A Private Performance (24 page)

A
LL THE BRISKNESS OF AN
upland spring had not dampened Elizabeth's delight in being home. She was in time to see the bluebells first appear. She had followed every path of the woods. When the weather kept her indoors, she found much to employ her time, and many a wet afternoon was passed reading by the library fire with Darcy. Two months of this leisure passed, and her summer visitors arrived.

The Bennet equipage mounted the final slope of the drive and halted to allow the passengers to enjoy their first glimpse of Pemberley House.

“Ah!” shrieked Mrs. Bennet. “To think my darling Lizzy is mistress of this house. Mr. Bennet, why did you not tell me of this grand prospect?”

“I should have missed the pleasure of enjoying your surprise,” he said dryly. “Mary, what think you of your sister's home?”

“It is very large, to be sure,” answered that upright virgin. “Yet let us remember that ‘It is harder for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man—'”

“Ha!” said her father. “I was put in mind of the same animal when it came to obtaining your apology to Mr. Darcy for your impertinence last spring.”

“I put aside thought of what was due to me, as I am generally wont to do; and humbled myself for the sake of my family.”

“Hold your tongue, girl,” snapped her mother. “I will not have you spoiling this holiday with your preaching, and I will thank you to treat Mr. Darcy with respect while you are in his house, miss.”

“I trust I know my duty, Mama.”

“Look at the reflection of the house in the lake. This place was made for my Lizzy,” said Mr. Bennet.

“‘Made for Lizzy', indeed! This house is Jacobean, to be sure; it has stood here for years.”

The carriage rolled on down the drive to the door.

Mrs. Bennet descended, determined not to feel flustered the moment she met Mr. Darcy.

“Mama! Welcome.”

“Let me look at you, Daughter. How well you look!” Her mother enfolded Elizabeth in her ample embrace, then held her at arm's length. The girl's stomach seemed as flat as ever.

She turned to her son-in-law.

“Mrs. Bennet, it gives me very great pleasure to welcome you to Pemberley.” He was the same man, as tall as ever, as stately in his address but, somehow, in his manner was an element of ease she had never seen in Hertfordshire.

“It gives me very great pleasure to be here, Mr. Darcy.”

The party moved up the steps, Elizabeth arm in arm with her mother, Mary behind them, and the two gentlemen taking up the rear.

“Lizzy, my darling girl! What a wonderful house you have,” whispered Mrs. Bennet.

“It is very nice,” said Elizabeth. “Come and take some refreshment, then I will show you to your room. You must be very tired.”

Mrs. Bennet was so overwhelmed by the luxury of her surroundings, the multitude of servants and by the unexpected geniality of her host that a full four and twenty hours passed before she began to be silly.

Elizabeth encouraged Darcy to entertain her father, while she passed several days in all the pleasure to be expected from hours spent in her mother's and sister's company. Mrs. Bennet found as much to marvel over as Mary found to disapprove in tours of the house, drives about the estate and explorations of Elizabeth's wardrobe.

 

This summer tour of the matrimonial homes of three of her daughters was highly gratifying to Mrs. Bennet's maternal pride. She had but one complaint, which she shared with Elizabeth at the earliest opportunity.

“I desire your father to take us on to Newcastle to stay with Lydia, but he is obstinate. He will not take us. You must use your
influence to change his mind, Lizzy. What a chance for Mary to divert herself with so many officers.”

“I shall never lower myself to visit Lydia, Mama!” cried Mary. “What is more, I hate officers.”

“Nonsense, Mary. All girls like officers.”

Mary jabbed the sky with her nose. “I should be content if I were never to see Lydia again.”

“Unnatural child! Did you ever hear anything so unfeeling, Lizzy?”

“Madam, to speak truthfully, I think it best for Mary if she does not stay with the Wickhams. She would not enjoy the visit and …”

“What, pray?”

“We were all fortunate in the circumstances of Lydia's marriage being hushed up. Even so, lest the … irregularity become more general knowledge, it is perhaps better for Mary's reputation if she has as little to do with her sister as possible. It seems hard, but there it is.”

