Chapter 11 #3
“He would rather be playful, and put everyone around him at their ease.” Mrs Lanyon hesitated. “Truthfully, Lewis can scarcely remember my mother or living in India. He sees himself more as a Scot than half of each.”
She looked as if she did not know what to say next. It was often uphill work to get Mrs Lanyon to speak, but Elizabeth was determined to know her better. “Northern Britain is well represented in India through the East India Company,” she said conversationally.
“Yes. So many of my countrymen have been in India that my father every now and then is meeting with an acquaintance who was there, and many of them bring word of the city we once lived in.”
“Was he disappointed to leave India?”
Mrs Lanyon frowned and looked away. Elizabeth thought she was going to change the subject, but she then said, “The truth is there was conflict between my father and the East India Company because he had married my mother in Islamic rites, and they feared he had embraced the religion along with the dress and customs. But also, many of the Hyderabad court could not fully accept my noble mother’s mixed-race children.
However, both of my parents feared the injurious consequences resulting from bringing up certain children in Britain. ”
Elizabeth shook her head, not understanding. “Certain children?”
“Neither of us has a complexion that could escape detection.”
Although it was more obvious with Mrs Lanyon than with Mr Balfour, one might guess by sight that their forebears had come from somewhere far from Britain. “My dear Mrs Lanyon, I hope that the majority of people take you on your own merits.”
“I am not ashamed of my affinity to my mother’s race,” she said plainly, “even if I choose to speak less often in company to spare myself needless confrontations with those like your sister-in-law.”
“Indians are not as well represented here as Scots are there, but there are ladies from India who accompanied their husbands home, and Indians who were born here.”
“I find that is so more often in London or Edinburgh,” Mrs Lanyon said. “Wherever we lived, India or Scotland, our complexion would subject us to scrutiny.”
“And neither side trusted the other when your father served with the East India Company? Is that why he left?”
“No, my parents were devoted to one another, and my mother did not wish to leave home. My father spent nearly twenty years in Hyderabad before we were born. He hated the climate, but loved his wife, and it was only after she died that he returned to Scotland.”
“What do you remember about living in India?”
“Only a child’s memories. I can remember the veranda.
I correspond with my grandmother, and I think her stories mix with my memories,” she added softly.
“I was five when we left; Lewis was three. I remember being called Nur, named for my mother’s sister.
My father will sometimes slip and call me Nur at home, but Lewis has no memory of ayahs calling him Sahib Allum or me Sahib Begum. ”
“It is a shame you cannot share those memories with Mr Balfour.”
Mrs Lanyon shrugged. “Not every experience can be shared with a sibling, especially as our interests, or business, or friends take us in opposite directions.”
Elizabeth thought of how Jane had found new companionship with her husband and would find closer connexions with young married women like her. “Yes, that is the way of things.”
Mrs Lanyon gave her a soft look. “Of course, brother and sister have a different relationship from the bond between sisters. I am certain you will always be dear to Mrs Bingley.” Elizabeth smiled politely, thinking again of how little Jane had seen of her growing attachment to Darcy.
“Perhaps when you marry, you will find an intimate and trustworthy companion in your husband.”
This was said heavily, and Elizabeth blushed. Darcy would be the sort of man with whom she could talk about anything, or nothing. Before either of them could speak, Mr Balfour and Mr Utterson entered in the midst of some conversation with Darcy.
“No, I cannot spend heavily now. I must consult my means rather than my wishes,” Darcy said wearily.
Mr Utterson threw himself into a chair near to Elizabeth. “Since the flood, you are a gloomy, stiff creature.”
Everyone looked askance at Mr Utterson’s ill-breeding.
“No, not at all,” said Mrs Lanyon politely. “In fact, Mr Darcy is particularly interesting in conversation lately since he has so much to think on.”
Mr Utterson gave a grimace that Elizabeth supposed was his attempt at a gracious smile. “Of course, madam. The subject of Darcy not being able to spend merely took me by surprise.”
Elizabeth wondered if a woman like Mrs Lanyon, someone with her own wealth, would be a better match for Darcy.
My lack of fortune would not have mattered to him a week ago, but he is now in a situation where a marriage that brought him wealth would be to his immediate advantage.
Elizabeth took solace in remembering Darcy’s words in the library from earlier today, but that did not make her less eager for his trials to be over so they could have the private conversation he promised.
“I shall be able to make both ends meet this year,” Darcy said, his arms folded across his chest, “but I will have a real want of money in the future.” To distract the others from such further talk, Darcy asked, “How did you gentlemen spend your day?”
“Not in as trying a manner as you,” Balfour said, giving a strained laugh. “It must have been wretched for you to find that woman in the stream.”
From the look on Utterson’s face, Darcy suspected Utterson found the subject tiresome. The subject of Carew’s death had been well canvassed at dinner. When he and his sister had broken the news to Mr Carew, he learnt she had visited her father and was returning to Pemberley when she died.
When Darcy made no reply other than a quiet sigh, Utterson said, “Well, I rode early to Tissington where I had some sport with Lord Poole.”
