Chapter Thirteen
At that moment the latch lifted, and Elizabeth entered, her cheeks touched with sea-air, a folded bonnet in her hand.
The Gardiners greeted her warmly as the maid stepped forward to announce that breakfast was served.
They passed together into the small dining parlour, where the table was laid with its simple abundance.
Madeline took her place at the urn, Mr. Gardiner unfolded his paper, and Elizabeth, with thoughtful air, removed her gloves.
The meal went forward quietly. Mr. Gardiner spoke of his letters for the morning, orders to be dispatched for Gardiner Imports, and mentioned that he must meet Mr. Hall and the shipbuilder after luncheon.
“Once we have their assurances, I shall feel the venture well begun,” he said, buttering his toast. “It is a comfort to know the capital is secured.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “It must be a fine thing to see a ship built from the beginning. I remember how proud you were when the first was launched.”
Mr. Gardiner’s eyes brightened. “Ah yes, a happy day indeed. This new one will be ours in truth, not a vessel purchased and refitted but built with our name upon her bow.”
Madeline looked fondly at him. “You have earned every good fortune, Edward.”
He waved the compliment aside, though pleased, and turned back to Elizabeth. “James told me yesterday that you favour the northern strand for your walks. It is a fine choice, he says, though he would have you keep to the higher rocks when the tide begins to rise.”
Elizabeth’s spoon paused mid-air. “Yes, sir. He is quite right.” Her tone was quiet; she wondered what else James might have said.
Madeline smiled. “He is very watchful. I am glad he attends you. The sea can be treacherous when one forgets the hour.”
Elizabeth coloured slightly. “He is very careful of me. I cannot fault him.”
“So he ought to be,” said Mr. Gardiner, setting aside his cup.
“He has his orders. And I, for my part, have a desk full of letters awaiting attention.” He rose, gathering the morning's post and several folded memoranda.
“I will see you two ladies for luncheon, and afterwards I must meet Mr. Hall at the harbour. Perhaps I will inquire whether young Darcy wishes to accompany me. After all, he did say he hoped to learn something of the business from its foundation. Six weeks may scarcely suffice if he means to see it properly begun.”
Madeline passed him the papers nearest her hand. “He will find you a thorough tutor in such matters. I doubt the venture could have a steadier hand.”
Mr. Gardiner tucked the letters beneath his arm. “You flatter me, my dear, though I will not deny that our company improves with certain additions. I should be glad of his company for the afternoon.”
His glance wandered briefly toward Elizabeth, who appeared occupied with her tea.
“Well,” he said, moving toward the door, “I leave you to your morning occupations. Do not let the hours run away without some share of leisure. I shall be in my study if either of you should need me.”
When Mr. Gardiner had gone, the maid returned to clear the breakfast things. Madeline gave a brief instruction regarding the tray before rising from the table.
Elizabeth set down her cup. “I shall change my gown before I join you, Aunt. The salt air clings more than I realised.”
“Very good, my dear. I shall be in the front parlour. The morning light is pleasant there, and my workbasket has been neglected long enough.”
Elizabeth rose. “Then I will not keep you waiting.”
Elizabeth entered a little later, her gown changed and her hair arranged with its usual neatness. Carrying her workbasket, she crossed to the chair beside her aunt.
“I was beginning to fear you had been claimed by the sea again,” said Madeline.
“Not this morning. Only the mirror. The salt leaves its trace.”
“A harmless vanity.” Madeline shifted her sewing to make room for Elizabeth's basket. “Sit, my dear. Let us see if my stitches are as patient as the tide.”
Elizabeth settled beside her and took up her needle. For a time there was only the faint sound of thread passing through cloth, the tick of the clock, and the call of gulls beyond the window.
After several minutes, Madeline spoke as though the thought had only just occurred to her. “You were very quiet at breakfast. Was it your mother's letter that made you so?”
Elizabeth considered. “Partly. But it was Jane's that occupied me most. Her hand is as affectionate as ever, yet I cannot help feeling there is something behind her cheerfulness. Every page assures me she is well, yet I finish it less easy than when I began.”
Madeline's needle moved steadily through the cloth. “She has always been anxious to spare others concern.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth drew her thread through the linen.
“That is precisely it. If she were unhappy, she would be the last to confess it.” She paused.
“I told myself it was only fancy, but this morning it pressed upon me again. I almost wish I could ask her plainly what troubles her, though I know she would deny it. I even spoke of it this morning upon the beach.”
Madeline lifted her eyes from her work. “Upon the beach?”
Elizabeth drew her needle through the cloth. “It was nothing. I happened to meet Mr. Darcy by chance, and our talk fell upon letters. He spoke a little further of your cousin the Colonel and of their long attachment. It seemed only fair that I should say Jane's letter had left me uneasy.”
“Fortunate, then, that your walks coincided this morning.”
“Yes. Fortunate.”
For several moments neither spoke.
“And was this the first time you spoke to him upon the beach?”
Elizabeth's hand paused.
“No. We spoke once before. It was after our first dinner. Only a few words. Nothing of consequence. We mentioned the water. I said the shore was very fine at dawn. He answered that he had been invited to tea and would be glad of it.”
“So this is the second morning you have come upon him.”
“The second time that we spoke.”
Madeline set aside her sewing. “I remember him as an early riser. He rode at daybreak whenever he could. Aunt Deborah said he kept the habit. Yet there is no riding here. Yesterday I asked whether you had seen Mr. Darcy before the night of our dinner, and you told me only of the theatre.”
