Chapter 57
Elizabeth was gratified to discover that Colonel Fitzwilliam was just as forthright and jovial in person as he had been in his letters.
The words that Darcy had used as insults suited his cousin like compliments.
He gave off an air of casual insincerity that ran so contrary to Darcy’s principles that Lizzie was not surprised there was friction between them.
They were like the sun and the moon, separate halves of the same celestial sequence, as cousins often are.
Their differences were never more apparent than when they were together, as every flaw seemed brought into sharp focus.
Darcy seemed more implacable and sterner than ever, while Fitzwilliam bloomed into a whimsical, playful oaf.
For all of that, he was clearly not concealing any part of his nature. Fitzwilliam seemed to be a pleasant and generous soul, who loved his cousin whole-heartedly and had forgiven him with ease.
It was awkward for Elizabeth to speak to him, at first. They had shared their thoughts so often in ink that they ought to have been immediate friends, but it was not to be. If anything, their correspondence made them feel even more like strangers now.
The chief issue, of course, was that writing a letter forces one to imagine the recipient’s reaction.
The details which were intended to make them smile, for example, might summon an image of a toothy grin.
The interference of second-guessing and editing the words was disregarded, as if every adjective came straight from the honest soul.
Fitzwilliam was different than Elizabeth had imagined.
Having had only an evening’s familiarity with his looks, she had thought him taller and less stocky.
His hair was lighter than she remembered, as she had instinctively painted him the same dark colours as the Darcys to whom he was related.
Certainly, his eyes ought to have been brown instead of blue.
As for his character, which should have been better represented in words, she was amused to discover that his jokes were silly and inexhaustible, but with an ironic note that made even Mary smile.
Likewise, Fitzwilliam was surprised by Darcy’s wife.
He remembered her looks quite well (as he had said to Mary, he rarely forgot a pretty face) but had not counted upon how confidently she moved.
Most ladies her age had an air of delicacy, as if they were not yet accustomed to their own limbs (he was rather oblivious to the body language that meant such ladies were simply awkward around him, but that was another matter).
He also had not known how quickly her mind worked.
Such things could not be communicated in a letter, which was read at the same steady pace throughout.
She made answers and witty remarks as easily as an orator.
Two strangers, then. Fortunately, the features they had not imagined were not unpleasant ones, and they quickly warmed to each other.
Before half a mile had passed, the group had settled into a comfortable air.
Elizabeth and Darcy walked side by side, only letting their drifting fingers bridge the gap.
Fitzwilliam pretended he could not see that intimacy and made light chatter.
Mary strode ahead. The younger girl was silent even on the easier paths, where they did not need to save their breath.
She watched the introduction between Elizabeth and the Colonel with careful indifference.
When they walked, she did not drag her feet or complain, as she used to do in Meryton.
She stepped forth with determination, easily outpacing even the gentlemen in her eagerness to reach the top of the hill.
Elizabeth had thought that Fitzwilliam was the bait that had lured Mary to join them. Now, she wondered if it was the walk itself which had called to her. She had never seen her sister more at ease.
“It will rain this afternoon,” Mary murmured when they rested at the top of the hill.
She pointed to a distant cloud. Yellow and grey lines on its chalky surface spoke clearly of the torrent beneath.
Elizabeth, the veteran of many long walks, agreed.
She could not help expressing her surprise that Mary knew what to look for.
“I do not mean it as an insult,” she hastily added, just as Mary had done a few hours before, “It is just that you seem much altered.”
“I am trying to improve myself.” Mary replied frankly, as if she was talking about cultivating seedlings instead of her own existence, “I find that happiness must be hunted. I am not fortunate enough to stumble across it by accident. If I want to find any contentment in my life, I must ready my spears.”
“Spears?”
“Do not frown at me, Elizabeth Darcy. If I wished you to know all of my thoughts than I should not have bothered with the metaphor.”
“I frown for sisterly reasons, not academic. I did not know that you were unhappy, dearest.”
“I am not.” Mary replied mulishly. Holding up a hand, she changed the subject with a nasal grunt, something that had always signified great reservoirs of thought.
“Hmmph! Elizabeth, I have been thinking about what to do with mother.”
“Do with her?” Elizabeth echoed, amazed, “What on Earth do you mean? You make her sound like a troublesome child!”
“I reserve my opinion on that matter, Lizzie.” Mary said drily, “I meant: how do you plan to treat her when she arrives next week? Jane told me that you have no intention of letting her use a family room.”
“No, indeed! I do not want her to be anywhere near Jane, or any of us.” Elizabeth cried, and then let out a defeated sigh, “But I may have to, nonetheless. We are trying to repair our reputation, and publicly slighting mother will certainly set us back. My hope was to do it anyway and trust her to be tactful, but I fear that it is impossible. Mother cannot keep a private matter to herself.”
“Exactly.” Mary nodded sagely, “I had the same thought when Jane told me about it. I think I have a solution.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows raised enquiringly.
The gentlemen arrived from their own conversation, looking curiously between the women as they caught up with the discussion.
Mary pointed over Darcy’s shoulder, where the hill descended into patchy woodland.
A brook babbled and bubbled from near their feet towards the trees, joining other tiny eddies to form a stream.
Meandering gently onwards, the finally poured into a decorative pond beside a pretty, shuttered house.
“The dower house?” Elizabeth asked, “We think we should get her to sleep there?”
“Sleep - eat - stay there! Far away from poor old Jane, and us, and even the men. You know that she will make them feel just as wretched as us!” Mary growled, “Set her up there like a true dowager, Lizzie. Give her servants and bells to ring, expensive candles and the freedom to run the house however she chooses. You know that she will be unable to resist, even if it does mean she cannot stay in the main house. We shall not have to lay eyes on her until the evenings, and if she does try to intrude the servants can warn us so we can be prepared.”
