Pemberley
Two footmen hastened to assist them, both carrying umbrellas and dressed in fashionable livery. Much to their credit, neither man seemed to think it unusual for young ladies to arrive riding double, astride, covered in mud, and neither man scrupled to assist, despite the cost to their attire.
The first footman, a rather handsome man of around Elizabeth’s age, said, “Allow us to assist you, miss. Our butler is unfortunately indisposed, as is the under-butler and the housekeeper, but if you will step inside, I am certain the mistress will want to speak with you. Robert will take the horse around to the stables.”
Elizabeth liked the young man very much. “Thank you, that is very kind. Is the master at home?”
“No, ma’am. He is not expected for some days.”
“Who has charge of the house? Excuse me, that is an impertinent question; it is just that we must discuss a matter with whoever is in charge, and we must do so immediately.”
“Come inside, miss. We can fetch you a bath and some clean clothes. I fear if we let you catch your death, Mrs Reynolds will have our hides… eventually.”
“Mrs Reynolds?”
“The housekeeper, ma’am.”
Fortunately, they had walked as they spoke, and Elizabeth stepped into the most beautiful entryway she had ever beheld.
Not only was it not wet, and not on fire, and not filled with smoke or pigs—but it was beautiful in an elegant, yet understated way that she found very much to her liking.
It resembled Matlock yet surpassed it. If forced to describe it in a word, she would choose ‘subtle.’ The furnishings were evidently well crafted and expensive, but much like Matlock, each piece sat in exactly the right place to serve a purpose.
Nothing was ostentatious or overly ornamented.
She found it to her taste—much to her chagrin.
Margaret gazed about in wonder. “Lizzy, this entry is amazing.”
“Yes, Margie. It is. It is… well, to be honest, it is as I expected.”
Margaret just smiled in a particularly good approximation of Jane in a lively mood.
As the ladies gazed about, a young woman of Lydia or Kitty’s age hastened down the stairs, followed by an older lady of about Mrs Bennet’s age, showing much more decorum. Elizabeth presumed this must be the lady of the house.
Miss Darcy was tall, and on a larger scale than Elizabeth; and, though little more than sixteen, her figure was formed, and her appearance womanly and graceful.
She was less handsome than her brother; but there was sense and good humour in her face, and her manners were perfectly unassuming and gentle.
The young lady ran up to her and burst out, “Oh, my goodness! Welcome to Pemberley, ladies. This is terrible. You are wet as drowned rats. Pray, allow me to arrange baths, and some clean clothing, then you can tell me what brings you.”
She ceased speaking, gave an embarrassed laugh, and added, “Oh… I am a complete ninnyhammer. I have not even done introductions, but I hope you will attribute it to concern for your welfare, and not bad manners. You see, I am usually quite shy, and nobody can get a word out of me, but when I get excited, I rattle on like a madwoman.”
Elizabeth could not help it; she laughed at the entire episode.
Margaret somewhat timidly joined her, until Miss Darcy started tittering, and all had a good laugh.
At that point, she spared a thought that this could not possibly be the girl Mr Wickham described; ergo, everything that man said must be discounted.
She did not wish to think that at least half of her animosity for the master of this house was probably based on that scoundrel’s words.
No, she did not think that three or four times over while the three ladies did their best to act like Lydia and Kitty.
Another footman approached with two blankets and some towels. Elizabeth and Margaret eyed the quality of the materials, and the amount of grime on their sleeves, suspiciously.
Miss Darcy said, “Stop that fidgeting, and wrap yourselves in those blankets. You have obviously been in a fire, and I will not have you dripping all over my clean floor.”
Elizabeth laughed, and Miss Darcy joined her, before lowering her eyes and murmuring, “Please. I know I seem a bit agitated, but I assure you, I am usually more reserved. It is only that we are in a spot of difficulty.”
“Not at all, Miss Darcy. You are doing splendidly.”
Miss Darcy gave her a broad smile. “I am afraid you find me in charge of the manor without a clear idea of what to do. Perhaps introductions are in order. I am, as you surmised, Miss Georgiana Darcy. This is my companion, Mrs Annesley. My brother, Fitzwilliam Darcy, owns the estate. How may I be of service?”
Elizabeth wondered at the lack of a housekeeper or butler, yet not excessively.
It was no business of hers how Pemberley was run.
She gratefully took the towel from the footman, brushed quickly over her hair and the outside her clothing, and wrapped herself in the blanket, while Margaret did the same.
She thanked the footman and asked his name.
The man, about five-and-twenty and seemingly quite friendly, gave it, and subtly suggested to Miss Darcy that a fire might be in order. That lady took the suggestion quite to heart and bustled the pair off to a parlour on the ground floor, where a footman was already stoking the grate.
Elizabeth and Margaret stood near the fire to warm their hands, then turned. Elizabeth started her disclosure.
“Miss Darcy, I fear my manners are lacking, but you seem quite understanding. Allow me to introduce myself and my companion. This is Miss Margaret Wythe of London. Margaret’s father manages the wool sales for Lord and Lady Matlock among others, but not your brother.”
“Miss Wythe, it is a pleasure. I do hope to be introduced to your parents.”
“Likewise, Miss Darcy.”
“I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire.”
Quite to her surprise, Miss Darcy gasped, and practically shouted, “YOU are Elizabeth Bennet!”
Alarmed to consider what part of her reputation had preceded her, Elizabeth said, “I believe so. I know your brother somewhat. He stayed at Netherfield with his friend Mr Bingley last autumn, just three miles from my father’s estate; and I encountered him again six weeks ago at Rosings, where I was visiting a friend recently married to the rector of Hunsford. ”
She lowered her voice, and whispered only for Miss Darcy’s ears, “What have you heard? Am I welcome here? I would not cause you distress for anything in the world.”
