Jump to new as of October 28, 2001
Jump to new as of November 4, 2001
Jump to new as of November 8, 2001
Part 1
" Now Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." Hebrews 11:1Once Upon a time.....
If Georgia-Jane Darcy (Georgie to her friends, of which she has few) had believed in omens, Having a first edition of "Pride and Prejudice" fall on her head would have been and apt foreshadowing of the next few months. Unfortunately Georgie was of a practical nature. She did not believe in intuition or omens of any sort. To her they belonged in the realm of fairytales, myths, and gothic mysteries. Things she chose not to understand. Not that she was the poster child of practicality, (I think Mary Poppins has that distinction.) she was just tired of dreaming. Too many dreams did not come true.
"Mother your dusty, crumbled, piece of fiction fell from its pedestal." She was learning to speak with a more assertive tone and she found it quite liberating.
"Which pedestal-sitting volume is that, Dearest?" her mother was used to such speeches, and always made light of her daughter's pedantic tone.
"The one where the sisters have to marry for property and position. And of course they live happily ever after... Yuck! As if any human relationship is the key to happiness."
Mrs. Darcy had to think a minute. Any fiction that was not written by Tolstoy or Ibsen was a sin in the sight of wisdom, In Georgie's eyes.
"Oh, You mean Jane Austen! Did you know your Great-Grandmother and she were close friends? I think your father even met Jane once at Pemberley. Remind me to tell you a family secret about "Pride and Prejudice" sometime."
"Mother," She whined," I hate our family secrets, They are always embarrassing. Sometimes I wish I were adopted. This family is full of odd ducks."
"You being one of the oddest. I wish I knew how to give you some bliss. How is it you always see the black and white? Your view of life is so cold. How is it you miss the beauty of faith? You need the ability to believe in what you can't see. I wish I could buy rose colored glasses for your mind."
Georgia felt a bit stung by her remarks, and she decided to retaliate.
"So I can believe in things that will never come true, like Charlotte?"
Her mother ignored the remark the tone of the remark, but she still answered the question.
"So you can see a bit of perfection in imperfection."
Mrs. Darcy walked to her daughter and took the volume from her young and slender hand. She gave Georgia a look that sent chills down her spine.
Most people think that if your mother says you need a change of attitude, perhaps you should do some soul searching. But unlike our heroine, most people believe in soul searching.
Part 2
"Hope is a thing with feathersOur heroine was a writer for a small newspaper, The London Beacon. She knew she always wanted to be a writer. It was her goal in life. And the fact that she was the only woman working on the Beacon proved she was good at the trade. But she wanted to be the best. She wrestled with realism, always questioning the way she saw things. She wondered whether or not she was looking with biased eyes.
that perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,"
- Emily Dickinson
Believe it or not, she was in love with her boss. (I am sure it seems a bit out of character.) She wasn't aware of it but all she wanted was Thomas Hill to notice her. Everything she tried to be circled around Mr. Hill and what he thought. He loved Tolstoy and Shaw. He had plans to change the world and it was hard for Georgie not to follow him. He had that kind of charisma. And he looked so good in that grey suit. It made his baby blues sparkle.
Facing those blue eyes made her nervous. Especially when she wanted his opinion her newest piece. She stood up from her tiny desk and straightened her skirt. She began walking to him. Her heart beat fast with nervous energy. She rationalized that she did not have such emotions, she had just dressed to warmly for August, and pressed on.
He did not notice her when she first walked up. This gave her time to collect her thoughts. She thought he smelled so wonderful, somewhere in between cedar, freshly printed paper, and sweet pipe tobacco. She tried very hard not to look in his face. She wanted to be professional.
She opened her mouth and made her first mistake. She inquired about his day. Every employee at the beacon knew that, Thomas for all his good looks and charming energy had one tragic flaw. He was a long winded speaker, even when he was talking to one person.
"How are you today, Mr. Hill? She willed her voice not to crack.
"Today... today is filled with promise. I feel we are shaping the future. We are sweeping out the old superstitions and vices and brining in a new and virtuous future. When my father began this establishment it was..."
"Excuse me sir, I hate to interrupt such wonderful sentiments, but I must get back to work. I wanted to inquire if you had read my article?"
"Hmmm? Oh! the women's suffrage piece... that was interesting journalism. Miss Darcy, your style was wonderful. Your choice of wording precise and economical. Who's idea was it to let a woman write that piece?"
"Your's sir." Georgia replied with a happy heart.
"Really? Well Miss Darcy that proves that even I can make a mistake. My dear you are too biased and emotional to write this story. I should send a man to write it for me. That way neither side will effect him much."
Our heroine was used to such rejection. She found herself writing the recipe section again. Could it ever get worse? One thing is for sure, Georgia Darcy would not hope for better, Hope is too much like wishing for happily ever after.
Part 3
Georgia had a younger sister named Charlotte. They both were dark with blue eyes. They both were close to the same height and had the same way of walking. But besides that, they had nothing in common.
"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."
-Leo Tolstoy
Charlotte was more of a beauty. She had an air of innocent fraility about her. Everyone had such hopes for Charlotte. Even at the young age of 16 she knew what she wanted to be. She wanted to be a nun. But unfortunately her family talked her out of it. A stream of young men came calling and Charlotte had her pick of just about any single male in the countryside. She was an angel incarnate. So of course, she chose to marry the town drunk. She believed she could reform him. Georgia often wished that he would do the family a favor and get run over by a train.
Charlotte found that visiting kept her away from her unhappy home life. So she had just come from their Grandmother's house to her mothers house. Carrying stories and news the whole way.
Georgie her mother and Charlotte had tea and talked of their Grandmother's estate.
"Grandmama Darcy is not doing so well. Her health has gotten worse. After she sprained her ankle, she caught the influenza. She is still suffering with some of the symptoms." Charlotte whispered, Charlotte rarely spoke above a hush.
"Is there anyone to help her? Who is caring for her?" Mrs. Darcy inquired fretfully.
