Chapter 21
Pemberley
Elizabeth’s spirits rose as she and the Gardiners drove north through Oxford, Blenheim, Warwick, Kenelworth, Birmingham until they reached the little town of Lambton, some three weeks after their departure.
It was the scene of Mrs. Gardiner’s former residence, and where she had lately learned that some acquaintance still remained.
Having spent three blissful days visiting her friends and seeing the local sights, Mr. Gardiner declared that he wished to see a local estate, where it was rumoured the landowner was wont to allow visitors to fish in his lake; the fishing was said to be excellent.
Mrs. Gardiner agreed to the visit, saying that if it were only a fine house richly furnished, she should not care to go; but the grounds were delightful. They had some of the finest woods in the country.
Elizabeth had no opinion on the matter, for she was entirely at the disposal of her aunt and uncle.
She had begun to leave the worries of London behind, and no one they had met had associated the scandal reported in the Morning Post with Elizabeth and the Gardiners.
A few had agreed it was highly unusual for the Earls Matlock and Wellington to jointly denounce the newspaper—for it was known they were on opposite sides of politics, one a Whig and the other a Tory.
But these were strange times, and who knew the minds of great men.
To Elizabeth, departing the inns where they stayed overnight was always a relief, for the thoughts of the staff and the company in the taproom always pressed against her.
They were fleeting memories—mostly inconsequential—but occasionally so poignant that she was forced to walk outside, or, if that were not possible, retreat to her room.
Mr. Gardiner often requested rooms as far as possible from the common rooms of the inn.
Not for the quiet—which was always welcome—but for Elizabeth’s peace of mind.
They had come five miles from Lambton before turning in at the lodge to the estate.
The park was very large, and contained a great variety of ground.
They entered it in one of its lowest points, and drove for some time through a beautiful wood, stretching over a wide extent.
Unaccountably, Elizabeth found her spirits in a high flutter.
They had visited many grand homes, perhaps Chatsworth being the most noteworthy, yet her sense of anticipation began to grow as the road gradually ascended, until the wood abruptly ceased and she found herself looking out over a broad valley.
Beyond a wide stream stood a large, handsome stone building, standing well on rising ground.
She was enchanted. As they descended the hill, crossed the bridge, and drove to the door she felt something she had never felt before.
No, it was not something felt—it was the very absence of thoughts which hitherto had always pushed against her.
The memories of her aunt and uncle receded—were gone; likewise, those of the coachman and the footman. This was bliss.
“Lizzy, you have gone quite pale.” Mrs. Gardiner reached to take her hand.
“They are gone, all those thoughts, all those memories which push against me—they are gone! ’Tis a miracle. I have never felt such silence, such calm before. Is this what all people experience? Oh, I do not know how it is so, but it is truly glorious.”
She stepped down from the coach, spun around. Nearby, a gardener was tending a hedge which bordered the gravel drive. He looked up from his clippers, touched his brow in respect.
“Good morning, Mr. Siddals, how is young Annie?”
The man stared at her. Oh dear, where did that memory come from? It was not his, for sure.
While Mrs. Gardiner had visited the manor when living in Lambton, it was unknown to Mr. Gardiner. Therefore, wishing to see the public rooms before inquiring about the fishing, they ascended the steps to the house.
“Winthrop, so pleased to see you so well.” Elizabeth’s hand went to her mouth. She knew this man, the butler of Pemberley.
Winthrop blinked, and for a moment, Elizabeth feared she had spoken too much out of turn. But the butler’s face resolved into a polite, if slightly puzzled, smile.
“Welcome, ma’am,” he said, bowing first to Mrs. Gardiner and then to Elizabeth. “If you would care to follow me, I shall inquire whether Mrs. Reynolds is at leisure to show you the house.”
As they stepped into the great hall, Elizabeth’s senses were assaulted by impressions so vivid that she could barely sort her own recollections from those that seemed to drift in the air—echoes of laughter, the faint clatter of boots on stone, a low voice reading aloud, arpeggios played on a harp.
She pressed her hand against a cool pilaster, fighting the urge to gasp.
