husband.
It had been impossible to have any private conversation with her brother-in-law. Thomas seemed oblivious to his true reason for being there, or perhaps he did know and was just not letting it show; Elizabeth was not sure. Her daughters had asked many questions about their aunt, and their cousins, and, in Henrietta's case, about London. His lordship had suffered them all with equanimity.
Even the squire, before he took his leave, had shown a great deal of interest at Davis Lodge's new guest. Elizabeth was sure that the sudden arrival of the mysterious Viscount connected to her family would be the talk of the village; that and his imminent departure, hastening his nephew off to Oxford. As with all gossip, it would be far more amusing if she was not the subject of conjecture.
"Mrs Davis?" the subject of her reverie made her turn look up from the book she was not reading.
"Yes, my lord?"
"Is it still your habit to take a ramble?"
Elizabeth smiled, "I have not given them up yet."
"May I escort you on one?"
"I would be delighted," said Elizabeth, truly meaning it.
It was easy to talk of the village and any little interesting piece of its history. It was similarly easy to discuss their children.
"You needn't thank me for taking a detour to return Thomas to Oxford. I would be tremendously in the way in London."
"I cannot believe that to be true."
"I am afraid it is my eldest daughter, Clara -- I do not know if you have this problem Mrs Davis, but she cannot quite make up her mind. One moment she is determined that a certain young coxcomb.... He is nothing like I hope you understand, but as far as I am concerned any young man observing my daughter is a coxcomb...one moment she is determined he is the only man for her. Then there is some reason that he is not. Then once again perhaps he is. Your sister ignores it." Lord Ashbourne paused. "I react, which according to Kitty doesn't help anything."
Elizabeth laughed. "I am afraid coxcombs are light on the ground in these parts, but Henrietta is the same. I do not remember being as young as she is now."
"Well I was never a young lady -- " Lord Ashbourne countered.
They walked on for several moments.
"Does it worry you ... "
"My daughter's behaviour? Should it?"
Elizabeth felt agitated. She did not wish to stir up a hornets nest. "No. I was just ... "
"Ah. The spectre of Lydia Bennet."
He did know. Elizabeth felt better to know that, but now that she had opened that Pandora's box she did not know how to respond.
"Although one cannot assume that she bears the name Bennet, after all none of her sisters do anymore."
"We cannot assume she bears any name," said Elizabeth quietly. "Not, that as my cousin so helpfully informed us at the time, it would be a blessing."
"The righteous Mr Collins."
Elizabeth had forgotten that Lady Catherine de Bourgh was as much his aunt as she was Darcy's. She wondered why it was that he had never been mentioned at Rosings. Lady Catherine had been full of Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam after all.
"One and the same."
"I sometimes think perhaps your father is just holding on long enough to prevent -- " the Viscount paused, but finished his sentence by raising an eyebrow at her.
Elizabeth smiled, if her father could prevent Mr Collins possessing Longbourn, she knew he would. Neither of them would mind Charlotte's son, but Mr Collins? Every fibre revolted. Not after his behaviour. He had been pleased to be their relation when he could only benefit, but when it might damage him? It had not been a great concern to anyone that they lost the good opinion of one William Collins, but it would not be forgotten.
She realised how deftly her brother-in-law had turned the conversation; they were now speaking of her father and Mr Collins. She couldn't help smile at it, but avoiding a wound did little to heal it.
"I did not know if you knew about my sister," she said quietly.
Lord Ashbourne looked down, before stopping walking and leaning on his cane. "I am not surprised. I do not think we exchanged two words at the wedding, if that."
"Oh no, I am sure I would have said Congratulations," said Elizabeth, stopping to turn to face him, trying to keep her tone light. But it was hard to find anything to say that would certainly cause no offence.
Her comment received a laugh before he strode off again, leaving her to catch up to him.
"No I knew about your sister."
"And married Kitty anyway."
"I presume Mr Davis knew."
"Of course."
"Yet he married you."
"With respect, I do not think one can compare," said Elizabeth.
Lord Ashbourne turned to look down at her, "Why not?"
Elizabeth wondered how to pick her words. She knew his cousin, she knew his brother. In many ways both Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam had been proud men. They understood the world. She might disagree with their interpretation, but disagreeing with their fundamental understanding -- she might as well rail against the existence of the wind. There were classes, money did mean things and with position came responsibilities -- to yourself, to others, to your family.
She'd understood it when she was twenty. But she didn't agree that Colonel Fitzwilliam must have found a wealthy bride, although he certainly should have if he wanted to have the same lifestyle in adulthood as he had in childhood, and have it without relying on his family. She also didn't disagree that Darcy's position as master of Pemberley and guardian of a young sister meant he had certain obligations when it came to choosing a bride. She just did not think it negated her from the realms of possibility. At least not then! And it certainly should not have left her open to the type of proposal she had received! Nor should it have led to the type of blind interference that Darcy had indulged in with his friend.
It could not have been a serene choice for the heir to an earldom to choose for his bride a virtually penniless daughter of a disgraced family. Elizabeth could literally hear Lady Catherine's response to the news.
"Should I make it easier for you?" mused the Viscount, perhaps impatient for her response, but Elizabeth could not tell, his face was too much of a blank canvas.
"Please do," said Elizabeth tired of ducking behind half truths and half thoughts.
"It was very easy. At the head of a very long list of faults that are my pleasure to own are selfishness and stubbornness. And they have always been there. Additionally, I have never believed the sins of the father should visit upon the son, so I do not understand why the sins of a sister should either."
Elizabeth quietly absorbed this. She could easily believe the man next to her to be all those things, his face might not give anything away but his very being did. "So you made up your mind, hang the consequences?"
"It is perhaps reflective of some ill of society, but I have always found that if you are rich and titled enough, and sure of yourself, you can carry anything off."
"It is a pity that more of us are not the former," said Elizabeth with a little bitterness.
"But you can always be the latter, Mrs Davis. You can always be the latter."
That brought forth a wry smile, "You should call me Elizabeth."
"Very well. The simple truth of the matter is that I loved your sister. I still love your sister. There is nothing easier than that. She was desperately unhappy and I had the power to remove that."
The School, thought Elizabeth.