Elizabeth's hand trembled. She could not lie; she could only hold back what she was not ready to yield. “I did not mean to be secret,” she said in a low voice. “I was not ready to speak. When I speak of what pleases me, it often changes. I do not know why. It has always been so.”
“Lizzy, pray be at ease,” said Madeline. “I only wish to understand you. Tell me what you can, and nothing more.”
Elizabeth drew a breath. “The first time I saw him by the sea, I was surprised beyond sense. I had gone out very early. You know my foolish habit. I climbed to a flat rock and looked out. It was so peaceful that, on impulse, I untied my bonnet and set it beside me.”
“Your bonnet,” said Madeline.
“Yes.” A distant recollection crossed her face. “A breeze came and carried it away. I reached for it too late. It fell to the sand, and before I could descend, Mr. Darcy had taken it up. He stood below with it in his hand.”
“Did you know him then?” asked Madeline.
“I did not. I had seen him only across the theatre and could not be certain. We did not exchange more than civility. I thanked him. He bowed. It was all perfectly proper. James was near.”
“And the next morning?”
“I was coming away as he arrived. We did not speak; we only bowed. That evening you introduced us at dinner. The following morning we met again and exchanged a few courtesies. He said he would be glad to wait upon us at tea. This morning we spoke more at length.”
Madeline was silent for a moment.
“You are saying that you have seen him every morning since we arrived.”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Lizzy.” Madeline reached across and touched her hand. “What is it that you fear?”
Elizabeth looked down at the linen in her lap. “I do not know. Only that if I speak of it, I shall spoil it. I am sorry, Aunt. I ought to have told you when you asked, but I could not bring myself to do it.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” said Madeline. “The rules of society exist for our good; your uncle and I wish only what is best for you. We do ask for frankness between us. You need not fear to speak your mind, my dear.”
“I want to believe that.”
“You may,” said Madeline. “Tell me only this. This morning, when you spoke, was he respectful, and were you at ease?”
“He was entirely respectful. I was at ease in a manner that surprised me. He spoke with real feeling for his cousin and of his family. It seemed as though we understood one another.”
Madeline considered her for a moment.
“Very well. I am satisfied. Your uncle meant only to show Mr. Darcy the harbour this afternoon. I think I shall tell him that we ought to invite our guest to dinner tonight, if he is not engaged. If he is, then tea tomorrow will do very well. If Mr. Darcy is wise, he will keep early hours upon the shore and proper hours in the parlour, and we shall all be content.”
Elizabeth laughed. “You are very good to me.”
Madeline resumed her sewing. “I am only glad that you chose to speak.”
After a few stitches she added, as though the thought had just occurred to her,
“If you wish to write before luncheon, you should do so.”
Elizabeth considered, then shook her head. “I ought to answer their letters, yet I do not know what to say.”
“Then do not write until you do,” said Madeline.
Elizabeth was quiet for a moment. “Perhaps that is what troubles me. I cannot decide whether I have too much to say or too little.”
Madeline looked at her over her work. “There is no haste.”
“Thank you, Aunt, for not being hard on me, and for your advice.” Elizabeth rose and kissed her cheek. “I will rest a little.”
Mr. Gardiner had set his letters in order and laid aside the sand when Madeline tapped and entered his study. The sea shone pale through the window; the house was very still.
“How does our girl?” he asked, rising.
Madeline crossed to the desk and moved a stack of papers aside before taking the chair he offered.
“Composed. She spoke by little degrees. Their walks have coincided more than once. James kept near. All proper. She was at ease, and he was entirely respectful.”
He nodded. “James told me much the same when he brought the post. Quiet meetings. Nothing amiss.”
Madeline folded her hands in her lap. “You know her habit. When something pleases her, she will not name it.”
“A lesson learned where talk seldom brought comfort,” he replied. “We must not sharpen it by clumsy caution. Kindness and order will do more than warnings.”
“Just so. There is another point. If this attachment should ripen, Longbourn would not receive it as we might hope.”
Mr. Gardiner leaned back in his chair. “My sister loves a triumph. For a rich suitor she would ring the bells. Yet I confess I do not think she would rejoice if the bride were Lizzy.”
Madeline was silent a moment. “It is unjust, but I fear you are right. Fanny loves her daughters in her own way, yet she has never understood this one as she ought.”
“As for Thomas,” said Mr. Gardiner, “he would laugh, call it surprising, and retire to his library. Yet he would miss her more than he knows. Lizzy keeps his books, manages his accounts, and spares him a hundred inconveniences.”
“There is no profit in blaming them,” said Madeline. “We only note what is likely. If the matter goes forward, we must stand in the place they will not fill.”
“We will,” he replied. “We shall give Mr. Darcy plain terms. If he means honourably, he will be glad of them.”
“He must understand. Calls are welcome, yet always within our sight. Morning visits when I am at home. A turn upon the pier when you are with them. The lending library on Tuesdays. No evening rambles.”
Mr. Gardiner smiled. “A formidable list.”
“A sensible one.”
“I shall not dispute it. If Mr. Darcy is free, invite him to dinner. If not, to tea tomorrow. No display; only the same welcome we have always shown him. I find him steady. His regard for Colonel Fitzwilliam speaks well for him. If he asks my leave to pay Lizzy marked attentions, I shall not be backward.”
“Nor I,” said Madeline. “We will give her safety and time. The rest must show itself.”
A light knock sounded; the maid announced that luncheon was served. Mr. Gardiner gathered his notes and offered his arm.
“Come,” he said with quiet cheer. “We will dine, and afterward I shall go down to the harbour. Hall will meet me there, and Mr. Darcy is to join us. I shall speak to him plainly.”
“Plainly, and kindly,” Madeline returned, rising to take his arm.