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In a riot of dark curls, her younger sister, Bennetta, rushed through the door in a swirl of lemon spotted muslin, the huge sleeves which her father disliked so much, tied above and below her elbows with dark green ribbon.
Jane could not remember a time when Bennetta did not rush: she seemed to run through the whole day, whirling from room to room, from plan to plan.
Was she ever unhappy? Jane thought not and envied her most deeply.
Surely Bennetta would never know the pain of betrayal by people she loved.
“Mama has sent me to find you. Aunt Lydia and Cassandra will be leaving soon. You must come and say your goodbyes and admire Miss Vicky. Lord, Jane, what is wrong with you? Even Anne has held the baby, although I think from the look on her face, Miss Vicky might have disgraced herself at that very moment! And I have run out of complimentary things to say about someone so small and pink. Now, do come. And try to be cheerful. You are making such a fuss over a silly man! There are so many men in the world to meet and attract. Crying over just one seems ridiculous to me.”
Jane was silent as she followed her sister downstairs to make polite conversation with the departing guests.
There was no escape from comments and speculation whilst she remained in Pemberley.
She could not wait to escape and be in the sympathetic company of someone who would always put her first, only have her wellbeing at heart.
She said her goodbyes and was surprised but delighted when Susannah whispered that she was to accompany her on the morrow and was so looking forward to visiting Colonel Fitzwilliam’s country home.
Two days later, a carriage travelled slowly up a steep hill in the county of Dorset: Jane and her companion were traveling in luxury and comfort.
It was another hot day but with September almost on them, the heatwave that had covered the country was finally on the wane; indeed, from the state of the muddy road it looked as if there had been heavy showers in that part of Dorset that morning, although now the sky was clear.
They had passed fields that were being harvested, the workers bent double in long rows, billhooks flashing as they cut down the lines of wheat.
In other meadows, groups of women were binding the cut wheat into bundles, children running around, laughing and playing.
On the higher hill slopes, flocks of sheep grazed.
At a reasonable pace, because the ladies did not wish to be thrown around inside, the carriage travelled on, through neat villages of thatched cottages, fording shallow streams and stopping occasionally for the team to be rested.
The remains of a picnic box packed with inviting bites to tempt even the most ladylike of appetites now lay on the carriage floor, almost empty.
They had made good time on the journey from Derbyshire, stopping one night at Longbourn, in Hertfordshire, to visit Jane’s grandmother and Aunt Kitty, then skirting around London instead of driving through the noise and bustle of the great city.
Jane had been glad that their visit to Mr and Mrs Collins had only been for one night.
She had to admit she was not fond of her Aunt Kitty or her husband.
The former was a large lady, very fond of her food, with a bad complexion, complaining voice and manner.
Mr Collins also had a great deal to say but Jane thought him pompous and his ingratiating manner annoyed her.
Although she tried to find a dutiful affection for her grandmother, she found the very elderly Mrs Bennet silly and annoying and marvelled, not for the first time, that this was her dear mama’s mother.
There was only one subject of conversation, the marriage of Catherine—Mr Collins’ daughter by his first marriage—to Sir Robert Courtney.
At least Jane had the satisfaction of seeing Susannah treated with more respect and appreciation than shown by her Aunt Lydia.
As Robert’s elder sister, she was received with all polite attentions and given precedence at the dinner table, even though she was unmarried.
Apart from endlessly talking of “Lady Courtney”, the Collins’ household revolved around the child Harriet; an unattractive little girl, as tall as she was wide, with a stubborn disposition, not helped by being spoilt to extremes by her parents and grandmother.
Glad to be away from Longbourn, Jane gazed out of the window and saw not the beauty of the countryside but her own pale reflection under her pale green hat; she looked white and drawn, her eyes shadowed in dark circles.
There was a little dirt on the inside of the window and, with a gloved finger, she drew a round face with a smile curving across it, then rubbed it out hastily.
She couldn’t recall the last time she had smiled.
Susannah sighed and tried to think of something to say that would brighten the day. It distressed her to see Jane in this pitiable state. She was such a gentle soul; the thought that someone could have hurt her to this extent was painful.
