Chapter 10 #3
He learnt exactly how much was lost as all of his tenants met with him in the Pemberley Arms, with Elizabeth neatly recording everything.
He had not known Elizabeth was staying on at Pemberley until Balfour told him in the village that Mrs Lanyon had invited her to stay.
As happy as he was to have her company for longer, he had been shocked to see her amidst a crowd equally ready to riot or weep.
Elizabeth is a real and loyal friend.
If he could only have a friendship with her rather than an enamoured love, he would accept that.
He wanted that true attachment and constancy from a marriage of equal, and ardent, affection, but if he could not have that with Elizabeth, he would be content with her loyal friendship.
He hoped that passion of the romantic order might still be had, but he could not wonder on it now, and her friendship alone was worth preserving.
He looked over the garden, but his mind passed over the food, clothing, and canvas tents to be handed out, how to organise who could stay with relatives and who had nowhere to turn, and who was missing.
The school-turned-deadhouse would have more additions; they would find more bodies when the water receded. My tenants, the village shopkeepers, my servants’ families, the lower gentry; none were spared. If it rained tomorrow as predicted, it might take even longer to find them.
“Mr Darcy,” a voice asked gently, “what are you doing here all alone?”
He turned to see Elizabeth watching him worriedly from the doorway. He wondered how long she had been there.
“Looking at the garden. The rain washed away a stretch of stone wall that stood for a hundred years”—he pointed, and she came next to him to look—“and some big trees gave way because there was so much water around the roots. There was a chestnut tree that was probably one hundred years old and an oak perhaps two hundred.”
“Why do you not come downstairs? I know you are of no mind for games or conversation, but you should at least eat.”
Darcy agreed and turned from the window.
“Thank you for today.” He gave a wry laugh.
“What a holiday you have had. You have hardly seen anything of Derbyshire. Later this week, you and Mrs Lanyon ought to see Dovedale, or Chatsworth, anything other than flooded streets. I would not have thought it possible, but you shall have a poor opinion of Derbyshire if you only stay at Pemberley.”
She shook her head. “Not at all. I have not travelled much, but Derbyshire is unlike any place I have seen. I need only look out a window and I can see light playing on the summits of the peaks. The extensive woods that surround this splendid house are backed with hills that form a beautiful scene.” She blushed.
“You need not me to tell you what you already know. I only meant I am not disappointed. I was glad to help you today, and I offer it again in any capacity you have need of. Do not bother saying it is not a lady’s place, or your guest’s place. ”
He saw she was in earnest and knew arguing would be useless.
“I have told Reynolds to let the hospitality of the house with respect to the poor be kept up. Georgiana wants to call on all of our tenants, but she is shy and will not know what to say.” Elizabeth was already nodding her agreement to go with her.
“You need not return to Lambton,” he added heavily.
“I do not think there shall be another near riot. You managed their fears and concerns admirably.”
Darcy had not shown it, but he had felt a tenuous grasp of control over that desperate group, and he had not been certain he could hold it.
He tried to deflect her praise, not wanting to think on it.
“Commotions like that sort are like snowballs; they gather in strength as they roll, and I simply stood in opposition to it.”
“If we continue the comparison, one must do more than merely stand in its way, otherwise you would have been bowled over. You were strong enough, and empathetic enough, to crumble and divide the snowball before it picked up speed and worsened to become an avalanche.”
He still feared that managing this recovery was too much for his abilities; it was already far, far beyond his experience. “Well, let us hope that it shall not happen again and everyone is now assured their needs will be met.”
“You might . . .” Elizabeth hesitated, pressing her lips together. “I think anyone in such a position as yours might be in need of a counsellor, another gentleman who would listen.”
Darcy felt immutably weary, and he must have looked it because Elizabeth did not press him to reply. He gestured towards the door to hint that they might go down to dinner, but his eyes first passed slowly over the room.
“Is something else the matter?” she asked.
He looked again, from the table, the sofas, to the bookshelves, to the mantelpiece, frowning. “There is something different about my father’s room, but I cannot place what it is.”
