Teaching Eliza, page 26
Mrs. Gardiner chatted happily about the beauties of Pemberley as they walked back to the inn for their tea, and upon reuniting with Lady Grant, the conversation naturally turned to the estate and the family. “Darcy is an aloof sort, but never unpleasant and always fair in his dealings with tenants and townsfolk alike. Miss Georgie is a very different sort of girl, but she, too, has never occasioned a bad word from anyone,” Lady Grant said. Mrs. Gardiner, who knew the family from her childhood, agreed.
“Miss Georgie was only a babe when I left these parts, but her brother was well regarded, though he was but a youth.” Ah, so Miss Georgie was Darcy’s younger sister, then. “Even then, he had the makings of a good man, no matter what face he showed to the world,” she counselled her niece. Despite the wrong he had done Lizzy, Aunt Gardiner had always expressed her thoughts that he was hampered as much by his own insecurities as by his incivility, which he used—so she presumed—to mask a discomfort in society. “Examine the man by his actions as well as by his words, Lizzy. Perhaps when you understand him better, you will see him in a different light.”
Lizzy now turned to Lady Grant. “I’m afraid I am at a disadvantage, for I know nothing of this Miss Georgie, whom I am to visit and hopefully help cheer tomorrow. Who is she? What ought I to know?” She turned concerned eyes from her friend to her aunt, and back again, imploring them to divulge their information.
The two ladies looked at each other over the prettily set table in the tea shop with grim faces. Lady Grant took a sip from her delicate china cup and explained, “There is much gossip, most of which we shall ignore. Miss Georgiana Darcy is the professor’s sister, some ten years and more his junior. She was always a shy and reserved child, but last year she suffered some great misfortune at the hands of a man. Of course, no one has ever said anything about the affair, but this much seems clear. The nature of her disappointment, I cannot tell you, nor whether it is because of this that she suffers from melancholia. Her brother thought she might do well at school or in London, and it is in London where we all believed her to be. However, if she is home now, those avenues seem not to have been of any help to the girl.” She sighed and lowered her eyes to her teacup.
“Poor Georgie,” Mrs. Gardiner echoed. “You have also been put upon by a gentleman who ought to have behaved better.” She raised her eyebrows at Lizzy and pointedly ignored her sister’s inquisitive expression. “You cannot, of course, relate the specifics of your own experience, but she might recognise some common threads and feel comfortable in your presence.”
“Now,” Lady Grant said with a smile as she finished her final piece of tea cake, “if you are to visit Miss Darcy, you certainly need new gloves! And the haberdasher around the corner has just the thing for you. I saw a pair in his window as I returned from the chandler. Come, Lizzy, I must be allowed to buy some for you.”
SIXTEEN — VISITING PEMBERLEY
~
THE FOLLOWING MORNING DAWNED COOL and misty, but by the time breakfast had been completed and the carriage was prepared, the sky was clearing and the roads were more than fine for the eight-mile journey to Pemberley. With her pale yellow dress, golden spencer with its military-style braiding, and the new bonnet and gloves that Lady Grant has insisted upon purchasing, Lizzy felt her appearance, if not her composure, was suitable for the visit. She had confirmed once more with the housekeeper at Arlenby, who knew and extolled Mrs. Reynolds, that no one had seen or heard from the master in months, and that he most surely was not in residence at his manor house. At this news, despite her unease and concern as to his whereabouts, she felt more confident in her plans.
The journey was pleasant and without incident, and presently they arrived at Pemberley. Lizzy was the only member of the party who had not visited before, and she was amazed at the beauty of the grounds. Where Arlenby was well-kept but compact, the grounds of Pemberley were expansive and spectacular. The road wound through heavy woods, until it broke into a clearing above a valley, on the opposite side of which the magnificent house stood. Behind the house, the hillside rose protectively, further guarded by wooded peaks in the near distance; before the house a lovely stream swelled into a picturesque pond, giving the impression of nature at its finest, displaying the artistry of The Creator. It was a beautiful prospect, and upon seeing it, Lizzy wondered once more about its master. To be proud of such a home was well comprehensible; perhaps, for one raised amidst such natural splendour, the artifice of Town and its glittering denizens was sufficiently distasteful to encourage his disdain and rudeness. She was certain she would never see him again, but perhaps, were she to meet him once more, she might seek to understand the man better.