“Lizzy, I did not think to hear you speak so. I hear your husband's words in this.”

Elizabeth's eyes flashed. “Believe so if you wish, but I have mentioned Lydia's and Wickham's names but once to Mr. Darcy since we became engaged. That was to tell him that they would be at Kitty's wedding.”

“Warning him, do you mean?” Mrs. Bennet's voice rose an octave.

“I told him I would understand perfectly had he stayed away.”

“How dare you speak so! You tear my nerves to shreds.”

Elizabeth continued. “I am very sorry that you feel so, but you do not know what Mr. Darcy has suffered at Wickham's hands. I told my husband he need not come, but he is incapable of causing that pain to Kitty.”

Mrs. Bennet was somewhat mollified by this statement.

“So you did not ask your husband to use his influence to have Wickham promoted?”

“I knew not that he was promoted.”

“We only heard of it the day before we left Longbourn. Lieutenant Wickham, if you please.”

“So he is restored to his old rank. What made you believe that Mr. Darcy had a part in it?”

“This advance would be beyond one without powerful friends, so soon after he joined the regulars. The promotion was made conditional on his remaining longer in the north. That convinced Wickham your husband had a hand in it. Lydia was highly provoked, for Wickham cannot change regiments and go to Belgium.”

“Lydia wishes to send her husband into battle?”

“Wickham would be sure to be promoted further if he goes to war.” Mrs. Bennet sniffed. “I think it very hard, to have my girl so far from me.”

Elizabeth smiled to herself. ‘He would assist my sister's husband, for my sake, and then never tell me to save me from the reminder of them.'

“'Tis very strange that he did not tell you,” said Mrs. Bennet.

“Not at all, Mama.” Her mother could not understand that the very sound of the names of George and Lydia Wickham was distasteful to them both.

“Lydia wrote that they put on such a good spread for the other officers and their wives, in celebration,” said Mrs. Bennet, with pride.

Elizabeth sighed. “That is an excellent start to paying off their debts.”

She turned to her sister. “Mary, should Mama and Papa go on to Newcastle, you know you will be very welcome to stay here in their absence.”

“I thank you but I shall go to Kitty's house,” Mary replied. “There are some theological points I should like to discuss with Mr. Turner.”

“What a treat for him,” said Elizabeth, trying not to laugh. Mr. Bennet made no such effort, and laughed aloud.

“Perhaps you can begin your teasing of Mr. Turner tomorrow, Mary, when we make our visit to Kympton. I imagine he will be
ready for some stimulation of the intellect after months of Kitty's company.”

“Oh, Mr. Bennet!” cried his wife.

 

Sunday arrived. Kitty stretched and opened her eyes a little, to see Edward sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You look just like a happy little kitten,” said he. She stretched her arms towards him.

“I am your happy little kitten,” she said.

“I know this.”

“Why are you out of bed so early, Edward?”

“It is past nine, Kitty, and time for you to ready yourself for church. Your parents will be there.”

“Why did you not remind me before?” Her lower lip pushed out in a way that was very enticing to the Reverend Turner, and he kissed it.

“Kitty, I would be very happy if you could call on Mrs. Goode, before we leave for Pemberley.”

“Ugh! Edward! You know how I hate to go into those dreary cottages.”

“Your visits lighten her days, Kitty. The apothecary tells me there will not be many more of them. She is still talking of when you first went to see her.”

“Papa was never so strict as you, Edward.” She frowned. “Why do you laugh?”

“I laugh at your notion of a strict husband.”

“Very well, then, I will go, but only to please you.”

“I would rather you did it to please her, Kitty.” She flounced aside. “Do it for my sake then, dear Kitty. Do not look at me so coldly.”

She smiled and offered him her cheek for a kiss; then threw off the covers.

“How you take up my time, Edward! I must inspect the housemaid's work. Mama will be poking into everything.”

 

After the service and an excellent breakfast, Mrs. Bennet had the pleasure of another house exploration. The vicarage had the advantage of being in need of one or two improvements, about which Mrs. Bennet felt very confident in giving her advice. This made her tour as satisfactory in its own way as her tour of Pemberley. She felt no confidence in the usefulness of her advice to Elizabeth on how to manage her home.

