7. Overcoming the Awkward
Chapter 7
Overcoming the Awkward
T he agony and the awkwardness of the moment!
It was enough to make us both fall down.
There he was, as tall as ever, his face still a set of fine lines that were marked by handsome but severe features. When seeing me, Mr. Darcy slowly lifted his arm, removed his hat, and bowed.
Doing my best to recover, I curtsied to him and did all in my power to look him in the face.
“It ought not to be such a surprise to see you,” I began, “for I was told that you were here in Milton. And yet, it is such. A great surprise, though our encountering was logical.”
“Logical, yes,” he replied. “I also was informed of your coming, and I feel the shock of our sudden meeting as well.”
“My sisters said they had seen you.”
“It was the eldest Miss Bennet that informed me of your joining them here.”
“Yes. We reside on Frances Street. I don’t know the extent of what Jane has told you, but our parents have passed away.”
“Yes, I heard. My condolences.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Condolences?”
“Yes.”
“Oh,” I sighed, smiling sadly, “those words.”
“I beg your pardon?” he questioned.
“Forgive me, sir. But you must understand, when Mother and Father left this Earth, that’s all that everyone said: ‘my condolences.’ It has reached the point where the words now feel so very hollow and pointless. Perhaps you can empathize. Think of when your parents were lost to you. And everyone simply said ‘my condolences’…after the first three times, those seem like the flimsiest two words in existence. Would you believe those words after a while?”
“No, I would not. When I lost my parents, there was not enough words in the English language.”
“Precisely. You understand me.” For a brief moment, I felt humbled. The connection I had made between our losses was the first true emotional comparison that we had with each other. Whatever was our past, there was a magnitude to it.
“Now,” I continued, “take that pain that you feel, remember it, and bring it to this very moment. Would the words ‘my condolences’ be enough after a while?”
“No, it would not.”
“Of course, it would not. It would feel as if those words were mocking you, and you are supposed to take those words , swallow them, and then label them as heartfelt. But now that you and I both are orphans in this world?—”
“Orphans?”
“Yes. We may not be children in the eyes of the world, but we were to them—to mothers and fathers, we are always children. Therefore, when they died, we did become orphans in their immortal eyes. So, when you became an orphan, what were the words that you felt, that you knew were within you, and that you wanted someone to say? If you are able, say them now.”
Mr. Darcy opened his mouth, and then closed it again.
“I see,” I replied, archly, but not serious.
“You must understand, you have so much put me on the spot at this moment. I need time to reflect.”
“Never fear. I understand. I would recommend to not apply thought, but only feeling. Go on then and give it a try.”
He blinked and then he began to speak.
“Whatever words that I can supply to the moment will do nothing. I can say a thousand words and they would mean nothing, because they cannot capture the feeling of being so very alone in the world, where you become parentless and dashed against the cruel feeling of your security being so much snatched from you. So, I am heartily sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, very much affected. Whatever our history together, I could not deny the comfort of his words. “That was precisely what I was feeling. Or rather, what I am feeling. That was perfect.”
“Your fate is harder than mine. I lost my parents separately, so I had time between the losses. However, with you, you five lost both your parents at the same time. It must have been very hard.”
“Unfortunately, it still is. I feel as if all my protection has escaped me. But I promise you this: I will not allow this to break me. My courage rises with every attempt to intimidate me. Life is one of those attempts. Tragedy is the other. Let them both do their worst. I will fortify myself. Neither of them will break me.”
“No,” he affirmed. He didn’t smile, but his eyes twinkled a little. “I suppose that they will not.”
We were interrupted by Margaret Hale coming upon us.
“Elizabeth,” she said, “the rain is coming to an end. I think we can continue on.”
Sometimes another voice in the room is all that one needs to break a spell. I started, recalling myself as all the other occupants in the store came to me, like a swift sunrise over the horizon. For a moment, I forgot there was anyone else around Mr. Darcy and I, for all knowledge of them had quite faded away. Instead, it felt as if the room around us, the very wood that supported us in the floor, had all but dissolved and Darcy and I had materialized in another plateau of existence. The man had altogether unnerved me and made me quite forget everything else around me. Then again…he often had a way of doing so, despite our sordid history.
When seeing that she interrupted my conversation with Mr. Darcy, Margaret turned to him, and I felt it proper to begin the introductions.
“Mr. Darcy, this is my friend, Miss Margaret Hale. Margaret, this is an acquaintance of mine from when he once visited Hertfordshire, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.”