" No one that I know of." Charlotte replied," she has some strangers living at Pemberley, but none of them seem like they are adequate care-givers. They are all artists and poets. They all seem a bit, odd."
A look was passed from Georgia to her mother. Georgie knew her mother too well. Mrs. Darcy would want to go nurse Grandmama back to health. Georgie herself couldn't stand the thought of her ill and rambling about Pemberley with only bohemians to watch after her.
"Yes mother, I will notify my work. I am sure I can write a recipe section in Derbyshire just as well as in London."
And with that decision the whole course of our heroine's life will change...
Part 4
" She can flourish with the staff or pen
and deal a wound that lingers;
she can talk the talk of men,
And touch with thrilling fingers."
- George Meredith
Within the next few weeks the Mrs. Darcy and Georgia found themselves in limbo between the country and the city. Georgia had a hard time returning to Pemberley. Her family had lived there while her Father had been ill. And looking up to see that grand old manner now, six years after her father's death, it was heart wrenching. She felt a hot surge of tears come to her eyes as she found her way to the courtyard.
Bittersweet memories filled her mind. The time she and Charlotte played princess and made an imaginary castle under a tree. The time Gran let them plant rose bushes in the back garden. In that same garden, four years later, two days after her 18th birthday, she received the news that her father had died.
How could she return? How could she be strong when she is facing her biggest dragon? How could she master something that she chose not to understand?
There were three new faces at Pemberley. Mrs. Daisy Newland and her son Walter, were in residence on the property. Mrs. Newland was a painter in the new impressionist styling. She was a kind, neat, and quiet woman. It was a pity her son was of the opposite temperament.
The third member of the Pemberley Arts Society was a well paid American poet, Byrne Finch. He was a man of diverse talents. He was the one who carried out the doctors orders, took care of the gardens and grounds, and made lots of chicken soup for Gram. In turn Gram treated him as a favorite son.
Georgia thought he had a rather goofy look to him the first time they met. There he was, with a shock of red curly hair in his eyes, wearing a pink apron over his clothes. He turned around and she could see that he had tied the apron strings in a severe knot. He was intently preparing his famous chicken soup, and she watched him unaware for a few moments. When he looked up from his simmering stockpot, he made eye contact with her and his mouth flew open.
" Merciful heavens! Are you a ghost?" He cried.
" No. Are you the cook?" She ignored his shock, and replied matter-of-factly.
" No, I am a tenant. I was just making soup for Gram.. I mean, Mrs. Darcy. She is stuffed up. Are you in the family? Actually, I should say that I know you must be. You look too much like Elizabeth not to be."
He felt a bit nervous and began tugging at his collar. His hand brushed the frilly apron and he quickly tried to remove it, but he had created a tangle that could not be removed with one hand.
"Elizabeth?" Georgia questioned, not noticing his mighty battle with the octopus-like apron strings. She felt a little strange, like he knew something she didn't. Which was a feeling she did not enjoy.
"Elizabeth Bennet, later in life to be Elizabeth Darcy. One of Jane Austen's most beloved heroines."
He gave up on the apron, and smiled at her with a twinkle in his eye. If this was her first impression of him, so be it. He would be the most charming man (decked out in a pink apron) that she had ever met.
Georgia hated to be teased. She realized that if she let him get away with what he was saying, he would never stop. She knew she must put this nosy tenant in his place.
"Ohhh! That was just a silly piece of fiction, written by some dried-up spinster. There was no Elizabeth Darcy. Miss Austen made her up after visiting our estate. My great-grandmother gave her permission to use the name of the estate and family. But none of that monstrosity had anything to do with the REAL Darcy family. Thank providence." She threw back her head in triumph. She knew he would not tease her now.
He was silent for a moment. He was trying to understand her motivation for being so snobbish. Maybe she hated men. Maybe she just hated red heads. Probably she hated pink. He smiled at her and chuckled. His eyes never stopped twinkling.
"So, I take it you are an avid Austen fan, like I am. I came all the way from Boston, just to see what inspired Jane at this particular location." He replied.
He smiled at her again! He treated her as If her knew her all his life. Georgia found this insufferable.
" I do not know what would inspire such nonsense. My family has never lived down the comparison between that errr.. novel and what really happened. I assure you, it was not a happy ending." she still felt angry. How could a stranger know and effortlessly push all her buttons?
"But I don't believe the story of Elizabeth Darcy has ended yet." He replied with conviction.
"If it were up to me Sir, it would have never been written. She said resolutely.
"Well, Miss...."
" Darcy, Georgia-Jane Darcy."
"Miss Georgia-Jane Darcy." he muttered to himself. "Well, Miss Darcy, I have enjoyed meeting you and having our little conversation. I find you a woman of deep conviction. I feel we will become good friends during your stay here at Pemberley. If you will excuse me, I must go serve the soup to your grandmother." And with that he, his stockpot, and the pink apron, left the room.
Georgia stood in the kitchen for a moment. She tried to recuperate from meeting.... What was his name? She knew one thing, He was not going to be her friend. Not if she had her way.
Part 5
Mrs. Hester Lucas Darcy, otherwise known as Grandmama Darcy,was a delightful old dame. She was a bit uncoventional in the way she saw life. She loved all her Grandchildren but Georgie was her favorite.She loved her grandaughter's strength and willfulness. That was a trait of the Bennet clan. Her pride and haughtiness was straight Darcy. In four generations there was always one or two with the Fitzwilliam syndrome and Geogia was definately not immune. She knew the Bennets and the Darcys quite well. Pemberly and Longborne were as much her home as the house she was born in. She even remembered meeting Jane Austen once.
The first thing she did when she saw Georgie was comment on how beautiful she had become.
" Come here darling. Look at you! You look just like your father. You are so beautiful. So tell me, have you met my artist and poet?"
"Yes Gram, I have. The poet is especially err...interesting."
