Mr. Darcy's Daughters (23 page)

The party flowed into the house and up the stairs, everyone talking at once: the delights of the seaside, the pleasantness of their lodgings, the agreeable company to be met with at Southend, the benefits to Charlotte, the brilliance of the baby in producing another tooth, the delightfulness of being home again.

Tea was called for and brought, while Fanny sank back into a sofa with a satisfied sigh. “To be sure, it is very nice to be at the seaside, and our journey could not have been easier or more comfortable; however, it is best to be at home. Tell me, what have you been doing? Have you been very dull? I was so shocked when Fitzwilliam told me you were not to go out in society while I was away. I felt I should not have left you.”

The twins looked as though they quite agreed with Fanny, but Camilla and Letty were quick to reassure her and say they had not been dull at all, and that her trip away had been more than necessary, only look how well Charlotte was, quite recovered.

“Yes, she is, except for a little cough, and that is less troublesome every day. Dr. Molloy will call round later today, I dare say, and he will be pleased to see her coming on so well. He will know just the thing to prescribe for her cough.”

“We did attend one party,” Camilla said, judging it best that Fanny should be told right away, before her husband heard about it at the club. “Mrs. Gardiner took us, with Sophie, to my aunt Lydia’s rout. She felt our absence would excite comment.”

“She did very right, and I must thank her for it,” cried Fanny. “Lord, I forgot all about it. In the normal way, I should not dream of taking you to such a party, for we do not move in that set, and I would not consider the company suitable for people of your age, but Lydia Pollexfen being your aunt makes all the difference. Was it a dreadful crush? Her parties always are, you know. Did you enjoy it?”

The twins launched into a rapturous account of the fashionable company, the crowded rooms, the excitement of a royal duke being present.

Fanny frowned. “Was he, though? He is not at all the thing, however royal he may be. What of you, Camilla? And Letty?”

“It was horrid,” said Letitia. “Such a squeeze, and nearly everyone there was a stranger, and the room so hot, and people pressing one so close!”

Camilla knew that her cousin didn’t want to hear of any of them having a less than enjoyable time, so she said that she had met and chatted with some interesting people, and had taken great pleasure in observing the fashions. That distracted Fanny, who immediately demanded detailed descriptions of gowns and trimmings and how hair was being worn.

The sound of the knocker, voices below. Fanny looked attentive. “I wonder who that may be? We shall admit no visitors today, of course. I am in no mood for callers, and indeed need to take off my clothes at once, so crumpled and rumpled as I am after the journey.”

Fanny in fact looked perfectly neat and untouselled, but before she could say so, the door opened and to their great surprise, Mr. Gardiner was admitted, holding a letter in his hand, a worried expression on his face. Fitzwilliam was hard on his heels.

He greeted Fanny politely, and then without preamble waved the letter at the sisters. “Here is an express come from Vienna, from Mr. Darcy. I had to come round at once.”

“From Papa!” Camilla exclaimed.

Letitia had gone pale. “Tell us at once, I beg you. I know that some terrible misfortune has befallen them, an accident, an illness; oh, pray do not keep us in suspense, let us hear the worst.”

“It is indeed a letter from your father, a most disturbing letter.”

Like other important merchants and bankers working in the city of London, Mr. Gardiner needed and maintained excellent lines of communication with those countries overseas where he did business. Now that the war was over, it was possible for him to send and receive information far more swiftly than through any of the normal couriers or mails.

He had sent correspondence to Mr. and Mrs. Darcy on their journey east; it would be more of a problem once they reached Constantinople, but his contacts with Vienna were excellent and he had forwarded the letter that Letitia had given him a little while ago without a second thought.

The reply had come addressed not to Darcy’s eldest daughter, but to Mr. Gardiner, with a request that he share its contents with Fitzwilliam at the first opportunity and send him an answer at his earliest convenience. That was what had brought him hurrying from his office, and in the middle of a working day—an unheard-of circumstance that had set all his underlings and clerks to whispering and wondering what had happened.

