Chapter 83
In October, the Darcys deliberately stretched out their journey from Pemberley to Meryton, turning it into an extended tour of the counties.
In a way, it was a second honeymoon for them.
Once again, they were travelling together, but now they were far from shy, awkward strangers.
Before, they could barely make eye contact over a dinner table.
They had spent their days walking about in dreary country lanes so as not to be too alone.
Now, they spent far more time enjoying their comfortable beds than they did walking.
The long hours when they were close together in the carriage were a kind of torture.
To be able to see each other, to talk and tease but not truly touch, became a game that they defied the other to lose.
Generally, by the time the carriage stopped at whatever destination they obliviously reached, Elizabeth and Darcy were too distracted to do much more than climb the stairs to their rooms.
Once, after a particularly sour storm had turned the roads into a quagmire, the carriage had struck an unearthed root and one of the wheels had broken. While they waited for a rented carriage to come and collect them, the passengers drew the curtains and let the rain drown them out.
The nameless promise which they had made to each other during their visit to Chesterfield was enthusiastically realised, if in a very undignified manner.
By the time they were finished, collapsing ridiculously upon the narrow leather seats, Elizabeth’s throat was hoarse from choking back her cries of pleasure and laughter.
In foolishness and in passion, in teasing and in silence, the lazy month Darcy and Elizabeth spent travelling was filled with simple happiness.
As they drew closer to her hometown, Elizabeth came to two realisations.
The first, whispering in her heart but not daring to cross her lips, was that her husband’s diligent attentions had given her far more than trembling knees.
Her courses had stopped and her body felt strangely loose.
Her mind had an airy, gentle feeling that was utterly unlike the mischievous spirit that usually burned within her.
Did Darcy know? Surely, he could count. His methodical nature even made it possible that he had known first. But if he had guessed, he had not spoken of it. He seemed content to let Elizabeth tell him, when she was ready.
Lizzie was touched by that. While the secret was hers, she felt as if the tiny life inside her was utterly her own: a flickering golden flame which she could love with all of her soul. Everything else could fade. Without words, without questions, she could close her eyes and be complete.
In the early hours of the morning, when the world was blue and dreaming, she could press her hand to her belly and feel, not think. True, unspoiled love for a tiny, perfect soul. Elizabeth could feel the future beneath her hand, and she was filled with hope.
Darcy, she suspected, was still thinking of the past.
That was Elizabeth’s second realisation. It tolled a sour discord against her lyrical hopes. The closer they got to Meryton, the more closed-off her husband became. It was laughably familiar; nothing reminded her more clearly of her first honeymoon than his sullen silences and fiery outbursts.
She supposed she should feel fortunate, for this time they were not directed at her.
She did not. Elizabeth kept several shillings in her reticule to tip the poor servants who were the targets of her husband’s temper.
Their sins were always trivial. One had fumbled a spoon when serving dinner, for example, and another had a jovial manner which Darcy considered insolent.
When they were sent from the room with ringing ears, Elizabeth followed them. She made no secret of the fact that she was paying them. She had a particularly reproachful expression which she directed towards her husband every time it was necessary.
After a particularly vicious morning, where Darcy snapped at a maid who opened the curtains but neglected to bring a pot of tea, Elizabeth finally lost her temper.
“Do you know how ridiculous you sound? That poor girl was shaking a leaf! And why? Because we could not wait for a few miserable minutes for our tea? You shouted at her for nothing.”
Darcy rubbed his forehead irritably, “If they cannot manage their staff…”
“There you go again. Utter nonsense! It is not their fault that you are in an ill temper. It is not my fault either, Mr. Darcy, so you can stop glaring at me this instant!”
The man blinked and looked away. “I had no idea I was glaring. I apologise for that. As for my conduct, madam, I do not think I have been so unreasonable.”
“Then you are deluded, sir.”
“You have some complaint about my treatment of you?”
