Chapter 20
The year was drawing to a close. Elizabeth watched the weak sunlight through the gap in her curtains and wondered at her lack of energy to rise and struggle through another day.
At least the frantic preparations for Christmas and Saint Stephen’s day were past. Next year, it would be easier, as she would be able to prepare in advance.
Next year! The weight of the days and months to come bore heavily down on her spirits. For several weeks now, she had dined in lonely splendour in the large, imposing dining room, a multitude of servants ready to leap to do whatever she might desire.
She rolled over to stare at the drapes over her bed. She had dined alone enough to be certain her husband would not join her. Why should she do more? Certainly this must be an object of gossip below stairs.
If she was in the chambers of the mistress of this house, she would have a private sitting room as well as a bedchamber, bathing room and closets.
But the refurbishment would take many weeks, and this chamber in the guest wing — delightful as the view from the window was — was merely a single bed chamber.
Elizabeth sat up suddenly. The guest wing! There were no guests, and she could not imagine there would be in the foreseeable future; there were adjoining chambers to this one. She could manage well without an interconnecting door.
Hastily she rang the bell for Emily, glancing at the clock.
“Help me dress, quickly, and then ask Mrs Kerr to attend me up here.” She tried to keep the excitement from her voice and once Emily had left, Elizabeth opened the doors of the chambers either side of her own.
The one on the right was decorated with a pretty pale green wallpaper with a leaf design that had a spring-like feel to it, and the view was the same as that of her own chamber.
“Mrs Darcy?” The deputy housekeeper’s voice called out uncertainly from the corridor and Elizabeth came to the door.
“My apologies, Mrs Kerr, I am in this room.” When the other woman joined her, Elizabeth gestured around the chamber.
“I think as it is going to take some time to have the mistress’s chambers refurbished, then I would like to have this room set up as my private sitting room.
I am hoping that we can store the bed in the attic and there may be a table and a comfortable armchair and other sundry pieces of furniture that may be repurposed in here. ”
“Of course, Mrs Darcy. It would be a quicker task than refurbishing the mistress’s chambers, of course. But those are the premier rooms. As mistress of Pemberley, you ought perhaps to …” she looked anxious. “I am sure Mr Darcy would prefer you to arrange for the refurbishment.”
Elizabeth smiled reassuringly. “And I will do that after this busy time. But we cannot begin any work until he is recovered enough to leave his chambers, because the work will be noisy and he will find it disruptive.”
“Oh, certainly.” The woman nodded. “I had not considered it properly.” She cast a glance around the room.
“Would you like all new furniture? I can show you what there is already in the attics that you might find satisfactory, or we can summon the carpenter from Lambton who can make you anything you need.”
“I would rather find everything I need in the attics, Mrs Kerr. I hope that I might even have this room available later today or at least tomorrow.” Elizabeth glanced down the corridor. “And given that we are a long way from the master chambers, we will not disturb Mr Darcy unduly.”
The next week passed quietly. Elizabeth walked daily, but close to the house and very early; she did not encounter her husband outside again.
As soon as the chamber next to hers was furnished as her sitting room, she began to dine there, quietly, with a book for company and distraction.
Her loneliness was extreme, but she was determined to build a new life, just as soon as the weather improved.
She was happy to have made a friend in Mrs Hayes, and a note that lady handed her at church gave her encouragement.
Dear Mrs Darcy
If you find yourself at leisure, I should be delighted to receive you again for tea one day after Twelfth Night.
The roads should be a little clearer by then, and I have much enjoyed our brief meetings.
Yours affectionately,
Lucy Hayes
Her loneliness lifted just a little, even with just that slight link to another. Mrs Kerr and Emily also provided support, but of course she would not transgress the bounds of formality that she would be able to do with Mrs Hayes.
Lucy. Perhaps they could soon become on more intimate terms. It would soon be a month since she had been addressed by her given name.
And she took tea every morning with Mrs Reynolds. The elderly woman was already calmer and her confusion had settled a little, although she still could not recall each day why Mr Darcy remained in his chambers.
Elizabeth had to explain that he had been injured — she told her it had been in a carriage accident — but was already recovering under the excellent care of Mr Maunder. She explained carefully that Mr Darcy would not wish his housekeeper to call to see him until his bruising had settled.
Elizabeth must keep him and his unreliable temper away from such a fragile lady.
Her daily consultations with Mrs Kerr were more wide-ranging. She examined the ledgers, sketched out a programme of sewing for the tenants to prepare what she could for next year’s boxes well ahead of time, and listened carefully to everything she could about the people of the house and estate.
Sometimes her heart quailed a little; the place was so vast, so enormous, that she could hardly comprehend the number of servants above stairs, before even contemplating those below stairs, the gardeners and the tenants.