To his surprise, Elizabeth looked embarrassed. “Oh, yes, that is my fault.” She pointed to the miniatures. “I did not want Miss Darcy to be distressed, and took it upon myself to redecorate. It is only just turned facedown behind the others if you want to put it to rights.”
It took him a moment to realise what she was talking about.
Darcy looked back at her and saw she appeared to be expecting a reprimand.
If nothing Elizabeth had ever done had excited his admiration, this act alone would be enough to raise her in his esteem.
For a moment, he considered asking her again to marry him.
But this is hardly the time to wonder if her friendship and kindness harbours all the tenderness and passion I hope it does.
“I think it is right the way it is, facedown and out of sight,” he said. “You must wonder why I had not put it away, or burned it, a long time ago.”
“I suppose your father’s memory, and the memory of your father’s affection for Mr Wickham, was too strong. And everyone knows that you have not used this room since your father died.”
“I had been used to keeping silent on Mr Wickham’s want of principles,” he began slowly, “in order to keep my father from knowing what would only wound him. I learnt at a young age that nothing was going to convince my father that Mr Wickham was not what he appeared to be.”
“I am sorry, so sorry that I trusted and believed—”
He turned from the mantelpiece to look at her.
“Don’t,” he said quietly. “He is a practised deceiver, and sowing discord in regard to me is his favourite pastime. Mr Wickham was always resentful of anything I did that was not in his service. And no other man has so convinced himself neglected, slighted, and ill-treated.”
“And none, I am sure, has had less cause to entertain such ideas.”
She fixed her eyes on him, and Darcy found he loved her even more in that moment. Elizabeth then smiled, and walked past the table. He then realised it was not the missing miniature that he had noticed. “The taperstick,” he said quietly.
To his surprise, Elizabeth looked at him sharply.
“You are certain there were two candlesticks? I was here a few days ago with Mr Utterson—we met near the stairs—and I thought something was different from when I was in this room with Miss Darcy and Mr Balfour. I thought there had been two, but I did not know the room well enough to be sure.”
Darcy picked up the square-based silver candlestick that remained.
“They matched and were on either side of the writing box because the inkstand has no taperstick mounted to it. My father would sit here to write because he had a view of the garden there”—he pointed to the window—“and could see out the doorway and watch for my mother leaving her room. He would melt the sealing wax with this one,” he said, placing it back, “and the other sat just there.”
“Where has the other gone? A servant?”
A servant stealing it was the simplest assumption, but it was not a common occurrence at Pemberley.
“They are paid well, given liberty or a reference whenever needed. It is highly irregular, and I have assured everyone that they would be paid at Michaelmas just as always.” He ran a hand over his eyes. “I must have Reynolds speak to them.”
“As though you do not have enough trials,” she said softly. “I suggest again that a confidant might be what you need, a gentleman who understands you and what you are facing.”
What he needed was a wife with whom he could live in unbound confidence.
He had wanted it before this flood, and he wanted it still in the woman who was looking at him with such concern.
He wanted a wife with whom he could have a sincere friendship, in whom he could confide every thought, and who would always be honest with him.
I should not ask her such a question when my mind is oppressed with more anxious sensations.
“I think you are right, Miss Bennet. I am going to write a letter directly. Never did I need the consoling advice of a friend more than now. I shall be down in a moment.”
Elizabeth said she was glad of it, and offered to tell the others he would join them shortly.
Darcy opened his father’s writing box, and sat in his chair, with his view of the garden and the corridor leading to the room that had once been his mother’s.
Pushing aside the wave of memories, he took out a sheet and sharpened a quill.
Wednesday August 12
My dear sir,
I am now set down to write to you on a subject that fills me with inexpressible concern.
You have perhaps read in the papers by now that on Monday a storm unlike any I have seen threatened all of the county.
The frequent flashes of lightning coming athwart the darkness and the thunder reverberating through the house had an awful effect.
The Derwent rose rapidly to a surprising height, and I have more than one hundred acres of productive farmland destroyed and an estate village ravaged.
We are still searching for the dead, but I fear this shall be set back because it is likely to rain again tomorrow.
I feel anxiety from toil, loss, and danger, and even the expense of the campaign to recover from this disaster.