“Of me? No, not at all. When we are alone you are goodness incarnate. When we are in public, you have become as taciturn as you ever were. I shall not allow you to act so, unchallenged. I would rather turn around and walk back to Pemberley than have you unleash your temper onto my family.”
Darcy had been silent throughout the whole speech, his brows drawing furiously together, but at her last words the scowl fell away.
It was clear that Elizabeth was not making an empty threat.
The fact that she would rather miss her beloved sister’s wedding than make Jane suffer his company shook him to the core.
Darcy’s indignant certainty that Lizzie was simply in a bad mood was replaced with ice-cold clarity. He shuddered and looked away.
“Have I really been that bad, Elizabeth?”
Lizzie glanced pointedly at the door, where the maid had fled. She did not need to say anything. Darcy went rather red.
“Yes,” he muttered, “I am in ill spirits. It appears that I did not conceal that fact nearly as effectively as I hoped.”
Elizabeth’s furious eyes softened, filled with growing empathy. “You have no skill for artifice, my love. I wonder if the attempt to hide your pain is causing you as much discomfort as the cause itself.”
“How perceptive you are. What do you imagine the cause to be?”
“I admit that I have no idea. If I did then I would have tried to help you, sir, instead of scolding you.”
Darcy laughed shortly and looked down at his hands.
Now that he was conscious of his distress, the tremor was unmistakable.
The mark of a drunk, branded upon him for all time.
It only happened when he was agitated, and it always made his bad moods worse.
Here, shuddering in his blood and his bone, was the man beneath the tree.
“I had not thought to go back, ever.” Darcy confessed, “I even… I must tell you, Elizabeth, that your estrangement from your family served me well. I thought that we would have no reason to come within twenty miles of Meryton once we had left it behind.”
“You dislike it so much?”
“The town? Not at all. It is an agreeable enough place, and the countryside around it is beautiful. I have no objections to the place, Elizabeth. The people within it are the ones who disturb me. I sometimes think… I sometimes… Elizabeth, I am afraid that they will…”
“Afraid?” Elizabeth’s jaw dropped, “Oh, my dearest…”
“No, do not misunderstand. I mean that I cannot be among anyone who has seen me at my worst. The thought sickens me.”
“Well!” the woman laughed awkwardly, “Should I make my farewells to you, sir?”
Darcy glared at her. “That is not what I meant. Do not trivialise this.”
“Ah, then you must be referring to my sisters. Or is it dear Mr. Bingley who troubles you? His judgement will be the most scathing of all.”
“I refer,” Darcy said stiffly, “To the people in the town. Those who do not know me, but who dislike me, and have no reason to tolerate me.”
“I understand. The opinions of such irrelevant, ignorant people should indeed torment you.”
“You are still being trivial, madam. If you have nothing sensible to contribute, then we should end this conversation now. Clearly, I should not have raised the subject. In the future, I shall…”
“Darcy.” Elizabeth interrupted quietly, but firmly: “You are shouting. You have imagined opinions which I did not say, and would not say. Stop pacing, my love. You are making me dizzy! Come and sit down with me. I shall speak bluntly, if you would prefer it. Then I shall be forever silenced on the matter.”
With a meaningless gesture, suspended between a shrug and an agitated flourish, Darcy obliged.
“Stop glaring at me, dearest.”
Darcy did not oblige. His face seemed to have frozen in place. He felt too exposed to permit any part of his body to soften. Elizabeth sighed and wrapped her arm around his straight, unbending shoulders.
“I cannot reason with fear.” she said softly, “It never listens. I know that far too well, my love. You are a rational man above all else; I have no rationality to offer you. We lost this battle before we even began! I cannot imagine how much that wounds you.”
The man had been rather still in her arms, with every muscle uselessly tensed against an imaginary assault. Now, he sagged and let out a shaking breath.
“Angel, I…”
Elizabeth shook her head sternly. “No, Fitzwilliam Darcy. I am not an angel. My name is Elizabeth, and I know how it feels to be afraid. May I tell you, my dearest?”
“That you were afraid?”