“Pemberley?” Margaret repeated, “Then this must be the gentleman from Derbyshire.”
“Indeed, I am, madame,” Mr. Darcy replied, his traditionally serious mien returning to his face, and his eyes were like stone. This did not unnerve Margaret; on the contrary, I think she would have thought it was nothing short of proper. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Thank you,” Margaret replied. “Like ourselves, you spend a great deal of time in the South.”
“Yes, I do. Most of the year, I live there. My house, in town, is on Grosvenor Street.”
“Then do you find this place as strange and novel as we find it to be so?” I asked. Now that Margaret was there, I had recalled the proper way of how to speak to a gentleman. I just realized that I had begun the conversation in a perverse way. Although, I also had to acknowledge that I didn’t regret it. Not one word. Not one line.
“I have familiarity and family on my side,” he elaborated, “therein may be the difference between us. As I understand it, this is your first time coming to an industrial town in the North.”
“It is for us both,” I informed him. “And there is even a larger difference between us. Since you reside in Derbyshire and London, you must be coming here to visit, unless I am mistaken.”
“You are not to be mistaken.”
“But Margaret and I come to stay.”
“Yes,” he said, his eyes turning more keenly to me. Then he shifted his gaze to Margaret. “But you as well, Miss Hale?”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy. In fact, you caught us just as we were going to Crampton to look at a house for my family.”
“You both were house hunting together?” Mr. Darcy asked, scrutinizing us. “Quite alone?”
“We are not alone,” I responded, teasingly amusing. “As you can see, we are two in number. I know that you can count.”
“And I also can spell.”
“That I can confirm, for a whole evening was once spent with a discussion on your penmanship,” I augmented, recalling when Miss Bingley once boasted of his incredible skill at letter-writing. “But yes, we are two in number.”
“Miss Hale, did you travel here to Milton with family?”
“Yes, with my father, mother, and a loyal servant. Her name is Dixon.”
“Your father chooses not to assist you in the search?”
“He is. Realizing that it would be faster if we separated, we would see more houses.”
“Ah.”
Margaret looked at me, a little disconcerted by his abrupt ending of discussion. Truly, he looked at us both and had nothing to say. Having known Mr. Darcy, I was used to this sort of behavior by now, but Margaret was not. Therefore, when he simply stared at us, she felt the weight of his gaze and looked down towards the floor. Instead, I looked boldly at him, marveling at his desire to remain in my presence. Or rather, mine in his.
Months ago, you proposed to me, and I refused you. You also willingly admitted to separating my sister from your friend and showed no remorse over the matter. You mocked your offenses toward Mr. Wickham, and boldly declared that you viewed connection to my family as a degradation. And here we are? Why are we not avoiding each other, but doing the precise reverse?
“Well,” I concluded, “you came to a music shop. Therefore, I gather you are buying music for your sister? Unless you never informed me that you play yourself.”
“I do not play, therefore your first assumption is correct; Georgiana remains in London with her friends, and I am looking for something that I believe she will enjoy.”
“Mr. Darcy has a little sister,” I explained to Margaret, “Miss Georgiana Darcy, who I have often heard is a paragon of women.”
“Oh, I have never met a paragon before,” Margaret inferred.
“I have,” Mr. Darcy said, turning his eye toward me. The very impression of it made my stomach sink down to the floor in alarm and surprise. Every inch of my skin was being stabbed by invisible needles that aroused sensations of apprehension in me. I was not a paragon, so it was impossible to live up to such an accolade. In fact, many compliments were hard to live up to. Just as many insults were difficult to rise up from. And yet, could Mr. Darcy really be thinking of me in so kind a way? After all this time, could he still feel something, despite our turbulent past? If so, it was only proper to acknowledge this, and respect him in some sort of way.
“If you can ever write to Mr. Bingley or the Colonel,” I said, “please give them my regards and mind the downpour.”
Margaret and I moved to leave, but Mr. Darcy followed us.
“Are you both to walk to Crampton?”
“Yes,” Margaret responded, “we have been told that it is not so far from here.”
“The rain has lessened, but it may increase again. Let me take you both in my carriage.”
Margaret gave me an apprehensive look, and I knew that the correct thing to do was to answer for the both of us.
“That is very kind of you, Mr. Darcy. However, we would be uncomfortable about interrupting your plans. As you know, I have never enjoyed being an inconvenience to anyone. Margaret is the same way.”
“Then you will have saved me from idleness,” he pressed. “I have a day about nothing more than simply dining with a friend this evening. I would be happy to be of service.”
