31
August 1816, three weeks later, Pemberley
‘Good morning, madam.’ The maid opened the curtains of Elizabeth’s room in the guest wing. ‘And a lovely day for your wedding.’
Elizabeth looked out over the now familiar landscape: the forecourt, the stream, the hill rising to the woods, and miracle of miracles, a sunrise. Good news for the farmers, eager to finish harvesting the hay.
A tap on the door, and Jane entered, carrying a tray with mugs of mint tea. ‘Can I assist, Lizzy?’
‘Yes, but please keep mother out!’
Jane put the tray on a chest of drawers, and took a sip. ‘Mary is trying to calm her down.’
‘There’s no hurry.’ Elizabeth glanced at the clock on the mantel. ‘The coaches leave at seven, is that not right Lucy?’
‘They’ll be preparing them now, madam.’
Elizabeth smiled, amused by the contrast between Pemberley, where all ran like clockwork, and Longbourn. Her dress and accessories were laid out. Downstairs in the boot room, posies stood in water to keep them fresh. The ceremony would be held at 8 a.m. in the local parish church, and the breakfast privately at Pemberley; later, tenants and villagers were invited to a garden party with punch, snacks, games, and dancing.
Elizabeth joined Jane and sipped tea. ‘You must stay for as long as you like.’
‘Do you not prefer to be alone with your husband?’
Elizabeth paused, reflecting. There would be no wedding journey; to reassure his tenants, Darcy had to remain at Pemberley.
‘We have done enough travelling recently for a lifetime,’ she said. ‘You should also visit Mayfair, once this crisis is over, and take your pick among the eligible gentlemen to be found in Almack’s.’
Jane raised her eyebrows. ‘So I am not to be an old maid after all?’
‘Unless that is your preference. After I am married you can judge whether I have become happier, or more miserable, and decide accordingly.’
The maid smothered a laugh. ‘You will surely be happy, madam, for Mr Darcy is a true gentleman and the best master. Everyone says so.’
‘Hmm.’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘I will judge that for myself.’
On returning to England, Elizabeth had been gratified to bring good tidings. She had met Sergeant Aubert, a friendly bear-like man, devoted to Lydia, whom he treated with patient indulgence. The Gardiners were glad Lydia was safe, but in no hurry to see her again, having witnessed at close quarters the toll her elopement had taken on Mr Bennet. Mary and Kitty were restrained; only Mrs Bennet expressed heartfelt delight. Lydia was married. Not to Wickham, unfortunately. But better a French-speaking husband than no husband at all.
Regarding Elizabeth’s forthcoming nuptials there were varying reactions but no surprise: everyone knew. Her letters had caused a transformation in Mrs Bennet, who had left her bedroom, braved the High Street, and informed all and sundry of Elizabeth’s triumph and Darcy’s income. Inevitably the news had reached the Collinses, and thence, by post, Lady Catherine and Earl Fitzwilliam. Awaiting Darcy at his town house were furious missives demanding that this shocking rumour be scotched forthwith.
Meanwhile, in Herfordshire, the Bennets had returned to favour. At first people were cautious, recalling Mrs Bennet’s propensity for exaggeration. But all doubts were removed when Darcy descended from his coach in Meryton High Street, and with Elizabeth on his arm, entered the inn for refreshment, before proceeding to the cottage.
While Mrs Bennet embarrassed the Darcys, and Kitty exulted in the gown she had been given for the wedding, Mary had taken Elizabeth to the vegetable garden for a private word. Shyly, she confided a friendship she had struck up with the curate of Longbourn.
‘Mr Westerfield?’ Elizabeth recalled a gangling young man fond of cricket.
Mary nodded. ‘Of course I never attend Longbourn Church any more. We go to Holy Cross. But Mr Westerfield visits the book shop in Meryton, and like me, is a devotee of the circulating library. We bumped into each other sometimes and discussed books. And now …’ A blush. ‘He would like us to be married, if he can find a living.’
Elizabeth smiled, wondering when exactly this proposal had taken place, and whether it could have been triggered by news of her own betrothal, which had made the Bennets suddenly respectable. But she did not voice these thoughts.
‘Will you accept?’
‘Oh yes. I like him very much. But we’d have to move to another parish, and he won’t be rich enough to support mother and Kitty.’
‘Are there no vacancies in the neighbourhood?’
‘There will be one in Longbourn, as it happens. The incumbent is moving in October. But the living is in Mr Collins’s gift …’
Elizabeth winced. ‘Oh.’
Mary was adamant that no-one should be told, except Jane. But Elizabeth persuaded her to consult Darcy, who suggested an immediate visit to speak with Mr Westerfield. Elizabeth suspected this was a ruse to escape the cottage, but as it turned out, the trip to Longbourn village proved instructive. Once they had gained Westerfield’s trust, he confided that Mr Collins had recently approached the vicar in distress, having learned from Lady Catherine de Bourgh of a shameful rumour. This rumour could not be true; but if it were, according to her ladyship, Collins should quit Longbourn, to avoid being tainted by association.
Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, before turning back to Mr Westerfield. ‘You think he wants to sell?’
‘Quite possibly.’ The curate frowned. ‘But the estate has declined through under-investment, and suffered from the poor weather. The tenant farmers are in no position to pay the rents, and if the harvest fails will lack the wherewithal to pay their servants and workers. Who would want to take responsibility for an estate in this condition?’