“Mama does not deserve it.” Elizabeth said slowly, “She has no right to the house, and certainly not to the respect that is rightly Lady Anne’s.”
“Lady Catherine can tell her that.” Fitzwilliam interjected with a mischievous smile, “My aunt cannot stand pretention. If she hears that a stranger is taking her dear friend’s place, then she shall make her objections known. Is your mother the type of person to be modest about her good fortune?”
“No, not at all.” Mary answered bluntly, “She is a ridiculous braggart.”
“Even better!” the man grinned, “If she exposes herself in public then Lady Catherine will feel quite justified in bringing her down. She has a true talent for discovering endless faults.”
“You seem rather eager to embarrass a stranger, cousin.” Darcy drawled, “What do you know of Mrs. Bennet?”
“I learned a little from Miss Bennet last night,” Fitzwilliam explained with a friendly nod at Mary, who blushed. “I must say that anyone who inspires such avid dislike in her own, lovely daughters deserves to be on the sharp end of our aunt’s tongue.”
“A cruel punishment, indeed. There is another matter, cousin, which must be considered. Lady Catherine is inclined to support the mother in this, not the daughters. Her rector, Collins, has manipulated her into interceding in an arranged marriage between himself and Miss Jane.”
“Appealed to the old lady’s pride, did he?”
“I assume so; it has always been rather effective. The point, Fitzwilliam, is that if we let Mrs. Bennet use the dower house and Lady Catherine does not take offence then we have just rewarded a malicious woman by treating her as the lady of the house.”
“That may not be a bad thing.” Mary said slowly, “She speaks of you, Mr. Darcy, as a drunken brute who should hang his head in shame. She tells everyone that Lizzie was headstrong and wicked to rush into marriage, and that it serves her right to be married to a wastrel.”
Fitzwilliam snorted. Mary shot him a quick look from beneath lowered lashes, then continued speaking seriously to her brother-in-law.
“Mother’s moral indignation blinds her to the truth.
She simply cannot see it. If she was forced to see your true nature, then perhaps she might finally understand that she does not need Jane to marry Mr. Collins.
If she realises that she can get all of the security and comforts she craves by virtue of being your mother-in-law, then it is possible that we can end Jane’s engagement without having to speak to Mr. Collins at all!
Even if it does not work, at least you will go up in her estimation. ”
“What an honour for you.” Fitzwilliam sniped at Darcy. Mary rolled her eyes at the Colonel, in a playful gesture that Elizabeth did not miss.
“Mr. Darcy will go up; Mr. Collins will go down. Perhaps if we can find enough things to tip the scales against the little slug, we can squash him completely.”
“You have such a poetic flair, Miss Bennet.”
“Hush, Colonel. Let the adults finish talking.” she retorted, not missing a beat.
Elizabeth had to duck her head away and fake a coughing fit.
Fitzwilliam had probably never been cut down so brutally in his whole life.
What a revelation to hear Mary stand up for herself!
Generally, the middle Bennet sister treated compliments with the suspicion of a woman who thought even the words ‘good morning’ were unnecessary.
Now, seemingly out of nowhere, Mary was sparring with a handsome stranger with a smile on her face.
Dinner must have been very eventful! Elizabeth thought, I am sorry I missed it!
That made her think about the reason why she had missed dinner, and the reason why she had been late for breakfast. Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she had to look at the ground, trying desperately to collect herself.
Someone was speaking. Lizzie sheepishly blinked away her intrusive thoughts and listened.
Mary was describing Mr. Collins’ advances towards Jane in colourful tones, for the benefit of the captivated Fitzwilliam.
It was Darcy who had been speaking to Elizabeth.
She smiled at him, bemused, and he repeated himself with a smile.
“I said, Elizabeth, that I agree with your sister. As much as I hate to reward bad behaviour, I think that housing your mother away from Pemberley is a fine idea. Will you discuss it with Mrs. Reynolds? There will be some work, I fear, if the dower house is to be ready in time.”
“Yes, and I shall write to mama as soon as we get back to the house.”
“I thought that we were calling on Georgiana.” Fitzwilliam protested, overhearing them.
“Who?” Mary asked.
They all fell silent. Darcy glowered at his cousin. Elizabeth opened her mouth to lie but was prevented by Mary answering her own question.
“Is she the person hiding in the third room along?” seeing their frozen expressions, Mary scoffed and spread her hands, “I share a wall with her. I have heard voices every evening - yours, Lizzie, and Jane’s.
When I go to refresh myself after luncheon the hallway always smells of food, as if someone had a tray brought up. I am not stupid, Elizabeth.”
“No.” Elizabeth replied weakly, “But I fear that we have been. Does anyone else know about her, Mary?”
“Nobody listens to me, or would humour my theories.” Mary shrugged. “I would like to know who she is, though.”
“Georgiana is my sister. She is unwell and needs peace and quiet.” Darcy provided quietly.
“Then you are wise to conceal her, sir. Kitty and Lydia would doubtless make her worse! May I meet her?”
“Not today.” Elizabeth said firmly, “She has not seen her cousin in a long time and will be exhausted. Tomorrow, I will ask her if she would like to meet you. Perhaps you can read to her, if you would like that?”
Mary thought of the library which she had so diligently avoided. In this light it suddenly seemed less loathsome. It was a gateway into a new role, where she would be trusted and valued instead of overlooked.
Fitzwilliam smiled at her. Mary nodded.
“Yes,” she said confidently, “What a wonderful idea.”