Mrs. Gardiner, meanwhile, had not noticed her niece’s distraction. “I recall a little of Pemberley, but I was unprepared for the reality,” she whispered, her eyes tracing the intricate mouldings of the ceiling panels. “It is all that is graceful, without ostentation.”
As they waited for the housekeeper, Elizabeth wandered to a window that framed the portico. The landscape beyond was a painting come to life: lawns sweeping down to the water, trees casting long shadows, and in the distance, beyond an ivy-covered folly, a deer darting at the edge of the wood.
It was then that Mrs. Reynolds entered—a genteel, respectable-looking, older woman. “Good morning, ladies and sir. I am pleased to welcome you to Pemberley. Mr. Darcy is from home at present, but visitors are always welcome to view the house and grounds.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught at the mention of his name, and in that instant she felt the oddest twinge—a memory, perhaps, or a wish resolved.
“Mrs. Reynolds… my pardon, but you were unaware I have just this moment returned.” His voice was as she always knew it—refined, educated, deep, beautiful. Yet, there was a vulnerability she had never noticed before.
Mr. Darcy?
She turned to her aunt and uncle with what she hoped was composure. “We should go,” she said quietly. “We should not impose.”
“Miss Bennet.”
His voice came from the doorway. She had no memories of this. She turned, slowly.
He did not look displeased. That was the first thing she noticed. He looked—she searched for the words—the same as in London, taking pleasure in their company.
He crossed the room toward her aunt and uncle, spoke quietly, chuckling at some comment that Mr. Gardiner had made. And then he turned to her.
“I had hoped,” he said, “that you would come.”
She stared at him.
“I asked your uncle to bring you,” he said, simply. “I wrote to him. I should have—I ought to have told you myself, but I was not certain you would agree to come if you knew.” A pause. “I was not certain I had any right to ask it.”
Elizabeth looked at her uncle, who had the expression of a man who had kept a secret rather longer than was comfortable and was glad to be relieved of it.
They took tea in the drawing-room. Georgiana was already there when they entered, seated near the window with Mrs. Annesley beside her, and she rose the moment she saw Elizabeth, a broad smile on her face.
In London they had spent so many hours together—walking in the park, talking about music and books, visiting galleries and museums. Georgiana was not easy with strangers.
With Elizabeth, she never had been a stranger.
“You came,” Georgiana said, and took both of Elizabeth’s hands in hers.
“I did not know it was Pemberley.” It was then that Elizabeth’s composure fled her. She burst into tears, burying her head on Georgiana’s shoulder.
“No! You shouldn’t comfort me! My shame is spread across the London tabloids! Oh, Georgiana, whatever have I done to you? It is so unfair, that you should also suffer for my recklessness.”
“Reckless? Have you not read the rebuttal to the Post’s villainy?
” Darcy stepped forward. “Both Matlock and Wellington state unequivocally that the paper promotes a gross falsehood—that they hold you in the highest esteem; that you did Britain a great service, and have always acted with the greatest propriety.”
“Oh, but you, Mr. Darcy, know the truth.” Elizabeth’s sobs increased.
“It is not only the ton whose good opinion I solicit. Cannot you see? Above all else, it is your and Georgiana’s good reputation that matters.
I have disgraced you—certainly that is believed by half of England, notwithstanding their lordships’ approbation. ”
Elizabeth abruptly turned towards the door. “Please, uncle, you were well meaning, but I cannot stay.”
Pemberley! Everything that she could have wanted. She could have loved Darcy all the more for his beautiful house!
“Miss Bennet—I will not let you leave. Please, walk with me.” Darcy took her arm.
Was it weakness to allow him to escort her outside? To walk together along a beautiful walk by the side of the water? Every step bringing forward a grander vista, a finer reach of the woods? It was some time before Elizabeth was sensible to any of it.
“Elizabeth.” He stopped walking. The use of her Christian name stopped her. She turned, though she had not meant to.
“I think you know what I wish to say to you.”
“I think,” she said, not meeting his eyes, “that I must ask you not to say it.”
Something moved in his expression—hurt. “You would deny me even the words?”
“I would spare you the necessity of them.”
“Spare me?” He repeated it quietly. “You think it a kindness, then, to spare me.”