Darcy had not acted immediately. But when a fortnight later a carriage had travelled down from Pemberley to collect Mrs Bennet, Mary, and Kitty for the wedding, it had conveyed also a certain Mr Gorringe, junior partner of the Derby law firm Gorringe, Gorringe and Peabody, with instructions to negotiate, on favourable terms, the purchase of Longbourn by an unnamed interested party.
The miracle had come to pass. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who was supposed to become Mrs Lindale, had become instead Mrs Darcy, mistress of the grandest and most beautiful estate she had ever seen. Seated on a bench in between Jane and Georgiana, Elizabeth observed as more and more tenants and cottagers turned up for the garden party. Crowds formed around trestles holding free punch. Local vendors had set up stalls for cakes and fruit. A flat stretch of lawn had been roped off as a dance arena. Games were organised for the children. The weather had held, enhancing a mood of optimism.
Elizabeth had met some local luminaries at the breakfast; soon she would tour the entertainments to mix with the villagers. It was a little daunting: she wanted to be liked, or at least accepted as a suitable mistress of the estate. Still, she had got on easily with local families at Longbourn, and Pemberley was not so different, just larger …
She recalled Edmund Lindale’s sardonic remark on her ‘falling in love’ with Darcy’s wealth and status. She still believed it was untrue, or not the whole truth. What had to be admitted was that she felt she belonged with Darcy, and also that she belonged here, on this country estate. Yes, she had enjoyed trips to London since childhood; but home had been Longbourn, and was now Pemberley, surrounded by farms, villages, and forests. A world that Lindale hardly knew.
Was she merely playing safe? Living with the Selborns had introduced her to a different reality, based in the great capitals of Europe, where a cultural and political elite debated the great issues of the day. Darcy was not like that. An interested spectator, perhaps, but not a participant. She recalled their argument at the Zichy salon, while discussing loyalty to the past. He had been born into a heritage that imposed duties: nurture Pemberley, find a suitable bride, raise an heir. Lindale had no such ties: he would make his own destiny. But in Darcy’s view it was destiny that shaped men, not the other way around. And perhaps she, Elizabeth, felt the same. It might be an age of progress, but the countryside and its routines and traditions were the heart of England, and while men like Lindale explored new frontiers, others needed to keep this heart beating.
Flanked by his steward, Darcy came over and beckoned her to follow. ‘Since everyone is assembled I would like to say a few words. Would you stand at my side?’
They moved to an improvised platform, and villagers crowded round—most eyes focussing on Elizabeth. Darcy introduced her, to enthusiastic cheers, then spoke soberly but reassuringly of the challenges ahead, and the measures he was taking to avoid hardship in the event of a disastrous harvest. There would be a moratorium on rents. Essential foods would be stockpiled, and sold to farmworkers at affordable prices. Homes would be visited regularly to ensure families were coping. Loans would cover medical expenses. Meanwhile, extreme care should be taken in storing and using food. There should be no wastage, no excess.
By evening Elizabeth longed for time alone with Darcy. A light supper would be the next meal, to be shared only with family; meanwhile, people gathered in the music room to listen to Georgiana. The newly-weds crossed the forecourt, arm in arm, as servants stacked away the benches and trestles. They bridged the stream and headed towards farmland as the sun sank through the haze.
‘How peaceful it is,’ Elizabeth said. ‘I feel at last that all may turn out well.’
‘There is a hard winter to survive first.’ Darcy strolled into a field and pulled out a stalk of wheat. ‘The ear is still tinged with green. If only we could enjoy a few more days like today.’
Elizabeth pulled her shawl tighter: the air was cooling. ‘A strange summer. In every way.’
‘Do you know Pilgrim’s Progress? Valley of the Shadow of Death?’
‘Through which we struggle, to reach the Celestial City?’
He nodded. ‘I have been in the valley four years.’
‘We both have.’
‘I have another note from Gorringe. He is optimistic. Collins is out of his depth at Longbourn, and mortified that the Bennets are back in favour. He dreams of purchasing a good-sized house with a few acres, rather like Lucas Lodge, but located near Rosings.’
‘So you will buy Longbourn?’
Darcy smiled. ‘If the price is right.’ He faced her, serious again. ‘This is not charity, my love. If the deal goes through quickly, the living at Longbourn church will be in my gift, and I will offer it to Mr Westerfield, along with the lease of the house if he marries your sister.’
‘And mother and Kitty?’
‘Can live either in their old home or a smaller house on the estate.’
Elizabeth sighed, observing how easily problems could be solved if you had money. ‘I suppose we had better not mention this yet?’
‘Not until the deal is done. If Collins knew the identity and purpose of the buyer, he might refuse to sell for fear of angering Lady Catherine.’
‘Your speech to the villagers was wonderful.’
‘Next month is critical. If we can harvest most of the grain, we will escape the worst.’
‘Meanwhile, austerity?’
‘We must set an example.’
Elizabeth took his arm, heartened by the recent note of confidence in his manner. In just a few weeks he had met with neighbouring landowners to discuss how to prevent famine; he was also providing for her family, and making it possible for Mary to marry Westerfield. Four years ago, her rejection had transformed a proud gentleman into one scarred by self-doubt. Now the Darcy pride was back, but softened by his years in the valley of shadows.
‘I have married a wonderful man.’
‘A fortunate man.’ He turned to face her. ‘But we have not reached sanctuary. Winter is coming.’
‘We will prevail.’ Her hands reached to tenderly frame his face.