“Letty, whatever did you write?” asked Camilla, when Mr. Gardiner had been seated and offered refreshment and recovered his equanimity.

Letitia was defiant. “I told him the truth, how London does not suit us.” Cries of protest from Belle and Georgina; she put her nose in the air and, ignoring the interruption, continued, her voice high and discontented. “I said in how dissipated and purposeless a way our time is spent, with our days and nights given over to parties and clothes and extravagance of every kind; how the twins have to be almost dragged to church on Sundays, how Alethea pays no attention to any study but that of music, and how unsuitable the songs she is learning with this Italian master are, and how wrong it is that she learns from a foreigner, a most ungenteel person. And I told him that Belle and Georgina go everywhere, as though they are out, which they are not, and think of nothing but beaux and flirting and fashions. I wrote, too, that the whole sad business with Sir Sidney, of which I am sure he has been appraised, would never have arisen but for the circumstance of our lives being given over to such worldly and frivolous activities.”

She finished this litany of sins with an air of great satisfaction. “I do not in the least regret having sent the letter, for it is right that Papa and Mama should know how things are. I said that we ought to return to Pemberley without further delay, for although Fanny and Mr. Fitzwilliam have shown us every kindness, it is an imposition upon them to have to cope with the twins and Alethea in particular, and that all of us would benefit extremely from a spring and summer spent among familiar surroundings, following our customary pursuits.”

Georgina could not contain herself. “Customary pursuits! Yes, sitting at our needlework for hours on end, going for a dull walk in the dull park and then, perhaps, once in a while, when the moon is full, visiting one or other of our dull neighbours. You may choose to wither into crabbed spinsterhood in such a fashion, but you shall not force me and Belle to share such a horrid existence with you. I shan’t go back to Derbyshire, whatever you may say, or whatever Papa says, for you have not told him the truth, you have made up a heap of wicked stories, just because you are so determined to get your own way.”

“Georgina! Control yourself, if you please, this is no time to be enacting scenes.” Fitzwilliam’s voice was sharp as he looked up from the letter he had been perusing with a frown on his face. “It seems from what he writes here that Darcy has indeed heard some rumours about Sir Sidney, and he asks me to furnish him with details if I consider it necessary; otherwise he is disinclined to waste any time on what is no doubt mere gossip. I think I must inform him of exactly what happened.”

“I will write to him,” Camilla said, keeping her voice as calm as she could. Why had she not told her parents about it at once, in her next letter to them after that dreadful day? She had decided not to, judging that it could be mentioned when they met again, when it would be so far in the past as to seem of no importance—and what was the point of writing about what had not, in the end, come to anything? It would only distress them to hear of her being involved in any way in a scandal. She had deceived herself. She knew perfectly well that they were bound to hear of it, and probably in a way least flattering to herself. “It is for me to explain what the situation was.”

“No, for you will hedge and fudge and pretend it was all nothing,” said Letitia. “I shall write and give him the details.”

Camilla’s temper rose. “You shall not. It is nothing to do with you. Why cannot you be content with your own affairs, why do you have to meddle in everyone else’s? Why did you not restrict yourself to writing about your good works, and ask if you might go back to Pemberley by yourself? Not that you would go alone, no, I feel sure you would invite Mr. Valpy to offer spiritual guidance!”

“Please do not quarrel,” begged Fanny. “It is of no use arguing about who should have written what, for Letty did write, and the letter was sent, and arrived all too quickly. Would that you had sent it by the slowest route possible, Mr. Gardiner, that it might have lain about in Vienna until they returned from their mission to the Turks! How angry Darcy will be when he comes back! I pray I might not be in town when that happens; I would not face him for the world if he is in one of his moods. Lord, how cold and frightening he can be when he is displeased; it makes me feel faint just to think of it.”

