Chapter 17
There was little Elizabeth could do but wait until the quarantine was lifted, after which she would write to Asquith, Badeley, and Chaffers.
The completion of the canal was indifferent as to who owned the shares, and there was little to be done beforehand.
She took her copy of Cowper and went to relieve the maid who was sitting with Lady Catherine.
The lady was already propped up in bed, and the maid, when Elizabeth entered the room, bobbed a quick curtsey and hurriedly exited.
“Mrs. Bennet, I saw Georgiana walk across the lawn with Mrs. Younge and a strange man, who did have some familiarity for me. Pray, who is he, for I thought there were no other visitors at Pemberley?”
“It is Mr. Wickham, ma’am,” she replied, “the son of the late Mr. Darcy’s steward.”
“Oh, I cannot countenance it. Georgiana, the granddaughter of an earl, walking out with a mere servant—it is not to be borne!”
“Perhaps, your ladyship, but he was Mr. George Darcy’s godson, and has been raised as a gentleman. He took his degree at Cambridge with Mr. Darcy. Surely he is respectable enough. And they are well chaperoned by Mrs. Younge.”
“Hrmph, it is most displeasing.” The lady pursed her lips. “But I would learn more of you, Mrs. Elizabeth. You seem exceedingly young to be so high in Lady Jersey’s bank.”
“Indeed you are correct,” said Elizabeth. “I am quite astonished myself. But a year ago, I was plain Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of no consequence whatsoever.”
In her usual intrusive manner, Lady Catherine enquired into Elizabeth’s acquaintance with Lady Jersey.
“I am not well acquainted with Lady Jersey,” said Lady Catherine, after listening to Elizabeth’s narrative.
“She is lucky to have George Villiers as a husband, for the man is more interested in fox hunting and horse racing than dabbling in commerce. Does it worry you, Mrs. Elizabeth, that you could be tainted by the association?”
Elizabeth was perplexed. “Whatever do you mean, Lady Catherine? It is true that Lady Jersey is involved in the supervision of the bank, as head partner; but I understand you manage Rosings when most of the ton would say it was a task best suited to men.”
“Of course I should manage Rosings. It is my rank and consequence that entitle me to do so. Indeed, I am a most active magistrate in the parish; the minutest concerns are brought to my attention.”
“Is it not the same,” said Elizabeth, “that Lady Jersey also manages Child and if I speak bluntly, then I am accused of impudence.”
“I am beginning to like you, Mrs. Bennet,” said Lady Catherine, a wry smile touching her lips. “You possess a refreshing candour, and are not intimidated by the superiority of rank. Tell me, have you met my nephew Darcy?”
“But the once, in London. Certainly, he is a proud man, yet of great integrity and honour. Otherwise, Child yet there remained his duty to complete the canal.
In many ways, they were the same charge—for if Pemberley were broken up, then decades, nay, centuries, of careful oversight allowing tenant families to prosper across generations would pass to new owners—likely new money, not understanding the complex web of obligations existing between landowner and the people who worked the land.
“Would he and my daughter, Anne, suit, do you think?”
Lady Catherine’s question took Elizabeth by complete surprise. So indelicate, to speak of relationships between people she was scarcely acquainted with. “Ma’am, do you truly wish me to answer, for I hardly know your daughter.”
“But you correspond with Darcy, do you not?” Lady Catherine eyed her shrewdly. “Naturally, as agent of the bank—it would be highly improper for an unmarried woman to correspond with an unrelated man.”
“I do, your ladyship; but, as you say, only as agent of the bank.”
“For all your evasion, I suspect that you know more of his thoughts than I,” said Lady Catherine, pensively.
“Please get to know my daughter, for she has very few friends. I think she would benefit greatly from your acquaintance. Now, I wish to rest. Perhaps, after I am rested, you could read some of Cowper’s poems. I am in need of thoughts celebrating rural peace and the beauty of the English countryside. ”
* * *
Finally, perhaps a fortnight after Elizabeth had written of the measles quarantining Pemberley, a letter arrived from Mr. Darcy.
