CHAPTER 12 #2
No sooner had she felt the first give in the leather than footsteps sounded in the passage beyond.
Mr. Darcy rose at once, positioning himself between Elizabeth and the door with a swiftness that left her, for a moment, feeling rather more secure than she had in days. The lock turned, and a man entered.
"'Ere's yer grub. Eat it," said the thin guard she believed was called Dan, setting down a tray bearing two mugs and a large bowl of porridge before withdrawing and locking the door once more behind him.
Their circumstances remained, in every material respect, unchanged.
Elizabeth, feeling suddenly parched, rose from the bed. "I believe I shall have something to drink." She knelt carefully and lifted one of the mugs to her lips, only to cough at the taste, a rather potent mead.
"What is it?" Darcy asked.
"Mead," she said, turning to him. "Would you care for some?"
"If you would be so kind, yes."
Elizabeth found that moving the mug in position proved an awkward business, with her own hands still bound, but she accomplished it without spilling a drop, before turning and holding the bottle carefully to Darcy’s lips and tipping it by degrees until he had drunk.
"More?" She asked politely.
A strange sort of almost smile graced his lips, "No, thank you."
Elizabeth chose not to dwell upon the look, though she felt something flutter unaccountably in her stomach as she returned to the tray and helped herself to a few spoonfuls of porridge.
After a moment, she turned back to him. "Would you care for a bite?"
Mr. Darcy nodded in agreement. "I am entirely at your service, Miss Elizabeth." She considered, briefly, lifting the whole bowl to his lips, but thought better of it, the porridge being still too warm to hold comfortably. She took up the spoon instead.
Looking between the spoon and Mr. Darcy, she said, "You will need to come closer, sir, or I shall spill this upon you."
"Very well." He leaned forward, and she carefully filled the spoon before raising it to his mouth. He opened it obligingly, and she managed, with some awkwardness, to see him properly fed.
After several such spoonfuls, he seemed satisfied. "There, let us return to the work at hand, Mr. Darcy."
She fell silent, returning her attention to the small progress she had made before their meal arrived.
"What do you read?" he asked, rather suddenly.
Caught off guard, she echoed him. "What do I read?"
"I have heard you are a great reader," he added, somewhat lightly.
As she focused on her task of tugging, Elizabeth responded absentmindedly, "And who, pray, told you that, Mr. Darcy?"
He considered the question a moment. "A friend," he replied simply.
"A friend? Which friend?" She asked, uncertain of who he could mean.
Attempting to change the subject, and sounding somewhat annoyed at the interplay, Darcy replied, "Does it signify? Are you a great reader, or are you not?"
She laughed, turning over in her mind which friend of a friend might have carried such intelligence to him. "I would not call myself a great reader, sir, though I take pleasure in it, among a great many other things."
What, precisely, constitutes a great reader? he wondered, but thought better of pursuing the point. "What do you enjoy reading, then?"
"A great many things. Evelina is a favourite, as is The Absentee. I have always loved a good Shakespearean sonnet. As You Like It and Measure for Measure have entertained me a great deal. I have read Lord Byron, and Sir Walter Scott, but I confess Miss Edgeworth pleases me most of all."
"I confess I am not surprised." He considered a moment. "I admire Edgeworth's consistency of character, and her moral seriousness, but I am less persuaded by her insistence upon a woman's self-governance. I do not think it positions women so very well in society."
"I beg your pardon, sir? You believe a woman's independence poorly positions her?" She asked, with a knowing tone in her voice.
"I think her view somewhat unrealistic. Consider what independence is available to a woman in our society, save that of the widow, or the woman of ill repute? Edgeworth would have women yearn for a great deal more than society is presently prepared to grant them."
"I must disagree with you entirely, Mr. Darcy.
Scripture itself describes man and woman as equal in creation, and it follows that we ought to enjoy equal access and opportunity in society, whatever our sex.
Edgeworth makes precisely that argument, and in doing so, challenges society to reconsider itself. "
"You may be right in principle. But I think Edgeworth writes from the ideal, and not the practical.
In theory, certainly, men and women stand equal.
In practice, society does not regard them so.
One need only consider occupation, as men pursue a great variety of professions, while women are confined almost entirely to the domestic sphere, held up as models of propriety rather than participants in the wider world.
It may not be just, but it remains the reality we live in. "
She pushed back directly, "What occupations, precisely, are men suited to that women are not?"
"I do not say women are incapable of such work, only that, in practice, one finds no women in the law, in medicine, or in engineering." He sounded honest.