Lighthouses & Harp Lessons
The weather had settled again after several unsettled days, and Ramsgate appeared all the brighter for the return of sunshine. The sea shone deep blue beneath the summer sky, while the harbour below was lively with small vessels moving easily in and out upon the tide.
The party had walked a short distance beyond the town to a low rise from which the lighthouse could be plainly seen.
The situation commanded a pleasant view of both the harbour and the open water beyond, and it had already become a favourite spot of Kitty’s, for from it she could watch both the ships upon the tide and the people moving along the parade below.
The servants had arranged the easels with some care, placing them where the light fell most favourably upon the view. Georgiana was already seated before her canvas, working with quiet attention, while Kitty attempted the same subject beside her with considerably less patience.
Mary had brought a volume with her and sat somewhat apart upon the grass, reading steadily though she occasionally raised her eyes toward the scene before them, as if to assure herself that the composition had not greatly altered.
Elizabeth, who had declined the offer of an easel, had taken possession of a small folding chair near the edge of the rise. From there she could observe the harbour at leisure, watching the slow progress of a brig making for the entrance while smaller craft moved about it like attendants.
Mrs Younge had brought some embroidery and sat in the shade a little removed from the others.
Elizabeth was still watching the brig work its way toward the harbour mouth when the sound of footsteps upon the path behind them drew her attention.
Turning, she perceived Mr Wickham approaching across the rise. He lifted his hat as soon as he recognised the party and came forward with his usual easy civility.
“I hope I do not intrude upon a serious assembly of artists,” he said with a smile. “The lighthouse seems to have attracted a great deal of talent this morning.”
Kitty laughed and looked up from her canvas.
“It is Georgiana who deserves the compliment. Mine looks more like a chimney than a lighthouse.”
Wickham stepped nearer and paused behind Georgiana’s easel. For a moment he regarded the painting without speaking.
“You have chosen the light very well, Miss Darcy,” he said at last. “The tower stands precisely as it ought.”
Georgiana glanced up, her colour rising a little beneath the praise.
“I have only just begun it.”
“Even so, the effect is already very pleasing.”
He remained beside her, looking from the canvas to the view before them.
“Your mother had the same patience with light,” he added after a moment. “I remember watching her paint along the river meadow at Pemberley many times. She was particularly fond of the way the afternoon sun touched the water there.”
Georgiana’s brush paused.
“My mother painted often?”
“Very often,” he replied easily. “Though she seldom cared to display the results beyond her own family. Mr Darcy always insisted they were excellent.”
Georgiana looked thoughtfully at her work.
“I wish I could remember it.”
“You were very young then,” said Wickham gently. “I could hardly have imagined, when last I saw you at Pemberley, how much you would resemble her.”
The remark seemed to please her, though she lowered her eyes again to the canvas before answering.
“I have always been told so.”
Elizabeth, who had been listening in silence, watched the exchange with quiet attention.
Wickham’s manner remained perfectly proper, yet his conversation had been directed almost entirely toward Georgiana.
Kitty had long since abandoned her attempt at the lighthouse and was instead observing the ships below, while Mary continued reading with only occasional glances toward the group.
Wickham asked a few more questions about the painting, offering suggestions with an air of easy familiarity that Georgiana appeared very ready to accept. She listened attentively, adjusting a touch of colour where he indicated.
At length he stepped back.
“I shall not pretend to instruct artists any further,” he said lightly. “But I shall be curious to see the finished piece.”
Georgiana smiled.
“I hope it will improve before then.”
“I have no doubt of it.”
He bowed slightly to the party.
“I wish you success with your work, ladies.”
With that he took his leave and continued along the path toward the town.
For a few moments after his departure Georgiana remained thoughtfully before her easel, studying the painting with renewed attention.
Kitty, meanwhile, had turned her entire interest toward a small cutter entering the harbour.
“I think that one must be from London,” she declared. “Look how fast she moves!”
Mary raised her eyes briefly from her book before returning to it.
Elizabeth said nothing. Yet as she resumed her seat and allowed her gaze to wander again across the harbour, she found her thoughts returning unexpectedly to the conversation she had just overheard.
