Nameless by Julie Cooper

Chapter Nine

Mr and Mrs Bingley stayed the week. I enjoyed the visit, but it was apparent that husband and wife had a great distance between them. I could not tell, truthfully, whether Mr Bingley made any effort to breach it, but then, men were often less sentimental. Georgiana never mentioned their troubles, beyond her brief remark that first evening. Still, I heard her sometimes making bitter little asides to him that were probably meant to be cutting, but which seemed to float right over his head, all unnoticed. I saw his attempts to converse with her, as if she were not angry or upset, as if those feelings could be safely discounted until they disappeared.

I thought then, how grateful I was that Jane had never had the opportunity to marry him. Gentle, kindly Jane would have little understanding of how to stand up for herself to a man like Bingley. He was amiable, truly, but he was not sensitive. What he could not understand, or did not want to understand, he would ignore, for as long as he was allowed to ignore it. She was much better off with Mr Tilney, who paid special attention to her feelings and was devoted to her happiness.

The morning before their departure, I met Mr Bingley in the breakfast parlour. He said that my husband had already gone off with Mr Williams. I took my bread to the fireplace to toast it.

“I say, you should let the boy do that,” Mr Bingley said, waving at the footman, Bertie, standing ready to assist.

I smiled politely at Bertie. “He knows I prefer my own way,” I said. I hated anyone else to do it, for I was particular—disliking if it was too charred or too light. My mother had understood the trick of it, being something of a toasting expert. Although she was seldom affectionate—at least to me—if a servant put toast before me that was not exactly right, she would snatch it away and deliver me a perfect piece, simply because she knew my preferences, and she wanted me to have it as I wished. It took me some years to realise it, to look upon that perfect toast as another child might remember sweet maternal words and embraces.

“Will Georgiana be down soon?” I asked him, more to make conversation than to obtain a report of her whereabouts. Since their visit began, she had never risen early.

He only shrugged, his attention more on the parlour window where a dreary sky showed through. At least it was not raining.

Suddenly he said, “I do remember those days at Netherfield, and with…with your family. I have been remembering them a great deal, since we received the letter from Darcy announcing he’d wed you. I-I had put them out of my mind because—well, to be honest, it was painful to recollect those good days, the good times we all had together. It nearly broke my heart to leave, it truly did.”

I hardly knew what to say to this. I think I murmured an apology or something equally nonsensical.

He peered at me intently. “I still wonder…that is, the wondering has been…gnawing at me these weeks, since his announcement. I have tried and tried not to ask it, but my curiosity will not be repressed. Did I make a mistake? Ought I…to have stayed?”

I do not believe I have ever been more astonished. What did the answer matter now? What use was there in dwelling upon what could never be undone? The very act of asking it meant an acknowledgement that he had, indeed, known he had raised Jane’s hopes.

I smiled in my kindliest manner. “It was the best possible decision you could have made,” I said, with utmost sincerity. “It all worked out perfectly, did it not?”

His eyes widened with something like surprise. It was, perhaps, not at all the answer he had expected. Could he have been replaying those past events in his mind as some sort of youthful, dramatic catastrophe? It had seemed as such to me and Jane back then, of course, when we were youthful. But he had been in control of those events, not us, and to recast them as some sort of Shakespearean tragedy now, when he had every opportunity for happiness in his current situation, was simply ridiculous.

“I…I suppose so,” he mumbled. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a glimmer of movement, a black shadow turning away from the breakfast room.

Mrs de Bourgh had been lurking, eavesdropping on our talk. But why she would wish to, I could not say.

* * *

Mr Darcy and I stood together on the portico as the Bingley carriage set off. I wanted to tell him about that odd breakfast conversation, but it seemed hurtful towards his sister, that her husband should even wonder whether another woman had once loved him. Besides, he seemed distant, perhaps even unhappy.

“Your sister is a perfect combination of sense and good humour,” I said. “I enjoyed her visit very much. I hope they will come often.”

