Chapter 17
As Bingley’s carriage passed through St John’s Wood, Elizabeth put away her book and tried to collect her thoughts.
In a quarter-hour they would arrive at Darcy’s Mayfair residence, where Bingley would announce his happy news before delivering her to Gracechurch Street.
Meeting Darcy was daunting at the best of times, but especially now, with so much to confide.
They had set off at dawn, breakfasted at St Albans, and made good time—it was not long after midday.
The main purpose of the trip was for Bingley to get a marriage license from Lambeth; he had agreed to take Elizabeth as passenger so that she could visit her uncle and aunt—unaware of her real motives.
She wanted to view the portrait of a Venetian lady, possibly Mario Pavan’s sister; and also, to hear Mr Gardiner’s version of what transpired during the trip to Italy with Mr Bennet.
‘Not long now,’ Bingley said.
Elizabeth stretched, and smiled at a maid brought along for chaperonage—a precaution hardly necessary, in Elizabeth’s opinion. The normally talkative Bingley had said little during their journey, and she wondered why.
‘You are not, I hope, concerned over Mr Darcy’s reaction? He will be delighted. I am sure of it.’
‘Delighted and relieved.’ Bingley lowered his voice. ‘To be frank, I fear a frosty reception from my sisters.’
‘They were not aware …’
‘Of my aim in returning to Netherfield? I imagine they guessed, since they tried to dissuade me.’
‘Miss Bingley will adapt, once all is decided.’
‘She will have to.’ Bingley said, a slight raise of the eyebrows suggesting other realities Caroline might need to accept.
‘Miss Elizabeth!’ Darcy entered the drawing room, where Elizabeth had been speaking with Georgiana while the gentlemen conferred in the study.
‘Perhaps this is a good moment to show you the latest addition to my art collection? I believe Charles …’ A nod towards Bingley.
‘Has news of interest that he would like to confide to my sister.’
Georgiana smiled shyly, and Elizabeth rose with a slight shrug, as if a picture more or less was not of special import.
Darcy led her to the sanctuary of his study, where he drew two canvases from a drawer and propped them on a shelf.
The first she had seen twice before: Fanciulla con lettera.
The second showed a woman of mature age with a fair resemblance to the fanciulla.
‘What do you think?’ Darcy asked.
‘They could be the same woman except …’ She pointed. ‘The young one strikingly resembles me; the older one does not.’
‘Unsurprising, given your age.’
‘So this is my destiny.’ Elizabeth peered again at the new picture. ‘I can believe this is by Mario Pavan. In style it reminds me of his works at Lucas Lodge. The fanciulla is far better.’
‘As it would be, if painted by Lorenzo.’
Elizabeth hesitated, gathering her courage.
‘Mr Darcy, there is something I wanted to say at Longbourn, but never got the opportunity. It will doubtless be an unwelcome embarrassment.’ She explained how she had learned of his role in persuading Wickham and Lydia to marry.
‘May I thank you with all my heart for this kindness, which I fear we can never repay.’
He studied her, shaken. ‘Your father …’
‘Does not know. Unless Lydia has let it slip again.’
‘I could not bear to see you disgraced.’ He extended a hand towards the paintings. ‘Especially after the other anxieties you have suffered. But the last thing I wished was to place you under an obligation.’
‘So honourable!’ She smiled, trying to lighten the atmosphere. ‘I see your game, which is to underline yet again my misjudgement of your character.’
He said wryly, ‘It seems I cannot win.’
‘Oh, you have won, and my remorse is sincere. But I have further news concerning the mystery of my origins.’
‘Perhaps later? I have ordered lunch, so we should join the others in the dining room.’
The delay frustrated Elizabeth: she had been perplexed for days over the implications of her father’s tale, and eager to discuss it with Darcy as well as Mr Gardiner.
But during the meal a solution presented itself.
Bingley was keen to get on with his business at Lambeth; Darcy offered to take Elizabeth to Cheapside in a closed carriage that would ensure their privacy.
‘You’re sure you are comfortable with this?’ Elizabeth said as they set off—alone except for their driver.
‘It’s the safest way to talk confidentially.’
‘I have spoken with my father.’ She swallowed. ‘It transpires he knew the subject of your new portrait very well. Assuming she was Concetta.’
‘Did he revise his former account?’
‘No, but he described adventures I had never imagined.’ Elizabeth tried, in a few minutes, to summarise her father’s year away from Longbourn.
Paris at the onset of the revolution. The baron’s daughter.
Mr Gardiner’s training with Francesco Pavan.
Concetta and her husband. Lorenzo’s interest in painting Sylvie.
Ned Turton, and the shock of Sylvie’s pregnancy.
Sylvie’s engagement to Leighton—and the fate of her baby.
‘A dramatic trip,’ Darcy said. ‘But how does it bear on the circumstances of your birth?’
‘Not at all, according to father.’ Elizabeth sighed.