The carriage jolted violently as they crested the hill and made their way cautiously down the track on the other side Archie, recently promoted to head coachman at Pemberley, applied the brake, cursing as Tabitha Ford, the young maid sitting next to him, squealed and grasped his arm, although the postillion had dismounted and was holding the horses’ heads to stop them going too fast and slipping on the rough surface.
Susannah wished she knew more about why Jane was so keen to leave home.
Not a word had been said about her reasons for the trip and Susannah could only hazard a guess that a young man must be at the centre of the disagreement.
She could think of nothing else that would cause such an upset between sisters.
“Jane, my dear, you seem so sad. I do not wish to force a confidence from you, but if there is any way in which I can be of assistance, please tell me. I find your current condition so distressing.”
“Oh I am sorry. I had no intention of making everyone in my life feel as miserable as I do. I just feel … I find it hard to put into words …” She stopped. How could she possibly tell this calm, good-natured woman how unhappy she had become.
“Tell me immediately if I am wrong, but I sense this is something to do with a young gentleman, a certain Mr Digby Frobisher. I shall not pretend ignorance; oh, don’t look so surprised, no one has been talking about you to me, but Bennetta tells all the gossip to Cassandra and I cannot help but overhear. ”
Digby! Jane shut her eyes, trying to banish the picture in her mind of his fair hair, good-looking face and a manner and words that had once seemed to promise her all the affection in the world.
Just then the carriage reached the bottom of the hill and came to a halt.
Archie dismounted and came round to the window.
“Miss Jane, we have about ten more miles to go before we reach Deerwood Park. I need to rest the horses for a while, so if you and Miss Courtney wish to alight for a breath of air, please do so.”
“Thank you, Archie.”
They stepped down with his help and wandered across the road to where a stile led onto a footpath that vanished away into a thick wood.
Jane sat on the step, trying to discipline her billowing skirts and gazed at the trees, their branches swaying in the breeze, but she was not seeing the splendour of the day, just a crowded drawing room in Mayfair.
“I first met Digby at Catherine’s wedding to Sir Robert last year.
We had a wonderful long and heartfelt conversation about the plays of Shakespeare.
We danced and he made sure I had a glass of champagne.
Then I met him in London, before Christmas.
Time has gone by so fast. We had … I believed we had a … a connection.”
She felt hot colour flood up into her cheeks as she remembered.
“We spoke of books, we had both seen an exhibition of Ancient Greek artefacts at the British Museum that were of interest. We discussed important things, like the growing problem of unemployed men gathering in London because there is no work to be had in the countryside. Although he seems like a man about town, Digby has a very serious side to his nature and I felt honoured that he had let me see that aspect of his character.”
“I envy you. To find a man whom you can admire and respect is a blessing.”
Jane sighed. “There was no time for us to become closer. I had already promised to visit Dorset to stay with Colonel Fitzwilliam after Christmas, but in the weeks that followed I received letters from Digby. Oh, Susannah, they were such lovely letters! Warm and kind but very proper. No sense of over familiarity, just consideration and intelligence. It led me to believe …”
“That he cared for you?”
“Yes,” came the whispered reply. “And then because we had not celebrated our birthday which falls just before Christmas, Anne wanted to hold a ball at Pemberley. Our cousin Miriam had arrived from Africa, if you remember, and it was to be a grand occasion for her, too, and everything seemed exciting. To my astonishment, Digby drove over from Cheshire that evening with his family. I was not expecting to see him, but oh, I was so pleased. And Anne ruined the evening!”
“Not deliberately, surely?”
“She asked him to dance, she flirted, she encouraged him to stay by her side all evening. As you know, the great artist, Edmund Avery, had painted a portrait of us Darcy children and it was to be unveiled that evening. I so wanted Digby to be by my side when that occurred, but Anne had other plans.”
Susannah looked grave. “But surely, if he was your particular friend …?”
“Oh, she thought it a fine joke. A tease. Afterwards, she said she had no idea I was fond of him in any great way and was sorry for her behaviour. And so I forgave her.”