Chapter 6
The June sun was hot, and Darcy sighed with relief as his black stallion, Phoenix, reached a stand of trees at the top of a hill.
He pulled the horse to a halt, patting the great black neck fondly.
Charles Bingley stopped his gray mare next to his friend’s mount, and the two men gazed out over the vista stretching out below them.
To the north reared the mansion, its great stone walls rising three stories high.
The home farm of the estate stretched a full ten acres, filled with vegetable gardens and fruit orchards.
Farther to the south and west, they could see the cottages of several tenant farmers, all dependent on Pemberley for their welfare.
It was, Darcy supposed, an indication of his own excessively serious nature that at times Pemberley seemed more burden than blessing.
He knew that he was privileged to be master of such a fine estate, but the elder Mr. Darcy had died when his son was but one and twenty, and Darcy had wished, more than once, that he had not been required to carry such a heavy load at such a young age.
“You have a remarkable estate,” Bingley said, breaking into his thoughts. “I have known that for many years, but now that I have attempted to manage Netherfield, I am far more aware of all the niggling details involved in keeping a large property running smoothly.”
“That is true,” Darcy said, turning to look at his friend. “Was Netherfield in good heart when you took the lease?”
Bingley sighed and absently brushed a fly off of his mare’s neck.
“It could have been worse, certainly, but it could have been better. The house itself is in excellent condition, but according to Mr. Brisby, the steward, the legal owner of Netherfield has not given him sufficient funds to keep the tenant houses in good repair.”
“That is unfortunate,” Darcy said heavily. “It is vital for the health of an estate that the tenants be well housed, and I believe that those of us who oversee estates have a moral imperative to look after those under our authority and care.”
“I entirely agree with you, and so does Jane. She knows the tenant farmers well, of course, since Longbourn lies along Netherfield’s western boundary.
These past months, we have had many conversations, and I have authorized the outlay of considerable expenditures on behalf of the tenant farmers.
There will be no tenants living with leaky roofs this winter!
Why are you looking at me like that, Darcy? ”
Darcy realized that he had indeed been staring in astonishment at his friend, and quickly turned his head so that he was once again looking toward the mansion. “I am ... merely pleased and, I confess, rather surprised. It is greatly to Mrs. Bingley’s credit that she cares about your tenants.”
“Oh yes! Jane is an angel! Elizabeth has been helpful as well. She is intelligent and a great reader, and she has far more knowledge of farming practices than many a gentleman of my acquaintance. You are staring at me again. Is that so shocking?”
Darcy flushed at his friend’s amused gaze and said, “Shocking no, but it is surprising. I assume Mr. Bennet has also been of some use to you?”
Bingley blew out a breath and said, “In truth, my wife’s father is an eccentric gentleman.
He is a scholarly man and spends much of his time in his library, and he treasures Elizabeth as the only daughter able to keep up with his quick wit.
Jane is always respectful of her father, but she has told me, quite privately you understand, that Bennet is an adequate, but not stellar, master of his lands and people.
He is more interested in reading Greek tragedies than practical aspects of estate management. ”
“I suppose it must be discouraging that his estate will not pass on to his own children,” Darcy mused.
“Yes, I suspect that is part of it, but he is also indolent. I like Mr. Bennet well enough, but he has abrogated his responsibilities toward his wife and daughters. He ought to have saved for their future, given that the estate will be lost to Mr. Collins.”
“He is the heir?” Darcy asked, nudging Phoenix into motion.
Bingley tapped his mare with his heels to urge her into a walk and said, “Yes, and he has a rather odd connection to your family. Mr. Collins is a rector, and he holds the Hunsford living at Rosings.”
Darcy jerked and turned a horrified look on his friend. “The heir is Lady Catherine’s clergyman?”
Bingley grinned and said, “Yes. I met the man last autumn, and you will be pleased, but not surprised, to hear that he is absolutely devoted to Lady Catherine. He thinks her quite the most remarkable woman in all of England, I believe not excepting Queen Charlotte herself.”
Darcy shuddered. His aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, was mistress of Rosings, a large estate in Kent.
She was autocratic, proud, arrogant, and insisted on obsequious servility from her underlings.
Mr. Collins was probably a tedious man, and he would learn nothing of value about caring for an estate from his patroness, who was not inclined to spend money on the tenants who lived off of her own lands.
