Chapter 9 #2
“Thank goodness the house itself is not damaged,” Mr Balfour said, leaving the window.
“That is the important thing,” Caroline agreed.
Elizabeth was still looking at the grounds. What was not underwater was a mess of mud and debris. The constant heavy rain, falling on already waterlogged ground, must have added volumes of water to all of Pemberley’s streams and ponds, and had washed away simply everything.
The house may not have flooded, but what about all of the buildings and land that Darcy owns?
“What effect will this have on the estate?” she asked Bingley, who had come to the window for another look.
He shrugged sadly. “It is too soon to know for certain. No crops, no hay, no livestock . . . then his tenants have nothing to sell and cannot pay their rent, and Darcy has no income. But let us hope it is not as bad as that.”
The rest returned to their seats, and Elizabeth reflected on a landowner’s responsibility to his tenants.
Darcy would be saddled with the expense for every repair, and earn little from the estate this year if the damage was great.
His only income would be off his investments, but that might not be enough to pay for everything.
She felt for him, for the anxiety he must be feeling.
She guiltily longed to know what at that moment was passing in his mind, and if affection for her was amongst his more pressing concerns about Pemberley.
Darcy stood outside the drawing room door, still dressed in the clothes he had worn all day although it was closer to supper than to dinner time.
I want to sleep. Tomorrow will not be easier.
He had not seen his sister or his company since last night, but he could not appear before them as he was: covered in mud to his knees, damp from the splashes of puddles, covered in sweat from riding all day.
He had walked through muck and debris, and his gloves, boots, and hat had not been enough to prevent him from being too filthy to appear before even his closest friends.
He did not want to bother changing his clothes to appear before them and knew he would have the utmost difficulty in forcing a little cheerfulness. He was about to leave for the back staircase when the door opened and his sister looked into the hall.
“I thought I heard something as I walked the room,” Georgiana said softly. “Were you going to come in?”
“No,” he said. “I am too tired, and am not fit to be seen.”
“How bad was the flooding? Did the Derwent—”
“Is that Darcy?” he heard Bingley call. “Tell him to come in!”
Georgiana opened the door wider, and they both went into the drawing room.
“Good evening,” he said to everyone, not venturing far into the room. He certainly would not sit on any of his furniture.
There were various exclamations about where he had been, and what was the state of the land, and how could he have got so dirty.
“Have you eaten anything today, sir?” asked Mrs Annesley, looking heavily at Georgiana.
“Oh, yes,” cried his sister, remembering what she might do in such a situation. “I can have something sent to your room.”
He declined. “The steward and I ate in Lambton. Someone brought us . . .” Darcy sighed. Even after half the village washed away, someone thought to bring him something to eat.
“You look like you might use a drink,” Balfour said, about to pour, but Darcy waved him off.
“It shall go straight to my head, and I must wake early tomorrow.”
“Do you intend to join us in shooting?” Balfour asked. “Your gunroom is one to be envied, and I shall take my pick if you are not there to take the best shotgun for yourself.”
Darcy said something or other about being occupied, but the gentlemen certainly knew where they might go to shoot pheasant. He looked at his hands, at the mud on his fingers even though he had worn gloves.
“Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth said. “You must be exhausted. You need not stay with us this evening.”
They shared a serious look, and Darcy nodded, saying he would see them at breakfast in the morning.
“No, no, before you go, you must tell us where you have been all day,” said Utterson. “You left at dawn, and you have only just returned.”
“Where have I been?” he repeated quietly.
He was sure he might sink under the oppression of anxiety from what he had seen.
“Ten buildings in Lambton are simply destroyed by water. There are nearly thirty farms at Pemberley; not a one did not suffer some damage. Three homes”—he winced, remembering what he had seen—“three are unsalvageable and shall need to be entirely rebuilt.”
“I am sorry,” said Bingley gently. “I know you can have them rebuilt soon.”
Darcy was uncertain if he might laugh. Bingley was so sanguine, and at such a time.
“Did a floodgate end up breaking after all?” Georgiana asked.
He shifted his feet, growing more tired but still unwilling to ruin his carpet and upholstery by sitting.