He looked at me then, as if he had, briefly, forgotten I stood near him. “You were good to her. Thank you.”

“She is the easiest person in the world to be good to,” I said.

He glanced at the sky, as if judging the weather. “Would you like to go for a drive?”

I was surprised by the offer. “I thought you and Mr Williams had maps to review?” He had spent a good deal of time this week thus occupied, telling Bingley they were yet incomplete.

He shrugged. “It will wait. The roads will be wet, but Mr Frost is the best driver in the country. Or so he informs me.”

I laughed. “In that case, I would love to go for a drive. Let me change, and I will be right down.” He nodded, and I hurried up to our rooms. But I paused on the stair, looking behind me. Mr Darcy had not followed me back inside—Robert still held the door; instead, he remained on the portico, staring, long after the Bingley carriage rounded the bend and disappeared.

My wardrobe was, sadly, still not to my liking, but of course I had not yet had the time to improve it. When he offered a drive, I assumed we would go to Hopewell, the nearest town of any size, from which I might select such improvements—or at least, note where they might be obtained. To my surprise, however, we trotted right on through it.

I did not mind, particularly. While it was chilly and grey, it was not storming, the roads wet but decently surfaced. Mr Darcy’s carriage was well sprung and equipped with blankets and foot warmers; it reminded me of our honeymoon, driving together towards no destination in particular, simply viewing the sights and enjoying our companionship. I curled in closer to my husband, and he put his arm around me.

“Is it too cold for you?”

“No,” I said. “Is my hat poking you?”

“Yes,” he said. “Take it off.”

I grinned up at him, half-tempted to do so. Only the knowledge that if I did, I would emerge from the carriage resembling a hoyden gave me motivation for keeping it in place.

I sighed, leaning back against his shoulder. “Pemberley is beautiful,” I said, “but this is so nice, just to be alone together. I am unused to so many servants. Rosings did not have half so many, and, of course, Gracechurch Street fewer still.”

“Did you care for living in London?”

“I liked living with my aunt and uncle. Their home was a happy one, always busy, and yet orderly. It was a good place for grieving girls to go. They made a special point to take us to all the sights and entertainments of town, far more than was usual for them, helping us to see that the world was a big place, a bigger place than, perhaps, we were accustomed to viewing it. They brought us to parties and their friends became ours.”

“I was surprised to learn you did not marry,” he said, after a short period of silence. “I am certain you had opportunity.”

It was unexpected, really, how easy he was to talk to, after years of keeping most of my thoughts to myself. “I can admit I had the wrong idea about marriage,” I said. “I thought a grand love would pop into my life, fully formed, and he would look a certain way and act a certain way and it would be so easily recognisable that I could point to the hour and minute it struck. Perhaps you would not recall, but when Mr Bingley took Netherfield Park, there was speculation that he and my sister would make a match of it. At that time, I believed it was how love worked—one would recognise one’s own true love from across a crowded ballroom, eyes would meet, a certain something would fall into place, with roses blooming and church bells ringing. And when their romance failed to take, everything seemed so very wrong.”

I could not interpret Mr Darcy’s expression; if I did not know better, I would have guessed remorse or self-reproach. “She is happy, though?” he asked, with some strange intensity.

“Oh, yes. And Jane’s connexion with Mr Tilney came about in a much different manner. He regularly dined with us, because of course the curacy in Cheapside paid very little. Dear Mr Tilney used to say that unless Uncle Gardiner filled him up regularly, he would be in danger of blowing away with every stiff wind. Jane and I loved him as a friend, like an elder brother. He was kind, intelligent, and of excellent character, but it never crossed either of our minds to make of him a romantic figure. He was only Mr Tilney, the poor curate. And then he learned he was to get the living at Matlock, and suddenly he was calling every day with definite intention.” I laughed. “It quickly became quite obvious that he had set his sights upon my sister, and it was so easy for her feelings of respect and friendship to become more. By the time he proposed marriage, I understood better what to look for in a husband. Unfortunately, Mr Tilneys were not thick on the ground in Gracechurch Street. Or, fortunately, as the case may be.”

