Chapter 5
‘My dear husband …’
Thomas sighed as the door creaked, and Fanny entered the upstairs room he used as a study. He rose from his window seat and forced a smile.
‘Well?’ She advanced, her usual light step now a waddle as her pregnancy entered its final months. ‘Are you intending to shut yourself away the whole day?’
‘I have been reading, my dear.’ He pointed to a volume on his desk. ‘Restoration comedy. Most amusing, and also instructive.’
‘Why read plays? If you had a house in town we could attend the royal theatres regularly.’
Thomas pressed his lips together. He had once taken Fanny to Drury Lane to see Hamlet, and ended up listening to her whisperings on comings and goings in the royal box. ‘We can hardly afford that, my dear.’
‘If you only knew how nervous I felt, always left alone with my worries.’
‘Then why not go to the Lucases’ soirée this evening?’
‘Looking like this?’ Fanny pointed to her bulge.
‘Be proud, dearest. You are carrying the future master of Longbourn.’
‘So I have to sit by myself. Again.’
‘You have father for company.’ John Bennet had been in good health, but had little appetite for socialising.
‘He reads all the time. Or sleeps.’
‘Why not play a hand of piquet?’
Fanny sniffed, unimpressed by this idea, and Thomas took her arm and led her to the landing. He did not need to leave for two hours. They could take tea together, and he would do his best to make conversation.
The past year had been momentous for the Lucases as well as the Bennets.
King George III had honoured Meryton with a two-hour visit, presenting a somewhat sorry figure, his voice hoarse, his lips edged with spittle, perhaps from the strain of speaking too much.
But any embarrassment had been covered by a most eloquent speech of welcome by the mayor William Lucas, in which he had paid the king every imaginable compliment.
Apparently this speech had lodged in the king’s mind as the highlight of an otherwise dismal day, for he had rewarded Lucas by inviting him to court and granting him a knighthood.
Thus elevated, Sir William decided it would no longer be fitting to continue in commerce.
Over the years he had invested profits in funds; he now sold the business, and his house in Meryton, and purchased a country property called Riverside Lodge.
Set beside the river Lea, it offered a good-sized house in several acres of gardens and woodland; it had also acquired a new name—Lucas Lodge.
The lodge was but a mile from Longbourn, but Thomas went by carriage, instructing his driver to return at eleven o’clock.
He found Lucas already settled into his new role, and trying by every civility to act the part of a country gentleman.
For the soirée he had invited the wealthiest families—Gouldings, Robinsons—and also the Gardiners, as a respectful gesture to the Bennets.
The drawing room had been cleared in the middle so that guests could mingle, and perhaps later, dance.
Thomas accepted a glass of wine, and as usual looked for Edward Gardiner.
A nanny entered carrying Charlotte, aged three, who said goodnight prettily before being carried upstairs to the nursery that she shared with baby John: as well as a knighthood, Lucas had acquired an heir.
‘How’s Fanny?’ Edward asked.
Thomas shrugged. ‘Bored with life in general and me in particular.’
He laughed. ‘She’ll be happy once the baby arrives.’
‘And yourself?’
Edward wrinkled his nose. ‘Bored too. Usual reason.’
‘You’re of age now. You can go your own way.’
‘Work as a clerk, you mean? In someone else’s business?’ Edward shook his head. ‘I have no money, Thomas, and no contacts. Father could help, if he wanted. But you know how matters stand.’
A lady sat at the piano, and Thomas recognised the former Evelina Bates, now Mrs Robinson. She played a piece that sounded like Haydn, and when she concluded, an elegant young man with dark curls and long sideburns sauntered to her side, bowed, and kissed her hand.
Thomas pointed. ‘Who might that be?’
‘Lady Lucas said he was an artist.’ Edward squinted, trying to remember. ‘Mario Pavan. From Venice.’
Thomas observed the Italian, now exercising his charm on Miss Goulding. He had a relaxed confidence that the ladies seemed to enjoy, and spoke fluently in a pronounced accent, always with expressive gestures.
‘Mr Bennet!’ Sir William Lucas joined them with a bow. ‘Delighted to see you, sir. You honour our humble home with your presence. Has Lady Lucas shown you around?’