The carriage drew up before the front entrance to the house, and Mrs. Reynolds rushed from between the great doors to greet the guests. “Lady Grant, we are honoured that you have joined us today. Mrs. Gardiner, a pleasure, as always, and Miss Bennet, I am truly delighted that you have come. Miss Georgie expressed some interest in dressing today, after I described our conversation yesterday; I do hope this bodes well. Come in, come in. I shall conduct you to Miss Georgie’s sitting room.”
Lizzy hardly knew what to make of this. Miss Georgie had expressed interest in dressing? Was she so ill as to spend most of her days abed? She knew of people with physical ailments who kept to their night clothing and robes, for when one is too weak to rise from bed, one is not expected to dress. But an ailment of the spirits? How dire must it be for a willingness to dress to be such a cause for optimism? Once, Lizzy recalled, she had heard of a young farm girl with a similar affliction, but every attempt to ask after the girl had been met with severe frowns and whispered refusals. That unwelcome frisson of inadequacy that had first assailed her in front of the Malton house in Town now afflicted her once more, and she had to hold herself steady so as not to shake. How could her poor presence possibly help this young lady?
Mrs. Reynolds offered the matrons tea and, in veiled tones, suggested that they not overburden Miss Georgie with too many visitors at once; consequently Lady Grant and Mrs. Gardiner opted to walk the grounds and enjoy the rose garden, after which they would find tea waiting for them in one of the parlours.
“A single guest will be enough for the girl,” Mrs. Reynolds nodded, then shook her head sadly. “Come, Miss Bennet, let me show you the way.”
“Are you certain this will not do her further harm?” Lizzy’s concern was palpable and she wondered if she ought to demur as Mrs. Reynolds led her from the room. “I have no knowledge of what to do or say.”
Mrs. Reynolds patted her hand. “You are a sweet and thoughtful young woman; you will know what to say to a young girl who rather desperately needs a friend. Miss Georgie is pleased to see you. You need feel no trepidation at all; only be who you were when we met yesterday.” Lizzy blinked back her worries and found a smile for her face.
The housekeeper led her up the grand staircase to the first storey, and then down a hallway, all the while describing Miss Georgie’s affliction. “I must prepare you, Miss Bennet,” the housekeeper whispered, “so you be not too alarmed at Miss Georgie’s state.” Before long they entered a suite of rooms that faced the back of the house, overlooking the rose gardens and the hillsides beyond. Despite the bright sunlight, the room was strangely dark, for all but one window remained curtained in heavy swaths of drapery. The walls were light in colour, their exact hue indeterminate in the uneven illumination, and the furnishings modern and elegant. Reclined on a sofa off to one side of the uncurtained window, Lizzy saw a young woman, lit dramatically from the single source of light, an exercise in chiaroscuro , like an impression by Caravaggio.
The girl did not rise when Lizzy was ushered inside, nor did she smile, but she raised her head infinitesimally as Mrs. Reynolds made the introductions. “Miss Darcy, allow me to introduce Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Miss Bennet, Miss Georgiana Darcy.” Lizzy curtseyed with all the grace she had learned in London. Mrs. Reynolds caught Lizzy’s eye and receiving a small nod in response, backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.
“Miss Darcy, it is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Lizzy knew from Mrs. Reynolds’ information that she would have to take the lead in conversation, regardless of what social conventions might dictate. Not expecting much of a reply, if any, she continued, “I was most pleased to meet with Mrs. Reynolds yesterday at the bookseller, and I hope she conveyed some of our conversation to you. I have a delight in reading novels, and I hoped you might share my interests.”