"Isn't he though? He is my special pet. I find him a genuine American yank. He is here because he is blocked, you know. His heart was completely broken by some heiress, since then, he hasn't written anything worth reading. So I let him come here and poke about in the gardens. He really has a green thumb you know. The roses have never looked better. I have filled his head with stories, most of them are true."
Georgia gave Gram a look.
"Gram, what have you told him?"
Gram looked at Georgia with shocked innocence.
"I wouldn't tell him anything that would incriminate anyone."
Georgia could not help but raise her voice.
"Gram! What did you tell him? The last time a writer was privy to the Darcy clan, we had no peace for nearly 100 years. We are finally out of the spotlight and then you start telling some foolish American about our family. No wonder he was babbling about Elizabeth and her story not being finished.
"He said that to you? What else did he say?"
Somehow She found herself telling her grandmother about herself and "the poet" as she called him. The elderly Mrs. Darcy listened intently with a questioning look on her face.
"Honey, can I ask you a question?"
Georgia answered with a nod.
"Why were you so haughty with Byrne? He is a good boy. He didn't mean to hurt you. I don't think he would intentionally hurt anyone."
She thought about Gram's question. Why was she so intimidated? Was it because she felt rejected at work? Or was it somthing much deeper? Why should anyone make her feel inferior?
" I dont know Gram. I-I think I am in love... and I don't think he knows I exist beyond my writing. And I really want to be a good journalist, but all they let me write is recipes. It seems everything I want is so far out of my reach."
"Everyone feels that way sometimes. What you need is a litte faith and a little prayer. Keep reaching, you will grab something eventually."
The younger Darcy told her grandmother about the stories she wrote and how Thomas made her feel. All of the emotions that she had pent up inside began to pour out. she began to cry. All of a sudden, her soul felt lighter. It is amazing how good it feels to lay your burdens beside someone who loves you.
~~~~~~~~
Dinner at Pemberly was the only luxury that Gram could afford. Every evening the residents all dined together in the colosal formal dining room at Pemberly. Georgia found herself often sitting by Mr. Finch. He was polite as he could be. But it seemed he did not want to get to personal with her. He was very witty though and he smiled often. By gaslight his smile was quite...well Geogia liked his smile and she returned it quite often.
Georgia felt rather curious toward Byrne. On the one hand he was a successful writer and seemed rather bright and witty. But, on the other hand he was a bit shy and self effacing. Why should a man like be rejected by any intelligent woman? She would never understand. American women must be quite strange.
He wasn't terribly dashing like Thomas. Thomas had an aura of leadership around him. He was like a prince or an aristocrat. He was aware that he was good-looking. He seemed to always believe in himself. He was a warrior with a mission.
Byrne on the other hand, had an easy-going quality. At first that trait threatened Geogia, but now she found it strangely alluring. He was so easy to please. He did not mind if you were scared, angry, or a bit out of sorts. He was never in a big rush. The saying he used most was "take your sweet time". He was so relaxed that it made you feel comfortable to be in your own skin, to be very much yourself. He was like a breath of spring at Pemberly.
Byrne was trying to understand Georgia also. He thought she was beautiful. that is all he would admit to himself at this point. He tried to keep her at arms length knew how she wanted to be treated. He hoped he was slowly breaking the ice, sometimes he even thought she liked him. Especially when she would smile back at him. He loved her eyes. They had a strength behind them that could only be likened to electricity or lightning. But her pride and unemotional manner made it hard for him to tell whether he was pleasing or annoying to her. He wished he could somehow let her know he was on her side. Perhaps in time he would learn to read her face. One can always hope...
Part 6
"We can talk, said the Tigerlilly: "when there is anyone worth talking to." -Lewis Carroll
Within the next week or so Georgia only saw Byrne in passing, and across the table in the evenings. He was just as enigmatic as always. She wondered if she made him nervous and that is why he wouldn't speak to her directly. Everyone knew where he would disappear to during the day. He spent all of his time in the kitchen gardens. It was the begining of harvest.If the food was not to be wasted it must be picked and dried or canned.
Georgia found herself free of duty one afternoon. Having nothing to do she decided to take a walk in the flower garden. She pulled out her summer dress, shawl and left her hair only pulled halfway up. She looked like a young school girl on holiday. She just wanted to be comfortable, no hat pins or constrictive clothing. Just Georgie free as a bird.
When she stepped out of the door and felt a delicious breeze blow the scent of the roses, she knew this was a perfect way to spend the afternoon. Perhaps she would be extremely foolish and remove her shoes. She had brought a copy of "Essays on the Social Evil". She had planned to just find a good spot to sit and reflect. Which is something she hadn't done in a long while.
She found the perfect spot under a tree and quickly removed her shoes. She wiggled her toes and sighed with relief. Then she began to stretch out and read the first few pages of her book. She began feeling drowsy, and decided to lay her head down for just one moment....
~~~~~~~~~
Byrne was looking for some filler for a bouquet of roses. He was not the type of man that was good at aranging flowers, but Gran always wanted Roses at the dinner table. He knew she wanted somthing really fragrant, maybe lavendar or cammomile.
He followed along the herb garden path, when he began to realize that the sky was growing dark. There was a distant rumble that he heard. He had wondered far from the house and knew he couldn't make it back before it began to rain.The closest place of shelter was the gazebo in the flower garden.
He began to run because it was sprinkling. All of the sudden, in the middle of his mad dash for dryness,He stopped. Lying peacefully under a tree was Sleepng Beauty. Byrne was of a romantic nature, plus if he left her there she would be soaked. So he decided that he would invite her for a lesurely chat in the Gazebo.He really didn't want to disturb, her but if he didn't wake her the storm would, and she would be soaked. He took his hand and gently nudged her shoulder. She stired and sighed.
"Oh Charlotte, 5 more minutes, please?"
" I am not Charlotte." He replied trying not to laugh, "I am sorry I had to wake you, but it is begining to rain. I didn't want you to catch cold."
Georgia popped one eye open and saw Byrne. With one leap she was up, and straightening her dress.
