Chapter 2
A month later
The weather was warming, bluebells adorned the woods, lambs and calves gambolled in the pastures.
For Elizabeth it was usually a favourite season, but as she prepared with Jane for a soirée at Lucas Lodge, her feeling was mostly one of exhaustion.
Following the return to Longbourn, the fates had conspired to reveal her family at its worst. First had come the departure of the regiment, viewed by Lydia and Kitty, and also Mrs Bennet, as a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions.
Then Lydia had been invited to go with Mrs Forster to Brighton, to the delight of Mrs Bennet and the despair of Kitty.
This news had even driven a wedge between Elizabeth and her father.
Pressed by his wife to grant permission, Mr Bennet had given way—from weakness in Elizabeth’s opinion, or worse, from indifference.
While enduring these histrionics, Elizabeth could not help recalling Darcy’s letter.
His criticisms of her family (total want of propriety) were proved accurate again and again, increasing her amazement that this most proud and fastidious of men had asked her to marry him.
He must truly have been obsessed with her, and she wondered whether this lay behind his purchase of the portrait.
The soirée, as expected, provided further embarrassment.
It was a small gathering, the only other guests being the Robinsons, and the conversation seemed designed to humiliate the Bennets as much as possible.
Sir William Lucas dwelled at length on the benefits from the happy union between Charlotte and Mr Collins.
The parsonage was convenient, its proximity to Rosings most fortunate, and Lady Catherine a generous and gracious patron.
He developed this theme at length until ceding the floor to his wife.
‘It is a particular blessing,’ Lady Lucas said, ‘that Maria has mixed with such superior society. For as we know, there has been a veritable exodus of eligible gentlemen from the neighbourhood.’ Sympathetic glance at Mrs Bennet.
‘Such a loss to be deprived of Mr Wickham and the other officers. I feel their lack exceedingly. And what a pity that Mr Bingley quitted Netherfield. I do hope he returns, although he may have other plans.’
‘It is certainly a shame for the young ladies in Meryton,’ Mrs Bennet said, with a nod to the Robinsons’ daughters. ‘However, Lydia as you know is gone to Brighton with her friend Mrs Forster, and is having a fine time dancing with the officers. Why, we had a letter only this morning …’
‘A very brief one,’ Mr Bennet said.
‘Oh fiddle, she is too busy to waste time writing! Our friends are there, Mr Wickham, Mr Denny, Mr Pratt, and she may find a husband even though she is just sixteen, and create opportunities for Kitty …’
‘Have a care, mother,’ Elizabeth said. ‘You will have us all married to officers before the evening is out.’
‘A little music would be pleasant.’ Mr Bennet looked at her pleadingly. ‘Lizzy?’
Elizabeth hesitated, aware that the Lucases and Robinsons might have other plans. Meanwhile Mary jumped up and went to open the piano.
While Mary played a sonata people began talking in small groups of two or three, and Elizabeth was approached by Maria Lucas, eager to share memories of Rosings. The conversation moved to fashion, and Maria described some alterations she was making to a dress.
‘Come upstairs! I’ll show you.’
Elizabeth was not especially interested, but it would be a relief to escape. She followed Maria to the landing, a large space with armchairs, coffee tables, and some portraits she had not examined closely before.
‘Your family?’ she asked.
‘This is my favourite.’ Maria pointed. ‘With Charlotte and mother. I was only seven!’
‘Nice.’ Elizabeth moved along the row. ‘And this would be your father, in younger days.’
‘When he was mayor.’
Elizabeth smiled at the image of a young Sir William in a gilt-edged red gown and long black hat. The next portrait, in a similar style, was of Lady Lucas, showing young features that reminded her of Charlotte. She checked the artist’s signature, and withdrew with a gasp.
Pavan. The surname only. On both paintings.
‘This is most strange,’ she said, more to herself than to Maria.
‘Why?’
‘The artist’s name. Did your parents ever travel abroad?’
Maria frowned. ‘Oh no. He had duties as mayor, you see, before he was knighted and moved here.’
‘So Pavan must have come to Meryton?’
Maria looked away, as if trying to recall. ‘I think mother mentioned the artist once. And yes, he was Italian. Lived in London, but travelled when he got a commission. She said he was young and charming.’
‘Are there further examples of his work here?’
Maria was unsure, so they checked, both on the landing and downstairs. Plenty of portraits. But not by Pavan. And none bearing any resemblance to Elizabeth.
On the ride home Elizabeth decided to raise the topic of Pavan, without mentioning Young lady with letter, or signalling that the matter had any importance.
‘Maria showed me a picture of Sir William in the regalia of mayor,’ she said casually.
‘That would be when he made a speech welcoming the king to Meryton,’ Mr Bennet said. ‘With flattery so excessive that he was later invited to court and rewarded with a knighthood.’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘All the same it’s a fair likeness, and there’s a nice portrait of Lady Lucas by the same artist.’ She looked at her father and mother in turn. ‘A Mr Pavan, or better Signor Pavan, since according to Maria he was Italian. Did you meet him by any chance?’
For a moment Mrs Bennet looked startled, then she waved dismissively. ‘Why would I have anything to do with an artist?’
‘Father?’
‘It was a long time ago, Lizzy.’ Mr Bennet sighed.
‘Yes, I recall that Sir William was eager to raise his social standing, since at the time he was a businessman with no estate and no title. After his success with the king he began imitating the habits of the gentry, including the commissioning of flattering portraits.’
