Chapter 8
Darcy woke next day in impatient anxiety over the arrival of Bingley’s party, since he had arranged with Gardiner to call at the Lambton inn before luncheon and introduce his sister.
Fortunately there was no delay: the two carriages arrived in time for late breakfast, bringing not only Georgiana and Bingley but his sisters, Mr Hurst, and Mrs Annesley.
Later Darcy took Georgiana aside to hear her account of their travels.
‘You enjoyed the Peaks?’ he asked.
‘The scenery, yes …’
‘Not the company?’
They were in the family wing, in a room Georgiana used as a boudoir—though one day it would belong to the mistress of Pemberley, if Darcy married.
‘Mr Bingley is always kind.’
‘And Miss Bingley?’
‘Talks a lot. Which relieves one from the duty of finding something to say. But she keeps watching me.’ Georgiana wrinkled her nose. ‘And her brother.’
‘You have Mrs Annesley.’
A sigh. ‘She is at least agreeable.’
‘If you are not too tired …’ Darcy leaned closer. ‘There is a party staying at Lambton, including a lady I would like you to meet, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I mentioned her once but you may have forgotten the name.’
Georgiana smiled. ‘Oh yes. Fine eyes.’
‘I never said that.’
‘I heard it from Caroline.’ Georgiana frowned. ‘Will she come too?’
‘No. You, me, Mr Bingley.’
‘This Miss Bennet, what is she like?’
‘Intelligent. Lively. She plays and sings too.’
Georgiana studied him, then said, ‘William, if I may ask.’ A deep breath. ‘Is she—the one?’
‘I admire her. But there are, ah, difficulties. Come along and see what you think.’
The meeting went better than Darcy had expected.
Bingley agreed to come, although fearing a frosty reception.
Georgiana was wary of this grand talented lady who might one day assume such importance in her life.
But from the outset Elizabeth was agreeable to everyone.
The fraught issue of Jane was adroitly managed: Bingley said how happy he had been in Hertfordshire; Elizabeth clarified that Jane was still living at Longbourn, hence unmarried.
Darcy and Bingley then spoke to the Gardiners, leaving Georgiana with Elizabeth.
On the trip back Bingley was thoughtful, and Georgiana too kept silence. Darcy waited until they were alone before asking her impressions.
‘Pleasant people.’
‘I agree.’ He led her a few yards away from the forecourt in the direction of the stream. ‘And Miss Bennet?’
‘One of the kindest and most amusing ladies I have ever met. Oh William!’ She turned, unusually animated. ‘Is this really possible? Will you …’
‘It’s strange, but among her virtues I have never exactly listed kindness.’
‘I think she saw I was nervous, and found ways to put me at my ease without being obvious. It was as if she found me genuinely interesting, and took what I said seriously.’
‘Is that so unusual?’
‘People treat me most of the time as if I were a child in need of reassurance and advice.’
‘Ah.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps I too err in that direction?’
‘It is your duty to guide me. And sometimes I am naive, as we know.’ She fell silent, regarding him as if hoping for an answer to her previous question. Was he intending to make an offer to Miss Bennet? But to reply honestly, he would have to confide what had occurred at Hunsford.
‘Shall we join the others?’ He turned towards the house. ‘By the way, Miss Bennet is coming to Pemberley tomorrow morning. You could show her the music room while the gentlemen are occupied by the river.’
Next day dawned fine, with a cooling breeze, and the ladies strolled while the gentleman fished—excluding Mr Hurst, who preferred to read The Sporting Magazine over a cigar and a bottle of port.
The parties reunited in the great hall for a luncheon of cold meats, cake, and fruit, and Darcy offered Elizabeth the seat beside Georgiana, before paying his respects to Mrs Gardiner and praising her husband’s success at the river.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Georgiana smile and laugh as she spoke very quietly with Elizabeth, and saw too Caroline Bingley’s impatience as she strained to hear what they were saying and inject some comment of her own.
‘Pray, Miss Eliza.’ Miss Bingley finally found an opening. ‘Are the militia gone from Meryton?’
Darcy saw Georgiana flinch in confusion, while Elizabeth replied calmly, ‘They are encamped now at Brighton.’
‘Your family must feel their loss keenly.’
Elizabeth shrugged. ‘Some we will miss, others not. It is the same, I suppose, for any group of people with whom one comes into contact.’
Bingley entered the fray. ‘You would apply this to the Bonapartists?’
‘I believe I would.’
‘Ill spoken!’ Miss Bingley cried. ‘A plague on them all, I say. Do you not agree, Mr Darcy?’
‘One should try to see good in people if one can,’ Darcy replied. ‘Difficult though it may be, in some cases.’
‘Capital!’
