Page 11 of Wickham Likes 'Em Young
CHAPTER 5
22 — 29 October 1811
Elizabeth had been a bit worried that she would feel too much—she expected to feel a mixture of pain and loss and hope—once Mr Darcy had gone away. But during the next week, she could not seem to feel anything other than emptiness.
She pretended to be a happy optimist, as was her norm, in large part because she did not wish to have to answer queries such as “What is wrong?” She smiled, she laughed, she teased; she walked vigorously to all her favourite spots, and she pretended to read. For the most part, the Bennets accepted her behaviour as normal.
However, Mary seemed to see through the performance. She frequently made little gestures of comfort, a hand on her shoulder here, a quick hug there. Upon reflection, Elizabeth realised that Mary had always been skilled at reading her moods, and at accepting those moods without asking endless questions. She never asked, “Are you ill?” or “Are you upset?”—she just seemed toknowwhenever Elizabeth was out of sorts.
Her small kindnesses were welcome but did not enable Elizabeth to feel less adrift.
Elizabeth had expected Jane to insist thatshewas not the least bit fooled by Elizabeth’s strained smiles and forcedlaughter; she had assumed that Jane would calmly and gently probe until Elizabeth admitted what she was really feeling, and why. But Jane had never before had a determined suitor like Mr Bingley. She was so caught up with what Mr Bingley said, and what Mr Bingley believed, and what Mr Bingley liked, that she seemed to be unaware of what anyone else was feeling or doing.
Which, Elizabeth was certain, was for the best. She did not want anyone poking and prying about what she was feeling about a certain Derbyshire gentleman.
Finally Elizabeth was jolted out of her empty, emotionless state. The moment a thick letter was laid into her hand, and she saw that the sender’s direction was Pemberley, her heart began to hammer, and a deep well of unacknowledged feelings rose up and made themselves known. She paled, then blushed.
Elizabeth was extremely glad that she had seen the letter carrier while she was on a walk, so none would know of the letter. And she was even more glad that the missive had been prepaid, because she was not at all certain she would have had enough coins in her reticule to pay for a letter from so far and with so many pages.
She did not dare to open it outside; she put it into her reticule and hurried home. She took the extraordinary step of locking the door of the bedroom—thus locking Jane out of her own chamber!—but of course it was almost certain that Jane would be spending the next hour at least with Mr Bingley. She would never know.
Clutching her letter to her chest, Elizabeth waited until her breathing calmed and heart rate slowed, and then she opened the wax seal and read:
26 October 1811
Pemberley, Derbyshire
Dear Miss Elizabeth Bennet,
Thank you for your letter; it was so clever and amusing. I hope you really did not wish me to keep anything in the letter secret from my brother. I wanted him to read it, and anyway, he would have tickled me until I gave it up, because he longed to know what had prompted me to start smiling and even laughing. So he read it all.
You seem to already know my age and a bit about where I live. So I will write about what things I like to do. I love music, and I play the pianoforte as much as I can. Since I want to have at least two accomplishments to exhibit, I am also learning the harp. I have taken lessons in singing, but I do not enjoy that. I do love creating my own melodies.
Besides music, my other great love is riding. My brother gave me the gentlest horse, a mare I named Goldie because she is white with a lovely golden mane and tail. She does not like to jump, and I do not mind that. When my cousin (who is also my co-guardian) comes to visit, and he, my brother, and I all ride together, I ride Lady, who is roan coloured and very happy to leap over hedges and ditches and such. Do you ride?
I like to read, but I have to admit that I do not love it nearly as much as my brother does. He and my governess (when I had one, but I am too old for a governess now) have always insisted that some of my reading be histories and biographies and poetry, as well as great literature, and plays from Euripides to Shakespeare. (I do not read Greek or Latin; the classical Greek poetry, plays, and philosophies that I read are translations.)
What I most like to read is novels. I hope you do not disapprove of that. My brother would probably never pick up a novel if it were not for me, but he reads every novel Iread, and that way we can discuss them. He truly is the best brother in the world.
Please write to me again.
Your new friend, Georgiana Darcy
Elizabeth had assumed that the letter would be multiple pages; even with the thickness of the paper, compared to the less expensive paper the Bennets used, this packet had to be three pages. There would be no possible way that Mr Darcy would have written to her as well, would there? That would be everything improper.
But the next sheet of paper was not a letter from Mr Darcy; it was a sketch of a rather palatial building. Miss Darcy had written at the bottom of the page, “This is Pemberley. I do not love to draw, as your sister Kitty does, but I do try to work on a variety of accomplishments, and I think this sketch turned out rather well. I forgot to answer your question about Town—I do not live in London half the year, except when I went to school several years ago. Most of my life I have lived at Pemberley the greater part of the year, and I have visited my relations at Matlock and in London several times per year. Do you like visiting Town? My brother says it is only a four hour journey from where you live—that is quite wonderful! I love Derbyshire, but I do not love long carriage rides!”
Elizabeth lifted the sketch, eager to see what the next sketch would be—and it was a sketch of four kittens curled up with their mother—but Elizabeth’s heart began to pound, because between the thick pages was a small, thin piece of paper written closely with a firm, slanted hand. Mr Darcyhaddared to write to her!
I just had to thank you for your kindness to G. She has been much more quiet and solemn since summer, and it has been impossible for me to raise even a smile. But your letterachieved the impossible, and she smiled the entire time she was reading it. She even giggled once! I cannot adequately express my delight in her altered mood, nor my very great gratitude to you.
I miss our literary discussions. But I must remain here for now. My inspection of the mine has revealed a grave need for careful bolstering of the tunnel supports and an additional rock barrier to minimise water ingress. I have ordered a pump to ensure that water flow will not destabilise the workings. For now, the mine will remain closed, and I am needed to supervise the efforts to make it safe again. — F.D.
Elizabeth quickly folded Mr Darcy’s note and slipped it between two pages of her journal. She knew she probably should simply burn it, but it felt far too precious.
She liked the sketch of the cat family, which was labeled “Mrs Whiskers and her children.” Elizabeth could see the flaws in the sketch—the proportions were not quite right, and the rendering of the fur made it look more like a Persian rug than soft, fluffy strands of hair. But she herself had never put much effort into sketching, and she found Miss Darcy’s attempt creditable.
Having read her precious letter uninterrupted, and having hidden the daring note from Mr Darcy, Elizabeth unlocked the door; then she sat down to write another letter to Miss Darcy. She found it hard to come up with any humorous anecdotes from the past week, since she had been drifting through the days with that horrible empty feeling. However, she remembered an event from last fall and related it as if it were yesterday. The Robinson family’s hog had broken through the fence of his pen and had trod through their vegetable garden. Elizabeth would always remember how funny the hog looked, entangled in sprawling pumpkin vines; as he happily chomped his way through one ofthe orange fruits, he looked as if he had sprouted long green hair.