The young girl raised her head a small degree more, and Lizzy took that as encouragement. She chattered about the books she had selected and what had appealed to her about them. As she talked, Miss Darcy seemed to grow somewhat brighter, and her eyes met and held Lizzy’s for slightly longer periods over the course of the monologue. At length, Lizzy dared to ask a question, hoping to get the girl to speak. “Do you read much, Miss Darcy? Tell me, what are your favourites?”
Her hopes were borne out as a very quiet voice replied, “I used to read, but have not in some time.”
“Pray tell, what was it that entertained you when you did enjoy a book? I am always curious to find new books for my younger sisters.”
Slowly, as if the words were being pulled from her with great difficulty, Miss Darcy began to speak of stories she had read and liked. She had been particular to the writings of Mrs. Radcliffe, but now found the horrors the heroines suffered too much to bear. The words came one at a time at first, but after a while, during which time Mrs. Reynolds brought in refreshments, she spoke more easily, although her tone remained colourless and flat.
Looking at the tray of lemonade and cakes, Lizzy dared to ask, “Miss Darcy, would it importune you excessively if I opened another curtain? Such a delightful tray of sweets as this deserves the honour of excellent illumination.” She turned wide, hopeful eyes to the girl.
“Yes, that would be fine, Miss Bennet,” came the flat reply. Lizzy walked to draw open the heavy drapery, and more sunlight washed its way through the room. The walls could now be seen to be a soft robins-egg blue, with pale yellow foliage printed on the wallpaper. The upholstery matched the yellow, with accents in gold and ivory, lending a classical cast to the decor.
The girl on the sofa, too, was now more fully lit, and Lizzy could see her features with greater clarity. Her hair, which had seemed simply fair before, could be reckoned a light golden brown, which must glow almost blonde in full sunshine. Her skin was very pale, as might be expected from someone who almost never left her rooms, and her eyes were deep brown, like her brother’s. Her face was pleasant and sensible, and her features similar to Darcy’s, but put together in such a way as to seem feminine and not quite so handsome.
As well as her features, Lizzy could now see the girl’s expression. She had expected, perhaps, deep sadness or possibly pain to be written across the young face, but these would have been welcome compared to the completely blank look that was present. Lizzy was reminded of a painting, which once might have been beautiful, but which now had all the colour somehow drained from it. She longed to find a way to return the hues and shades to the work before her, but knew not how. She could only do one thing, which was to keep talking about matters which might interest the girl, to try to draw her back to life.
And so she did. She talked at length about her childhood and her sisters, describing each in the most humorous terms she could, watching Miss Darcy’s face for any sign of interest of animation. She described Jane’s frustrating pleasantness, Mary’s pedantic tendencies and Mr. Collins’ worse ones, Kitty’s need for attention, and Lydia’s silliness and wild spirit. During the latter recital, Miss Darcy cocked her head and widened her eyes, which Lizzy took as a sign to talk further of her youngest sister. This she did, relating in detail some of Lydia’s more outrageous adventures with her mother’s favourite bonnets, or with the poor cook’s supplies of sugar and jam.
At last, as Lizzy was wiping tears of laughter from her own eyes at some of the recollections, Lizzy was rewarded by a twitch of her companion’s mouth. It was not a smile, but it was the first sign of emotion she had observed, and it heartened her.
“Come, Miss Darcy, let us take some of these lovely cakes Mrs. Reynold’s has brought for us.” She walked to the table upon which sat the tray and pondered the selection. “Which should you prefer? This looks to be a fruit cake with currants and,” she sniffed, “lavender, and this tart seems to be filled with raspberries and orange. Do you have a preference, or would you like both?” The girl initially declined all offers, but eventually agreed to take a tart and a glass of lemonade.
They sat in silence whilst they enjoyed the food, and Lizzy hoped she had done no wrong by so engaging the girl. But her stories seemed to have lifted Miss Darcy’s spirits ever so slightly, and the suggestion of a smile she had seen encouraged her to continue her efforts.
She rose from her seat and walked over to the window once more, now to look out upon the vista. “It is a most pleasant prospect,” she said warmly. “I cannot imagine ever tiring of such a view. Will you not come and join me by the window, Miss Darcy, so we may better see these delights? I should enjoy your company.”