Unlike some periods in her life, it required no effort to think back to that day. After an exhausting day of trying to tempt her mother to eat, or to at least think rationally, she'd come downstairs to take tea.
Her father had made some acerbic comment about their mother keeping to her rooms, and how he should follow the example. Jane and Elizabeth had tried to reassure him, but Mr Bennet would have none of it. At that moment Elizabeth's heart had broken for him, as he realised his faults and failings, listening to him reference how he should have heeded her warnings. Then it had all gone wrong in an instant.
Kitty commented that she would behave better if she were ever to go to Brighton. Mr Bennet had shot back he would no sooner let her near Eastbourne. It was a fair response. Mr Bennet had learnt his lesson about giving freedom to daughters who had not learnt what to do with it.
Elizabeth thought he meant to devote time to teaching his remaining daughters about their errant ways, or allowing his eldest daughters to do so, for of course Mrs Bennet saw nothing but the victim in Lydia. Elizabeth had not seen it then, but she saw it now. Not that anything could remove all culpability from Lydia. Yet despite her foolishness, Kitty at the time, for all her peevish comments, did know what Lydia had done was wrong, and she had never been guided.
All it would have taken was some effort; Elizabeth truly believed that, of course she meant an effort on everyone's part. Their family had been falling apart around them just as they needed each other. Mary might misapply or misunderstand her maxims, but the idea of sisterly balm was not a faulty one.
Apparently that had not been her father's line of thinking. If thought of several years previously, perhaps it would not have been a bad thought. But it seemed a measure too late to take. For that was Mr Bennet's solution. His remaining youngest daughter, since she had taken no opportunity to improve herself like her elder sisters, should be removed to an institution where such learning might be forced upon her.
That he had previously commented on such schools for girls as having screwed women out of health and into vanity seemed to have slipped his mind.
"Elizabeth?"
She shook her head, "I'm sorry. I was miles away."
The Viscount did not respond. Elizabeth was glad for that because it was surely obvious on what her mind dwelled. He could have said something innocuous, like many had after Henry had been killed -- we are so sorry for your loss. But ultimately it meant nothing. Not really.
She realised they had made their way back around to the Lodge. She'd have to clamber over a stile to regain the path, and found Lord Ashbourne's hand a welcome assistance. Thomas, Henrietta and Emily were gathered on the front lawn, ostensibly to play a game of cricket. But she supposed it just gave them an opportunity to gape at her. Elizabeth did not know why, it was not as if she was her mother! She'd never given into nerves or stopped her daily exercise!
"I understand they know little of....?" Lord Ashbourne left the sentence hanging.
"Thomas does, and the girls: bits and pieces. I never could conceive of my parents before I knew them, so I don't imagine it is any different for them."
"Well consistency is the key ..."
"For parenting or successful lying, my lord?"
"Both."
"You should imagine..." said Elizabeth.
"Oh, no, I know, I've had experience in both."
Thomas gave the cricket bat to Emily; Henrietta suddenly seemed declined to play such a childish sport.
If he had given any thought to his uncle's whereabouts he would have supposed him to be still asleep, or at his toilet. He had not thought he would be having private conversation with his Mother.
Thomas wondered of what they spoke, and part of his stomach clenched. He'd lied to his mother. Not to her face, but by omission. At the time he'd felt no guilt regarding it because he knew she'd omitted as well.
He'd let her think that his cousin, Maximilien, and young Darcy had told him about Lydia. That, that tale was not a secret, not a secret shame, in their branch of the family.
Thomas had never discussed it with Max, so perhaps it was not, but it had not been his cousin who had told him.
It had been his uncle and now Thomas was wondering why he had told him.
Posted on Monday, 2 June 2008
Some Months Earlier....
Thomas looked around the private parlour. He wasn't fascinated by the fixtures and fittings -- he'd seen a private parlour before, after all. Despite what Darcy occasionally intimated, Thomas was from the country, he wasn't an imbecile. He was however looking at the accoutrements that clearly belonged to the current occupant, not the inn.
Darcy and Max were slumped in chairs. Max was looking exponentially improved on his condition of the day before. Thomas knew he had no lectures that day and Max had been excused from his for the week on the orders of the sawbones. But Thomas didn't know what Darcy's excuse was.
"Why do they never serve us the good stuff?" Said Darcy, idly swirling the port decanter.
"Because they think it a waste; unseasoned palates find pleasure in all substances," Max paused. "That and they know we only want the effects and we don't much care how we come by it."
"Speak for yourself," said Darcy, ‘my palette is seasoned and cultivated."
Thomas laughed, causing Darcy to shoot him an offended glare at him. "My father appreciates quality in all things. He has passed his maxims onto me."
Thomas muffled a snort and Max did nothing to disguise his. Thomas wondered again what it would have been like if his father had died while he was still in leading strings. Would the lack of memory mean no hole gaping inside him, made by his father's absence? Or would it just be a different hole? Darcy never spoke of his mother, although Max assured him that the other boy did have a slight recollection of his mother.
Darcy poured himself a liberal shot of brandy from one of the decanters on the sideboard. Max declined a proffered glass on the grounds he felt sick enough as it was. Thomas didn't have that excuse, instead cementing once again Darcy's opinion of him as a provincial by making some remark about whether Lord Ashbourne would approve.
"My cousin is attending to business" was Darcy's lofty brushing aside of Thomas' concerns. Speaking strictly, Lord Ashbourne was not Darcy's cousin but his father's, but for brevity's sake it seemed everyone claimed each other as cousins. Thomas wondered if that meant Darcy thought of him as a cousin. He doubted it strongly.
It only took Max a moment to cave in to Darcy's second proffered glass this time of whiskey. Thomas decided Max only did that to create a tighter confederacy where Thomas was on the outside. But it had the consequence, after several more glasses, of both boys slipping into unconsciousness: one through over imbibing, the other through illness and stupidity.
This left Thomas to be confronted by his uncle.
If either of his parents walked in on -- or had walked in on -- such a scene, Thomas would have expected, dependent on the parent, a scolding or a hiding like no other. Lord Ashbourne looked more bemused than anything and waved away Thomas's attempt at explanation.
