Chapter Five #2
“That is the generally accepted wisdom about the place, true, although it is a great shame if that is the sum of your experience,” she replied, and turned her attention to the roast beef, which was excellent, despite poor Cook holding back dinner by more than an hour.
Who was the goddess of food, drink and plenty? She would look just like Mrs Crocombe.
He sent a sharp glance her way. She weathered it with a smile she hoped had his teeth grinding.
“Forgive me, Miss… Bennet, is it? India is a subject as vast as the country, and I do not wish to dominate the conversation this evening. Do you have a preference for considering any particular aspect?”
Was the pretence he could not quite remember an unimportant woman’s name correctly to be her punishment for impertinence, along with the mock sweetness of his enquiry? Well, he would soon discover she was hard to daunt. Gratitude bred a thick skin in those forced to live with it.
She kept her tone bright and unaffected.
“Oh, you had best refer to me as Miss Elizabeth, sir. My elder sister bears the more senior title, and since you will undoubtedly meet her, having two Miss Bennets will breed confusion.” She smiled at the inimical glance he gave her.
“But to answer your question, I am a social creature, and take my greatest enjoyment from observing people and talking to them. Would you tell us something of those who live in India, and the differences between Indian society and ours?”
There. If he had a scrap of manners, he could not escape such a direct request. She heard him sigh, but he obliged.
Thankfully, George and Aunt Darcy chimed in with questions and comments to keep the conversation flowing throughout the meal, and even Georgiana was drawn in, growing animated over the differences in fashions between east and west. When Mr Darcy was describing a sari to Georgiana, Elizabeth was able at last to turn her attention to Hugh.
Hugh’s shoulders were stiff with discomfort. He had a fork in his left hand, playing with his food with it, pushing it round and round the plate, his gaze fixed on a boiled potato as if it held all the secrets of existence.
She spoke almost in a whisper, leaning towards him to aid in keeping their murmured conversation to themselves. “Remember what we said earlier, about the fixed circumstances and the need for good will.”
He nodded, not looking up from his plate, but eventually the fashion discussion wound to a close with Mr Darcy revealing he had an entire trunkful of sari fabric for the ladies en route from Bengal.
“Saris are often highly decorated, brightly coloured silk thick with gold thread. I brought some of that ilk, but also chose softer colours most suited to a young lady of your age, Georgiana. I am sorry to say we must wait until the goods arrive from India, and they are coming by a slower route than the one I took, but I assure you they are lovely. I am sure your mamma will have ideas for how they might be used, although perhaps not until you are ready for your come-out. I assure you, few other ladies will boast such ornate stuffs. Any dresses you have made up should be quite out of the common way.”
When Georgiana’s excited squeals subsided, Hugh looked up, pasted a rictus of a smile onto his face and turned to his brother.
He managed to sound polite, if not precisely breathless with interest. “I remember you writing once of a tiger shoot, Fitzwilliam. I cannot imagine tigers are edible, but what about game birds? Is there much sport to be had in Bengal?”
Well done, Hugh! He could learn, then.
The smile Mr Darcy had been bestowing upon his excited younger sister did not waver when he turned it to Hugh.
“Ah, you are a sportsman, I know. In the last letter of his to reach me, Papa mentioned how well you had done at a shoot… I think it was at Calke Abbey? He was excessively proud of your prowess.”
Hugh’s sharp intake of breath was audible.
“India is teeming with birds and game of all kinds. Lots of duck and geese, partridge, pheasant… plenty of deer, too. You would have famous sport there. We were always sure of something for the pot if we were travelling. I am a reasonable shot, but my friend Charles Bingley, who was with me, is better. I hope he will visit Pemberley soon, and you will have the chance to do some shooting with him. Oh, and Reid, of course. He is the best shot of us all.”
The mention of Reid was, perhaps, maladroit.
George’s smile faded, and he took up Hugh’s duty of staring at the potatoes.
Aunt Darcy stiffened in her chair. Elizabeth fancied, should she look, that she would find she could slip a volume of Shakespeare between her aunt’s rigid spine and the chair back, Aunt Darcy epitomising the maxim that a true lady never drooped or lolled.