I smiled up at him, but he was not smiling. He did not look at me, but at some past memory, his expression one I remembered from the Hertfordshire days, a revulsion, almost. I did not know what I had said that would cause such turmoil. Had he summoned the memory of my family’s imperfections, so often on display, and which had given him such a disgust of us? If so, it was past time to forgive them.

I touched his face, recalling him to the present. “I understand all the reasons why a match between Jane and Mr Bingley would not have been ideal,” I said gently. “I did not mean to sound critical of him, and I am certain Georgiana is a wonderful wife, even if I will always believe Jane would have been, as well.” I repeated what I told Mr Bingley earlier. “Luckily, everything has turned out for the best, has it not?”

To my surprise, he clutched me to him, kissing me deeply, thoroughly, and managing to remove my bonnet, after all.

* * *

I fell asleep before we arrived at our intended destination. I had no idea how long we had been travelling, but judging by my sore hip from remaining too long in one position, I thought at least a couple of hours. I wondered if Mr Darcy had simply had his carriage driven up the highways and byways to allow me rest, but I saw an unfamiliar village when I looked out the carriage window. It was colder now, though we had left early enough that it was still morning. Perhaps we were at a higher elevation, further within the peaks Derbyshire was so known for. The foot warmer had lost its warmth, and I began to hope for an inn to appear soon—the horses, no doubt agreed.

Instead, we pulled up in the front of a pretty property, a pleasant, fertile spot, well wooded, and rich in pasture with orchards beyond. A small green court was the whole of its demesne in front, with a neat wicket-gate to pass through for admittance. It was comfortable and compact, perfectly proportioned, recently painted, the roof newly tiled, with light-filled windows shining down at me. I looked at my husband quizzically. He smiled, a little sheepishly.

And then a woman emerged, followed by a lithesome girl and two lanky boys, and I gasped. I turned to my husband. “Mr Darcy! I cannot believe it! How could you know?” I could barely wait for the step to be lowered before I was scrambling out of the carriage in a most unladylike fashion, rushing to my Aunt Gardiner’s open arms, heedless of my hatless state.

“Auntie, oh, Auntie,” I cried, happy tears falling down my cheeks. Mr Darcy approached in a much more dignified manner, and I happily introduced him.

“Let me look at you,” she said, her eyes smiling in that way she always had. “Why, Mrs Darcy, you have grown even more beautiful since I saw you last! It is clear that marriage agrees with you! I was never more surprised to receive your letter announcing the match. And to a Darcy! And now you have come all the way here, and I cannot believe my eyes.”

For we had indeed driven all the way to Lambton, a good twenty miles from Pemberley.

And then I hugged Ellen, who looked exactly the same, and Edward and Michael, who had each grown at least a foot. An elderly woman, somewhat bent with age, emerged—my aunt’s mama, Mrs Spengler. Introductions were performed, and she welcomed us to her home, inviting us in, where a grand tea was all laid out, and I discovered that we were expected, that my husband had written a week ago, saying we would visit today, when I could not even recall mentioning the place to him—though I must have. He sat much more quietly than he ever had with Mr Bingley, but not as stiffly he had been all those years ago at Netherfield, nor even recently while in company with his aunt, Lady Matlock. He was, simply, a quiet man, much more comfortable listening than talking, though able to converse easily upon any number of subjects. He excused himself once, asking Edward and Michael to show him around the property, but really, I supposed, to give my aunt and me the privacy to speak of memories in which he could not share. The boys, who had been growing a bit restless, were unmistakeably anxious to act the part of ‘master’ and my heart swelled at this sign of my husband’s compassion.

When he returned, Ellen brought out her drawings, explaining the many improvements old Mr Duncan, her master, had wrought to her already considerable talent, and all three children spoke of the numerous friends they had made in the village, and the kindliness of the vicar who was supervising the boys’ education. They did not appear to miss London at all.