Thomas blushed when he realised that he had in effect blamed Darcy for the scene in front of him. While that was true, Thomas had not been brought up to be dishonourable in that sense. It shamed him to have appeared so in front of the Viscount. The raised eyebrow told him that his uncle had heard him, but Thomas did not know whether to be relieved or not when he did not mention it.
Instead Lord Ashbourne divested himself off his riding coat and remarked, "Did you leave me any refreshments at least?"
Thomas remained silent as the obvious answer was ‘no'.
"I could not know, and neither could you of course, but that shall not stop us speculating. Do you think this -- " This clearly encompassed the sleeping Darcy, "is the result of two men alone? I know Lady Carling, Georgiana Darcy as was, " he added for Thomas's benefit, and Thomas was grateful, "does what she can, as does Kitty. But they are and have been, on the whole two bachelor men alone at Pemberley for so long."
"Mr Darcy does not have a housekeeper?" Said Thomas in wonderment.
"Oh, he has one of those. But no one since Mrs Reynolds has held any real sway over the Darcys, not in the way a long term servant does."
Thomas knew the truth in that. His old Nursery maid felt herself as much his mother as his mother! Thomas would forever be under her command. Forever her little Thomas whom she could tut over and scold, and praise to everyone she knew.
"Mr Darcy never wished to remarry?" said Thomas, realising he was perhaps over stretching his welcome or politeness in that regard. But Thomas seemed unable to help it. Max seemed such an open book, whereas Darcy? Thomas wondered about him.
"Apparently not. Not for lack of trying on behalf of several very determined young ladies, I must add!"
Thomas smiled; he could only imagine they would be somewhat worse than Henrietta, who for all her chatter had not yet been let loose to practice her charms.
"I have never understood why Darcy did not remarry. Ladies broaden the mind after all."
Thomas felt pink spots rise to his cheeks. He had hardly remained composed when his father talked frankly and the Squire touched upon ladies. Lord Ashbourne seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts.
"Not those sort of ladies, although if Darcy cultivated them I did not hear of it. Those ladies broaden something else entirely."
Thomas choked, causing his uncle to laugh. Thomas felt redder than ever. His knowledge was minimal on the subject of ladies and he had never wished to bring the subject up, but here was the perfect opportunity. He cleared his throat.
"About those young ladies..."
The Viscount seemed to be choosing between toying with him, pretending to know not what of he spoke, or speaking freely.
"What of them?" There was no accusation in his voice which Thomas was certain would have been in his father's or the Squire's. Despite Lord Ashbourne's age, and Thomas's growing respect and awe, he was not a parental figure. Thomas wondered if the Viscount was nonchalant about such subjects because Thomas was not his son, or because that was the Viscount's way.
Thomas wanted to answer his uncle's question with ‘everything', but he knew that would bring him in for some teasing. "I don't understand." He belatedly realised this was not much better. "I mean I understand the purpose. But I cannot see why any young lady would wish to be a fallen woman."
"Oh to be Madonna or the whore," said Lord Ashbourne with a smile.
"Excuse me?"
"Women must be one or the other must they not?"
Thomas nodded, although he was unsure.
"Not all women are fallen. At least from their perspective. Some enjoy it. For some, it's a genuine business proposition. Of course, for many it's a necessity or they are forced into it."
"Business?"
"Greed it not just the purvey of men. Thomas, men are not perfect and neither are women, you should not expect perfection in anyone."
Thomas was confused when it seemed his uncle had shot a look at his son when he said that. Thomas did not think Max was perfect! The evidence he was not was staring him in the face!
Lord Ashbourne pulled off his boots and loosened his cravat, remarking mildly that status, respectability, whatever you wished to call it, was all a matter of perspective and names. After all an opera dancer was a different thing to a mistress.
"Did you have one?" said Thomas suddenly, slightly alarmed at what he'd blurted.
"I am glad you presume the past tense." Thomas would not have assumed otherwise. For any decent man it would have to be the case, "but the answer is yes."
Thomas was interested; there were so many parts of society that were alien to him and he felt so stupid to be confronted by situations and conversations he did not understand. It was his curiosity that caused Thomas' father to consider sending him to university. Thomas may not be bookish, but he wanted to know things. Although there were some things he did not want to know that much detail about!
His uncle reached over to slide open a drawer from which he pulled a full decanter. "I require a drink if you are going to be asking any more personal questions."
Lord Ashbourne cut off Thomas' apology. "I have few regrets in my life. That is not one of them, and I should hope that I shall never have cause to regret the fact I was shuttered when I should have been open."
Thomas smiled, "My father always said honesty was the best policy."
"He sounds like he was a wise man."
Thomas tried to keep smiling, "I miss him." This time he did accept a glass when it was proffered and joined the Viscount in a toast to his father.
"Although my mother misses him far more than I," said Thomas.
"That is not unexpected."
"No. She has the village and her sisters -- well, Aunt Jane and Mary -- " Thomas stopped suddenly. "I did not mean..."
"It does not matter." Lord Ashbourne finished his drink, and Thomas found himself gulping his down. "Kitty has me, your aunts have their families, and your mother has you."
Thomas felt his heart sink. His mother did have him, and he felt useless. How did he know what to ask his mother? What questions to ask to discover if she was all right? He did not realise how much of that had been said out loud until he heard his uncle.
"Well you cannot be useful until you know what questions to ask."
"What questions should I ask?" said Thomas ruefully.
"I would start by asking her about the day Lydia Bennet took a little tumble and the world was never the same."
"You mean when she died?" said Thomas, after his brain took a moment to supply him with who Lydia Bennet was.
"I mean the day she fell from grace, and could no longer be Madonna."
The Present...
Thomas watched as his mother and uncle grew closer, walking more slowly it seemed now that they had seen them. Lord Ashbourne had told him the story of Lydia Bennet. Thomas knew it was only as far as he knew it, as his mother had told him what she had known.
The true story could only come from Lydia herself, and she was not around to defend herself or bury her reputation any further.
Thomas had been surprised about how little he felt about his aunt and her situation; any feeling he should have had had been swamped under the feeling let loose by the idea that his mother had kept such a terrible secret.
Not only that he'd not known about this family history, but how his mother had handled it. Of course his uncle had made no judgements; indeed he had barely mentioned his sister-in-law. But Thomas could put the pieces together.