To her surprise, the young girl rose from her seat and walked, somewhat unsteadily, towards her. It was the first time Miss Darcy had risen from her seat, and at last Lizzy was able to take a better account of the girl. She was tall, like her brother, and though only sixteen, was endowed with a woman’s figure. But she did not hold herself straight and proud, and instead rounded her shoulders forward to conceal her bosom and allowed her head to droop on her neck.
Lizzy recalled the countless hours she had spent in London perfecting her posture and deportment, walking around the house with books upon her head as Darcy shouted at her, and knew with a certainty that Miss Darcy had suffered equally, if not more so, in similar exercises. Her natural posture must surely be excellent; this attempt to hide herself away must be another manifestation of whatever had occasioned this lapse into melancholy. She resolved to ask Mrs. Reynolds for whatever information she could; perhaps therein she might find some clue to further help the girl.
Miss Darcy was now standing beside her at the window, shivering despite the pleasant temperature. Spying a wrap that lay across the back of a chair, Lizzy retrieved it and draped it loosely across the girl’s back and shoulders, evincing another twitch to the lips and a whispered, “Thank you.” For a while they stood, side by side, admiring the view.
Suddenly Miss Darcy spoke, “There is a stream beyond the furthest wing.” Lizzy blinked in surprise and stifled a gasp, for it was the first comment the girl had made on her own initiative. “You can see it if you stand on the balcony, and look yonder.” Pulling the wrap more securely around her pale and thin shoulders, she opened the French doors and stepped outside, beckoning her guest to join her. She was silent for a very long time, and Lizzy hoped she had not fallen back into her former deep gloom. At last, however, she breathed deeply of the warm summer air, redolent with the scent of the flowers in the garden below. “I have not been here for some time,” she said in her flat voice. “The sun warms me.”
Lizzy stood next to her new friend and admired the view. The rose gardens were in full display below, and if one stood at the edge of the balcony and looked down, she might see the stone terrace that led from the rooms beneath them—morning rooms? drawing rooms? library, perhaps? —and the wrought iron tables and chairs set out there, on which one might enjoy a lovely vista whilst taking tea or engaging in conversation. The terrace was rimmed with a stone balustrade, and a few short stairs led down to the gardens just at their foot. Past the gardens, which were expansive, a wide swath of green lawn lay like a moat, beyond which the dense woods of the surrounding forests sprang up to climb the protective hillsides.
Following the grassy area towards the direction Miss Darcy had indicated, Lizzy could see where the stream flowed down from the hills, and imagining the path the rivulet must take through the obscuring trees, she let her eyes wander over the wood.
“Is that a building I see there, about half-way up that hill?” she asked, peering at what seemed to be part of a stone cottage, nestled in the trees. Something made her turn her focus to Miss Darcy, and she was surprised to see the faintest glimmer of a smile on the girl’s face, the slightest gleam in her otherwise-expressionless eyes.
“Yes. It is a small cottage. It was a favourite of my mother, before she passed, and I spent many happy hours there as a young child. It is close enough to the house that we might come and go as we wished, but once there, we felt as if we were many miles from any other person, in a land of our very own.” She paused, lost in memory. “Even after Mama died, my brother would take me there, and we would imagine ourselves to be having adventures.” She paused again and stared for some time into the woods.
Her brother. There was no avoiding it, but the mention of her brother disarranged Lizzy’s thoughts. Did she wish to learn more about Darcy as a youth and young man, or would it be preferable to forgo all mention and thought of him? This was not a decision for her to make, however, for her primary concern at this moment was the young lady beside her. “Do tell me more, please,” Lizzy encouraged, fearing that the girl would drift off into her own thoughts, not to emerge again.
Miss Darcy closed her brown eyes for a moment, then recalled her companion, and resumed her tale in her flat voice. “Sometimes we would pretend to be exploring the wilds of Canada, or the jungles of India. Other times, we would pretend to be lost in the faerie realm, where gnomes and brownies hid beneath every leaf. My brother would call out for Titania and Oberon, and it was there he taught me to speak the language of the pixies.”
