Chapter 3 #2
Mr Bennet was as good as his word, singling out his least-known grandchild for individual instruction.
When Mr Brooke came to the nursery to collect Master William, there was Grandfather Bennet to whisk Master George down to the great library.
What occurred there, none knew but the two of them, for Mr Bennet shut the doors, declaring loudly to anyone passing that he and his grandson were engaged in a very secret project.
“He is clever enough,” Elizabeth’s father told her quietly on the fifth evening of his stay.
“I feared when I began that he might be as stupid as his mother, but he has been spared that fate. Once he knows what a boy his age ought, I see no reason why he might not go on to any profession he chooses, so long as he is willing to apply himself.”
Elizabeth had never thought that Lydia was stupid so much as she simply lacked guidance and discipline, but that was an old argument that had been canvassed between them several times in earlier years, and she chose not to revive it now.
Instead, she replied, “Wickham is not without his talents, misapplied though they have been. And George looks very like you, Papa—perhaps there is a similarity of mind there as well.”
“Oh, do not wish that my grandson may resemble me too closely, Lizzy. You know my faults as well as anyone does,” he retorted with a chuckle.
George’s general was returned to him on Christmas Eve following a week of good behaviour.
On Christmas Day, the denizens of Pemberley awoke to find the estate blanketed in snow.
Their appearance at church was made in a caravan of sleighs, and in the little time between their return and the Christmas feast, the children went to war with snowballs upon the front lawn.
When all the family were stuffed to the eyebrows with goose and beef, mince pie and roasted squash, nuts and cheese, apple tarts and pudding, they all repaired to the largest parlour to exchange gifts.
All the children of Pemberley received new scarves, hats, and mittens, and also a little bag of dates, oranges, and ginger nuts.
To this bounty the Darcys added one less practical gift for each child.
For William, a kaleidoscope; for Jane, her first doll with a porcelain head and hands; for Charlotte, a cup and ball; for George, a compass.
Mr Bennet had suggested it as a toy that would encourage critical thinking.
General Fitzwilliam sat the lad down and taught him its use. “You see where the arrow is pointing? That is north. Newcastle, where you lived until now, is to the north. So if you wanted to go back to Newcastle, what would you do?”
“Go in the direction it points!” George cried.
“Just so! You are a bright fellow. And if you reached Newcastle and wanted to come back to Pemberley, what would you do then?”
George frowned down at the shining brass instrument for a moment before venturing, less confidently, “Go the opposite way to the arrow?”
“Good man!” the general exclaimed. “I shall recommend you to the scouts if you decide you should like to join the army. What if you wanted to go west, then? You see how we have N for north, S for south, E for east, and W for west engraved about the edge. Your arrow only and always points north, recall? Puzzle it out for me, George.”
Brow furrowed in intense concentration, the boy said, “I should…I should get myself facing north, then go off to my left?”
“Very good! There are a few tricks you can use to make it easier…”
Watching this scene unfold, Elizabeth remarked to her husband, “Papa says George is coming along well with his letters and numbers. While I do not know that he can aspire to the brilliance of our own children,” she added sportively, “I hope that he may have his choice of professions.”
“What a great irony it would be if he were to go into the church.”
“An irony, indeed,” she agreed with a smile.
On Twelfth Night, Elizabeth said to her husband, “We must consider George’s future, my dear. Kitty and Mr Walters will return next week, and if we are to ask them to take him it is best done quickly, before he comes to think of Pemberley as his home.”
They were alone in their sitting room, occupying the settee where they often relaxed at the end of their busy days.
Darcy sighed and ran a hand through his hair before pulling her close and setting to work relieving her of her hairpins.
She smiled and turned her head to assist him in his endeavours.
“You are aware that I have doubts and concerns, and you know what those are,” he began as the weight of her hair tumbled down her back.
“And yet, I must admit that he has done nothing truly objectionable. William is certainly enjoying his company. Although he sees his Bingley cousins frequently, I know he has been lonely at times with only his sisters as playmates.”
“Yes, and I believe it may be doing George some good to have an older boy to look up to. That is my only worry when I think of sending him to Kitty—her children are several years younger. George would effectively be thrust into the role of eldest, and I am not certain that would be beneficial for him.”
“And your other sisters are not in a position to receive him,” Darcy commented, carefully seeking out the last few hairpins, his fingers carding gently through her curls.
Elizabeth agreed. With Mary having only recently delivered her long-awaited first child and Jane in such immediate expectation of her third, neither of those households had the attention to spare for George. “They are not.”
“And you would prefer to keep him here.” He began to knead the back of her head, soothing the fatigue of having borne her upswept coiffure since the dawn. This was a daily ritual between them, a time of simple closeness in which they often spoke of their worries and concerns.
“I would. I…” She hesitated, uncharacteristically searching for words.
“Lydia was very like George as a child, it may surprise you to know. Bright and happy and occasionally headstrong but generally desirous of pleasing others. She was altered, I believe, by my mother’s indulgence and my father’s neglect.
I have long been conscious that my present happiness, and indeed that of all my sisters, was purchased by wedding her to that man when she was hardly more than a child and completely uncomprehending of the wrong she had done.
She does bear some of the blame, of course, but… ” She shrugged helplessly.
“But as it is too late to save your sister, you hope at least to ensure that her son has a chance at a good life,” he said.
She tilted her head back and smiled up at him. “You always understand me. I truly believe we are in the best position to guide him away from any inclination he might have to repeat his parents’ mistakes. I know you will not repeat your father’s.”
Darcy grimaced at this reminder that his father had not been without fault. “So long as we are agreed that if his presence becomes a detriment to our own children, other arrangements will be made.”
“Of course.”
“Then he may stay, and his residence here is likely to be of some duration. I shall be astonished if the Wickhams are ever seen in England again.”
“As shall I.” She stood, holding her hands out to receive his. “Come to bed, husband.”
“As my lady commands.”