Chapter Three
At first, nothing Darcy could think of to say seemed appropriate.
’I was sorry to hear about your father’s death.’ True. He was deeply sorry, and for his own sake as well as hers. But to say so seemed trite and obvious.
‘Are you happy that you will live at Pemberley? It is after all much bigger than Longbourn was.’ Why did that thought even occur to him to ask?
‘Have you read Plato’s Symposium?’ This time Darcy was aware of why the thought occurred to him, but it was not a subject that he wished to embark upon.
In any case, after some ten minutes of wracking his brain, Darcy gave up the fight and condemned them both to the awkwardness of a quiet carriage ride.
He did surreptitiously keep an eye on Lizzy.
She leaned back against the cushions. The bright raised and mottled scars all around her eyes and over her nose, one of her cheeks, and down her neck were so significant that it had been difficult for half a second for Darcy to recognize her.
She had grown far larger. This last year, instead of going to Town for the season, and thus stopping at Longbourn for a week on the return, as was the habit of Darcy’s father, Darcy had remained the whole time at Cambridge, immersed in arguments with his fellow students, the younger and more liberal minded dons, the books he read, and most significantly, his own conflicting intuitions about philosophical matters.
Darcy had always liked Lizzy. She enjoyed reading and arguing, and talking, and she was always clearly clever and adventurous.
Despite how much younger she was than him, she had tended to make an interesting companion with much useful knowledge about the area around Longbourn.
There was a bubbliness to her nature that made her chattering always pleasant, and he had many times heard Mr. Bennet brag to his father about how quickly Lizzy grasped concepts that boys older than her found difficult, and how excellently she climbed trees, and how she fully understood the rudiments of algebra, and the simplest explanations of Newton’s calculus.
Poor, poor girl.
It was impossible for Darcy to really imagine, to understand, to conceive of what it must be like to be in her position.
He desperately wished to somehow help this little slip of a girl, her eyes covered by a scarf that had been tied around them, her hand whitely gripping the cushion, and her lips pressed together.
And it was in fact his place to help her: She would live with them. She was his father’s ward now.
For her part, while Elizabeth had been enthused for Fitzwilliam’s arrival, the breaking of the cup, the scolding she had received, and the memory of him exclaiming, ‘Jove, how did you survive?’ made it impossible for her to speak.
That and her annoyance at having been tossed into the carriage without letting her climb in on her own.
She felt physically tired. After the enforced lack of exercise for weeks, she had little reserves.
When they reached the post station and stopped to change the horses, for the first time Lizzy lit up. The wide smile was clear, and she immediately reached her hand out to try finding the handle to the carriage to open it.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said solemnly, “it would likely be best if you were to stay in the carriage.”
Her hand stilled. She turned to look towards him, though it was quite odd with the scarf wrapped around her face, since he could not tell how the girl was looking at him.
Then Lizzy banged on the door of the carriage angrily exclaiming, “Let me out! Let me out!”
“You might fall and—”
“Don’t care! Don’t care! I am tired! God! God! God! Let me walk! I--”
“There are--”
She banged on the door until she found the latch and hurled it open. She took a big step out that would have led to her tumbling to the ground if Darcy had not reacted quickly enough to grab Lizzy’s arm.
So, she was not struck dumb by her suffering.
She wriggled away, desperately throwing herself to the side, rather like Georgiana occasionally did when Papa picked her up when she was very upset. Darcy did not like to see it, because on most such occasions Papa spanked Georgiana, and it seemed unfair to Darcy.
Lizzy was acting like a child.
“You’ll hurt yourself,” Darcy insisted.
The reply was a primal scream.
The postillions and some of the persons moving about in the inn yard stared at them.
“Miss Elizabeth, you are acting in an unseemly manner,” Darcy said stiffly, “and as your behavior shall reflect upon me, and upon my family, I beg you to settle yourself, and accept the—”
“I am going for a walk,” she said in a cold voice, the child rage suddenly gone. “I have not been allowed to walk once, and I do not care if I shall be run over or break my neck in a ditch while walking. I will walk. And I’m not going to let Fitzy Billy stop me.”
With a sudden move she wrenched herself out of his grip, jumped out of the carriage, and tumbled to the ground.
Darcy leaped down next to her and immediately helped the sobbing girl to her feet. She helplessly wiped her scraped and bleeding hands onto her too small black mourning dress.