Once more, Margaret gave me a look, but I couldn’t read its meaning. To continue to deny Mr. Darcy would have been rude and, for some reason, I wasn’t in the mood to hurt his feelings.
“Thank you,” I replied, “we would be delighted.”
“Excellent,” he responded, bowing his head curtly.
Escorting us outside, his carriage was drawn, and he offered us his hand and helped us into it. The carriage was off, and we rode along. Mr. Darcy seemed to be unsure of how to speak, or perhaps had nothing to say. As a result, I leaned toward the window and looked at the town as we passed by everything. Margaret did the same thing, our eyes widened at the novelty of it.
“Strangers in a strange land, we are,” I noted.
“With strange experiences that will soon come our way,” Margaret added.
“How often have you come to Milton?” I asked Mr. Darcy.
“I have never counted the times,” Mr. Darcy informed me, “however, I can definitely say that it has been at least ten.”
“Ten times?” I asked, surprised at my ignorance to his character. “How long can a person be around someone for so long, and still know so little? I never would have seen you in such a setting.”
“You once told me that you were trying to make out my character.”
“I did say that. And it was so difficult to get on at all.”
“Perhaps I was remiss in offering you more clarity into my nature.”
“One must not weep over missed opportunities.”
“No, that would be fruitless. And you both really would have walked this far?”
“Like myself, Margaret is a great walker.”
“Elizabeth does me too much of a kindness,” Margaret countered. “I do not know if I can call myself a great walker. But I do enjoy a good walk, that cannot be denied.”
“Did Miss Elizabeth ever tell you of when she walked three miles to see Miss Bennet when she was ill?”
Margaret’s eyes lit up with hearing this story.
“Oh, really? Well, I should not be surprised at all, because you are such a devoted sister. But where was Jane staying that you had to walk to her aid?”
“At Netherfield Park,” I narrated, “it was an estate in Hertfordshire that was situated three miles from Longbourn. I told you this before, but not in enough detail. Here is the rest. It was rented out to a gentleman by the name of Bingley. He set himself up there with his two sisters, one of his sister’s husbands, and Mr. Darcy.”
“Bingley is a friend of mine,” Mr. Darcy added.
“How is he?” I asked.
“He is well. He is at the time where friends are aplenty, and he visits them often.”
“I could not be surprised. Mr. Bingley strikes everyone as a popular sort of man.” Turning back to Margaret, I thought it best to elaborate more of our history together. “It was through Mr. Bingley’s temporary residence in Hertfordshire that I made Mr. Darcy’s acquaintance. While the family remained there, Miss Bingley favored Jane and invited her to stay. While she was there, Jane fell ill, so I walked three miles to tend to her.” I turned to Mr. Darcy. “I always wondered what you must have thought when seeing me standing there, with my shoes and the bottom of my petticoat and gown covered in mud.”
“It was noted.”
“Ah. The things you must have commented on that score.”
“I found your eyes to be brightened by the exercise.”
Blushing, I looked down at my hands again and didn’t say anything else for the remainder of the ride to the next house.
When we arrived, Mr. Darcy helped us down from the carriage.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” Margaret said, “we are obliged to you.”
“It was my pleasure. Would you wish for me to escort you inside?”
“That would not be necessary, sir. You have done enough, and I do not wish to take more of your time. And, well, I prefer to analyze a house in my own time and speed. Elizabeth knows to wait for me, but I will not trouble a new acquaintance to stand in a house while I inspect everything.”
“Very good, miss.” Next, Mr. Darcy turned to me. “Miss Bennet, give my regards to your sisters.”
“I shall, thank you. I enjoyed seeing you once more, and in good health.”
With one last significant look towards me, he climbed in his carriage and departed. We watched the chaise drive down the lane until it disappeared.
“You lied,” I said.
“What? Me?” Margaret asked.
“You never take long to inspect a house. You wanted him gone because you wanted to ask about him.”
Margaret gave me a sly look.
“Elizabeth, I have no idea what you are talking about.”
We walked into the house.
“But since you wish to talk of him, I am willing to listen,” she continued.
“Argh!”
When we walked into the front parlor of the house, we were met by an overseer, who was surprised when meeting us. When looking at us, his eyes widened in slight alarm.
“Can I help you both?” he asked.
“Yes, you may,” Margaret began, “my name is Margaret Hale. We are here to inspect the house, as future lodgers. This was arranged by my father’s friend, Mr. Bell, who had already selected some options for us.”
“You are Mr. Hale’s daughter?”
“Yes, I am.”
The overseer turned to me.