That you are not alone. The way that you feel is consuming and humbling, but it is not meant to be suffered alone. You are not the only one who cannot breathe, but I know that at this moment it must feel that way. I cannot help you, sir, but I can tell you what helped me.”
Darcy met her eyes and nodded. His arm crept around her shoulders and, with a tiny smile, Elizabeth cuddled up against him. Closing her eyes, thinking only of the feel of his chest rising and falling and his comforting, familiar scent, she remembered the worst day of her life.
“Last year, I found a man lying beneath a tree. Whatever my thoughts became afterwards, in that moment they were afraid. I had learned to be afraid of men in the full possession of their wits, and so I could only imagine how much worse a man might be without them.
I have never admitted this to Jane, sir, but that was the day when I could have saved her.
That was why I was alone. By the time I found the man beneath the tree, I was as broken as he.
That morning, unknown to even my parents, Mr. Collins sought me out.
He had been soundly rejected by Jane the night before and was determined to stand his ground.
He knew that my sister’s gentleness could not withstand him, but that she would draw upon my strength time and again to help her resist. So, that morning, he came to me.
Mr. Collins did not ask me to stop helping Jane, or to try to help convince her. He did not laud his own merits to me, nor bother to reassure me of his love for my sister. No, he had another idea entirely. It was as if he was bartering for meat at the butcher’s.
He told me that if he married Jane, he would spend the rest of his life making her regret rejecting him. If I wished to save her from such misery, sir, then I must marry him in her stead. He did not want to be humiliated a second time. Blackmail was the better option.
He smiled at me, when he spoke, in a manner that sickened me.
I felt as if I was already his property.
It was like my arms and legs and feet and hands were already at his command.
I was so frightened, sir. I could not answer.
Mr. Collins allowed me the morning to consider his compromise and warned me that I must make a decision before sunset.
I fled. I ran until my feet ached, then walked until they bled. Away and back, time and again. Away from him. Back, for my poor Jane. Both directions filled me with terror.
How could I choose? How could I think? I could not breathe.
Then I saw a man lying beneath a tree.
I was afraid. Deathly afraid, for my mind could only clutch at darkness by then. But it drew away a little, for this was something I could change. I could not solve my own problem, but I could at least help the man beneath the tree.
A little thing. One little difference, but it changed my thinking entirely.
I went home and told Mr. Collins that he had been rejected a second time, and that I would spend every scrap of my strength keeping Jane away from him.
He told me that I was a wicked wretch who would never marry.
I refused to be intimidated - I threw my head back and laughed in his face!
I told him that he might marry, but he would never, ever be loved.
I began my opposition that very day, sir, not by trying to solve one big problem, but by making a thousand little changes. They chipped away at the fear and the crushing weight and slowly made things easier.
I could not force Mr. Collins from Longbourn, but I could take Jane away from him. I found charities, puppies to walk, noble causes to champion and herbs to gather. Sometimes we were only in the house to sleep and could go for a full day without seeing our odious cousin at all.
I could not change my mother’s heart, but I could distract her when she was fixated on a scheme, so that it did not overwhelm us. I found allies among the servants and our friends in the town, and we made it so that Jane would be protected wherever she went.
It worked, did it not? I never triumphed over the big problem - but the small helps kept us afloat for long enough for you to intervene. Now, when I face a staggering foe, I try to look for small… small helps.”
Darcy smiled and stroked her hair, “Tell me my small help, angel.”
She sighed but did not correct him for calling her an angel again. “How about: ‘I cannot change the false opinions of an entire town, but I can earn the respect of the people who matter’?”
“I suppose it works the other way, too.” Darcy sighed, predictably seeing banal logic in pretty sentiment, “You can cause harm just as easily, in small and thoughtless ways. I should apologise to the maid.”
“That would be a good start.” Elizabeth smiled cautiously, “Are we going to walk back to Pemberley, my love?”
He shook his head. “I shall take my lesson, angel. We will try it your way.”