Edward was kept so busy in showing off his improvements to the arrangements at the parsonage that poor Mary did not have the opportunity to pose a single theological teaser. The Turners followed their party back to Pemberley, where they would stay three weeks. Edward arranged to return to Kympton for Sunday services as he was loath to neglect his parish. After returning from his first two days without Kitty, he held her close and said: “My dearest Kitty, I missed you so.”

“What a big silly you are! It was but two days. How will you feel if I accompany my papa and mama to Newcastle?”

“Kitty, you are not serious? You would not leave me for so long, would you?”

“I dare say not,” she said vaguely.

“In any case, I will not permit it, Kitty, not in the circumstances.” He put his hand against the tiny bulge in her stomach.

“Very well, then, I shan't go.”

“Would you not rather remain with me, sweet love?”

“I suppose,” she said. “Even if you are such an ogre.”

He kissed her pouting mouth. She returned the kiss fleetingly and he kissed her again. She pushed him away.

“It is time to dress for dinner, Edward.”

“Tell me that you love me.”

“I love you. Now leave me.” As he closed the door, her frown vanished and she laughed happily to herself.

‘I must tell the maid to put out my new night-gown,' she thought. It was of the very finest lawn, and she had been saving it for one such occasion.

 

There were certain maternal duties the neglect of which Mrs. Bennet could never be accused. While Elizabeth was writing her letters one morning, her mother visited her sitting room.

“Do not let me interrupt you, child. I shall enjoy myself sitting quietly here watching you.”

“Very well, Mama.”

“What a charming room you have. Has Mr. Darcy done it up anew for you?”

“Yes.”

“What a lot of letters you seem to write, Lizzy.”

“Yes.”

“To whom do you write just now?”

“To a lady called Mrs. McDowell, Mama.”

“Who is Mrs. McDowell, my dear? I have never heard of her.”

Elizabeth put down her pen, and answered a string of queries.

“She sounds most interesting, Lizzy. I think you should carry on with your letter or you'll never be done.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Mrs. Bennet got up and walked around the room, humming a little tune.

“Your sister Jane is expecting another child.”

“Yes. I am very happy for her.”

“Kitty will find herself very busy at Christmas, when she will have a babe to think of,” said Mrs. Bennet.

“What? Kitty is to have a child? So soon?” Elizabeth turned earnestly to her letter.

“Lizzy?”

“Yes, Mama?”

“I wish to have a little talk with you.”

“We are having a little talk, are we not?”

Mrs. Bennet coughed delicately.

“Lizzy, you are not of a discouraging disposition in regard to your husband, I hope?”

“I am of a disposition to discourage this questioning, madam.”

“Have it your own way. I only wish to be of assistance to you.”

“Thank you but I do not require assistance.”

“Where can Mary be? I shall see if she is still in her room.”

The door closed on Mrs. Bennet's form, but the nuisance of her chatter hung in the air for some minutes.

Elizabeth crossed to the window. It was a cool, clear summer day.

She looked over her shoulder as Darcy entered. He stood close to her, while she turned back to look out on the day.

“We might never have a child, Fitzwilliam, let alone a son.”

“Perhaps not, although it is but fourteen months since …”

‘He keeps count!' she thought, then said: “Fitzwilliam, if it should turn out so, will you regret it?”

“I should be disappointed. Also, I dislike extremely the thought of you being turned from your home, should I die before you. However, the word ‘regret' implies I have the power to alter our fate.”

“I mean, I fear you will regret …” The words hung between them.

“Regret what, Elizabeth?”

“Nothing. It is nothing.”

“Were you contemplating the prospect that I might regret having married you?”

She turned to him, her eyes very dark. She did not speak the question, but it was there, in her hard and wary glance.

“How can you think so?” he said. “After all that has passed between us, you have so little faith in me.”

“No, dearest, not that. I have every faith in you. There is no-one more worthy of my trust.”