After a lovely two-hour visit, our carriage returned from Lambton’s inn, where the horses had been fed, watered and rested. I knew we must say our farewells; it was important to reach Pemberley before darkness fell.

“I hope you both, and your children, will visit us at Pemberley this summer for a long stay,” Mr Darcy said, to which they all happily agreed. Only Mrs Gardiner walked us out, and my husband made a point of leaving us alone while he spoke with our coachman.

I hugged her tightly. “It is easier saying goodbye this time, knowing as I do that we will see each other again in a few months,” I said.

She looked at me with an earnest expression. “Are you as happy as you appear, my dear?”

“I am, Auntie,” I said. “Mr Darcy is very good to me. I am doubly happy now, to see you so much improved since our last farewell.”

A sadness passed between us, a shared grief, and I held her hands tightly.

“It was the best possible decision to come home to Lambton,” she said. “I did not think so at first. Everything that could go wrong seemed to. There were, as I am certain you recall, so many business matters to settle, so many unfinished schemes that desperately needed Mr Gardiner’s attention in order to reach completion. Mr Ferrars was too accustomed to following my husband’s direction, and was so at sea without him, that for a time I was unsure if we would see a return on any of our investments. I had thought myself lucky to get a good offer on the Gracechurch Street house, but when I arrived here, I was appalled. Although Mama had always enough to live on and to spare, I found that as her health declined, so had her property. The roof was a regular sieve, the garden a wilderness! She had only three servants left, all even older than herself. Her sheep had been sold when her hired man left and she could not find another. She hadn’t wanted to complain, you see, and told us nothing of her situation. It was a…a hard time.”

I had known nothing of these challenges, except for her struggles with Uncle’s former business partner, Mr Ferrars, and the accompanying financial difficulties. How much had it cost her, I wondered, to write to me those cheerful letters describing the prettiness of Lambton and her mother’s property and amusing anecdotes of her children? Naturally, I had seen her melancholy; she could not hide it. But I believed my uncle’s death its only cause.

“Oh, Auntie. I am so sorry! I had no idea!”

She smiled at me fondly. “I did not wish you to know, silly girl. Your burdens were enough without assuming mine. And all’s well that ends well. Mama is so much improved, now that her diet is, and since the repairs to the house mean it isn’t falling down around her ears. She needed us here, desperately. And children are so resilient. They do miss their father, but between lessons and new friendships and even a future opportunity for young Edward…”

“What is this opportunity?”

“’Tis too soon to count my chickens,” my aunt replied, “but I will say that the vicar is deeply impressed with him, and we have hope that when the time comes, he will be well placed. Mr Martin, whom I hired to help us with the property, is far better than any hired man I have ever known—he takes care of simply everything! The house is so snug and comfortable now—and Mr Ferrars at last worked everything out with the creditors and the other investors, to everyone’s satisfaction. It appears that we shall have more than enough to live comfortably, sheep to shear in June, and orchards to harvest come autumn. In fact, I was just realising I could invite you to live with us again when your letter arrived with the surprising news of your marriage.”

“It is like a miracle that so much has fallen into place,” I said. “But you, Auntie? Are you well, truly?”

She squeezed my hands, smiling. “Yes, yes I am. I have friends here still, from when I was a girl. The neighbourhood has been most welcoming. I will always miss your uncle, and I have my sorrowful moments. But I am much improved.”

“I am so glad,” I said. “And you really will come to us this summer?”

“You may count upon it.” She gave a last squeeze to my fingers. “My dear girl, nothing felt miraculous while we were in the middle of our troubles, but now, on the other side of the worst of it, I can see how it was. Be patient, if you find marriage to be more difficult in the future than it is at present.”

“I think it more likely that my husband shall be the one requiring patience, of the two of us,” I laughed.

She looked a little troubled then, as if there was something she wished to add. Then she closed her mouth. “Be strong, my dear, and take good care,” was all she said.