"Oh dear," she exclaimed. " I didn't know I was asleep. I was reading and that breeze was so relaxing.Have you seen my shoes? Yuck! I am all wet!"
The rain began to fall in sheets. He grabbed her book, shoes, and hand and made a run for cover. They found themselves under the gazebo, wet and lauging with childlike glee at themselves. Something about rain and running that bring back childhood memories.
"Did you splash in mud puddles when you were a kid?" Byrne asked. She smiled at him. She was thinking about the same thing.
"Occasionally," she replied. "My mother would spank Charlotte and me if we got our dresses dirty. But, Gram would let us get away with murder."
"Gram is like that isn't she? She sees the fun in getting a little dirty."
" I think my mother would say, she sees the perfection in imperfection."
"Perfection in imperfection," He muttered. "I like that. It is kind of like pearls, they are little impurities that get in the shell of the oyster. It irritates the shell and the oyster forms a protection around the dirt. It's sort of like beauty from ashes."
"Hmmm... I guess you are right. Pearls are grown out of the pain of oysters. They get value from their suffering."
" Do you really think they suffer? The oysters I mean." He looked at her with questioning eyes. His curly hair was wet and falling in his face. He looked like and elfin child. How could anyone resist that face? Georgia found herself looking deeply in his eyes.
"No, I am not sure that oysters feel at all. Scientists have found that..."
Byrne could not believe his ears. Scientist? what did they know about the soul?
"I think they feel," he interrupted. "I know roses feel. The roses in the garden here at Pemberly, they were dying. I think they were cared for but not loved. I began talking to them. I told them they were loved and needed. All of a sudden they began blooming like crazy."
Georgia did not know what to say. It was the most ridiculous thing anyone had ever said to her. But when she looked in his eyes it seemed almost...reasonable.
They stood in silence for a while. Byrne felt silly and ashamed for saying such things. She would not understand such poetic ideas. Why must he always mention sentimental things in her presence? She did not value sentiment. It is such a pity that someone with such inteligence like herself,should need to grow so much emotionally. She was like the roses. She needed someone to tell her she was loved and needed. Perhaps then she would bloom.
"Miss Darcy, would you like to pick apples with me tomorrow? September is a good month for to harvest apples and some of them are already red."
"I would love to join you if it doesn't rain like it did today."
"So it is an engagement then?"
"Engagement?" she looked at him in shock.
"Ummm, I mean, well, ummm, I will see you in the orchard.. if it doesn't rain." He wondered why he let the word engagement slip out of his mouth.
Part 7
"She went in her unremembering way,
She went and left in me
The pang of all the partings gone,
And the partings left to be.She left me marvelling why my soul
Was sad that she was glad;
At all the sadness in the sweet,
The sweetness in the sad."- Francis Thompson
The next morning Georigia found herself looking forward to picking apples with Byrne. She had even picked out what she would wear the night after they got stuck in the gazebo. No bare-footed, soggy apperaled, Georgie would meet him in the orchard. She made sure she was clean and decent.
Around 11'o clock, while she was still primping in the mirror, little Walter Newland came and knocked on her door. She opened her door and looked down. He thrust the letter into her hand and looked in her face inquisitvely. "Here is a letter for you... Are you a witch?"
She was a bit taken back from the little boy's question. "No, I am not a witch. Are you a bad little boy?"
"Sometimes I am. But most of the time I don't mean to be."
"Well asking a lady if she is a witch or not falls under the bad category."
"Oh I am sorry. I just wondered because you never seem to smile. Only witches never smile. They are too busy being wicked."
"Oh well, I am pretty busy. But I am not being wicked, I am writing."
" Do you write like like Mr. Finch?"
"Well, not exactly, you see, Mr. Finch writes poetry. I am a journalist. We are very diff..."
" I like the way Mr. Finch writes. He tells me stories all the time. He is so much fun."
"I am sure he is. Now if you don't mind, I would like to read my letter."
The little boy stood at her door and watched her opening the envelope. She could feel him stare at her. She only liked children on a case by case basis, and Walter was one of those cases of dislike. "Walter, doesn't Daisy-er I mean, doesn't your mother need your assistance?"
"No, she is painting. She doesn't like me to disturb her while she works."
She really didn't blame Daisy. She wondered if anyone could work with Walter around. She searched her brain for someone else that could watch after Walter. " How about my mother? She may need your help cleaning or watching Gram."
" She doesn't need me. She is the one that sent me up here."
She felt frustrated. Was there not one soul whom she could send Walter to bother? Was she really the bottom of the babysitter barrel? " Oh... Well, will you do another errand for me?" He nodded with a sigh. "Will you please go to the orchard and tell Mr. Finch that I recieved a special letter and I will be delayed."
With a quick run and jump,he was riding the stair rail down to the first floor. " I will be glad to tell him. Maybe he will have a story for me." He yelled as he ran out the door.
Geogie shook her head with slight snicker, and then she returned to her letter. She was surprised to find it was from Thomas. He had written it in his own hand, really his own sweet hand. She read the letter at least 3 times, simply out of shock. He was comming to visit, and he said he had something important to ask her. Thomas was comming to Pemberly! She found herself running downstairs to tell Gram. She was having a hard time ordering her thoughts, she had never been this excited in her entire life. She knew she had a million things to do before Thomas came. And she wasn't even sure where to start. What should she wear? What should she say? What did he plan to ask her?
~~~~~~~~~
Byrne and Walter picked apples while waiting for Georgia. Byrne had a feeling she would forget the apples and him. He repeatedly asked Walter about what she had said when she sent the message about being delayed.
After the 10th time Byrne asked him to repeat Georgia's message, Walter replied, "Why do you like that old witchy woman anyway? She seems mean to me. I think she must have eaten too many pickled beets."
Byrne laughed at the deceptively cherubic face. "She is not witchy or mean. She is just a lost soul, like the rest of the world. She is disenchanted. She doesn't realize how important it is to be a bit childlike."