His childish self clung to the idea of his mother as perfection, but it could not be so. Her family would be far more whole if she had been perfect.
Thomas assumed his uncle had told him because they were sharing confidences and he had been asking about such women. But now he saw him talking so intently with his mother, he wondered.
It wasn't until the next morning when they were both safely in the carriage. After Thomas had gotten over the embarrassment of his mother saying her goodbyes! It seemed impossible without tears from her and his sister and then suddenly remembered pieces of advice.
"I thought you told me about Aunt Lydia so that I could support my mother," said Thomas, knowing he was interrupting his uncle from his book.
"Ever the petulant child," said the Viscount, a remark that stung Thomas.
"I am not."
"Are too."
"Am not -- " Thomas paused in the face of his uncle's raised eyebrows.
"I did not think you believed this was about you," said Lord Ashbourne mildly.
"I do not," said Thomas, "I just do not know why you told me, if you were going to speak to my mother about it anyway!"
"Perhaps because I do not see the wisdom in you not knowing; a lack of communication has caused more than one heartache in this family."
"Why now?" said Thomas. If Lord Ashbourne felt that the Bennet family torn asunder was such a terrible thing, why had he waited over twenty years?
"My lamentable laziness," was the only reply Thomas would get.
Thomas did not believe it. Lazy the other man might be, but that was not his reason.
He could not help but wonder whether it was because they were all sisters. He did not mean that because he thought women were weaker, but because they all went on to other families, to different names. A man would be stuck with the name Bennet and would have tried his utmost to keep every last shred of dignity of that name.
For whatever reason his aunts had drifted off away from each other; even Aunt Jane, who was closest to Mama, was not a confident like Emily and Henrietta were to each other. Of course the difference there might merely be age, but Thomas did not think so.
It seemed that his uncle had said all he was going to say on the subject. Thomas rather thought he perhaps liked being an enigma. Then again, at this present time Thomas understood few adults in his life.
"Shall we make Oxford tonight?" asked Thomas. It would be a long journey, but it would be longer if he'd had to brave the stage.
"No, we are stopping for the night," said the Viscount vaguely.
Thomas frowned, "Mama did not mention it."
"That's because she doesn't know," was the reply.
Where was his uncle taking him?
"Why did you not tell her?" Stopping somewhere for the night, or perhaps even two nights made sense, otherwise Thomas would end up being in his rooms at Oxford all alone for a short while. His mother had urged him to go back early, not because she wanted to be rid of him but because she feared he might be delayed upon the road and it would not do to be late. Thomas wondered if all mothers were as irrational on the subject.
"I think she would have thought I was playing an ugly game."
Did his mother think that Lord Ashbourne, and by extension her sister Kitty, was trying to lure him away? To turn him against his own family? It would explain the need for such a long and in-depth conversation as they had had. But his mother was surely not that irrational. Indeed the opposite was true; his mother was always sensible. Except perhaps when it came to her children, which made Thomas think again.
"Game?"
He got no response.
It was not until they were on the drive which wound through a private park that Lord Ashbourne returned to the topic.
Thomas had opened the sash to poke his head out and admire the view. It was a fair prospect. The house was grand, even grander than the Squire's. The squire's paled in comparison, and most of the attractiveness came from how the place was situated. No one had felt the need to take this house away from Nature.
"It is a fair prospect," said his uncle.
Thomas said nothing, not wishing to be rebuffed again.
"Pemberley, and over that direction is the village of Lambton."
That did make Thomas turn to look. His uncle had brought him to Lambton? Was that why his mother would have found it unamusing?
Then Thomas remembered whose home was Pemberley. Darcy.
His thoughts must have shown on his face, "It was rather a certainty that you would take an immediate dislike to my cousin, wasn't it?"
Thomas did not completely understand the comment, nor the reason why it brought a smile to his uncle's face that did not quite reach his eyes.
"Is Max here?"
"I'm afraid not."
Thomas sighed.
He waited until Lord Ashbourne had left the carriage before climbing from it; he'd half expected a welcoming party but there was none.
"Very welcoming," muttered the Viscount, causing Thomas to snort.
Several footmen ran to unload the baggage, Lord Ashbourne directing them. Thomas merely stared at the edifice, until an older man, presumably Mr Darcy senior, made his appearance.
"Ash."
"Darce, your skills as a host astound me."
"You expect after so many visits to be particularly singled out?"
"I may not, but -- "Lord Ashbourne looked in Thomas' direction.
Thomas straightened as Mr Darcy's eye turned on him. "I do apologise."
Thomas did not quite know what to say to that, so merely said there was no need to apologise. Instead it might be more useful if he introduced himself.
"Thomas Davis, sir." Thomas held out his hand. To his eye, it seemed that the older man stiffened and hesitated a moment before taking his hand.
"Yes, Darce. I've brought you my nephew."
In that moment Thomas had cause to wonder just what sort of game Lord Ashbourne was playing.
Posted on Monday, 9 June 2008
"Your mother did not trust you to go to Oxford by yourself?"
Thomas had his back to the younger Darcy and concentrated upon unpacking what he would need for the next two days. He had thought that Darcy and he could be civil, but it seemed in his natural habit that the other boy had reverted to form.
Lord Ashbourne had asked Thomas that night when he'd told him about Aunt Lydia whether he thought the behaviour of Darcy was anything to do with the fact Darcy had no mother. Thomas had not answered at the time and even then he would have said ‘No, he is just a git'. Now he was not so sure. Darcy's behaviour smacked of jealousy.
He had been jealous that suddenly Thomas had arrived and Max had invited him to join their little circle. He seemed now convinced that Thomas was usurping his uncle as well. Perhaps that was the result of being a motherless only child? The protectiveness of one's circle?
"The maid can do that, since you do not have a valet," said Darcy.
Or maybe it was just he was a git.
"You don't have a valet."
"Well, it should look ostentatious at Oxford."
Thomas rolled his eyes and returned to digging through his trunk.
"This was my grandmother's room."
Thomas nodded vaguely.
"She died in it." Thomas turned sharply to see the smirk on Darcy's face.
Thomas could see a portrait on the mantelpiece. "Is that your grandmother?"