Georgiana stared in confusion. “I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet. That must have sounded unhinged. I know only that my brother wrote about you quite some number of times last autumn, and again when he encountered you in Kent, and I just received a note recommending you yesterday. I know he holds you in the highest regard, but little more. I only reacted that way because he rarely says anything at all about young ladies so he must be particularly impressed with you.”
Elizabeth sighed with relief. Why had she thought it possible Mr Darcy might have confided in his sister? He had surely not consulted a single soul! The Wythes were likely the only people in the world who knew of his proposal.
Elizabeth drew a breath. “As you surmised, there was a fire, and we are aiding the villagers. At least a third, possibly half of Sudbury has burned to the ground.”
“Oh, no! My brother has worried about that for years. Most villages have built in stone for some time, but Sudbury retained many old wooden structures. We feared this would happen, but—”
“There is doubtless a story, but I do not need it. The point is that the church stands, but its roof is so damaged it is uninhabitable in this weather. The stables are entirely gone, and the inn is badly damaged. Many villagers are without shelter.”
“What is to be done?” Miss Darcy cried in alarm.
Elizabeth studied the floor, then gathered her courage.
“I hope you may one day forgive me, but I… well… I claimed to know your brother better than I truly do, and furthermore said they would be welcome at Pemberley. I hope you can afford them a dry place to sleep for a few days, to allow them a chance to set the village to rights.”
“Of course, Miss Bennet. You are quite right about my brother. They are welcome here. Although—”
Elizabeth started when the young lady stopped. “Although, what?”
Miss Darcy looked equally distressed. “Only, I am not certain it is wise. You see… well… I am so confused.”
The young lady’s courage crumbled before her eyes; Elizabeth could not but feel sympathetic.
“Start at the beginning,” Elizabeth said gently. “Perhaps I can help; and if not, Mr and Mrs Wythe should be here within an hour or two.”
“I am not even certain we should have admitted you. Our housekeeper, butler, under-butler, and several servants have been taken with measles. Do you know measles?”
“Yes, I nearly died of it in the outbreak of 1808, when I was sixteen. I was confined to my bed for weeks, so I made my father obtain all the medical books he could find. I am very well versed in the disease.”
“I am glad, for I have no idea what to do. Mrs Reynolds instructed us to confine them to the guest wing. It is well isolated from the rest of the house, and she thought it unnecessary to quarantine the whole place. Now… well, what should I do?”
Panic rose in Elizabeth. She had been in Pemberley a mere quarter hour and was already expected to advise on household matters.
Since she was mostly resolving problems of her own creation, her courage must rise to the challenge.
She was five years older than Miss Darcy, and probably considerably more worldly; a little advice would not be amiss.
Her hesitation seemed too much for Miss Darcy. “Miss Bennet, might I speak to you privately?”
Elizabeth did not like the sound of that but agreed, walking a dozen paces away, her blanket trailing behind.
“I did not tell you everything my brother wrote.”
Elizabeth gasped in consternation, wondering how dire matters were. She steeled herself. “Go on.”
“He wrote but a fortnight ago, privately, and asked me to keep his confidence.”
“What did he say?”
“Pray, do not look so frightened. It was certainly nothing bad or shocking. He said he had acted badly toward you in a certain matter and hoped to set things right when he met you again. He was not explicit, and I would not intrude on your business by asking, but he would very much like to speak with you.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I have things to say to him as well, but that is a problem for the morrow.”
“Oh! Yes, let us discuss the problem at hand,” Georgiana replied in relief.
“I hope you do not in any way feel you have overstepped your bounds or done anything improper. My brother, and father before him, and grandfather before him, taught us from the cradle that care of everyone within our sphere is a duty of any good landowner. You did only what he would have done were he here.”
Elizabeth sighed with relief. “Your brother and I have our differences, but we should be able to resolve them amicably if I am still in the county when he returns. I travel with the Wythes and must abide by their movements.”
“They are welcome at Pemberley as long as they wish to stay, and I strongly suspect my brother would like to meet them anyway. I sent an express for him two days ago when we discovered the outbreak but before Mrs Reynolds became ill, so he should return within the week. I also sent one to Matlock and hope to have my aunt or uncle here within a day or two.”
Elizabeth nodded. Would she have the courage to face Mr Darcy when the time arrived?
“There is one more thing he said.”
“Yes?”
“He said I could learn much from you, and that I should trust you implicitly.”
How could he know she would arrive in such a state?
“I suspect he was just being diligent. I do trust you, though. Will you help me?”
“Of course. What can I do?”
Georgiana very forwardly grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and dragged her from the room into the dining-parlour, where quite a large number of servants—some of whom seemed to work outside—had gathered. She addressed them.
“This is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and her good friend Miss Margaret Wythe. Miss Bennet is well known to my brother and has his implicit trust. She has agreed to help us in this difficult time, and so I ask you treat her requests as orders.”
Elizabeth gasped and wanted to shout at the upstart young lady like she would Lydia when she was being particularly naughty, but Miss Darcy appeared unequal to her first trial of household management—when she was not even out—being the housing of forty or fifty villagers.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, had been active in her neighbourhood for years and had often taken part in the management of fairs and the like. She had even known the dubious pleasure of assisting after two other much smaller but still deadly fires. She had a fairly good idea of what to do.
Elizabeth sighed but stood up straight. Nothing was to be gained by cowering. It had done her no good thus far, and it was time for someone to act as mistress. It was only for a few days. How bad could it be?