The little 8 year old looked up at his mentor, trying to understand something that is a mystery to even the wisest person in the world. " I am childlike, but I am not a baby. I can spit farther than anyone I know." He said totally missing Byrne's point.
"Yes, you are not a baby. You know what,I think it is time to finish that story I was telling you. Where were we?"
The little boy did not even try to conceal his excitement. " Jules Verne was fixing his time machine, to prevent Robin Hood from dueling with Napoleon. Hope that nasty frenchman who is trying to kidnap Josephine gets shot by Robin's bow and arrow."
Byrne felt a little hurt by Georgia never comming to the orchard. When he saw her across the table, she was flushed and excited. She talked quite frequently about some guy named Thomas. At this moment, he realized he really didn't have a chance. He just hoped this Thomas returned her feelings. He really didn't like the thought of Georgia getting her heart broken. He wished her and Thomas the best of luck. Well sort of....
Part 7
"But a wounded spirit who can bear?" Proverbs 18:14b Pemberly was at a frantic pace because of Georgie. She was not satisfied with anything that was done. She wanted her world to be perfect for Thomas Hill when he came to see her. Luckily there was not but 2 days to prepare for his arrival. Any longer and the residents would have strangled her in her sleep.
The day Thomas arrived was dreary and wet. There would be no touring the woods and grounds. No showing the stream where Great-Grandfather Fitzwilliam used to fish. Georgia knew that she would show Thomas the house. All morning long she went on a dusting binge. She even explored the attic for anything that might make the dining room look less shabby.
She tripped over a wooden hatbox. She lowered her candle to read the yellowed incription on the lid. "Letters to Miss Jane Austen, penned by Miss Elizabeth Darcy."
She lifted the lid and looked inside. Sure enough, it was full to the rim with letters. She decided to take the box to her room for a midnight read. They might tell her something that could help her in a conversation with Byrne. He really hadn't spoken to her much since the apple incident.
When she got to her room, she began changing her clothes. She had picked out the outfit she would wear the day she read Thomas' letter. Somehow she felt an uncanny curiosity towards the letters in the hatbox. She picked the first one up and began reading.
" Dear Jane,The Truth... It stood out from the page and the letters burned their form in her mind's eye. The truth... it was all so... believable. How could she have ever doubted it? Her great grandmother was really the heroine Elizabeth Bennet! This would change everything. Everything she had ever been taught in her life about the Darcys had been a cover-up. She really was the generational offspring of "Pride and Prejudice."
I think it is so strange that my best friend and my favorite sister have the same name. Had it not been for a strange twist of fate, we would have never met and I would have never told you about the love of my life, My Mr. Darcy. You would have never had the pleasure of writing the strange history of our courtship. I told you it would be the epitome of a novel of manners. No one ever believes the truth anymore."
Georgia was too upset to notice that someone was at the door. And the person closest to the door by fluke of fate was Walter Newland. He answered the bell and saw Thomas standing in the rain, behind him was a shiny new automobile. "Golly Sir, is that your horseless?" The little boy said with admiration.
"Yes, it is Sonny. I just got it a week ago. The horseless carriage will be the way of the future. Everyone should own one. Why, they go 15 miles an hour and can get you form here to there in half the time. The ride is smooth as sitting still and the engine is practically goof-proof. It is the only way to travel."
The little boy pondered what the gentleman had said. He had never heard anyone talk so much in his life. He looked the man up and down and said, " I think the time machine is the only way to travel. Mr. Finch agrees with me. When I grow up I will invent a REAL time machine. It will go underwater like the Nautilus. That way I can go anywhere I want, land or sea."
"HMMM... well, that is an imaginative thought. However I do not think we will be traveling through time in this century, Maybe you should write about it."
"You are like Miss Darcy aren't you? You are a, Ummm, disembodied lost soul. Yes, that is what he said."
"What who said?" Thomas began feeling a bit curious about this child. Although, he was sure the little urchin was misconstruing someone's words.
"Mr. Finch said it when I asked him if he liked witchy old Miss Darcy."
"Oh really?" He said with a bit of a laugh. Thomas was about to ask more but, Georgia came downstairs and found them both. She told Walter to go help Mr. Finch in the kitchen.
Thomas thought she looked very different. She always looked impeccable at the office, but it seems the country had something to her. It had brightened her eyes and complexion. She looked... beautiful.
"Mr. Hill, you are soaking wet! You must get that coat and hat off before you catch your death." Again she willed her voice not ro break. He was still handsome and dashing. He still looked like a mythical hero in a children's book. He still smelled of cedar and pipe tobacco, but something was missing. He had fallen a few mysterious points in her estimation. She just wasn't sure why.
"Miss Darcy, I must admit my visit here is not exactly a social call. I don't have time for social things in my line of work. When you left the paper for the country..." He was interupted.
All of a sudden, there was a knock at the door. Though she didn't want to Georgia excused herself, and went to answer the door. When she opened it, she was shocked to find Charlotte drenched to the core and crying hysterically. Georgia felt her heart jump to her throat. She had never seen her sister like this before, she looked terrible. " Oh my Sainted Aunt! Charlotte! What is wrong?"
She pulled her sister inside the hall and began removing the wet coat and hat from the weeping lady.
In between sobs Charlotte tried to explain what happened. "I (sniff) left (snort) Oscar... Waaaahh! I (sniffle) just couldn't- just could- Waaaahh! I can't stand him any- any-more.(deep jagged breath) But I still love him. I don't want him to- to- to- hurt himself. Waaaaaahhh!"
Georgia's mother heard all commotion and came running to her daughters. "Charlotte! Oh my dear Charlotte!" She threw her arms around Charlotte, and walked the distraught daughter into Gram's room.
Georgia had completely forgotten about Thomas. He had retreated to the parlor and was sitting alone staring at the weak fire in the fireplace. She walked in feeling embarrassed about what had just happend. What could she say? I am sorry, my sister just dumped her alcoholic husband that we all hate? Somehow she didn't think that one would go over too well. There must be some way to explain away what just happened. Maybe she could pretend it was not as intense as it seemed. "I'm sorry, didn't know all this would happen today. Believe me, I would not wish this situation on any guests at Pemberly. It is usually so peaceful around here, I am sure things will calm down now. We have prepared a special dinner in your honor. Will you please stay and dine with us?"