Darcy looked startled, "No that is my mother. My grandmother liked to look upon her daughter when she stayed here."
Mrs Darcy had been a sharp looking blonde. Thomas would not have called her pretty, striking perhaps. There was, however, only a slight resemblance between her and her son. Perhaps her son had inherited her sharpness?
Darcy took it down from the mantelpiece to give Thomas a better look, one he hadn't asked for.
"She was the toast of her season, for her wit mainly. It surprised many when my father proposed, because she had challenged him; and my father does not like to be challenged, but he liked it in her." Darcy sounded quite dispassionate, which did not surprise Thomas. If he could only vaguely remember his mother, it would be like talking about a character from a book. A well-rounded character perhaps but they would seem no less distant. Or perhaps Mrs Darcy wasn't well-rounded in Darcy's mind. After all Thomas could be witness to the fact that parents did not often tell their children everything.
"Father tells me she was ill for some time, and that it was a blessing she was released when she was. Not being in any more pain."
Thomas nodded, "My grandmother was ill for most of my life. Although my mother says it was difficult to tell what were her infamous nerves, and what was true illness."
"My mother wouldn't have had nerves," Just as quickly as the wall had fallen from around Darcy did it fly back up.
"I never thought she would."
Darcy took his leave, which was a blessing for more than one reason. One of them was Thomas was able to leisurely walk down to the drawing room. The paintings and sculptures, everything here was on such a large scale. He had never been inside a house where one might confuse it for an art gallery. Who knew how many of these paintings were famous, or of Darcys? Or maybe they were the same thing.
"We had thought you were lost, but now I see you are admiring," Thomas looked up to see his uncle leaning against the banister. "What do you think?"
"I know nothing of art."
"But you know what you like?"
"Yes but that is hardly -- "
"Scientific?"
Thomas shrugged.
"Should art be scientific?" questioned his uncle, "or should you just like what you like?"
"I think perhaps Darcy and Mr Darcy..." Thomas grimaced, why could they not be named different things? It was easy to tell apart Henry and Thomas, and Max and Lord Ashbourne. He could refer to the younger Darcy as Fitzwilliam, but he had not been granted that privilege, and indeed even Max just called him Darcy. Fitzwilliam was just too much of a mouthful. "..would not see it that way."
"Would you see it that way?"
Thomas turned to answer his uncle's question but found it was not addressed to him and he blushed when he saw the older Mr Darcy had joined his cousin at the top of the stair.
"My wife appreciated art far more than me. I dedicate myself to my library."
"But this is not an old piece," said Thomas.
Mr Darcy joined him by the painting of a landscape. Thomas could only attest to its newness by the fact the artist had helpfully painted the date next to their signature.
"Yes. I find myself continuing the tradition."
"My father liked music. He used to like listening to my mother play. She still plays now." Thomas did not quite know what possessed him to contribute that little fact to the conversation, but Mr Darcy smiled.
"Taking the trouble to practice."
"Yes, sir." Although Mr Darcy's small chuckle confused him, he did not see the joke.
It was not until dinner that Thomas remembered that his mother had known Mr Darcy. It made Thomas look at the older man more closely.
He had known his mother when she was still Miss Elizabeth Bennet. It was strange to sit with a man who was part of a past that a year ago Thomas could not even conceive of his mother having. It was like he had suddenly realised that his mother had not sprung to life the moment he existed. She had had experiences and life before he, and Emily and Henrietta. Even before Papa.
Considering what he had discovered about that life, Thomas could not help be extra curious about everyone who might have played a part in it.
Thomas only assumed that Mr Darcy had played a part. His mother was at Lambton, was it only a mere coincidence that had brought her that close to Pemberley? Indeed his mother had only implied that it was more than an acquaintance brought on by her being near Lambton.
Darcy gave Thomas a frown; Thomas did not entirely blame him, he had after all been staring at his father. He was sure it looked odd.
"What is it, Davis?"
Thomas shook his head, "Nothing." Then Thomas thought some more, "if it would not be considered rude, what was my mother like when she was younger?"
"How should -- " Darcy sounded strangely indignant.
"What was your mother like?" said Mr Darcy senior.
"Yes, sir."
"Impertinent," he replied pointedly. Thomas would have felt reprimanded if not for the strangely amused tone in the man's voice.
His son was now staring at his father as if he had two heads. Amused tones were either not Mr Darcy's way, or Darcy had had no idea that their parents had known each other.
"Apart from impertinent, sir?" Although Thomas did not think mothers could be impertinent.
Lord Ashbourne laughed, "I think you would be better served hearing Darce's first impression."
Mr Darcy paused with his wine glass to his lips before taking a sip; he replaced the glass on the table and smiled, "I am afraid it does not reflect well upon myself."
"You do not wish to expose yourself? Not even for the purpose of teaching your son what not to say in the hearing of a young lady?"
"Your son might be accustomed to rolling his eyes at you, but I have no wish to cause mine to do the same."
"Cause the little one to roll his eyes at me!"
Thomas saw the other boy choke, when what was apparently his family nickname was revealed. Thomas could have reassured him that embarrassing names were hardly unique to his family. He shuddered when he thought of his.
"That is not what I meant," said Mr Darcy, "and you know it, Ash."
"But I think you should still tell the boy that he should not say that a woman ‘is tolerable enough but not handsome to tempt me!'"
Thomas did not know whose eyes bugged out further: his or either of the Darcy men.
"I think the subject is closed." Said Mr Darcy senior firmly.
If they disliked each other, and Mr Darcy had only found her tolerable, why would his mother feel the need to be secretive about the matter?
It could not be that she was constrained by the notion that he was friends with the son. His mother did not believe in pretending a person had no faults. It was not that she did not want to prejudice Thomas in case he ever met Mr Darcy. The solution could only be that there was far more to the story.
"I am surprised you took that so well."
Thomas looked up when he heard the sound of his uncle's voice. Thomas was sitting in the library, which his mother would laugh at if she ever knew. He had not heard a door open. The reason for this was because one hadn't. The voices were not from inside the library, but from the room next door, to which there was a slightly open adjoining door that Thomas had not noticed before.
"I think you knew I would have to," said a tired sounding Mr Darcy. "It is history after all. Nothing more, nothing less."