But the estate ran well, everyone seeming to know their duty and Elizabeth divided her understanding by discussing one branch of the servants at a time.
Once she knew the history and concerns of the maids of the house, then she could move on to the cook and the kitchens before turning her attention to the butler. Mr Payne would assist her to know the number and needs of the footmen.
Thus she knew her year would be a busy one.
But she would make time for friendships from without the estate.
Mrs Hayes's letter had provided comfort that Elizabeth desperately sought; although there was an ache in her heart, knowing that the only warmth of friendship came from outside the walls of Pemberley.
She saw her husband once. She had just crossed the upper hallway from the guest wing toward the main staircase. He must have climbed them; he had a book in his hand and seemed about to turn towards the master suites.
He hesitated and his features froze. Elizabeth gave a quiet curtsy, but she would wait for him to speak if he wished to — she would not wish to spark his temper.
But he did not; he gave her a stiff bow, his expression impassive and unreadable, before turning towards his chambers with an air of haste.
Elizabeth shrugged to herself; she could expect no more. Was he determined never to speak to her? Was he still receiving letters addressed to her, or had he written to tell them to desist? Would he ever mention them — and was he reading them?
Her heart tight within her, and tears not far behind, she turned for the stairs and descended, walking down the other side from where he would have rested his hand on the bannister rail. She never wished to feel the warmth of his hand if she could help it.
He had looked tired, she thought. Although unless he removed from his chambers more often, he could not be short of rest. Almost at once, she felt rather ashamed of her bitter thoughts; he might still be plagued by headaches for all she did not know.
When she spoke to Mr Maunder again this evening, she would ask some rather more pertinent questions and hope to receive more than platitudes.
It was two days later, when she heard his voice again. He was downstairs once more, and she knew that as he recovered, their encounters would become more frequent. She didn’t know whether she ought to welcome the company or continue to resent his neglect of her so far — until she heard his voice.
It was sharp and angry as he rebuked someone — the butler, she realised, as she recognised the voice of Mr Payne giving an apology. She turned towards the sound; she must be prepared to protect the staff, however angry her husband was. And Mr Payne was an exceptional man.
But then she hesitated before turning the final corner, when she heard Mr Darcy’s voice. Quieter, softer.
“Forgive me, Mr Payne. I ought not to have spoken so. I was wrong, and I tender my sincere apologies.”
“Of course, sir.” Mr Payne really was extraordinarily patient. But his master may not have heard the reply. His footsteps already echoed up the stairs as he hurried away, presumably for his bedchambers.
Elizabeth turned back toward the mistress’s sitting room and rang for refreshments. It was important to think. Did his awareness of his temper and the fact that he could bring it under control and apologise mean that he might be recovering as Meryton’s apothecary had told her was possible?
What would that mean for them as a married couple? Might he even realise the way he had ignored her was wrong, and that she deserved an apology, too?
Twelfth Night. The end of the Christmas festivities. Elizabeth laughed mirthlessly to herself as she dined alone once more in her new private sitting room above stairs. There had been no festivities. No acknowledgement of Christmas, Saint Stephen’s Day, New Year’s Eve, and now Twelfth Night.
She had ensured the staff received their usual gifts and dispensations as far as she could discover. And she had attended services as often as she could.
She had woken, not really expecting any acknowledgement of the date, given that all previous festive days had been unmarked, but she acknowledged that she had, rather irrationally, perhaps, hoped for some mark of the day.
But he still ignored her as if she did not exist. Preventing her from sending and receiving letters from her family and friends was a cruelty she had never imagined; and preventing his sister from joining them was further evidence that he had not wished to marry her, that he would isolate her here.
Her husband had not sought her out once since they had arrived at Pemberley. When they had encountered each other in passing, he did not speak.
But it did mean he was recovered enough to leave his chambers.
So why was he ignoring her? She found herself trying to excuse his behaviour towards her; it was only six weeks since his terrible injury, and while she had seen no signs of it upon his face as had still been visible at their wedding, he must still be subject to those sudden outbursts of temper.
Perhaps he sought to protect her? No, it would not be that; he was interacting with the senior staff at the very least.
“I do not understand him at all. But perhaps, once the new year settles into a familiar routine, things will change. All I can do for now is my utmost to be the best mistress to Pemberley that I can.” She huffed a quiet laugh ruefully to herself.
“It does no good to talk to an empty room, Lizzy. I might as well retire early. Tomorrow is Monday, the first proper day after the festive season. I will wake early and begin as I mean to go on.”
She blew out the candle and left the room to go to her bedroom where she would summon Emily and go to bed, early as it was.