“Yes. The Derwent rose rapidly . . . stone bridges were destroyed and the force of the water . . .” He crossed his arms and looked into the room, but all he saw was the muddy, collapsing devastation of what had once been someone’s home.
“One of my water mills was clear swept away, without leaving any remains. Trees were torn up by the roots, and whirled away like stubble. I have seen nothing like it in all my life.”
“I daresay this will have pressing demands on you,” Mrs Bingley said, giving him a sad look.
He had thought of this as he visited each building. “I will have demands upon me for more than a thousand pounds, and that shall only be what I must spend immediately. I may have no harvest this season, then I shall be obliged to buy corn to keep my tenants and their cattle and sheep alive.”
“’Tis a great expense,” Utterson said, “but your income is considerable.”
“Not if they cannot pay me that income this year. If they have nothing to grow and sell, they cannot pay their rent, and they cannot keep their sheep fed this winter.” The repercussions would unfold for this season, the season to come, and possibly the one after that. Darcy ran his hand over his eyes.
“If they cannot pay, then you have the right to move them out, do not you?” asked Utterson. “You can move in another family—”
“How can I evict them in such times as this?” He dropped his hand and glared. “Where shall they go, and who could move in and work this land, at this time of year, in these circumstances and yield a harvest that would pay me even half of what is owed?”
“Come now, it shall all be well,” said Balfour, with the ease of a man who visited the property he would someday be responsible for once a year. “You may have to borrow. Model after your neighbour, the Duke of Devonshire. I hear the Hursts saw Chatsworth today and—”
“I will not borrow money upon interest.” The thought of asking his wealthy uncle to loan him money was nearly as shameful. And Lady Catherine would say he could increase his fortune by marrying Anne. “I suppose to spend money is for now out of the question with me. I shall not run in debt.”
“Be careful with that,” drawled Utterson. “You have a status to maintain, after all. An unwillingness to spend will harm your reputation.”
Darcy closed his eyes. As if I can think of prestige after what I have seen today.
“Aye, be sure to spend on parties and visiting,” agreed Balfour. “It would be good for your spirits! And your tenants will be borne up by a little ale and some charity from you.”
A few chimes of agreement followed Balfour’s statement. They still do not understand. Darcy felt his patience snap and said sharply, “Instead of ale, I think they would rather have my help with the bodies.”
All of the chatter stopped.
“The storm came quickly. Two women were swept away from their own door in Lambton and drowned. One was found near the place; the other body went in the river and was carried three miles off! Some families in the village had to retreat to the upper storeys, and when they came down all of their possessions were gone. I have five members of my tenants’ families dead, and more unaccounted for.
Some we might only recover once the water recedes. ”
He had spoken too bluntly, and now everyone gave him a horrified look.
Georgiana was crying, Balfour and Utterson appeared mortified, and Bingley had a hand over his mouth.
The ladies avoided his eye, except for Elizabeth, who had risen and taken steps towards him but stopped, looking at him with concern.
He stood silent, still looking at her, with the fleeting thought of throwing his arms around her.
Darcy blinked and sighed, and ran his hands across his face again. He could not stand here and talk of general subjects after what he had seen, and would see more of in the week ahead. And neither can I burden my company with my travails.
“Mr Darcy,” Miss Bingley said slowly, and he dropped his hands to look at her. “I am sure that none of us intended to distress you.” She glanced at her sister, who was seated by her at the instrument. Mrs Hurst shrugged, not knowing what to say.
What can any of them say? Darcy solemnly protested that they had done anything to offend him, and left.
He rose early the next morning to survey the home farm and the gardens, and to organise the cleaning up of the grounds nearest to the house: to have the felled trees sawn and chopped if they were not too wet and to salvage what lumber they could, to repair the orchard tree limbs, to replace the glass in the greenhouse.
The gardeners were at work before he joined them, but Darcy knew it would take days to clear away the remains of what had been the garden.
The fences would have to be fixed before any more sheep were lost; even some stone walls had not been spared.
Now I must join my company for breakfast, and be a better host than I was last evening.