‘And I long to trust him. But I have this idea, and cannot get it out of my head. When father returned from Venice, could it be that he brought a baby of just a few months old? And persuaded my mother to treat it as her own? And pretended it had been born in London?’
‘The age difference would be noticeable.’
‘At first, yes. But keep the little girl at home, and soon the four-year-old would be accepted as a precocious three-year-old. Only close family would know.’
Darcy turned to face her. ‘In short, you think you might be Sylvie de Montmorency’s child?’
‘It sounds absurd, but consider. Sylvie cared nothing for the baby. She wanted to give it to a foundling hospital and keep the pregnancy secret—to my father’s distress.’
‘I suppose the fanciulla in Lorenzo’s picture could have been Sylvie, whom he also painted.’
Elizabeth nodded. ‘It would explain too the attitude of my mother, who has always given the preference to Jane.’ A wry grin. ‘While I was viewed as a suitable wife for Mr Collins.’
‘Not by your father.’ Darcy thought a moment. ‘And I find it exceedingly unlikely that Mrs Bennet would accept another woman’s daughter into her family.’
‘So you retain your earlier opinion. There is no mystery about my birth. My resemblance to the fanciulla is coincidental.’
‘It is by far the most likely interpretation.’
‘Then why the secrecy?’
‘Your mother, it seems, was fascinated by Mario, your father by Concetta. They would naturally conceal such improper feelings. They might also be guilty over the trip to Italy: your father for going, your mother for refusing to accompany him.’
Elizabeth nodded, embarrassed by the simplicity of this explanation—yet still not convinced.
Alone with Elizabeth, Mr Gardiner looked relaxed as they shared a late-night brandy. On her previous visit he had been wary. But now that Mr Bennet had spoken, he was content to add his own recollections.
‘So Sylvie’s baby went to the foundling hospital?’ Elizabeth said.
‘That was the plan.’ Mr Gardiner sighed. ‘To be certain, we would have to locate the Leightons.’
‘Father said he had lost contact, so their friendship must have lapsed.’
‘I heard from Pavan that the Leightons moved to Florence, after which Sylvie stopped writing to Concetta.’
‘I thought they were friends too.’
‘Sylvie probably wanted to erase the episode from her mind.’ Mr Gardiner paused. ‘As did we all. Your father was upset by Henry’s decision. They didn’t quarrel, but there was a coolness when we parted.’
Elizabeth felt her anxiety ease, as much through her uncle’s tone as his answers. ‘Did father ever talk to you about Concetta?’
‘You think …’ A smile, and he shook his head.
‘He pitied her, I believe, as we all did. Married off to a stone-faced man interested only in business. But I saw no hint of impropriety. Mind you, after what happened to Ned Turton we were on our guard. Smile at another man’s wife and you might end up in the lagoon. ’
Elizabeth laughed. ‘You must pardon the interrogation. It is just so fascinating to learn of the dramas that unfolded just before I arrived in this world.’
‘Ask away, Lizzy. I only hope you understand our reticence. There was a lot of ill feeling in the family when your father helped me quit the law for business—and left your mother alone the year after Jane was born.’
‘One thing still puzzles me.’ Elizabeth paused. ‘I can see that you had to move to London to start up your business, and that my parents might visit you there. But why stay for so long? Not just a few weeks, but the better part of a year?’
Mr Gardiner frowned, as if calculating. ‘It was not just a visit. We left together from Longbourn in summer 1790, when my samples from Venice arrived. My father was angry with Thomas for helping me. He had been hoping, you see, that the whole enterprise would fail, and that I would return, defeated, to his law firm.’
‘And my mother?’
‘Fanny was uninterested in my business ambitions, but accepted the move to London with alacrity.’ A smile. ‘Between ourselves, Lizzy, your mother did not like being seen by neighbours when with child. Her figure was a point of pride in those days.’
‘Where did you live?’
‘Thomas rented a house in Cannon Street, between here and St Paul’s.
Not Mayfair—but a decent enough area. We brought the Hills and little Jane from Longbourn, so Fanny had company.
I got to know Pavan’s London agent, who was doing well with Meissen porcelain from Saxony, and happy for me to deal with Venice.
I toured shops, and with Thomas’s help organised exhibitions at gentlemen’s clubs and fashionable salons. ’
Elizabeth gasped: this did not sound like her indolent father. ‘He helped with the work?’
‘Oh yes! Thomas persuaded his father to invest. Found contacts from school and university. He even gave talks on Venetian culture to accompany my collections of sculpture and painting.’ A wink.
‘Between you and me, Lizzy, it is for this reason that he has allowed me to pay off Wickham—not knowing of course the true identity of his benefactor.’
‘You owe him a favour from the past.’
‘A substantial one.’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘And your efforts bore fruit?’
A nod. ‘We found a niche. Not a large market, but one with a loyal clientele willing to pay for quality and artistry. Over time I have branched out. But that was my start.’ He smiled fondly.
‘And a greater treasure, dear Lizzy, arrived in March 1791. After which your mother insisted on staying a few months more, before carrying her pride and joy to Longbourn.’