Chapter 5
TALKING OF POSSIBILITIES
M rs Whitaker’s parlour was reminiscent of Longbourn’s with its comfortable but slightly worn chairs and bundles of sewing paraphernalia scattered about.
There was a similar hubbub of lively conversation, too, as Mrs Gardiner reminisced with her old acquaintance.
The scene afforded a soothing sense of familiarity that Elizabeth vastly appreciated since it was in stark contrast to the riot of confusion occupying her head.
He was not supposed to have been there! The chambermaid in Bakewell had confirmed it, his own housekeeper had confirmed it—yet Pemberley was where Mr Darcy had very much been.
There, also, had she been, caught gazing at his house as though calculating the worth of every brick she had forfeited!
She winced at the memory of it, mortification reasserting itself with the same force as it had then.
How she wished they could have met under different circumstances!
“And so, Miss Bennet is your niece on your husband’s side?”
“Mrs Bennet is Mr Gardiner’s sister. She—both his sisters, in fact—live in Hertfordshire.”
“Oh? Whereabouts? I have an uncle near Bishops Stortford.”
Elizabeth refocused her gaze and discovered her aunt and Mrs Whitaker regarding her. “My godmother used to live in Bishops Stortford. My own home, Longbourn, is farther away, near Meryton.”
She was relieved when this proved enough to satisfy her company. They moved on to discussing the whereabouts of various other relations, leaving Elizabeth at liberty to reflect on her previous train of thought.
Four-and-twenty hours ago, she would not have said that she wished to meet Mr Darcy at all.
She had come to comprehend that he was far from unfeeling, it was true.
The letter in which he explained his history with Mr Wickham and her own retrospections had taught her that.
She would even admit to a good deal of regret for her conduct towards him, which had been proved petulant and vain.
Nevertheless, she had not previously harboured any desire to rekindle the acquaintance.
If asked, she would have said that such an encounter could only occasion pain to both parties.
That was before she heard his housekeeper’s praise of him, a more generous account one would be hard pressed to invent.
Before he showed such solicitous attention to her aunt and uncle, relations he had formerly derided as reprehensible connexions.
Before she witnessed the startling alteration in his behaviour, his pride all gone, replaced with civility and gentleness.
“Will you dine with us tomorrow?” enquired Miss Tanner, Mrs Whitaker’s spinster sister who had been sitting mutely at Elizabeth’s side for the chief of the evening. “Rosemary is excessively anxious to see you.”
Mrs Gardiner sat up straighter in her chair, her countenance a picture of delight. “Rosemary is in Lambton?”
“She returns tomorrow. We were none of us quite certain when you would arrive or how long you meant to stay, but she will be delighted not to have missed you.”
“We mean to stay until the beginning of next week at least.”
“We may be obliged to stay longer now, my dear,” Mr Gardiner said. “For as well as your ever-expanding circle, we must also apparently find time to make the acquaintance of Miss Darcy.”
Mrs Whitaker and her sister both exclaimed at the notion. “Miss Darcy? You jest, surely.”
“No, indeed,” Mrs Gardiner replied. “Mr Darcy asked Lizzy just this afternoon if he might make the introduction.”
“When did you have occasion to speak to Mr Darcy? He hardly ever comes into town.”
“No, we met him at Pemberley.”
“You never mentioned you were Mr Darcy’s guests at Pemberley!” Miss Tanner said reverently.
Mr Gardiner began to chuckle. “We were not, madam. We applied to see it just as we applied to see Blenheim and Chatsworth. We were not there by invitation—though Lizzy does boast a trifling acquaintance with its owner.”
The sisters both looked to Elizabeth for confirmation.
She smiled weakly. “He stayed for a few weeks at a house near my own last autumn. I saw him at a few dances.”
Mr Gardiner explained that they had encountered Mr Darcy on the lawn at Pemberley. “He did us the honour of escorting us around the lake.”
“Faith!” cried Mrs Whitaker. “You must have made quite an impression at those few dances, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth stumbled over a reply and was grateful for her aunt’s determination to have her say in the conversation.
“Lizzy’s cousin is also parson to Mr Darcy’s aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. And you saw him again while you were visiting Mr and Mrs Collins in the spring, did you not, Lizzy?”
“Yes, once or twice.”
Mrs Whitaker was unconvinced. “We are cousins to Mr Darcy’s own parson, but he has never walked either of us around his lake. Has he, Jenny?”
Miss Tanner shook her head. Elizabeth felt the weight of their gazes and, worse, that of her aunt, who was regarding her with new interest.
“He may simply have felt obliged to make the application for the sake of civility,” Mr Gardiner opined. “He offered that I should fish in his lake whenever I desired, too, and I doubt he meant that either. Or at least, he likely forgot it as soon as we were out of sight.”
Elizabeth’s uncle had said something similar earlier in the day, and she had not contradicted him then.
She dared not now either for fear of rousing her aunt’s suspicions further, yet she felt for the second time that Mr Gardiner had quite mistaken Mr Darcy’s character.
The master of Pemberley might be many things, but impetuous was not one of them—an offer made by him was an offer meant.
“You think it was pride that induced him to be civil?” Mrs Whitaker enquired doubtfully. “I would have thought pride more likely to make him uncivil, and not notice you at all.”
“Is that how he more commonly behaves?” asked Mrs Gardiner. “We had heard reports that he is rather above himself.”