"History?" said Lord Ashbourne, "I would have called it something else."
"What would that be?"
"Regret?"
Thomas could not tell who the soft snort came from.
"Is that not what history is?"
"I never completed my university education," said the Viscount. "But I always thought it was something one never learnt from."
"If no one is going to learn anything, why bring it up?"
"Why bring it up now, do you mean?"
"You know that is what I mean," was Mr Darcy's reply.
"I thought it was time."
Something scraped across the floor, a chair perhaps? Thomas was dismayed to find himself leaning trying to hear as best he could. Had his father not taught him better? Had not told him about the evils of eavesdropping?
"Why? Because a man is dead? You wish me to think that you did not begin your little crusade before out of some courtesy to me?" Mr Darcy sounded incredulous but there was something else in his voice. Thomas would have promptly answered that it was anger if he had been asked, but he knew he would have then wavered and wondered if it truly was that emotion.
"I would not think so little of your intelligence. You would have coped. No, it just seemed all so childish."
"I do not think anyone meant to be childish."
"I can not imagine you, Darce, meaning to be childish... Time makes fools of us all."
"That and some foolish notion of protection."
"You think she was trying to protect you? I did not think you had such a high opinion of yourself?" Thomas could tell from the lightness in his uncle's voice that this tease over self importance was a long standing one.
"I meant your father-in-law."
"Who was he trying to protect? Himself?"
"I do not expect you to see it that way but I think if I had had a daughter -- "
"Darcy. Do not. Do not attempt to make me see it that way. I have daughters and even if one of them turned out to be a murderess, I would not send the others away. I would not send them to be alone in a place they did not know anyone if they did not want to go. I would not care so little for what became of them --"
"No, I do not expect you would. But let us hope that none of them turn to a life of crime. Although is Bella still enamoured of highway men?"
"Yes, if it were any of them, it would be her."
Mr Darcy seemed to chuckle. "I never did apologise."
"To whom?"
"Anyone. Everyone. Since you are here -- you."
"What do you have to apologise to me about?"
"That night after you announced your engagement."
"You know me: I never pay attention to what is said by drunk men."
"You just never forget....I see you do not contradict me." Mr Darcy, to Thomas' ear, sounded more regretful that he had sounded throughout the rest of the conversation.
"I recently had a conversation about lying."
"Whatever the reason, I apologise. You have made some awful decisions in your life, but that was not one of them."
"I do not need your apology Darcy, but I am glad to have it all the same," was Lord Ashbourne's response.
"You have never sounded more like Bingley than you did just then."
Thomas was thrown, who was Bingley? He was just getting his head straight about how everyone fitted into this long ago past where everything fell apart, he did not need another person.
"Have you heard from Bingley?"
"Not recently. I blame myself. When Mrs Davis told me, or should I say reprimanded me that day at Rosings, I should have rectified my mistake immediately."
It took Thomas a moment to realise Mrs Davis was his mother. The way Mr Darcy pronounced it, it sounded so precise, so foreign.
"You could not have known ..."
Mr Darcy cut Lord Ashbourne off, "Oh I did know. I knew what Wickham was." There was a pause, and a chink of glass, "But in the end perhaps I was right about Bingley anyway. He loved another."
"But you will never know how deeply," was the quiet response of the Viscount.
Thomas wished he could see the look on Mr Darcy's face after that comment, he thought just seeing that expression would explain everything to him.
"I would have thought you had grown out of that, Ash."
"I never grow out of anything if I can help it!"
"Then I pity you. You must always wonder -- what if? Try to compare the incomparable -- you cannot know what something that never was would be. Wondering what the road not taken would have brought you."
"You forget, Darcy, I have no such forks in the road."
Thomas heard no more. He had nothing in his head but questions and queries.
Posted on Sunday, 15 June 2008
Elizabeth folded the letter up and tried not to purse her lips. She wasn't given to flights of fancy; she idly wondered how people's lives progressed without her in them, but it was not something that consumed her thoughts. However Elizabeth could no longer stop thinking about what sort of woman Fitzwilliam Darcy could have married. It must surely be her influence; it was either the wife, or Elizabeth would be forced to accept that she really had never known Mr Darcy. Not truly.
Her son, who had never shown any inclination towards wild behaviour, had been sent down from Oxford. Not permanently, but that made it no less regrettable. Not only had he kicked up a lark, but he'd fled to London instead of coming to face her. Elizabeth could not entirely blame him. Thomas had sent a letter to her asking her series of questions that Elizabeth had hotly dismissed as impertinent. It was a subject she had no desire to discuss with her son.
How did she discuss a relationship that had come to naught because of one sister and the chance, if it could have ever come, to resume it scotched by another?
Elizabeth did not blame Kitty, it was not her fault that she was the centre of an action that made Elizabeth lose all faith in her father and his behaviour. He'd sent Kitty away as punishment for a crime she had not committed; though ostensibly it had been in order for her to learn some sense.
Elizabeth wondered if Kitty knew how she'd argued against her father's plan. No one except him had thought it was a wise plan, no one but him had thought it was a fair plan.
When she'd been able to cling to the idea that her father was truly, for once in his life, attempting to exercise some control over his unruly daughters and wife, she'd been able to limit herself to speech. That while she disagreed with his methods that his goal was sound. Then barely had the trunks been closed on Kitty's packing, as it had seemed, than had come a letter begging permission to go to London with a school friend. A school friend that they had not known anything of. Elizabeth had not blamed Kitty for wishing to go to London; if she had found a friend in the school, Elizabeth was happy not distressed. Indeed the tearful letters from the school had made Elizabeth despair that her sister would ever be happy again.
But she had expected her father to rebuff the suggestion. After all was Kitty not at school to learn sense and be away from temptations?
But her father had shrugged and said she might do as she pleased. It was then that Elizabeth realised his decision had been a momentary one, a balm to his conscience. Now that he had done something, anything, he could wash his mind of Lydia and her disgrace. The disgrace brought to their family. He had sent Kitty away, therefore what else was a father to do?
It was the next bit that always made Elizabeth uneasy, it had been impossible to ever explain to her second youngest sister without causing great offence. Elizabeth realised it might never be inoffensive.