/
For the second time, Elizabeth found herself walking through the rose garden to the south of Pemberley. When she had first laid eyes on the beds of roses, she had found it difficult to step more than three paces without feeling compelled to stop, observe, admire, and smell the beautiful blossoms.
Now she found herself pumping her arms to keep up with Miss Darcy, who did not spare a glance at the flowers as she marched along the paths to the southeast corner of the rose garden, whereupon she led Elizabeth across the grass to the wooden door.
With practiced ease, the daughter of Pemberley withdrew a key from the pocket of her simple dress, opened the door, and swept inside with Elizabeth at her heels.
For the second time in as many days, Elizabeth was filled with wonder at the sight before her, a little slice of Paradise.
“How many birds do you have, Miss Darcy?” she asked, following the younger woman toward the far corner of the walled enclosure.
“We have six peacocks and twenty peahens, plus twelve peachicks,” Georgiana answered.
“Is it normal to have more peahens than peacocks?”
Georgiana nodded but did not look at Elizabeth; the latter had, by now, grasped that Miss Darcy did not find it easy to look into her eyes and thus she did not take offense.
“Yes,” Georgiana said. “The males generally collect several peahens as a harem of sorts. If the ratio between the males and females is imbalanced, the peacocks will fight.”
“How many eggs do the peahens usually lay?”
“Between three and twelve in a clutch,” Georgiana answered, turning to look at Elizabeth’s chin. “The peahens do not lay their first year, and only a few eggs their second year. They are fully mature by...”
“Oh!” Elizabeth exclaimed, interrupting her hostess’s explanation. Later that evening, she would berate herself for her incivility, but at this moment, the sight before her startled eyes overwhelmed all rational thought.
“This is Rainbow,” Georgiana said, a smile filling her usually serious face.
Elizabeth gazed in wonder at the sight before her.
A few feet away stood a peacock facing the two ladies.
The bird had lifted its long feathers vertically into a fan and now stood, tall and stately, in front of the young women.
The feathers varied in length from one to three feet, and the green wisps along the white stalk shimmered in the noonday sun.
Each feather boasted a sort of eye near the end, composed of concentric circles of purple, yellow, brown, and bluish-green, all of which sparkled and dazzled in the bright light.
“He is beyond anything I have ever imagined,” Elizabeth breathed.
“Yes, he is,” Georgiana agreed fondly.
/
“I need to check on Jane,” Bingley said to his friend. The pair had finished their ride and were now enjoying the welcome cool of the Pemberley stables. “Are you ready to return to the house?”
“Go ahead, Bingley,” Darcy suggested. “I need to speak to my stable master as one of my best mares foaled yesterday. I wish to be certain her filly is doing well.”
Bingley nodded and strode rapidly out of the stable toward the mansion, while Darcy made his way along the corridor that led to the foaling boxes at the north end of the stable.
He found his stable master, Barstow, standing at the gate of the foaling box, watching the mare and filly within.
Darcy took his place next to the man, and for a few minutes both men watched with silent pleasure as the filly, a chestnut with white stockings, nursed enthusiastically at her mother’s teats.
The mare, a five year old chestnut thoroughbred, nuzzled her infant’s hindquarters and cast occasional threatening glances toward the men.
She was, Darcy knew, a high tempered beast.
“They both look well,” Darcy finally said.
Barstow, a grizzled man of some fifty years, nodded. “Yes, sir, the mare foaled with ease, and the filly is active and eating well.”
“Thank you for your care,” Darcy said sincerely. Barstow had served most of his life in the Darcy stables, first as a stable boy, then as a groom, and was now overseeing the numerous horses that belonged to Pemberley.
“It is my honor, sir,” the older man said with a mixture of respect and affection. He had known his master since the boy was in short coats, and he was devoted to the Darcy family.
The church bell chimed once and Darcy, somewhat reluctantly, turned away.
He had several letters to read and respond to, and he intended, if possible, to introduce Georgiana to Mrs. Bingley and Miss Bennet sometime this afternoon.
He marched out of the cool of the stable and into the sunlight.
The bright rays briefly blinded him, and he tilted his hat forward to shade his eyes, which allowed him to observe the woman standing by the path under a tree, dressed in an expensive silk dress, her eyes avaricious, her teeth gleaming in her smiling mouth.
“Mr. Darcy, how good to see you this beautiful day!” Caroline Bingley trilled.