They all fell silent, each of them aware that Fanny had spoken more than the truth. None of them could think of Darcy at his most formidable without a qualm; even Letitia, full of self-righteousness, looked a trifle alarmed.

She was in general a great favourite with her cousin Fitzwilliam, who approved of her serious ways and her practical piety, but he was far from pleased with her at the moment. “It is a very great pity that you did not consult me before you composed such a letter,” he said irritably. “Or at least you might have mentioned to Fanny what you intended; she would have advised you on what best to say. You should not have taken matters into your own hands in this very forceful way.”

Letitia wasn’t used to being rebuked in quite that tone, and her face took on a disagreeable expression. “It was my duty.”

“Oh, hang duty,” said Mr. Gardiner. “If we all did our duty, we should end up in a pretty pickle.”

“Which is just where we are,” said Fanny.

“I think we need to discover the truth of this matter,” said Mr. Gardiner. “I have not discussed the contents of the letter with Mrs. Gardiner, I have not had time to do so, for I came directly here upon opening it. But I feel sure she would have mentioned it to me if the town were abuzz with gossip and unfavourable talk about you girls, as Mr. Darcy says it is. Can it indeed be so?”

“Oh, yes,” said Letitia eagerly. “You may take my word for it; although it pains me to say it, it is unfortunately so.”

Trust Letty to jump in again, before anyone else had time to collect their thoughts. Pained her to say it, indeed; she was loving every moment of this, savouring what she felt to be her triumph. Camilla had never been less in sympathy with her sister, and goodness knew, she was often at loggerheads with her over what Letty took to be her laxness in taking a strong line on moral matters. Moral matters, naturally, being what Letty chose to approve or disapprove of.

Alethea, who had heard the commotion and didn’t want to miss a drama, had come running down the stairs, and now she bounced into the room. “Why, what is going on? Has Pug run wild and bitten Dawson? Oh, Mr. Gardiner, I am sorry, I did not see you.” She dropped a curtsy.

Camilla was amused by the look on Mr. Gardiner’s face. He hadn’t seen Alethea since she came to London, hadn’t seen her since she was a girl of twelve, hurtling about the house and dropping out of trees. This tall, dark young woman, eyes gleaming with mischief, was a stranger to him.

“Alethea? Dear me, can it really be you? How you have grown! I have a letter from your father, that is why I am here; he has written because he fears that all is not well with you and your sisters’ visit to London.”

“I am perfectly happy to be in London. May I read the letter?” Without waiting for his permission, she tweaked the letter from his hand and read it, her brows drawn as she turned the page.

“You have no business to be reading that letter,” said Letitia. “It is nothing to do with you.”

“Yes, it is, for I see that you have written to him saying all manner of untruthful and unkind things about me; Letty, how dare you tell him such fibs? And to write so harshly of Signor Silvestrini—it is too much. What do you know about him or my lessons? Besides, you should not have gone bearing tales about Sir Sidney to Papa and Mama; that is Camilla’s business, that is nothing to do with you. It is always the same; you are for ever poking your nose where it does not belong.”

“Alethea!” Fitzwilliam was thunderstruck by this outburst. “A schoolroom chit speaking out in front of her elders and betters as though you have a right to an opinion; what are you thinking of?”

Alethea stared at him. “If Letitia has been writing lies to my parents, of course I have a right to protest.”

“Alethea, it would be best if you went back upstairs to Mrs. Griffin and your books,” said Fanny, alarmed at the turn the conversation was taking.

“It is most unfair. If Letty has her way, we shall all find ourselves back at Pemberley; no music, no singing for me, no beaux or flirting for the twins, and no one for Camilla to talk to. Let her go, and take that dreadful Valpy with her, only she needs to take care, for he is the kind of man who pats and squeezes and is not safe to be in a room with.”