He had penned his reply immediately upon receipt of her letter, yet its progress to England, and thence to Derbyshire, had been frustratingly slow.
He could offer no further aid, save to mention the packhorse trail, already guarded following Mr. Wickham’s arrival at the house; and, with none of the staff showing symptoms of the disease, the medical text from London would most likely come too late to be of any practical benefit to Lady Catherine and Anne de Bourgh.
Oh, what a complex man! Elizabeth felt such compassion for him—for just as he learnt of disease at Pemberley, he was obliged to prevent a riot in Killucan, the nearest town to Thomastown.
She found the town on the map Mr. Darcy had sent to Georgiana earlier.
And after quelling the disturbance, to be importuned by a young Irish girl in his hotel!
Elizabeth could scarcely blame him for being tempted.
What gentleman would not be, so far from the comforts of society?
Yet, as she read, she felt some discomfort—should a man confess such thoughts of temptation to a lady, and to herself most particularly?
Perhaps the whiskey had affected him more than he had realised.
Yet he was brutally honest—an honesty she could respect, even though it unsettled her.
Her thoughts wandered to the woman he mentioned, one whose chestnut hair so resembled Caitríona’s.
Who might she be? Some elegant young lady, perhaps, encountered during the season.
Elizabeth could only wish Mr. Darcy well, trusting that these recollections would lend him comfort in the lonely nights ahead.
Mr. Wickham blended into Pemberley as though he had been born to it—which Elizabeth supposed he had.
She had not mentioned that the shares had been found, for she wished to have an opinion from the solicitors before she discussed the matter with him.
Certainly, he enjoyed Georgiana’s company, but his attention was that of an elder brother.
His sly glances toward Mrs. Younge, and her easy response, led Elizabeth to suspect that they genuinely felt affection for each other—that the only reason they did not marry was that Wickham’s fortune was too little, and she had no desire to enter service as a married woman.
Elizabeth wondered whether he sought a position as a land agent or steward.
He had made enquiries, but most positions required either training in law—as land agent—or sought local men, who knew the climate and the soil.
There were few estates in Derbyshire, and none were looking for a steward, or even an under-steward.
Migration to Upper Canada, the Cape, or to New Holland were possibilities. He had written to the Colonial Office, which had replied that land grants in New South Wales, convict labour, and tools for agriculture were available, though he would need to pay for his own transport.
“Mr. Wickham, do you know the cost of passage from Liverpool to New South Wales?” asked Elizabeth, as they sat one evening in the family parlour, the long hours of daylight gracefully illuminating the room.
“There are only convict ships, and the rare mercantile.
Cabin accommodation is essential, and each passenger must pay for their own food and amenities.
For the six-month voyage to Sydney, ‘tis likely fifty pounds for each person—a little cheaper for a married couple.” Wickham glanced at Mrs. Younge, who nodded.
“You have the money, do you not? Your legacy from Mr. George Darcy was one thousand pounds,” said Elizabeth.
“That is true, but on reaching the colony, the cost of food is very expensive, and even a thousand pounds may be insufficient to cover the expense of setting up a farm—tools, horses, a cart, ploughs, seed. As a single man, I would take the risk. But married? I couldn’t put any woman in that position. ”
The conversation moved on, but Elizabeth saw Mrs. Younge’s eyes moisten.
Perhaps Mr. Wickham was too cautious. Yet, could she herself give up family, friends, and society to make a new life ten thousand miles away on the other side of the world?
Truthfully, she doubted she had the courage.
But already she had settled a plan to assist Mr. Wickham.
To proceed, she only required confirmation from the solicitors as to the legal ownership of the Royal Canal shares.
* * *
“We should hold a party!” exclaimed Georgiana, clasping her hands together.
“Oh, Elizabeth, it would be so wonderful, now that the quarantine is to be lifted. We will invite all the tenants, cottagers, and, of course, our neighbours. Do you think we should also invite the townsfolk from Lambton and Kympton?”