Chapter Forty
Elizabeth was pleased with her progress. She had made her mark in the kitchen, and had taken over the account books. Mrs. Reynolds could not admit it, of course, but her look of relief upon seeing Elizabeth’s familiarity with the account books could not be mistaken.
She had found time to go outside into the gardens and had spoken with the head gardener, who was delighted with her appreciation of the beauty around her. They had talked at length about the different blooms that flourished here in the northern part of England, many of which she was not familiar with.
Perhaps now would be a good time to approach Miss Darcy. “Robert, is it?” she asked the footman outside her door.
“Yes, Mrs. Darcy,” he replied, surprised.
She smiled at his astonishment. “I have been working to remember everyone’s name,” she explained. “I am looking for Miss Darcy; might you know where she is?”
“At this hour, she is usually in the music room, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Robert. I believe I can find it.”
She heard the piano before she saw it. If that was Miss Darcy playing, then the girl was beyond accomplished; she was a veritable prodigy. Unwilling to interrupt, Elizabeth stood outside the doors until the piece was finished. When she opened the door, Miss Darcy turned to see her. She then rose and began to move away from the instrument.
“Oh, no, Miss Darcy! Please, do not stop on my account; truly, I have never heard such playing, not in all my life!” Elizabeth’s sincerity could not be mistaken.
The girl blushed. “Well – I practice a good deal, so I think that accounts for it.”
“I could practice every minute of every day and still not sound like that. My sister, Mary, practices a good deal; she would love to hear you.”
“Does she have a favourite composer?”
Elizabeth could scarce believe it; they were having an actual conversation! Music was clearly the key to Miss Darcy’s heart. “Her tastes are wide-ranging, but I have heard her say that Mozart is the best composer in the world.”
“Oh! I agree with her completely!” Her tone was fervent.
“Have you a music master?”
“I do; Master Robinson comes every Tuesday afternoon and we spend three hours together. Brother said he would take me to London to have lessons with Master Bianchi, but now…” and she trailed off, staring at the floor.
Oh. Perhaps that plan would not come to pass because of his marriage? “I am certain we will all go to London together,” Elizabeth said, hopefully.
“No; Brother was supposed to take me last month. It was all arranged.” She sounded forlorn.
“And instead he was courting me in Meryton. I am so sorry, Miss Darcy. I had no idea.” Elizabeth infused her voice with every ounce of regret she could muster. Under no circumstances could this be considered Elizabeth’s fault; did the girl really blame her?
“It is not your fault, Mrs. Darcy.” But her tone was wooden.
“Miss Darcy, your brother went through a very trying time in Kent, and it is likely the experience pushed all else from his mind. It is not for me to tell you the particulars, but I know he could never have intended to injure you in any way.”
“He should take me to London now.” Her voice was plaintive.
“I understand why you would feel that way, Miss Darcy. But he has been gone from Pemberley for too long and will not be eager to go away again soon. Might the music master not come here?”
She shook her head. “I do not think Master Bianchi ever leaves London.”
“I see.” Not willing to leave their conversation on such an unfortunate note, Elizabeth said, “Mary has piano music for four hands from The Magic Flute . Do you have it, I wonder?”
“I am certain that I do.” Miss Darcy went to the bookcase at the far end of the room; Elizabeth walked with her. The shelves had been specially built to store sheet music, and the sheer quantity of music was astonishing. “Is this it?”
“That is it, exactly! I have often played it with Mary, though of course I take the simpler part. Might we try it?”
Miss Darcy hesitated, looking at the door of the room with fear in her eyes.
“Perhaps if we play very softly, no one will hear us,” Elizabeth urged her.
The opportunity to play with another person was clearly more than Miss Darcy could resist, despite her obvious fear of her mother’s disapproval; she agreed after another furtive glance at the door, and the two began to play together. Elizabeth laughed over her mistakes, and accepted Miss Darcy’s criticisms and suggestions gladly.
“If you had been my music master, I think I would have done a good deal better,” Elizabeth sighed, when the piece was finished.
“Did you not like your master?”
“Her name was Mrs. Deville, and she was a right devil indeed when it came to lessons. My knuckles were sore for days after she rapped them with her stick.”
Miss Darcy shook her head, decidedly. “That is not the way to teach someone to love music.”
“I agree with you. That is not the right way to teach anyone anything , come to that.”
“Mrs. Darcy…” she trailed off.
“You can ask me anything, Miss Darcy. I promise not to be offended.”
Miss Darcy took a deep breath and then plunged in. “Is it true that you compromised my brother into marriage?”
Elizabeth was shocked. “It is not true at all . I actually turned him down at first, as I believed we did not know one another well enough.” And I knew your mother hated me, Elizabeth thought but managed not to say.
“Oh, I am so glad,” Miss Darcy said with a sigh.
“Is that the gossip around the house?”
“No, it is what my –“ And here she stopped.
“What your mother thinks. I see. I swear to you, Miss Darcy, on everything that is holy, that I did not compromise your brother into marriage. I would never, under any circumstances, do such a thing.”
“Perhaps we might play together again?” Miss Darcy asked, after a minute.
“I would be delighted. Now that you know the limitations of my abilities, I trust you to select pieces that you think I might creditably manage.”
***
“She is not going away, Mother. Please, I beg you, do not tear this family apart!”
“It is you who have torn the family apart, Fitzwilliam; do not blame your failings on me.”
“Failings? And what failings might these be? Marrying a young woman who is not Anne de Bourgh?” Mr. Darcy’s exasperation was beginning to turn into anger.
His mother turned away and refused to speak.
“You are not coming down to dinner again, then?”
“Not if she is there, no.”
“Very well; I will have a tray sent to your room.” And with that, Mr. Darcy stomped out and all but slammed the door behind him.