Balfour muttered an aside that sounded like “Fine sport with Poole’s daughter.”
Utterson turned red but said nothing. Mrs Lanyon gave her brother a scathing look and then asked him what he had done today that had him leave so early.
“I went to Buxton where I played cards in the Assembly Room of the Great Hotel with any gentleman who wandered in. I am up, Utterson, so you need not tease me about needing to pawn my clothes.”
“I am sorry for so often leaving you alone,” Darcy said quickly before Utterson could respond.
“You have done nothing wrong by your guests,” Balfour said firmly.
“In fact, it is us who have not done enough by you, to try to bear you up and distract you. You cannot spend your evenings dwelling over what passed during the afternoon. Now, what shall we do in Derbyshire? I intend to force you into some amusement.”
Darcy said his participation would be impossible, and his guests talked on of finding their own amusements, with Darcy offering his opinions here and there. It seemed as though none of his guests had been to Dovedale, and the hope of seeing it was talked of.
Utterson had put on a more pleasant face, and he now turned to Elizabeth. “Would you be willing to give us some music?”
Darcy was at that moment reminded of Rosings and watching Elizabeth sit with Fitzwilliam at the instrument.
It was not that he had been jealous of his cousin—he knew Fitzwilliam had no romantic interest in Elizabeth—but rather that he too wanted that ease with her.
As Darcy watched Utterson stand beside the instrument to turn the pages, he felt an unaccountable rush of envy.
Utterson was not tall, but he was a well-made man with sandy-coloured hair and freckles that caught a lady’s attention so long as Utterson was not scowling.
For all of his complaining about not having much of an allowance, he would soon be called to the bar, and Darcy suspected the Honourable James Utterson, barrister, might then receive more money from his father than as a young man spending freely in town when he ought to be studying.
There was no reason for him to turn a jealous eye on the irascible Utterson.
Simply because Darcy feared his heart would be torn asunder if she refused him a second time, it did not mean she would.
He could not forget how Elizabeth spoke to him in the library, how every look and word spoke to her affection for him.
It was easier to think on matters of the heart rather than think about Mr Carew’s devastation when he had to break to him the terrible news.
The pain and grief in Mr Carew’s voice and sobs surpassed anything he had ever had to witness.
“No, that is hardly enough,” he heard Utterson call to Balfour and Mrs Lanyon. Utterson left the instrument to join Balfour’s conversation with his sister. Darcy noticed the wry smile on Elizabeth’s lips as their eyes met and she turned the page herself.
“You disagree with me?” Mrs Lanyon asked.
“Aye, he does,” Balfour answered for Utterson. “He sides with me. A man in London with only five thousand a year cannot be distinguished above a tradesman!”
“And you do not even have five thousand a year yet,” Utterson said in his acerbic way.
Balfour looked indignant before saying, “Aye. And you, like me, subsist on whatever money your father allows you.”
Elizabeth finished her song and joined them. “What were you saying about living in London?”
“That a certain income is necessary to live there,” Mrs Lanyon said.
“And Utterson and I can scarcely afford it,” Balfour added, giving a rueful smile.
“Thank goodness I manage to scart together enough funds for a season. Utterson’s father at least pays for him to live in town, if not enough for him to enjoy it.
But,” he said, turning to Darcy, “that is not a concern of yours.”
“I will not be in town this winter,” Darcy said, knowing what exclamations would follow.
“What? Not at all? But you have a house, leased for generations,” Balfour cried.
“Under my present scarcity of cash, I shall find it difficult to collect the rent to answer this emergency, let alone to fund a season.”
“You cannot tell me that you have no funds in reserve,” said Utterson, his expression one of disbelief.
“Of course not. But complying with my engagements in town when I have a single tenant without a roof or without enough to eat is impossible. Any extra money must be spent on their well-being. I will spend my last shilling to preserve their welfare.”
Utterson only shrugged but Balfour shook his head and said, “My friend, you will be missed. You have had a disaster here, but a lively winter in town will be a reward for all you will deal with this autumn. You deserve some diversions, and I daresay you will need them.”
Darcy shook his head.
“You must spend some money on society, on travelling with your friends, on your own enjoyment.”
“I will sublet the house in town.” He was all out of patience, and rose to leave, pleading that he had to check on his sister. The door opened suddenly, and a footman let a harried-looking Mr Stevenson enter.
His steward gave an apologetic look to his assembled company before hurrying to his side. “I did not think it could wait, sir,” he said quietly.
“No matter,” Darcy said quickly. “What is it?”
He lifted a heavy object wrapped in cloth.
“I sent men along the path between the house and Lambton, along the stream, to find where Molly Carew hit her head and fell in. One brought a dog, and he ran into the grass on the other side of the walk, about twenty feet from the path, near to where we found her.” He spoke faster. “He kept barking, and they found this.”
Mr Stevenson folded back the cloth to reveal a small silver candlestick.
Darcy narrowed his eyes, tilting his head as he took it.
“It is from my father’s desk.” He turned it, looking at it from all sides before seeing what had so discomposed Mr Stevenson.
On the bottom was a large reddish-brown smear of what could only be blood.