Miss Bingley applauded, as if he had uttered a witticism in her support, and with this new twist to the conversation, Georgiana looked up and attended in silence.
Later, as they took a turn about the hall, Darcy went to Elizabeth’s side and said quietly, ‘Georgiana feels a headache coming and I am going to accompany her upstairs and order a pot of willow bark tea. There is something I would like to show you, in privacy. Could you wait a few minutes and then go to the library?’ He saw her frown, and added, ‘It concerns the painting we were discussing yesterday.’
She relaxed. ‘I will come.’
‘You know the way?’
‘Mrs Reynolds showed us. But why not the gallery?’
‘You will see.’
Darcy did not have to wait long. The library door creaked, and Elizabeth slipped inside and closed it carefully.
‘Shall I lock it?’ she whispered.
‘As you prefer.’
‘Better not.’ She walked along the aisle in between the shelves, and joined him at a desk. ‘If we’re disturbed, I will say I came looking for a book …’
He smiled. ‘And found me here by chance …’
‘After which you showed me where to find it.’
‘Exactly.’ He spoke more seriously. ‘Before we begin, can I thank you for the clever way you protected my sister, by deflecting Miss Bingley’s barb about the militia.’
‘She thinks I’m her rival.’ Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. ‘If only she knew.’
‘Yes. Quite.’ Darcy tried to ignore a stab of disappointment. ‘So. The portrait.’ He opened a cupboard, drew out a framed picture, and placed it on the desk. ‘Which as you see is no longer in the gallery. What I wanted to show you is a label on the other side.’
He turned it over, revealing a panel on which a yellowing label bore the inscription Fanciulla con lettera, di Lorenzo Pavan, Venezia, 1786. ‘Paintings have notes and brands on the back, recording the title, when painted, where, and by whom. If sold and resold they may also name owners or dealers.’
Elizabeth pointed to Venezia. ‘This means Venice?’
‘Yes. The rest is self-explanatory except fanciulla, which I had to look up. It means a maiden, or young lady not yet married.’ He stepped back, very conscious of their closeness as they peered at the faint handwriting.
‘You see what this means? The work was by Lorenzo, not Mario, and it was painted in Venice. This is confirmed by an official seal bearing the name of the city.’ He pointed to a brand mark with two circles surrounding the word VENEZIA.
‘I see.’ Elizabeth looked away, thinking intently.
‘So this cannot be based on sketches of your mother,’ Darcy continued. ‘It was painted in Italy, before Mario Pavan came to Meryton. Any resemblance is coincidental.’
‘Unless …’ Elizabeth reddened, as if she had just made an embarrassing mistake.
‘Yes?’
She sighed. ‘Forget it. You are probably right.’
‘There’s one more thing I wanted to show you.’ Darcy drew her attention to a book, recently published, which he had left with a leather strip marking a page. ‘This is an up-to-date compendium of important artists, and it has an entry on Lorenzo Pavan.’ He rotated the book so she could read it.
Pavan, Lorenzo (1725-1798)
Venetian landscape and portrait painter of the school of Pompeo Batoni, who with Anton Mengs, Domenico Corvi, and Teodoro Matteini, fashioned a style leading from Rococo to modern Neo-classicism. Worked all his life at Venice where he taught at the Accademia di Belle Arti (Academy of Fine Arts).
There followed a list of Pavan’s pupils and his best-known paintings—not including Fanciulla con lettera.
‘No mention of Mario Pavan,’ Elizabeth said.
‘Not famous enough. But the entry confirms that Lorenzo Pavan was a Venice-based portrait painter active in the 1780s. It gives no details of his family, and cites only a few major works, but this is hardly surprising in a reference book.’
‘So Lorenzo would have been in his sixties when this was painted.’ Elizabeth turned the painting over carefully, and stared at the image. ‘Who was she? A family member perhaps? Lorenzo’s daughter, or niece, or granddaughter?’
Darcy shrugged. ‘Or a maid, or a client’s daughter. Who can say?’
‘But supposing …’ Elizabeth threw her hands up. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Darcy. I have a ridiculous idea, and no-one with whom I can discuss it.’
‘Your uncle and aunt?’
‘Impossible!’ She lowered her voice. ‘In your letter, for which I am truly grateful, you trusted me with a disclosure potentially devastating for your family. I find myself now in a similar situation, except that my secret is merely theory, not fact.’
‘You will find me equally discreet.’
She hesitated. ‘It’s a complicated story …’
‘I could come to the inn tomorrow morning, and ask Mr Gardiner whether I can speak with you privately.’
She laughed. ‘He will agree with alacrity.’
‘Shall we say ten o’clock?’ Darcy pointed at the door. ‘I suggest we re-join the others separately. I will go to my sister first.’