Mr Wickham had spoken of Lady Anne Darcy with an ease that suggested a familiarity beyond what Elizabeth had previously imagined. Jane’s letter, however, had described only the connection between his father and the Darcy household.
The difference was slight, and perhaps insignificant.
Yet Elizabeth could not help wondering whether she had understood the matter entirely.
Georgiana resumed her painting with renewed care, softening the colour along the edge of the sea where Wickham had suggested.
“Does it improve?” she asked after a moment.
Kitty wandered over to inspect it. “Very much. Mine only grows worse the longer I look at it.”
Mary glanced up briefly from her book. “Patience is generally rewarded in such pursuits.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly but said nothing.
Her thoughts had not quite left Mr Wickham. His manner had been agreeable as ever, yet the ease with which he spoke of Lady Anne Darcy remained with her longer than she expected.
After some time, the painting was set aside. Georgiana leaned back from the easel at last, stretching her fingers slightly.
“I believe I have done as much as the light will allow today.”
Kitty rose at once to look again at the harbour.
“The ships look even better than the lighthouse.”
Mary closed her book with quiet satisfaction.
They began slowly to gather their things while the servants folded the stools and lifted the easels.
The walk back toward the house was taken at an easy pace, the sun warm, the sea bright below them.
By the time they reached the town they were pleasantly tired, and the whole afternoon carried the contented ease of a happy summer holiday.
A few days later the weather remained fair, and the household had begun to fall into the easy habits of their stay at Ramsgate. After luncheon, Mrs Younge observed that the harbour was likely to be particularly lively that afternoon.
“The tide will be turning soon,” she said. “There are often several vessels entering at that hour.”
Kitty required no further encouragement.
“Oh, we must go at once,” she declared. “There may be packets coming in.”
Mary agreed to accompany them, bringing a book with her as usual. Elizabeth, who had no particular occupation, was content to join the walk.
Georgiana rose as well, but Mrs Younge checked her gently.
“My dear Miss Darcy, you had forgotten that Mr Hartley is expected this afternoon for your harp lesson.”
Georgiana coloured slightly.
“Indeed I had.”
“Then you must remain here,” Mrs Younge said calmly, while the others began preparing for their walk.
The others soon prepared to set out, Kitty already impatient to reach the harbour before any new vessel arrived. Georgiana wished them a pleasant walk and promised to join them later if her lesson concluded in good time.
They had gone only a short distance along the road, when Kitty stopped abruptly.
“Oh dear—my pencil has snapped again.”
Elizabeth glanced back toward the house.
“I shall return for another. You may go on slowly; I will soon overtake you.”
Mary and Kitty continued toward the harbour while Elizabeth turned back alone, walking briskly toward the house.
Elizabeth reached the house sooner than she expected. The servants appeared to have withdrawn to their usual occupations, and the quiet of the place made her footsteps sound louder than she intended.
She had just entered the hall when the faint sound of the harp reached her from the drawing room.
Georgiana, then.
Elizabeth moved toward the room, intending only to pass through and collect what Kitty required. As she approached, however, she became aware that the music had stopped, and that voices had taken its place.
One of them she recognised immediately.
Mr Wickham.
Elizabeth paused a moment before the door, surprised.
The harp sounded again, though only a few tentative notes, as if the player had been interrupted. Mr Wickham’s voice followed, speaking in the easy, agreeable tone she had already observed.
“I had no notion I should arrive at such a fortunate moment,” he was saying. “Miss Darcy’s playing has always been among my happiest recollections of Pemberley.”
Elizabeth pushed the door open.
Georgiana sat at the harp, her hands resting lightly upon the strings. Mr Wickham stood beside the instrument, listening with evident interest.
At Elizabeth’s entrance, he turned immediately, his expression changing to polite surprise.
“Miss Bennet. I did not expect the pleasure of seeing you again so soon.”
Georgiana looked up from the harp with equal surprise.
“Elizabeth! I thought you had gone to the harbour.”
“I had,” Elizabeth replied, smiling lightly. “But Kitty has broken her pencil again, and I was sent back to repair the difficulty.”
Mr Wickham laughed softly.
“A misfortune familiar to all artists, I think.”