Darcy took her hand and shouted to one of the lounging fellows who had watched the whole set of events, “A bottle of strong brandy and some bandages.” When the man hesitated, Darcy spoke with his best imitation of his father’s command voice, “Immediately.”
The fellow rushed inside. Darcy pulled up Lizzy’s hands so that he could examine them.
The scarf had fallen down displaying the scarred and cloudy eyes. Darcy felt a pang in his stomach to see it.
She sobbed.
“Do not worry. There, there. No need to worry,” Darcy said softly, speaking like he would to a startled horse. “There, there. It is not so bad; your hands will be all healed in a week.”
“I don’t mean to be so difficult,” she wailed. “I don’t. I just want to walk. I just want a walk.”
The fellow who’d been sent for the alcohol and bandages came back with an older man who held a cheap looking bottle of fortified wine and some white linen.
He looked like he was the proprietor of the inn.
At seeing a blind girl with bleeding hands, he immediately soaked the tow linen and gave it to Darcy for him to wipe Lizzy’s hands off.
“I apologize,” Darcy said. “This may sting.”
“I only wanted a walk. Why can’t I walk anywhere?”
He wiped the scrapes off her hand carefully with the linen. “Because you are likely to fall and hurt yourself, and we care for your wellbeing.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Phillips wish that I’d died.”
“That cannot be true.”
Lizzy adopted a tone that perfectly mimicked the tones of a lady sententiously saying, “It would have been better for the poor thing if she had died! And think of all the money her surviving sister could have inherited! I cannot imagine what she must have done to have the Good Lord punish her so.”
At this reply Darcy felt tolerably convinced that whatever Mr. and Mrs. Phillip’s true sentiments were, which he hoped rather than believed to be kinder than that, it was certainly the case that this was the notion that Elizabeth had heard spoken by them.
“Then in that case,” Darcy replied as he wrapped up the first hand with a clean roll of the bandage that the inn keeper handed to him as soon as he was done wiping Lizzy’s hand, “it is a good thing that you shall not remain with them.”
Lizzy giggled. “I hate being locked up. Always, always locked up!”
“As soon as your hand is properly bandaged, we shall take however long a walk as you wish,” Darcy replied. “There is no hurry.”
“I just want a walk.” Lizzy repeated, apparently not mollified by his reply. “Oh, will this never end?” There was a pause, quite long enough for everyone to think the same reply to Lizzy’s query. She then said with a sigh, “It shall not, I know that.”
“You must make the best shift you can,” Darcy replied as he stared at the bandage, trying to figure out what knot would be best to tie it with.
“No matter how bad your situation. You know the story of the talents. We are judged upon what we do with what we are given. That much has been taken away is no excuse to squander what remains. The Lord certainly had a reason for sparing you, and I for one am glad that he did so.”
The girl did not reply to that, but she smiled as Darcy wrapped her other hand and tied it off.
“Now that your scrape is all wrapped, let us begin our walk.” He held his arm out to Lizzy for half a moment, before recalling that she could not see it. He then said, “Do lift your arm so I can take it.”
Lizzy laughed, “You are so tall. Always so tall. Your voice and breathing come from so high above me. It is more intimidating than when I could see you.”
Elizabeth found that the deep gaps between the cobblestones made for uncomfortable walking, despite Fitzwilliam’s best efforts.
Also, she had shamed herself by how she had acted as a child.
No bouncing active girl of nearly twelve years of age is likely to be pleased with themselves when they have brought upon their own heads an honest accusation of childlike behavior.
With this consideration, she apologized again to Fitzwilliam. He quietly disclaimed any sense that it was required, saying, “You are the one who has principally suffered.”
A sort of resentment at every time she’d been forced to remain in the bed for her own good by Mrs. Phillips and her housekeeper rose in Elizabeth again.
But she was unusually fair minded for a person of her age, and after some contemplation she decided not to spite Fitzwilliam because of her dislike of a wholly different person.
Besides, the feel of the wind on her face, the clopping of the horses in her ears, and the smell of decaying animal and human waste in her nostrils was a delightful change after the endless sameness of the previous month.
“I am glad to see you...hear you,” Elizabeth said feeling rather amused with herself. “I can’t say ‘see’ anymore, can I? Not around you, in any case.”
“Why would it make any difference around me?”