Page 18 of Pemberley's Imposter
“I cannot. You are my sister.”
“Humour me this once, Fitzwilliam. I promise never to repeat it.”
Darcy followed his sister, waited patiently for the next set to begin, and danced. Lord Matlock had a point; it was to be hoped the union would provide a child to inherit Pemberley. He needed to move forwards because he was bitterly tired of the hollow emptiness he carried inside.
Darcy missed his closest friend; his sister was desperate to get away from him. It would not do. But before he closed this chapter in his life, the master of Pemberley had one last task to perform. Why, he had no idea, but the need was overwhelming.
Chapter 7 The Sounds of Revelation
It proved no hardship to obtain Mrs Darcy’s location. Two of his coins changed hands with one of Bingley’s more talkative servants, and the quaint cottage in Little Kings Hill was revealed to him. It was whether he should approach her that was difficult to decide. He hoped he would be able to observe her from a distance, he told himself as he tied his horse to a nearby tree and continued on foot.
The cottage was tiny, smaller than any of his tenants’ homes at Pemberley, though he might own a widow’s residence of a similar size.
It was quiet; Mrs Darcy must be inside or away on an errand. He had almost decided to approach when a peal of girlish laughter wafted through the woods. It did not sound like his wife and it was not. A young and unfamiliar girl appeared on the arm of a man he surmised must be her father. She released his limb and skipped towards the entrance. Mrs Darcy must have been expecting them because she opened the door before they could knock and let the girl in. The man, a farmer by the looks of it, did not enter. He walked to the chopping block, removed his coat, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and grabbed the axe. He chopped up the logs at hand into smaller pieces and stacked them outside the door.
Half an hour passed before Mrs Darcy reappeared with the girl, whose hair was now done up in an elaborate fashion. The girl curtsied, and the two guests left the same way they had come. Elizabeth stood gazing after them before she turned abruptly and disappeared into the cottage.
Darcy’s courage left him. Mrs Darcy’s situation differed vastly from what he had imagined. He had pictured her safely in the bosom of her family at her beloved Longbourn. Never had the thought crossed his mind that she would be cast off and forced to fend for herself. She was obviously managing, even though she lived in utter poverty, and had made friends—perhaps even more than friends… The cottage he surmised to have one or perhaps two rooms. She could obviously not afford coal judging by the stack of wood the farmer had left her. Could she subsist on doing young girls’ hair and tending the small patch of vegetables she had planted? She had not withdrawn a penny of her pin money, which he kept adding to her account for no explicable reason.
Ashamed, he retreated stealthily the way he had come. He had wanted to rant and rave at her one last time. Her departure had been abrupt through his own doing, but he had since thought of a thousand things that had been left unsaid.
Darcy rode hard back to London and was pacing the floor of his study when the butler announced a visitor.
“The knocker is not up,” Darcy barked.
“We need to discuss the wedding arrangements,” Lord Matlock replied calmly as he entered his sanctuary.
“Why? I have no say in the matter.”
“Do not play the victim, Darcy, it does not become you. Your sister has made her choice. She could have done much worse, or do I need to remind you about Mr Wickham?”
Darcy remained silent, which his uncle regarded as consent.
“Good. Are you planning to remove to Pemberley soon?”
“No, not yet.”
“Have you reconciled with this turn of events?”
Darcy did not answer.
“Well, I shall be off, then. Let me know when you want Georgiana to return to you.”
Darcy made no reply. Lord Matlock left him to his thoughts with a sigh as his parting farewell.
A week later, his resolve to keep his distance from his wife weakened. He had not accomplished what he had set out to do. Elizabeth may live in utter poverty, but neither her countenance nor her bearing spoke of the misery he himself was afflicted with. If anything, she seemed content, and he was left with more questions than answers.
Early the next morning he rode to Little Kings Hill.
He approached stealthily as before, making sure he was hidden by the trees and the undergrowth. The cottage was quiet, but he spotted her in the vegetable patch. Her hair was tumbling freely down her back, and her tresses were much longer than he remembered. At Pemberley, her hair had reached the middle of her back, but now it reached her waist.
She was busy digging up potatoes before she moved barefooted to collect a handful of carrots.Can she not afford shoes?The thought was unnerving.
Elizabeth put the vegetables into a basket and moved farther down the field to pick something else. Her form was now obstructed by shrubs, and he could not see what she was doing until she rose somewhat abruptly. He immediately feared hehad been detected, but she did not look in his direction, turning instead towards the cottage. The door suddenly opened, but he could not see anyone about. The lock must be broken. Without conscious thought, he made a note of it in his mind.
“You little scamp, have you escaped your pen?”
Darcy could not see whom or what she was talking to, but he could hear chickens clucking. They were not usually kept in a pen, but she might have other animals.