In her mind, letting Kitty go to London had been a disaster. They had thought they had known the Forsters, and now they were to let Kitty go with a family they knew nothing about? The underlying assumption was that Kitty was no better than Lydia, that she would not behave better than Lydia if faced with the same temptations. Elizabeth could not fault her thinking then and she found it hard to fault it even now. How could a girl who had not been taught properly be expected to act properly? One might know right from wrong, but knowing right and doing right were two very different things. Mary had her readings as her armour, Jane had her sweetness and her resolve to think the best of everyone and Elizabeth had her wit and perspicacity. All of those things meant that they, while tempted, would know how to extricate themselves from situations, to prevent situations spiralling to point non plus. What defence did Kitty have? None that Elizabeth could see then. She had learned them, but through pure chance. She could have fallen like Lydia; she could have fallen easily.
Her anger and helplessness at the whole situation, added to the fact she could do nothing to reclaim their honour if their father was not willing to assist, had made it the work of a moment to accept an invitation to visit with a friend of her Aunt Gardiner's in the north. There she might have peace and quiet and she did, almost resolving her mind to certain unassailable facts of her life.
Until she had received a rapturous letter from her mother: her sister was to marry.
How to describe her emotions? Happiness that at least it was to be a marriage and then alarm when she had seen who Kitty was to marry.
Elizabeth had had a flash of Kitty's future at that point, a desperately unhappy future. What else could come of an unequal marriage, where one party was fleeing an unhappy situation and running towards the glittering light of parties, jewels and carriages? Her betrothed was nothing better than a fool not to see it. He could not know about Lydia either.
If she looked deep inside herself now, Elizabeth could perhaps allow that jealousy had also played a part. Not perhaps in her thinking, but in her inability not to communicate her thoughts to Kitty herself.
At that point in her life Elizabeth had seen her future close up around her. She had no expectations at Pemberley, even less when she had left those beautiful surrounds to go home to a nightmare. But like all things, how she desperately had wanted it when she had felt it slipping away from her.
There was always a difference between scotching expectations and scotching hope. One was exceedingly hard to expunge.
If someone had told her that night at the Meryton Assembly that a year later, she'd be thinking how wonderful it would be to be loved by such a man, Elizabeth thought she would have laughed until she was sick. But she had thought it, and she knew she could not settle for anything but love, and there was her sister making a match that could not be based on that emotion.
Again she'd never understood her sister, like she'd never understood her father, and Elizabeth lost Kitty like that, in the amount of time it took to snap fingers.
Elizabeth shook her head and tried to bring herself out of the past, where she couldn't change anything, and back to the letter in front of her.
Fitzwilliam Darcy. The Junior this time. From what she could tell it had been his idea to play the prank on the dean; Thomas placed no blame, but Elizabeth was a mother, she had the motherly instinct of being unable to blame her own child, and the ability to read between the lines.
Her comfort was that she could not see Mr Darcy taking his son's escapade well. The education of his son would not be a matter of form; he had taken his own university career seriously, and his reaction at Wickham's university debauchery told her that.
Elizabeth placed the letter back on her desk and looked at the previous letter Thomas had sent her. It only contained a line. Thomas obvious felt strongly about the response she had sent him, to spend so much money on a line. Either that or the squire and the village gossips were right, he was learning to live beyond his means.
The one line read simply; "He said you were impertinent." Elizabeth had not needed more clarification.
Looking down at the two letters Elizabeth made a decision. If he needed rescuing, she'd rescue her son; it was her job. But she had to do something for herself first. She had to put some ghosts to rest.
Elizabeth pulled the rug up around Emily's shoulders. She did not understand where her daughters got their skill at falling asleep in moving carriages from. Every time Elizabeth attempted it, she was jolted awake. Although even if she did try to sleep on this journey Elizabeth was sure that she would be kept awake by her own thoughts.
She had not expected any resistance from her daughters; in fact Henrietta's eyes lit up at the idea of being able to visit London. Emily, once reassured that their engagements with the Gardiners would not mean she would be unable to visit the museums, also threw herself into the packing with unbounded joy.
It had done Elizabeth good to see her girls happy. Her own problems and that of her son had preoccupied her too much, perhaps. She had forgotten that they had lost their father too. Although as a baby and a child Thomas had been a perfect son. Everyone had smiled upon her when Thomas had been born. They had waited for a child, borne a number of false starts, waited until Elizabeth thought she would never conceive and bear a child. In reality she knew it had not been so very long and now she cherished the fact she had had time with her husband before a child had come along.
So when Thomas had been born, Elizabeth's joy had known no bounds, and he had been an angel. Of course he had gotten into scrapes and scraps like all little boys but she'd never really worried her head over him, not when Henry was alive.
Not like Henrietta and Emily. Fussy Henrietta who was always so difficult to please and sickly Emily; Elizabeth's attentions had so often been on them. It was strange how everything could suddenly balance itself in the opposite way.
If someone had asked her whether she would be fussing over what she was doing on her way to London, or whether she would be thinking of what she was leaving; she would have automatically said the former. But it was the latter that was consuming her mind at the moment.
She was never the impetuous sister. Impertinence didn't quite mean the same thing. When it came to actions Elizabeth always thought twice, it was when it came to making decisions about people that she'd had to learn restraint.
When she'd gone to see the Squire to tell him about her trip, Mrs Albright had not seemed surprised to see her, but she often did not seem surprised by anything.
It had become clear when Mrs Albright had given a vague little smile and said "I think you must have known we needed you; we are discussing the flowers for the church. Mrs Wainwright is here, she must have told you we were meeting."
Isabella had not told Elizabeth any such thing, and Elizabeth knew it was because the women of the village wanted to meet together and discuss her. They could hardly do that, well politely at least, if she was present.
She knew it was not Mr Martin that captured their imagination this time, but the sudden appearance and disappearance of her brother-in-law. Elizabeth could only imagine the conjecture that was surrounding her. Even Isabella was a party to it, put out that her very own sister could keep tantalising details from her.
That annoyed Elizabeth more than anything; she'd always been honest with Isabella about the rift with her family. Not as honest as she'd been with Henry but she'd never lied and she'd certainly omitted far less than she had with her own children. And yet Isabella was certain there was more to the story.