‘You don’t recall the artist?’
‘As I say, it happened years ago. Why the interest?’
‘Oh, nothing special.’ Elizabeth smiled.
‘But portraits do fascinate me. They fix a moment in time, allowing us to view Sir William and Lady Lucas as they appeared in their youth. How incurious children can be! Lucases, Bennets, Gardiners, Phillipses, you all grew up here, yet I have only the vaguest idea how you lived.’
‘Perhaps it is better thus,’ Mr Bennet said with a raise of the eyebrows.
‘A study of history may be useful,’ Mary said, ‘but only insofar as it guides present action.’
Jane listened to these exchanges with a faint smile, while Kitty scowled, wishing no doubt that she was in Brighton with Lydia, and not obliged to listen to pointless talk.
Next morning Elizabeth took a long walk alone to Oakham Mount, trying to organise her thoughts.
In London she had seen a picture of a young lady that resembled her.
Normally one would dismiss such an event as coincidence.
Her face was not so unusual, nor was there a plausible link between the model for a Venetian artist and an English lady from a country town in Hertfordshire.
Yet a connection had immediately presented itself: the work had been purchased by Darcy.
And now it transpired that an artist of the same surname had come to Meryton two decades ago and painted two people she knew well.
Another coincidence? Or something more?
Comparing the paintings, Elizabeth detected a superficial similarity of style, but a disparity in quality.
The portraits of the Lucases were competent, but in her judgement, Young lady with letter was far superior.
The composition was more interesting; the colours balanced; and most of all, the artist had caught a mood and a personality—both of which she found sympathetic.
It was also relevant that Lorenzo Pavan’s work had been included in a prestigious exhibition at the Royal Academy.
The Lucas portraits were signed Pavan, but might have been painted by a lesser artist who happened to have the same surname.
The last clue to the mystery was the least tangible of all.
Both in London, and now in Longbourn, she had a strong instinct that her family were hiding something.
She recalled Mr Gardiner quickly changing topic.
And Mrs Bennet waving away Pavan as a name of no significance.
And her father evading enquiries with the platitude that it all happened long ago.
Coincidence again? Or was there some secret, large or small, that they wanted to keep safely buried in the past?
Suppose that the same artist had produced all three portraits.
Was it possible that while visiting Meryton he had also painted someone related to her?
Mrs Phillips perhaps? Or a youthful Mrs Bennet?
This would explain the family resemblance.
But if so, why had the portrait been sold or given away?
And why was it so superior to the others?
And why did it resemble herself, Elizabeth, far more than her aunt or her mother?
In the neighbourhood there were further lines of enquiry.
She could ask Lady Lucas. Or Mrs Phillips.
But what if the explanation really was embarrassing?
No, she had to either forget the whole thing, or appeal to members of her family with whom she had a relationship of mutual confidence.
Her father, despite his apparent reluctance. Or best of all, Mrs Gardiner.
Returning home, she penned a brief note to her aunt, and two days later received this reply.
My dear niece,
I have spoken with Mr Gardiner, and as you suspected, the name Pavan is familiar to him.
He went to Venice in early 1789, just before the French revolution, with the aim of importing Cozzi porcelain and Murano glassware.
While there he met a man named Francesco Pavan, an experienced dealer.
They got on well and continued to collaborate in spite of the ensuing turmoil in Europe.
Of course at the time I knew nothing of this: I was but 13 years old.
I heard the name for the first time in 1802 shortly after your uncle and I were married.
A letter from Venice brought news that Francesco Pavan had died (he was over 70 by then); the business was now run by an associate named Basso, willing to proceed on similar terms. What I did not know, until yesterday, was that Francesco was indeed related to an artist. His brother Lorenzo, who died in 1798, made his living painting landscapes and portraits, and was quite highly regarded.
As to the Pavan who painted portraits of Sir William and Lady Lucas, your uncle says this cannot be Lorenzo, who never came to England.
More than this he feels he cannot confide, owing to promises made long ago.
If you cannot bear to let the matter drop, he advises you to consult your father, who can judge better what may be said.
I’m sorry, dear Lizzy, to draw a veil over the end of the story, but this is all I can confide at this point.
Yours very sincerely, M. Gardiner
After reading this in the privacy of her bedroom, Elizabeth locked it away in the same drawer as another very private missive. It was hard to say which letter was more disconcerting. Why this secrecy over the Pavans? Was Mr Gardiner protecting the family of his trading partner in Venice?
Or was he protecting her own family, the Bennets?
From behind his desk Mr Bennet studied Elizabeth intently, his fingers interlocked.
‘I repeat what I said yesterday, Lizzy. Some things are best left in the past.’
‘This has gone too far. I must know.’
‘The courage of youth.’ He smiled fondly. ‘I had it too at your age, when I was at Oxford. Or when I went on my tour in Europe, some years later.’
Elizabeth frowned: she knew that her father, like many young gentlemen, had essayed the Grand Tour after leaving university. ‘But that was surely before you met mother? And you would have no reason to know the Pavans.’
He regarded her sadly. ‘I have allowed you to think so. But in fact it happened somewhat, ah, differently. May I ask for your full confidence, Lizzy? For your mother’s sake this must go no further, not even to Jane.’
Elizabeth hesitated. ‘That would depend.’
He rose. ‘I take too little exercise these days. Would a walk in the wilderness beyond the rose gardens prove beneficial, do you think?’