Part 9
"To lose one's faith surpasses
The loss of an estate,
Because estates can be
Replentished,- faith cannot."
- Emily Dickinson
" I'll stay Miss Darcy. I hope I've caused you no trouble. It would be a terrible thing to have caused you needless worry."
"Oh no sir, you have caused me no trouble at all. I wish things had not gone so awry. Life is usually so calm here." She said pathetically.
She realized they were alone. For once in her whole existance she was alone with the one person in the world whom she thought would make her happy. So why did Charlotte have pick today?? Life was not fair, but Georgie knew that fact too well.
She looked in his eyes. The blue eyes that she would always avoid because they would make her feel hot and cold all over. Only this time she did not feel so... How did she feel? It was the same face she had always loved all those years. The same noble brow, the same deep voice, the same aura of leadership, so why didn't she feel the same about him? Somehow he had grown - too perfect. Too perfect? Was there such a thing? She realized she had been spending more than enough time talking to Mr. Finch. Her thoughts were begining to resemble his his sentimental babble.
She and Thomas were silent for a few moments.They both needed to recuperate from the turmoil that Charlotte brought with her.
By dying firelight Georgia-Jane looked like an angel of mercy. All the stiffness melted away and she was more beautiful than Charlotte had ever been. If only Thomas could read her searching eyes that met his. But he was too busy with his own agenda.
"Miss Darcy do you remember that article you wrote on women's sufferage?" He pointedly inquired.
"Yes quite vividly. Why did you ask?" She felt confused. Why would he bring that up now? Here, they had a perfect moment, and he brought up her failure.
"Well it seems that somehow it was printed instead of your recipe for fruit salad. It has gotten more responses than any article ever printed in the Beacon. We have recieved over 200 letters from women. They want to know what you think about everything from cooking,to temperance,to working mothers."
The thought of Daisy and Walter popped into her mind. "Working mothers would be interesting journalism. I personally know a mother who is a working artist. I wonder how she feels about her choices?" She thought aloud.
"Yes, yes, yes! I knew it! You haven't lost your edge. You see, I came here to ask you some - " He was rudely interrupted.
Walter came running in frantically. He ran straight to Georgia and grabbed her by the skirt. He began pulling her into the other room with all his might. " I need your help. something terrible has happened in the kitchen."
"Well go tell My mother." she was annoyed by Walter and his antics. She pushed him away. She was not going to be inturrupted again. Not during the most important conversation of her life. She had a feeling Thomas was serious for a reason.
Walter did not give up so easily. " I am not allowed to go in the room where the lady is crying. And I cannot tell my mother or she will spank me." He replied predicting her next suggestion. He was frantically grasping at her hands and pulling as hard as he could.
She couldn't believe this child. Was he trying to embarrass her intentionally? She gave a hopeless look in Thomas' direction. " I best go see what he wants." She said meekly.
" You must, he seems earnestly in need of assistance." Thomas replied.
As she was led into the kitchen by the little boy, she whispered in his ear, " This had better be real or I will spank you within an inch of your life." She was in no mood to be civil.
Walter mumbled about blood and a duel. " I was Robin Hood and Mr. Finch was Napoleon. I was supposed to thrust with the spatula and I thrust- "
Georgia caught a look at Byrne. Blood was pouring from his nose. The bloody spatula lay on the floor. "Oh good golly! Walter, get me some ice. Is it broken Byrne? You need to go lie down." She grabbed Byrne and led him to his room by the kitchen stairs.
The little boy followed behind them with the ice. At this point he began to cry. " I am so sorry Mr. Finch," he whimpered," I didn't mean to hurt you."
" I am sure it is not all your fault Walter, She said with sympathy. "Mr. Finch is a grown man and should know not to fence with spatulas in the kitchen."
Byrne did not say a word. He just lay back on his bed hoping the pain would stop. Georgia put the ice in a dishcloth she had grabbed while leaving the kitchen. She gently placed it on his face. She affectionately stroked his brow and tryed to wipe some of the blood from his face. "Lie still until the blood stops." she whispered softly. " I will check on you later. Walter, come with me. Mr. Finch needs to be alone." And with that they walked out the door.
Downstairs, Thomas was alone again. He could hear muffled sobs from the room down the hall. He knew what he must do. He must say what he wanted to say outright. No flattery, no vices, he must ask her plainly and quickly, before anynone else claimed Georgia-Jane's attention. When she reached the door with a sobbing Walter in tow, Thomas immediately began talking.
"Miss Darcy, all I need to say is, I want you to write an advice column in the Beacon. You have become a leader in women's issues overnight. The paper is selling like mad, and it is because of you. I can't afford to loose your talent. We have become an important voice in journalism, and I finally have the means to marry my fiancee..."
Fiancee- the word rang in her ear like a deafning cymbal. The crash was her heart breaking into a millon pieces. He was not here because he loved her, he really was here on business. She knew she must not let him see her in any way undignified. Somehow that would make it worse. She choked back the tears as she had done so many times before. "Yes, Mr. Hill, I will write for you. I owe the Beacon my grattitude, loyalty, and so much more. You are the only paper who would give me a chance."
I hoped you would say yes, I have selected the first 6 letters for you to write about. My editors went through all 200 with a fine-toothed comb to find the ones that will impact the most people. He walked to the hall and pulled a bundle of letters out of his coat. He gingerly handed them to her.
Here she stood, Walter in one hand, and her future tied in twine in the other. Six people were chosen to to recieve wisdom from G.J. Darcy, the woman of the hour. She didn't even know how to deal with her own life, nonetheless, give advice to anyone else. Irony, sweet irony, was teaching her a daunting lesson. How was the biggest pessimist in England to adivise the world?
Only time would tell...