“And I am Elizabeth Bennet, her friend,” I explained.
“But your father is not present?” the overseer asked Margaret.
“We have separated to view more houses at a quicker fashion, so I am acting on his behalf.” Margaret looked around the room. “We may begin whenever you are ready, sir.”
His eyes shifted back and forth between us, at a loss of what to do.
“You are not accustomed to dealing with young ladies, are you?” I asked, not out of a desire to offend, but simply to reveal what unnerved him so much. After all, the sooner we could identify his apprehension, the sooner that he could recover from it and continue to show us around the house.
“I…” he stuttered, “well, I…”
“You are not.”
“No,” he sighed, “I am not.”
“Well,” Margaret continued, “I trust that this prospect will not overpower you to the point where you cannot perform your office? Or does it?”
The overseer scratched his chin, trying to steady himself.
“Let us begin.”
“Yes, sir,” Margaret said, “that would be best for us all. For you, the sooner that you start, the sooner that we can leave. That seems to be what both sides of us prefer.”
“I—I have clearly begun this tour on the wrong side of the situation,” he acknowledged.
“Admitting it is the first step,” I offered.
He began to lead us around the house. The wallpaper was not the most becoming, but the floors were sturdy, and the windows were solid. The rooms were smaller than the ones we had at Longbourn, but since Margaret was raised in a parsonage for a portion of her life, it would be an easy transition to make. Much easier than my having to transition to living on Frances Street, in Princeton.
As Margaret followed the overseer around the house, I followed behind them, but was not as attentive.
I had seen Mr. Darcy again!
The shock of coming upon him in such a way had altogether disassembled me.
Yet, I still did not regret my rejecting his offer. And yes, I was upset with him for how he treated Jane and Mr. Wickham, but I was not made to revel in contempt for too long. Therefore, despite that I had not forgiven him for anything—after all, he never apologized for any of it—I found myself willing to speak casually to him.
But it was something else. Often, my mind had wandered to him, but it was always with extreme dislike. This, however, was a very different perspective and outlook. I was curious about him. His image ran through the other images in my mind and always appeared in the forefront.
In one moment, I saw the faces of my parents.
I saw Longbourn.
I saw Lucas Lodge.
Charlotte.
Sir William and Lady Lucas.
My Aunt and Uncle Philips.
Netherfield Park.
And each time, Mr. Darcy’s face appeared before all of them again, springing into life through my thoughts. Why did he remain there? At first, I thought it was the surprise of seeing him so suddenly. Because I now was a woman of profession and I lived in Princeton, I had always assumed that there was little chance of encountering him. As such, to see him so very soon, it had no choice but to disconcert me, somewhat, and force me to linger on the memory of every past moment that he and I had together.
The speed of the mind! The speed of memory!
At last, Margaret finished her tour.
“What are you offering for this house?” she asked the overseer, “what are the rates of rent? We’ve seen some houses already, so I wish to see how your rate compares to the other offers.”
“That part of the arrangement will be discussed with your father.”
“Why not to me? After all, I will report to him when I return.”
“Well…as to that part of things, if your father is interested, I am sure that Mr. Thornton would want to speak of such matters with Mr. Hale. He ordered this of me.”
“Then I shall have to appeal to him directly. Who is Mr. Thornton, precisely?”
“Well, he is Mr. Thornton.”
“And what does that mean to strangers in a strange land?” I asked, a little at my wit’s end. “You must entertain that our ignorance is no fault of ours.”
“Yes, of course, begging your pardon. I fear that I am saying all the wrong things. You must understand, I am not used to this situation. I just… I prefer to do as I am told, for the sake of professionalism. Mr. Thornton is a manufacturer and magistrate of Milton. He is the owner of the cotton factory, Marlborough Mills.”
“Cotton?” Margaret repeated. “Then that would indicate that he would be at this mill currently?”
“Well, yes. He oversees everything and works there every weekday.” The overseer’s chest swelled up proudly. “Mr. Thornton is one of the best masters among the others in his line of work. He is worth his weight in gold, I reckon.”
“Then he must be of sound abilities to be good at listening,” Margaret pressed. “Lead me to his mill so that I can speak to him directly.”
The overseer blinked.
“If you will not speak of financial arrangements with my friend and I,” Margaret pressed, “then we shall not trouble you to distress yourself.”
“Rather,” I added, “we shall appeal to the direct source that has held your tongue.”
The overseer only waited for a few seconds before he agreed to this.
We left the house and followed him through the streets, to Marlborough Mills.