She knew the gossip would be upsetting Mrs Albright, but she could not be detained by the ladies. If she went into the parlour she might end up spending the rest of her life in the village. No bad thing, except some things would never be resolved.
As much as she'd been unsurprised by the ladies' reaction, she'd been flummoxed by Edward's. The Squire had looked at her and shook his head "I will not try and talk you out of anything you are not under my, or anyone else's guidance, but ..."
"But what?"
"Whatever you do in London, this will always be your home, and you will have to return here."
"Edward, do not speak such nonsense. There may be some talk, if there is nothing else to talk of, but I hardly think ... "
"You take one visit a year away from this village. That visit is always at the same time, barring illness, and planned. "
Elizabeth wanted to say she hadn't and never would care tuppence about what other people thought about her, but she knew that was incorrect. She knew it now sitting in the carriage. But she hoped she had never cared for the opinions of people so small-minded in their approach to the world.
Henrietta and Emily had their faces pressed against the window of the carriage. Trundling into the outskirts of London had suddenly woken her daughters up; only moments before they all had been complaining of tired limbs and heads. Elizabeth wished she had that spark of youth which would allow her brighten up as the possibilities of London unfolded in front of her eyes.
None of them had the excuse of being in the carriage for a particularly long time that day; Elizabeth knew that her daughters would be overwhelmed seeing the Gardiners again and their cousins. Elizabeth would be overwhelmed seeing her aunt and uncle again. The Gardiners had been frequent visitors to her in York and the closeness between their families had not been diminished.
Elizabeth had relied upon her Aunt Gardiner's advice for her marriage, for her children, for life...
"It is rather dirty," said Henrietta, wrinkling up her nose.
"We would you rather turn the carriage around?" said Elizabeth teasingly.
"Mama!" was the resounding chorus.
"It's just a little grey, like all cities," said Emily.
"York isn't this grey," said Henrietta.
"But York isn't London." breathed Emily.
Elizabeth wondered whether she should roll her eyes at this sudden change of opinions between the sisters. That Emily should have that round eyed looked of wonder and Henrietta look slightly disappointed.
Of course that look of disappointment faded when Mrs Gardiner was standing on the step of their townhouse watching and waiting for them.
"Aunt, you should not be standing out here catching your death of cold!"
"Lizzy, I was a mother long before you." Mrs Gardiner scolded.
"Then you should know better," was Elizabeth's reply before shepherding her daughters into the house.
Pleasantries and hearing how her cousins did passed the next little while; of course a soothing cup of tea helped. It distracted Elizabeth from deciding how next to proceed.
Weeks Earlier...
Thomas heaved the trunk down from the hackney carriage and only slightly winced when it hit the ground. It was Darcy's after all.
"Mind that!" said Max, struggling with his own trunk. "I put things in that trunk."
"I couldn't fit my Gibbons!" protested Darcy.
"Then I've done you a favour."
Thomas wrenched the door to the lodgings open. They were rooms reserved by a friend of Max's from university. He had finished his degree and just embarked on a grand tour of Europe. It had been pure luck that the moment the three boys had been excluded from Oxford for the time being, Roger had had these rooms to allow them to bunk down in. Thomas did not fancy returning to York and the other boys had their own reasons for avoiding the London Townhouses of their families. He expected it was really the same reason, none of them liked the notion of being given a thoroughly deserved dressing down.
Of course it was a stupid prank to have pulled; they should have known the Dean would not have seen the amusing side of being bailed up by that cow they had corralled into ...
"Give us a hand, Davis," said Max pushing at one of the trunks.
"This is very grand," said Darcy, screwing up his nose.
"I don't think a little trunk pulling is above you, Darcy, might even do you some good," replied Thomas fairly good naturedly as he reached to help his cousin.
Darcy made no response but to stalk into the lodgings.
They were dirty but nothing that could not be scrubbed away.
"I presume Roger told his charwoman that we would be coming?"
"Perhaps he expects us to do our own cleaning?" said Thomas, shooting a grin at Max that Darcy could not see.
"Well I shall be talking to Mrs Hudson."
Who? mouthed Thomas to Max.
The housekeeper at Darcy's Townhouse was Max's response.
Of course it was, thought Thomas. She would adore being told she had one more place to clean half way across London! They would be better off engaging their own staff, if they could afford it of course.
Then again, if Darcy was the petted child that Thomas often though he was perhaps this Mrs Hudson's reaction to more work would be overwhelming joy.
"And I shall talk to father -- " Darcy paused, suddenly thinking of the reason he was currently not staying with his father -- "someone, about getting a more secure lock."
This was in response, Thomas thought, to the sound of someone coming in through the front door. Whoever it was, they were across the corridor and into the room in a moment.
"Oh, little one, I think it would take more than a lock to keep me out."
"Father," said Max, scrambling to his feet.
"My lamentable son. Sent down from Oxford! If university is not the life for you, could you not inform one, or more, of your parents?"
"Become a solider instead," said Max, "like you did?"
Lord Ashbourne had been a solider? In the militia? It had taken Thomas a while, but he had realised that Mr Darcy Senior had known of Wickham. He had just not figured out how was it through Lord Ashbourne being in the militia? It could not be a coincidence that this Wickham who Darcy had known terrible things about was the same Wickham who seduced Lydia. The same Wickham that his mother had known was rotten, but as it was not her secret she could not tell anyone about it.
"The problem with blindly following in other people's footsteps is that you follow them into the same mistakes."
"I cannot believe you have ever made any mistakes, my lord," said Max, stiffly, a thought echoed by young Darcy.
"Then both of you are even more lamentable than I thought you were."
Max flushed. Thomas could find it extraordinary that this exchange of words, so superficial and cursory, could cause Max to feel more about his behaviour than feelings from any lecture by Henry had ever caused in Thomas.
"No, come now let us think on better things, although I shall say only one more thing upon the matter."
‘And that is?" said Thomas.
"Could none of you be more original in your ideas?"
Chapter Five -- The End of being a Stranger
Chapter Six -- the End of Madonna
Chapter Seven -- The end of Waiting.
Chapter Eight -- The End of Impertinence
© 2008 Copyright held by the author.