Thomas smiled. ‘I have just arrived, Sir William.’
‘Then permit me.’ Lucas looked at Edward. ‘Will you accompany us, Mr Gardiner?’
‘I’ve had the tour already.’
Edward Gardiner moved off in the direction of the fair pianist while Lucas extolled the conveniences of his lodge, a pleasant enough house with plenty of space for the growing family.
‘You are employing an artist, I hear,’ Thomas said, tiring a little of rococo ceilings and sash windows and barley twist handrails.
‘Indeed. A Signor Pavan of the Venetian school.’ Lucas pointed to the stairs. ‘I can show you his work if you are interested. A portrait of myself just before I completed my term as mayor.’
They climbed to a spacious landing that had become a small gallery, and Thomas admired a reasonably good likeness of his companion in mayoral garb.
‘Excellent.’ He paused. ‘The artist is your guest?’
‘He’s working on a portrait of Lady Lucas. If it comes out well, we might ask for one with Charlotte as well.’
‘Does Mr Pavan live nearby?’
‘He’s settled in London where he accepts commissions.’ Lucas lowered his voice. ‘He was recommended to me after my investiture at St James’s Court.’
‘Ah.’ Thomas decided not to ask which august dignitary had made this recommendation. ‘I wonder what brought Mr Pavan to England. Perhaps he has family here.’
‘He is unmarried, and if I recall correctly, the son of a painter greatly admired by the cognoscenti.’ Lucas pointed down a corridor. ‘May I show you the bedrooms?’
Returning to the drawing room, Thomas sought an opportunity to confer with the artist, partly through curiosity, and partly to explore the possibility of a commission.
He had no great wish to preserve his own countenance for the benefit of future generations.
But Fanny’s likeness was worth capturing, and he thought the project might cheer her up, and distract her from the worries and imagined sufferings that seemed constantly to afflict her.
He noticed Pavan trying to charm Mrs Goulding, whose husband was observing with a frown, and went over to join them.
‘Good evening, Mr Goulding. I hope you are all well?’
Goulding turned, keeping half an eye on the artist, and returned the greeting. ‘My son William is gone early to Oxford for the Hilary term.’ He gestured towards Margaret Goulding. ‘My daughter is well, as you see.’
‘And looking lovely. I wonder, when Mrs Goulding has finished speaking with our visitor from Venice, could you introduce me to him?’
‘Why wait?’ Goulding moved quickly to his wife’s side. ‘My dear, we must not monopolise Signor Pavan. May I introduce Mr Bennet?’
The Gouldings left and for a moment Pavan looked annoyed before he rallied and bowed graciously. ‘I am most delighted and honoured to make your acquaintance, sir.’
‘I hear you belong to a family of great distinction in the art of painting.’
Pavan was alert. ‘You speak of Maestro Lorenzo? He is my uncle, and was also my teacher.’
‘Is your father not also an artist?’
A shake of the head. ‘He deals a little in art, but mostly porcelain and glassware.’
Thomas smiled: evidently Lucas had misunderstood. ‘A merchant then?’
‘It is an affare di famiglia, family business, of many generations.’
‘I was wondering …’ Thomas paused. ‘It would please me to have a portrait of my wife. On the same terms as Sir William. If she agrees, could we arrange a time?’
‘Naturalmente. But I am occupied this month with Lady Lucas, and in February with the Robinsons.’
‘No hurry. I will let you know.’
When Thomas reached Longbourn Fanny had gone to bed pleading a headache. He had a brandy with his father, who agreed to find a guest room for the artist if necessary.
At breakfast, Fanny responded at first with alacrity, then had a sudden panic. ‘I cannot be painted—like this!’
‘It will be in the spring, dear. After the little one is born.’
‘I may take months to return to normal.’
‘We will wait until you are ready.’
‘You promise?’
‘Of course.’
She paused, still uneasy. ‘This man is painting Lady Lucas?’
‘Also Mr and Mrs Robinson.’
‘She hardly deserves such attentions, although I suppose he will straighten her nose to flatter her.’
‘I’ll make a provisional arrangement. Pavan seems competent and his terms are reasonable. But let us see first how he portrays our neighbours.’