Chapter 19 #2
“Please send tea and refreshments to my sitting room. Then I will wish you to get a footman to take a note to Mr Mair. I must ask him to call upon me so that I may then attend church without waiting for Mr Darcy to recover enough to attend with me.”
She swept up the stairs after receiving their bow and curtsy, feeling that she had at least some allies within the house, although Mrs Reynolds's condition was a complication she did not really need.
Mr Mair was a man who looked to be in his late forties.
As he sat with Elizabeth over refreshments that afternoon, he admitted to having been first the curate at Kympton for some twelve years, and then the vicar, the living having been given to him by Mr Darcy only two years ago, on the death of the previous incumbent.
He put down his teacup, looking wistfully at the remaining pastries on the plate.
“I thank you, Mrs Darcy, but I cannot. My wife would be unhappy that I have already taken two!” He laughed, and she was pleased to hear the sound of affection in his voice as he spoke of his wife.
“I am pleased you asked me to call and I welcome you to the parish. It is unfortunate Mr Darcy is unwell, but I can assure you, I will now be able to introduce you to other parishioners if you must attend without him at first. Will you attend services tomorrow, or the following week?”
“Oh, tomorrow, certainly, Mr Mair. I was sorry to arrive so late last week that there wasn’t time for introductions. I have always treasured the Advent services, so I would not like to miss any more of them. And the lessons tomorrow speak of hope, I believe. I always look forward to them.”
“Then I will look forward to greeting you, Mrs Darcy.” He smiled as he rose to his feet. “This week, I have had the Sunday school children learn a short verse which they will recite before the service begins.” His chuckle was warm. “They are very anxious.”
Elizabeth loved the traditionally nervous children taking part in the ceremonies of the church. “If you will tell me how many there will be, I will bring a little sweetmeat for each child. It might reward their efforts.”
He beamed at her. “You are very kind, Mrs Darcy. They will think it a great treat.”
The following day, the coach conveyed Elizabeth to church in state.
She knew it would not be appropriate to walk and she was sorry for it, having always liked to calm her mind by walking.
But today was for show as well as for worship, and she was concerned with making a good impression on her neighbours.
The steward had insisted on accompanying her because she was leaving the estate without her husband and he came to the coach door to assist her down the step.
“Thank you, Mr Reed.” Elizabeth kept her voice calm.
Perhaps it was the way things were done in the larger country estates, but she would not raise any objections during these early days.
Her prayer book in her hands, she greeted Mr Mair who was waiting for her by the lychgate, and he escorted her to the Darcy pew, which stood at the front on the right-hand side.
It was a high-sided box with a little latch on the door.
When the sexton opened it for her, Elizabeth stepped inside and found herself enclosed, quite separate from the congregation gathering behind her.
The rest of the pews were ordinary bench pews, and she felt herself apart from the congregation, although feeling the weight of their gaze upon her and their whispers formed a susurration around the nave almost as if she was among her beloved trees on Oakham Mount.
She blinked back tears of loneliness as she slipped to her knees for the expected brief moment of quiet devotion and used it to compose herself before sitting back into the pew and gazing at the stained glass window ahead of her.
She supposed she could not turn round to look at the rest of the congregation and hoped no one would think her too above herself.
The church was now quiet, very unlike that at Longbourn, where the whispers and gossiping were not silenced until the arrival of old Mr Stephenson to take his place and begin the service.
She had always enjoyed the Advent services and the build-up to the excitement of Christmas as a child, and this Sunday’s spirit of hope and perseverance while waiting was exactly what she needed, and she stepped out of the pew with more confidence than when she had arrived here.
The sexton locked the pew gate behind her, and she almost smiled. That anyone might dare impose themselves and sit upon the Darcy cushions! But no, she must discipline herself.
Mr Mair had lined up the Sunday School children, the little ones hiding behind the older from her august personage, and she allowed herself to be introduced to them, praising their learning and handing each of them a peppermint drop and two little gingerbread biscuits.
Their eyes all formed round saucers of amazement, and she heard their jostling and excited voices as they were dismissed back to their families.
Smiling, she joined Mr Mair outside the church as he introduced them to the local gentlefolk, and she was particularly welcomed by a Mrs Hayes, a lady rather older than Mama.
“It is very nice to meet you, Mrs Darcy, although it is a pity the weather is too inclement for you to make or receive many calls. Denbigh House is approximately midway between Pemberley and Lambton. It would be pleasant to become more acquainted. Perhaps after Christmas; I know you must be busy.”
Not one person asked after Mr Darcy, and Elizabeth wondered what the rumours of his absence were.
Surely the salacious rumours in Hertfordshire could not have reached here?
But perhaps the Darcys were considered too high to make conversation with.
Elizabeth could hope to make a friend of Mrs Hayes. That would be a start.
The next ten days were a mixture of being very busy with continuing the preparations for the tenants and staff over Christmas, and moments of soul-aching loneliness.
Elizabeth enquired daily of Mr Maunder as to the well-being of her husband, although Mr Darcy’s determined absence told her everything she needed to know.
The lack of letters from her family and friends gnawed at her soul and a determined dislike of the man she blamed for her isolation began to form. Her heart ached from not being able to write to them — they would miss her and worry for her, especially over Christmas.
Christmas Day dawned, and Elizabeth wrapped herself in as much as she could bundle around her, and slipped out of the house to walk the gardens close to the house as briskly as she could and breathe in the fresh, chill air. Thankfully, it wasn’t icy.
It was as she walked back from her circumnavigation of the lake that she saw Mr Darcy. He seemed to have had much the same idea as she had had, although she envied him his thick greatcoat. He had stopped dead on seeing her, as had she, and she knew she must wait to see if he approached her.
But he did not. After a moment, he gave her a brief bow, unsmiling, and averted his gaze, striding back to the house.
Elizabeth walked into the rose garden in an attempt to recapture her contentment, and then she knew she must return to the house to prepare for church.
At least she had called on Mrs Hayes, who had also visited her at Pemberley the following day. She would like to see her again this morning.
Later, she sat alone, as always, in the great dining room over a Christmas lunch that only wanted for companionship, and she gazed at the lonely holly branch that adorned the table.
Somehow, Mrs Kerr’s attempt to add a little festive touch had fallen flat.
Elizabeth knew it was her own fault, but her loneliness was eating away within her, and resentment was hardening at the neglectful manner of her husband.
Her ire rose. She felt as if she had been here many weeks and in all that time she had not received one letter from family or friends, not a single one.
She calculated back; it was not even three weeks since they had arrived at Pemberley.
But she knew Jane would have written to her daily, and her aunt and papa, too.
Her face burned as she imagined Mr Darcy reading them with a cold, cruel smile before casting them into the fire.
She bit her lip as her plate was removed and a steaming cup of tea was placed in front of her. She must keep her composure in front of the servants, she must.
She had no way of telling Jane or her aunt not to write to her; perhaps they thought she was able to read them and just not permitted to reply. She shivered and drew her shawl closer over her shoulders.
When she had taken her tea, she would retire to her chambers to rest and mourn, away from the weight of the gaze of the servants upon her.