Part 10
"Some people fall in love with the swiftness and force of an electric shock, while with others the process is so gradual that the fact is not discovered until some accident or emergency reveals it to the interior perception."
-Jennie June
Upstairs, Byrne lay alone on his bed. His nose had finally stopped bleeding and he knew it was not broken. But he was pretty sure that he would have a few bruises. He looked at the kitchen dish rag that Georgia had placed gently on his face and he sighed.
It was amazing that with one touch, He knew. He knew he felt more than just pity for Georgia, he loved her. He really loved her. How could one caress tell him what was in his heart? He did not know. But no one's touch had ever soothed him that way before.
His feelings seemed to evolve naturally from the moment he met her in the kitchen, and grew during the rainstorm. It grew like the roses. Now, it was in full bloom.
He thought of that Thomas fellow, and knew that the only reason any man would travel so far was to propose. It was inevitably logical. The bitter realization that his heart was cheated before he had the chance to make her his own, caused him to act in desperation.
He walked to his desk and pulled out some paper. He placed his pen to the sheet with resolution, and began putting words to his overwhelming discovery.
"My Dearest Georgia-Jane,
I do not know how to tell you this, for me it had been a sudden and bewildering concept. It is like walking from a cold world to a warm fire. Where does the cold stop and the warmth begin? I do not know. All I know is I cannot pretend to be cold when I am on fire for you.
I love you, My dear Georgie, and I do not know how I can tell you. From the first moment I saw you, something intangible was drawing me to you. I loved your eyes. Before I saw you, I never understood what Mr. Darcy meant by "fine eyes."
I always felt I should keep my distance and learn you slowly. but I now find that impossible. I find myself wanting to know you so passionately...."He stopped writing.
Passionately? Reality came to him loud and clear. This was Georgia he was writing. To love without reason? That was not something Georgia would do. Duty, she understood, patience, endurance, even distant compassion, but any feelings beyond sisterly.... He was not sure that she felt love beyond that.Maybe her sentiments were right, his heart had been wrong before. How could he trust it now. Perhaps he should not be so hasty. Everyone knows that haste in love brings a broken heart. What should his plan be? He stared at the sheet he was writing on. He turned it over and scribbled in huge letters:
"HOW DO I TALK TO GEORGIA-JANE DARCY? -When everything I say makes her look at me like I have lobsters crawling out my ears. HOW DO I TELL HER MY FEELINGS? When she puts no stock in emotions. WHAT IF I TELL HER AND SHE LAUGHS IN MY FACE? I really love this woman and it will really hurt me if she laughs at me. HOW DO I HIDE MY EMOTIONS IF I DECIDE NOT TO TELL HER? I do not think that is an option at this point. If I dont tell her I think I will be fatally ill. If I tell her I will be ill also, but I think it will be just a quick trip to the loo."
He chuckled as he wrote that last line, and folded the paper up placing it in an envelope. He wrote letter to G.J. Darcy on the front and set it up on top of the wardrobe where no one would see it. He thought if they did happen to find such ramblings, and they were aware he wrote it, they might admit him to a cozy little asylum. He decided he would read the letter over again in a few days. He had one advantage over Thomas. And that was he saw Georgia everyday. Hopefully his face would not be so sore tomorrow, and his thoughts would be clear enough to improvise a plan.
He opened the wardrobe and selected a shirt, trading the bloody for clean. He did not notice his letter had fallen from its perch to the floor. He turned to the mirror and fixed his curly hair as much as it allowed. He looked at his swollen nose and black eye. "You are quite a sight, my boy," he said shaking his head, " Small wonder Father wanted me to be a lawyer. Writing can be quite dangerous."
Dinner at Pemberly was not the usual festive occaion. Charlotte had set the mood for the Darcys and Walter was downright despondant. Byrne sat across from Thomas, who seemed to never stop talking. He wondered how a man like him could get to be such a- stuffed shirt. He sensed the man did not love Georgia. Byrne did not think that Mr. Hill could really love anyone.
Something was wrong with Georgie. She did not act like a happy fiance. She hadn't looked up from her food once. He could see such a facination if she were hungry, but she was just picking at her food. He wondered what Thomas had said to her. She looked close as if she were close to tears. Suddenly the words he had written earlier flashed before his eyes. "HOW DO I TALK TO GEORGIA-JANE DARCY."
Part 11
Posted on Saturday, 3 November 2001, at 7:55 p.m.
" All this for a few absurd love letters-"
Christian- from Cyrano De Bergerac After Thomas's visit, Georgia stayed mainly in her room. She had all her meals sent up by Walter. Even her own mother could not get her to budge. Mr. Hill had given her seven enigmas. All the letters were extremely embarrassing. How should she advise these people? If she were in their situation, she would hang herself.If only she knew someone wise enough to tell her how to advise these poor souls.
Walter was wandering upstairs alone. He snuck into Byrne's room. He began looking into all the nooks and crannies, under beds and behind bookshelves. Byrne's sister had always sent a care package every few months. Her last donation to her brother contained a western dime novel about Buffalo Bill. Walter loved to sneak and read a page or two when no one was looking. As he was putting the book in its hiding place under the wardrobe, he saw one of the letters that belonged to Miss Darcy. He wondered how it got in Mr. Finch's room. He reached and grabbed the envelope.
Walter decided to give the letter to Georgia, but how would he explain where he had gotten it? If he told her Mr. Finch's room he would incriminate himself. Perhaps he should lie about where he found it? Yes, that would do.
Feverously his little brain came up with a fabrication that would seem plausible. He decided that he would tell her that he found it in the hallway in front of Mr. Finch's room. That was half true... well sort of.He knocked on Georgia's door. His heart was pounding. When she opened the door he felt his heart jump into his throat. He was not the type of little boy that lied often and the guilt of telling a whopper made him feel terrible. As he opened his mouth tears came to his eyes. "I found this in Mr. Finch's room when I was doing something I shouldn't." He said honestly.