Elizabeth moved toward the writing table where the drawing materials were kept. As she selected a fresh pencil, she could not help observing that the harp stood open before Georgiana, though the expected master was nowhere to be seen.
“Has Mr Hartley arrived?” she asked casually.
Mrs Younge, who had been seated near the window with her work, replied without concern.
“He has not yet appeared. We conclude he must have been delayed.”
Elizabeth selected a fresh pencil from the box upon the table and paused.
She instead crossed to the bell pull and rang. After a moment a maid appeared in the doorway.
“If you please,” Elizabeth said, handing her the pencil, “Miss Catherine has broken hers again. You will find them walking toward the harbour. Pray give this to her.”
The girl curtsied and withdrew.
Elizabeth remained where she was a moment, uncertain whether she ought now to follow.
Georgiana had resumed the harp at Mr Wickham’s request, while he stood beside the instrument listening with evident attention.
After a brief hesitation, Elizabeth drew a chair nearer the instrument and seated herself.
For a short time, the room was unusually still. Georgiana continued her playing, though more quietly than before. Mr Wickham, who had at first stood very near the instrument, soon moved a little farther away and began speaking with Elizabeth on indifferent subjects.
Nearly half an hour passed in this manner.
At length, the servant announced Mr Hartley, who entered with visible confusion and many apologies, declaring himself certain the lesson had been fixed for three o’clock.
Mr Wickham took his leave soon after, with his usual civility, leaving Elizabeth with the distinct impression that his visit had been less accidental than it appeared.
That evening, as Elizabeth prepared for bed, there was a quiet knock at her door.
Georgiana entered, her expression thoughtful.
“I hope I do not disturb you,” she said.
“Not in the least.”
Georgiana hesitated before speaking again.
“I wished only to say… the afternoon felt rather strange to me.”
Elizabeth waited.
“I could not quite understand how Mr Wickham should call at the very hour of my lesson, nor why Mr Hartley should be so certain of the time. It all seemed oddly arranged.”
Elizabeth answered gently.
“Perhaps it was only coincidence.”
Georgiana did not appear entirely convinced.
“Mr Wickham said something today that I cannot quite understand. He spoke of how much I have changed since Pemberley… that I am no longer the little girl he remembered, but quite a young lady now.”
Elizabeth listened quietly.
“He said it very kindly,” Georgiana added, colouring slightly. “Yet I almost thought he meant… something more.”
Elizabeth answered gently.
“Sometimes words invite us to imagine more than was said.”
Georgiana was silent for a moment after Elizabeth spoke, her eyes lowered as she considered the remark more seriously.
“I do not know what to think,” she admitted at last. “He speaks with such familiarity, as though he has always known me very well. Yet I cannot remember him nearly so clearly as he seems to remember me.”
Elizabeth watched her thoughtfully.
“And how do you feel about him now that you have met again?”
Georgiana hesitated before answering.
“I like him very well,” she said slowly. “But today… I was not quite certain whether I ought.”
Elizabeth considered a moment before answering.
“It is sometimes easier to understand our feelings when we allow them a little time,” she said gently. “Old acquaintances can seem very familiar again very quickly, and yet we may not truly know them as we suppose.”
Georgiana listened attentively.
“You need not decide anything about Mr Wickham at once,” Elizabeth continued. “Only observe him, and attend to your own impressions. They are often wiser than we expect.”
Georgiana nodded slowly.
“I believe you are right. I should like to understand him better before I trust him entirely.”
Georgiana seemed relieved by Elizabeth’s answer. After a few moments, she rose.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I believe I shall think more clearly in the morning.”
Elizabeth smiled.
“I am certain you will.”
They wished one another good night, and Georgiana withdrew.
For some time, Elizabeth remained thoughtful.
Georgiana’s uneasiness lingered in her mind, and with it another consideration that she could not easily dismiss: Mrs Younge’s composure that afternoon had seemed almost too easy.
Elizabeth resolved that Georgiana should not again receive Mr Wickham without company, and that she would learn what she could of Mrs Younge’s history.
At length she sat at the writing desk and took up her pen. In her letter to Jane she mentioned Mr Wickham’s presence in Ramsgate, and asked that, when an opportunity arose, she might discreetly learn from Mr Darcy something of his present circumstances.