Chapter 12 #2
She returned to her room and sat at the writing desk, looking across the park.
Taking her folio, she withdrew a sheet upon which the canal expenses were listed for the past week.
She again noted how even was Darcy’s writing, yet in places the letters were ill-formed where his pen needed sharpening; some entries were rushed, as though he tired of the exercise.
She imagined him laying down his pen, untying his cravat, removing his Hessians before retiring to his bed.
She blushed, to entertain such an image of a man she had only met once before!
When she had first met him, he was staring out a window onto Fleet Street, morning light casting his brow into deep furrows.
Child she placed her hand upon his arm, then they were gone across the narrow footbridge and entered the woods, leaving the lake behind.
Elizabeth’s sense of unease deepened as she watched the pair disappear into the shadows.
The sight of Georgiana leaning on Mr. Wickham’s arm gave her a moment of worry she could not easily dismiss.
She drew her shawl more tightly about her shoulders, trying to reason with herself—that it was not her concern.
Yet had not Mr. Darcy entrusted her—as Child’s agent—with Georgiana’s safety?
She turned back to her papers, but her gaze strayed to the window again and again.
The ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece grew louder with every passing minute.
Unable to concentrate, Elizabeth rose from her chair and paced the length of her chamber.
After a moment’s indecision, she resolved to join them by the lake, if only to ease her mind.
With a last glance at the unfinished accounts, she slipped swiftly from the room.
“Mrs. Bennet, a moment of your time.” Baxter spoke to her as she crossed the vestibule. “My apologies, ma’am, but something urgent has arisen. It would be best if you could assist me with the matter.”
Elizabeth looked worriedly to the door, beyond which Georgiana was being escorted without a chaperone along the path in the woods. Winthrop, who had been attending to the household correspondence, came from the butler’s room.
“May I assist you, ma’am? I noticed that Miss Darcy has gone out without her pelisse. The weather, so very fine this morning, may chance upon rain early in the afternoon. Perchance I should send a footman to take it to her, then see her safely returned to the house.”
So, Winthrop had also noticed Miss Darcy walk out with Wickham—ever discreet, he had discerned Elizabeth’s concern.
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Winthrop. Being only newly arrived in Derbyshire, I have little feel for the weather; but certainly, a shower may come upon us very unexpectedly—a common occurrence in my home county, Hertfordshire.” She laughed.
They both knew there was nary a cloud in the sky, apart from a few tendrils of white mist perched high above the peaks.
Elizabeth relaxed; her concern for Georgiana was being taken care of as best they could.
She lent her attention to the steward. “Baxter, what matter is it that cannot wait? Surely, after all these years, there is little to disrupt the steady pace of Pemberley’s spring planting.”
He led her to the study, where a large map of the estate had been laid out.
“This is the southeast corner,” he said. “It’s an old boundary dispute—raised every year. With Mr. Darcy gone, both tenants feel they have an opportunity to secure the boundary in their favour.”
“I am not a land agent,” said Elizabeth with some exasperation. “Surely the solution Mr. Darcy arrived at last year will suffice?” She looked at the map, the boundaries clearly marked, except for one line, which was sketched rather than solid.
“The master’s solution was a fence, ma’am. But a winter flood pulled some posts from the ground. Now they are disputing the line, for the survey pegs were also washed away.”
“And I suppose they expect the estate to pay for a new survey, when common sense would place the new fence along the line of the old one. It seems, Baxter, that the desire for land steals any man’s reason. And the urgency? This appears to be a problem that Mr. Darcy can solve when he returns.”
“It’s the sowing,” said Baxter, shaking his head. “’Tis a fair spit of land between the fence and the copse—if it’s disputed, then neither of them will plant it—and, for sure, they’ll not share, for fear of giving the other man an advantage.”
“Please retrieve their leases. If I am to help, I need to understand the grounds for their dispute, likely unrecognised until a son or cousin inherited, and wished for a little more land than he had already got. I’m sure you are a busy man; please do not let me delay you.
I will read the survey reports and leasehold terms. Perhaps in an hour—mayhap a little longer—we will have a solution.
If not, I suggest we tie them to two of Pemberley’s strongest horses and quarter them, as was done to Sir Thomas Percy, who led rebellion against Henry VIII.
That, at least, will resolve the issue until the next generation. ”
As she studied the lease agreements, Winthrop entered the study carrying a tray. “I thought you may wish for some refreshment, Mrs. Bennet,” he said, setting the tray on the desk. “Cook also included some lemon biscuits.”
“Oh, they are my favourites—can you please thank her. Indeed, I am in great need of tea. I fear a megrim coming on—the leaseholds are written in law French, a language so old even William the Conqueror would struggle to understand it.”
Winthrop paused before leaving the room. “Miss Darcy has returned, and is in the music room. Mr. Wickham requested the gig take him to Lambton.”
Elizabeth looked up. “The gig? I wonder whether he has a horse—I can understand his walking from Lambton to Pemberley if one is inclined to enjoy nature, but most gentlemen prefer riding, and stabling a horse with the extra expense of having it exercised seems to be rather wasteful.”
“Indeed, ma’am. My understanding is that Mr. Wickham does not own a horse, and that he has taken lodgings in the Lambton alehouse.” Winthrop sniffed in disapproval. “The Rutland Arms is by far a superior establishment.”
* * *
That evening, as she sat in her chamber, Elizabeth thought back over her conversation with Georgiana while they were waiting in the drawing room for Mrs. Younge, before they had gone in to dinner. Georgiana had approached Elizabeth with some nervousness.
“Elizabeth, William gave me the key to the cash box, kept in the drawer of his desk. He said that, as mistress, if the need arose, I could access it whenever I wished.”
“Oh, I am glad you told me, for I make a daily accounting, and had found five pounds in coins missing. Was that the sum you borrowed?” Elizabeth’s reply was restrained, but, to her knowledge, Georgiana had no need of such a sum—any purchases from the merchants in Lambton were made against the Darcy accounts, and, if she were to take tea in the tearoom, a footman would see to the payment.
Young ladies of her rank would certainly not handle cash.
“Oh, I had not thought. I must replace it from my pin-money, though I do not know how to obtain coins.”
“Winthrop sees to the cash requirements of the household and the estate. The money is easily replaced, but it is wise to let him know. Theft of five pounds is a hanging offence, and if a servant were accused of it being missing, it would go very badly for them.”
Georgiana gasped, putting her hand to her mouth. “Is it such a large sum? George said it was only a trifle.”
“Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth went completely still.
“Oh, yes. He said he was expecting a draft from his bank, but it had not arrived. He needed the money to settle his bill at the inn.” Georgiana appeared unaware of the gross impropriety of lending money to a gentleman with no connection to her.
“He said he’ll repay me Thursday next. There is no need for Winthrop to worry—should I leave a note in the cash box? ”
Oh, the poor, naive young girl. It was certain that Wickham would never repay the five pounds. Had Georgiana lent him more? Likely, since he had been visiting Pemberley for several weeks before Elizabeth had arrived.
Should she speak of it to Mr. Darcy? He was already overwhelmed with the affairs of the Royal Canal; there was little he could achieve from such a distance.
No, he had trusted her to care for his sister.
And once she had her agent’s report on Wickham, she would know best how to act.
At the very least, she could ask that Mr. Wickham be turned away from the estate.
But she had seen how Georgiana’s eyes had lit up when he came upon them that morning.
‘Twas likely she was already half in love with the man. A dilemma indeed.
* * *