Georgia looked at the little round face and knew he was extremely troubled. The last time he was this upset he had inflicted bodily harm on another person. "Oh really, well what was this terrible thing you were doing?" she asked as she took the letter from his hand.
"I was reading about Buffalo Billy and his circus. When I grow up, I want to be a time traveling cowboy. They will call me Buffalo Wally. Kaaapow!" Walter made a gun with his finger.
Georgia couldn't help but chuckle. Sometimes Walter was mildly amusing.
"Did you know my birthday is next week? You can have some of my cake if you give me a present." He beamed at her.
"Well, How generous of you, Buffalo Wally. Don't you think you should tell Mr. Finch you were sneaking and reading his books? It is not easy but it is the right thing to do."
"Must I?" he asked ruefully.
"I think so, if he finds out on his own he might be very unhappy with you."
The little boy thoughtfully looked up in her face. "You are a nice lady Miss Darcy, even if you don't smile much."
She was taken aback for a moment. "Thank you Walter, I will take that as a compliment. Now please go find Mr. Finch so I can get some work done."
Walter ran into the kitchen garden. When he saw Byrne, a sobering feeling overtook him. He knew he had to tell his best friend the truth. He really didn't want Byrne to think badly of him. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard. "Mr. Finch, I must tell you something- I-ummm I-uhhh, I-snuck-into-your-room-and-read-about-Buffalo-Bill." He said it as quickly as he was able.
Byrne had to stop and think for a moment. Buffalo Bill? "Oh! I am sorry to hear that. I was hoping to save that for your birthday."
"You mean that is my present?" the little boy shouted gleefully.
"Yes, and I hope you like it."
"I love it! Especially the pictures. All those cowboys look so dusty and rugged. I have looked at them over and over. Miss Darcy was right. She told me to tell you. I gave her the letter I found on your floor."
All of a sudden Byrne's countenance changed. "Letter? What letter?"
Part 12
Posted on Wednesday, 7 November 2001, at 1:15 p.m.
" But-all this time, your letters- every one
Was like hearing your voice there in the dark,
All around me, like your arms around me..."
Roxanne- from Cyrano De Bergerac
Byrne frantically knocked on Georgia's door. He thought he should just get on his knees and plead insanity. He should have thrown that blasted letter away. Walter would not have delivered it and he would not be standing here considering taking his life.
Now, she may never speak to him again. She would angrily become Mrs. Thomas Hill and slip away behind that arrogant man's manner. Why did this have to happen now? How could things go so wrong for him?
It seemed like a million years for her to answer his knock. Behind the closed door she was adjusting and straightening her dress. Fitzwilliam Darcy syndrome had taken her over her mind. How could she get through this confrontation as quickly and painlessly as possible? She opened the door and saw Byrne's remorseful face. Poor man, he has really beat himself up about this. " Hello, Mr. Finch. You must be looking for this..." She said calmly as she handed him the letter.
Byrne barely squeaked out a yes. He was amazed. How could she be so calm? He felt like the sky was falling in on him. Surely this is the calm before the storm. He thought he might as well bite the bullet and ask, "Did you read the letter Miss Darcy?" He swallowed hard and flinched. He felt that whatever she did he deserved and more.
"Yes I did. It was beautiful and pure. No wonder you are so popular in America. There is just one thing..." she said with smile.
He knew what was coming. His stomach was churning like a whirlpool. Why did he write all that garbage on the back of the letter?
" I was wondering why you didn't finish it? You really should you know, it is really a good start. I enjoyed reading it immensely." she blushed.
Byrne was completely baffled. Georgia-Jane Darcy, the cynic of Pemberly, liked getting love letters? What has the world come to? Should he pinch himself? Maybe this is one of those dreams that seem real. "I am grateful you liked it Miss Darcy," he stammered. "Praise from you is praise indeed." He felt his voice and manner get softer.
She looked perplexed for a moment. Why was he still upset? She looked at letter in his hand and said," I think Walter wrote on the backside though. There are a bunch of scribbles about lobsters and things." She turned the letter around in his hand and showed him the embarrassing handiwork. "We really should keep an eye on him, you know." She continued. "He likes to sneak around your room especially. Perhaps you should lock your door when you go out from now on."
"Perhaps I should." he mumbled. Reality began dawning in his mind. She thought Walter wrote the "scribblings" as she had so graciously put it. Maybe he should let Walter take the blame. He was a bit angry at the little boy but...
"Mr. Finch," she said interrupting his train of thought. "I was wondering if you have ever written an advice column?" From the look displayed on his face, she knew she would need to explain. " You see, Mr. Hill asked me to write my own advice column for The Beacon. He picked all the letters that I am to advise, and to be honest, the best advice I can think of is to tell them to change their names and move to America. Oh excuse me, I meant no offence by that."
Byrne chuckled at that remark. "No offence taken. Although reputations are the same in America as they are in England. Why do think I came here in the first place?" He added with wink. " May I suggest that we meet downstairs in the dining room? I will bring my typewriter and we will type out some ideas. I am at your service. You do know that I will be glad to help you in anyway possible?"
He smiled and turned walk down the hall and remembered the envelope she had placed in his hand. He looked back at her. She was watching him leave. Those electric eyes were following his every movement. Did he sense more than curiousity in her face? He decided he should not let Walter take the blame. He liked the way she looked at him, but as long as he didn't tell the whole truth, he would feel like a heel when he looked at her. "Miss Darcy, Walter didn't scribble on the back of this letter. I did, and I am sorry I wrote such terrible things." He looked at her with remorseful repentance.
She did something he didn't expect for the millionth time that day. She nodded and said, " I know, but I didn't want you to feel embarrassed on my account. You need not apologize. I understand. It should be left as it never happened."
Byrne was amazed. What a woman! He had written terrible things about her on that paper. Things that would hurt most people's pride. But she did not want him embarrassed? How could she be so kind? He was humbled by her graciousness.
From that moment on he knew how to treat her. He should treat her as the most amazing creature he had ever known...Because she was.
© 2001 Copyright held by the author.