Alethea had gone too far. Fitzwilliam was looking even more angry, Fanny was sitting back in the sofa and covering her eyes with a hand, Mr. Gardiner was eyeing Alethea as though she were some exotic and unfamiliar object that had been placed on his desk in a shipment newly arrived from the East.

“Upstairs, Alethea, this instant,” Camilla said, propelling her hastily to the door. “No, not another word, you have said quite enough. You may rely on me to take your part in any discussion there is to be about our stay in London. Just be off with you.”

Alethea was outside and the door closed on her before Fitzwilliam could catch his breath or Letitia control her indignation. Mr. Gardiner was shaking his head. “My word, what a stir she will cause when she comes out. Good Lord, Darcy to the life, and what eyes! She’ll knock all your beauties for ninepence; they’ll be nothing to her.”

Fanny looked pleased, glad to think of her young cousin taking the polite world by storm, unlikely though it seemed to her that she would do any such thing.

“Sharp tongues and mannish ways don’t make for a beauty, and they don’t catch husbands, neither,” said Fitzwilliam, still simmering at being baulked of his prey. “She is ungovernable, quite unfit to be loosed on any polite society.”

Mr. Gardiner was more tolerant. “She is young. I admire a girl with a bit of fire to her nature, and so do many men, let me tell you.”

“You see, I am quite right,” said Letitia. “Only look how badly she behaves. It is London that has done this. London will be the ruin of all of us.”

“Now, as to ruin,” said Mr. Gardiner, “that is another matter, and one that concerns me more than any other, and it worries Darcy, too, that Letitia has written of you girls not conforming as you should to the requirements of the London
ton,
of becoming the object of gossip, of turning those whose good opinion is essential against you.”

Camilla could not contain herself; she had to refute Letty’s accusations. Honesty compelled her to admit that there was a grain of truth in them, but no more, and certainly not enough to be sending alarming missives to their father. To be sure, the twins were turning out rather wild, but then their youth and beauty and fortunes would probably bring them through. Her own attachment to Sir Sidney had caused tongues to wag, but the lesser scandal had been succeeded by the greater one of his exposure and flight.

“Letty is as likely as any of us to raise eyebrows among the highest sticklers,” she said. “For although you may meet Mr. Valpy at some of the grandest houses, since he is a fashionable preacher, his attentions to Letty will not have gone unnoticed, and will meet with general disapproval.” There, that should silence her sister for a few minutes at least.

Mr. Gardiner ignored her outburst. “Lady Fanny, are they in such bad odour as Letty supposes?”

Fanny roused herself. “They are no such thing. It is all a great piece of nonsense to suggest that they face ostracism. They have vouchers to Almacks, they all behave very prettily, do not give themselves airs, and, what is of great importance in these matters, they have fifty thousand pounds each, enough to impress any of the hostesses and attract any eligible bachelor who has a mind to matrimony. They do not dress outlandish, nor engage in any frolics, or steal away from the dance floor to secret assignations. As to flirting and men, why, that is natural when you are young and pretty and at a dance or a party; pray, what should girls do?”

“Modest behaviour—” her husband began.

“A fig for modest behaviour! Were they to sit in the corner with the dowagers and chaperons and never look at a man or stand up for a waltz, then that would be cause for concern, for such girls may be considered to be as good as gold, but I have noticed that they never find husbands—whatever you say, Mr. Fitzwilliam, and in matters such as these you must allow me to know what I am talking of.”

“Bravo,” said Mr. Gardiner. “No, be quiet, Letty, I think we have heard enough of what you have to say. You have made your opinion very clear, but you must be guided in this by others who know more of the world than you do. Your parents arranged for you to spend some months in London, and circumstances do not justify your going against their wishes, and neither Fitzwilliam nor I shall permit you to do so. If you choose to live a little out of society, and not to go about as much as your sisters, you may do so, provided that”—he raised a finger to quell her—“provided that Fanny does not consider it will give rise to any talk, to any whispers that you may still be pining for Tom Busby.”