Georgiana, missing the undercurrents, was all agog, staring at her elder brother as he described an elephant ride, her usual reserved manner banished by her fascination.
Hugh’s normally bright disposition was overcast with clouds heavier than those of India’s monsoons, but a glance from his mother had him stirring himself to indulge in a lacklustre discussion on the relative merits of Indian and British gamebirds.
She lost the thread of the conversation, contemplating the odd variety of people sitting around the table. She had thought she knew four of them as well as she knew herself. Perhaps. Perhaps not. It seemed the coming of Fitzwilliam Darcy had put them all into a different light.
“Young men should not boast of their doings,” Elizabeth murmured, mostly to herself when the ladies retired to the drawing room and left the gentlemen to their port.
“It merely allows them to boast that their lives are free and unfettered, while we poor women are confined and trammelled at home. It is a galling comparison, though I brought it on myself. I should never have enquired about India.”
“It was certain to be awkward tonight. You did very well to start the conversation, Lizzy. Thank you.” Aunt Darcy sighed. “That was my office, and I failed.”
“Understandable, ma’am. It is a difficult day for you.”
Aunt Darcy had spoken rarely about her stepson, and Elizabeth could only assume their bond was frail, at best. Aunt Darcy’s jointure, of course, was secure, and generous.
As for the children of the second marriage, they were well enough situated.
Hugh’s fate was certainly not the usual one of a younger son—no need of the army, the church or the law for him.
He had been left one of the smaller estates, one the size of Longbourn, and would never be in want.
Her aunt must worry about whether or not Georgiana would be removed from her care…
well, they could only hope young Mr Darcy had too much compassion for that.
She had no doubt, too, her aunt had esteemed and respected her husband, and felt his loss deeply. Grief could only add to Aunt Darcy’s perturbation of mind. No wonder, then, she had not risen easily to the challenges of this first meal en famille.
Elizabeth’s own relationship with Uncle Darcy had been cordial, but distant.
His death had not made any great impact on her life and spirits, except insofar as she had an occasional niggle of anxiety that the heir would not want to maintain the lease her mother held on Frith House.
Aunt Darcy’s reassurances, and the existence of a signed ten-year tenancy agreement, were not quite enough to assuage the fear they might be homeless and penniless, and she had redoubled her efforts to prove herself too useful to discard.
After a while, Aunt Darcy turned back to her embroidery, while Elizabeth curled up in a chair in a most unladylike manner, staring into the fire.
Georgiana went to the pianoforte in the window alcove, where she played with far more technical proficiency than Elizabeth ever could.
Affected, perhaps, by her mother’s mood, the child played soft, undemanding melodies, mostly pianissimo.
Their quiet was broken by Reynolds with a tea tray and the intelligence that Mr Darcy’s coach and valet had arrived, and the latter was now ensconced in his master’s chambers, going about his duties.
Hugh appeared hard on Reynolds’s heels. He flung himself into a chair, and buried his nose in a newspaper.
Aunt Darcy put aside her embroidery. Elizabeth estimated she had put in a dozen stitches, at most. “I am developing a megrim, I believe. I am going to retire. Georgiana will, too. Elizabeth, would you mind telling the gentlemen? Assure my stepson that I will happily attend him tomorrow. You may then retire yourself, if you wish. I am certain Reynolds will cope if they desire tea or coffee later.”
“Of course. Good night, Aunt. I hope a night’s repose will help.”
Elizabeth jumped up to kiss Aunt Darcy’s cheek, and went straight to the small dining room, eager to carry out her errand and go to her room. Hugh had left the door slightly ajar when he had left the room, and as she approached, she caught some of the talk between George and Mr Darcy.
Her timing was dreadful.
“Was that little dowdy of a female my stepmother claims as a relation invited for my entertainment, George? I do hope not. I do not find ladies of trifling consequence to be amusing company; not in shabby dresses a size too large for them, and particularly if they also sport pert tongues and pinched countenances.”