Her friend shrugged. “If he is, I daresay he has a right to be. He moves in far higher circles than we ever will and owns just about everything as far as the eye can see. But I did not mean to accuse him of being ill-mannered—quite the opposite if he singled your party out for attention as you describe.” She cocked the smallest of suggestive nods at Elizabeth.
“Do help yourself to more coffee if you would like some, sir.”
Mr Gardiner, who had been peering forlornly between the coffee pot and his cup, thanked her.
“We met a few of his servants today,” he said as he poured.
“They certainly had not a bad word to say about him. His housekeeper in particular seemed determined that we should think well of him. Went to great lengths to convince us of his affability to the poor. He is evidently a liberal master, and that, no doubt, disposes her to assume he will be equally generous abroad, but these great men all delight in proclaiming charity and very few follow words with deeds.”
“To be fair to the lady, she is best placed to know, for it is her whom Mr Darcy tasks with distributing clothes and food amongst the poor once a quarter. It was his mother’s tradition originally, but he re-established it after his father died.”
“And you know, he endowed the alms-house at Kympton,” Miss Tanner added to her sister’s evident surprise.
“I did not know that! Though I did know he paid for the new schoolhouse in Shepsbrook.”
Mrs Gardiner raised her eyebrows, which saddened Elizabeth to see.
Upon leaving Pemberley yesterday, she had related to her aunt and uncle some of the particulars of Mr Darcy’s dealings with Mr Wickham, explaining that the former’s character was by no means so faulty as it had been considered in Hertfordshire.
It shamed her to comprehend how injurious her previous censure must have been that Mrs Gardiner should still be surprised by reports of his charity.
For herself, she was disinclined to be shocked.
She knew from his letter the care Mr Darcy took of his friends and relations, and from those friends and relations themselves in what esteem he was held by them.
She had no reason to doubt his housekeeper’s account and every reason to believe him capable of such generosity as Mrs Whitaker and Miss Tanner described.
Rather than surprise, Elizabeth felt a fresh wave of shame for ever having disliked him.
“What can you tell us of his sister?” she enquired.
“She is even less well-known than her brother—hardly ever comes into Lambton. Some say she is too above herself, and that is as may be, though I expect she spends most of her time in London anyway,” Mrs Whitaker answered.
“I do not blame her for that,” said Miss Tanner, “for she cannot have many friends hereabouts. The nearest estate must be three or four miles away from Pemberley, she is not yet out, and I cannot imagine she would be permitted to associate with other young ladies her age in the local towns or villages. It must be a lonely existence in that huge house all cut off from the world.”
Exceedingly lonely , Elizabeth privately agreed.
It was unthinkably cruel that Mr Wickham, one of Miss Darcy’s few childhood friends, had used her so ill as to attempt to persuade her to elope at just fifteen years old.
Pity allayed some of the guilt Elizabeth felt for agreeing to be introduced to her.
Miss Darcy was the young lady who had usurped her dearest sister in Mr Bingley’s affections, but she hoped Jane would not object to the meeting.
Her sister was too kind to blame a na?ve, young girl for the carelessness and caprice of men.
That Mr Darcy wished to introduce his sister was something of a marvel.
She would not have blamed him for doing everything in his power to keep them apart after her obstinate and ill-founded defence of Mr Wickham.
Yet, not only was he desirous that they should meet, he also averred that so was Miss Darcy.
Such a wish could only have been born of her brother’s recommendation, giving rise to a suspicion in Elizabeth’s mind of Mr Darcy’s attachment to her remaining so steady that all her credulity and petulance had not been enough to completely erase his good opinion.
She could not but be gratified by anyone admiring her so well, though she did not think it warranted the eruption of warmth that overspread her cheeks.
She looked around her company to see whether she was discovered, but nobody was paying her any attention.
“What are your plans while you are here?” Mrs Whitaker was asking.
“We thought to keep our time free to renew some old friendships,” Mr Gardiner replied.
“You are very accommodating, sir. My late husband would not have been so obliging, I am sure. He always wanted to be off shooting, or drinking, or riding somewhere.”
“Time spent in good company is no hardship, madam. Besides, my wife has allowed me more than my share of entertainments on this trip. And you never know, I may yet find myself fishing at Pemberley.” He winked as he said this, evidently still not believing it likely.
“What about you, Miss Bennet? What do you hope to see while you are in this part of the world?”
Elizabeth was not expecting the first thought to pop into her head to be Mr Darcy. “Other than a bit of walking, I am at my aunt’s disposal.”
It was rapidly settled that the whole party would return to Mrs Whitaker’s establishment for dinner the next day, where Mr and Mrs Heyworth and a few other of Mrs Gardiner’s erstwhile neighbours would join them. After that, the evening seemed at a natural end, and Mr Gardiner excused their party.
It was a short walk to the inn where they were staying, and Mrs Gardiner was too full of rejoicing over the evening’s success to allow talk of anything else. That suited Elizabeth well; she walked arm in arm with her uncle, happy not to be called upon for more than the occasional nod or smile.
Her mind was engaged wondering what Mr Darcy was thinking at that moment.
Now that enough time had elapsed for the shock of seeing her to wear off, had he remembered to be angry?
She was amazed he had not been angry the moment he set eyes on her; she well knew how that sentiment looked on him, yet she had seen nothing of it in his countenance earlier.
On the contrary, all she had perceived in him, other than embarrassment, was what appeared to be a concerted eagerness to please.
She smiled into the night. What she truly wondered was, after everything that had transpired between them, whether it was possible that Mr Darcy still loved her—and how she would feel about it if he did.