Vignettes

Posted on Monday, 24 November 2003

~ I ~

The daylight would soon begin waning, and there was no movement upon this roadway in Lancashire. The rural setting would have appeared faultless to an admirer had there not been something lying close to the road which marred its beauty. That something was a fine curricle, which had obviously come to grief. Had there been any passes by, they might have offered assistance to the driver. In this instance though, it was impossible, for firstly there were no passers by, and secondly, the driver was beyond assistance.

The driver, however, had not been the only person in the curricle. Sitting beside him had been a young lady, little more than seventeen, with the fairest hair and large green pupils. There was nothing at all in her that suggested poverty, but instead the reverse, and on her left hand was a shiny gold ring, which was dated this very day, December 25, 1814.

The gentleman next to the lady was as well dressed as herself, and was older and darker. On his left hand, too, was a similar band, bearing the same date. Apparently, then, this couple had been married today, but whatever happiness they might have experienced was now blighted - vanished - destroyed, or would be, for even the simplest of people should realize that the gentleman’s life had not been spared, and this young, pretty girl, married less than a day, had instantly become a reluctant widow.

~ II ~

The young woman was now only returning to consciousness. She was not able to recognize either where she was, or what she was doing, and the only sensation she felt, aside from a throbbing head, was pain.

She shifted her face away from the splintered surrounding, and as she did so, saw red streaks against her cheek. Lying in a crumpled position as she was, she could hardly be comfortable, but there was little that could be done about it : her body was pinned down by the chariot’s frame.

After what seemed like years, the young woman woke in a room which had been decorated, or so it would appear. It was then that her first flashback occurred, and the woman began to scream “Patrick!!! No!!!!”

~ III ~

Georgiana Darcy had always known her wedding day would be memorable. Now, she found herself wishing that it had been memorable in some other, less devastating way.

It was beyond cruel that her husband be torn from her on their wedding day, but there was nothing she could do about it but mourn.

She had expected to spend the rest of her life with Patrick, and the till death do we part had come many, many years too early.

She had arrived at Atherton Court, her new home, but without the master. Her sister in law was the only other inhabitant, and when she had arrived a day after the accident, she had tried to accommodate Georgiana, but she was not Patrick, and when she was conscious, Georgiana was inconsolable.

She had yet to realize that she had become a dowager at seventeen, she only realized she was a widow. But it would not be long before she would have to reside at the Dowager House, with Miss Gruffudd at Atherton, because Patrick would be succeeded by someone else. This would not happen, however, until she had recovered from her accident, at least physically. Mentally it might take much longer to come to terms with.

Georgiana sobbed herself to sleep with painful dry tears. There was no-one in the world so misfortunate as herself. No-one.

~ IV ~

Loneliness Knows Me By Name - Westlife.

~ V ~

For once Christabel Fitzwilliam didn’t think of how lonely she was when she went to sleep. Instead, her thoughts were revolving around the person she had just met. Just who was Anatole Pavlovich, and what on earth had possessed her mind?

It was as though she felt an affinity for this man she had met less than twelve hours before. It was absurd, she knew, but she felt as though she had known him for so much longer. Was this because he had an uncanny ability to make her laugh - as her brother Richard had? Or was it that she was desirous of friendship, and had simply come across someone possibly perfect for the position?

Perhaps she should just blame his eyes : those amazing, full, enticing eyes, which remained with her throughout her dreams that evening.

~ VI ~

Kitty always found herself dreaming over some person’s eyes. She rather thought she’d been in love about a dozen times in the past four years. But maybe that wasn’t really love. It certainly wasn’t the sort of love Jane and Charles, and Lizzy and Mr. Darcy had. And their sort of love, Kitty mused, was the sort of love a girl wanted to have and feel. And she knew she hadn’t felt that way yet, even if she had had several sonnets addressed to her face, and kissed an officer or two.

The order of her relationships thus far was such : a sly wink, a soft word, a gentle giggle, a kissed hand, a hideous but romantically minded sonnet, a kiss on the cheek, a laugh and a smile, a sorrowful letter followed by a week or two of sadness.

Surely there was more to life than this? There was certainly more to happiness than this, for Kitty felt sadly unfulfilled. Everyone around her was so happy - or almost everyone - and she, the youngest around, had to bear their inestimable happiness. Every letter from any direction was filled with fun, life, excitement, joy, vigour and happiness, and her letters in response were so very dull and tedious. It wasn’t as though she could help it - she loved Pemberley, and Bonham, the Bingley’s estate, and the London seasons, but these places were not infused with any particularly inviting happiness. They were all just places, none was a home. And her true home, Longbourn, would have to be one of the worst places to be for the only daughter of five yet unmarried, who was rapidly approaching the time for caps. Mrs. Bennet was a quantity that could only be tolerated for a certain amount of time, and Kitty thought the nineteen years already spent in her mother’s company was beyond an eternity.

~ VII ~

“My dear Mary, not withstanding your excellent presence, I have never been so glad to leave a place in my life.” Lt. Chamberlayne told his wife, as they left Longbourn after a filial visit. “And that includes, you know, that hideous watering place Harrogate where my godfather was cursed enough to live.”

“Not somewhere you’d take me then?”

“Not even if you offered me a hundred pounds.”

“Two hundred?”

“It’s perfectly obvious you have never been there.”

“And it is perfectly obvious you are being vilely repugnant once more.”

“Mary, what have I told you about using big words? It’s a very bad habit of yours.”

Not worse than cross dressing was for you.” Mary retorted.

Dink looked pained. “An innocent mistake. A lark. How was I to know it would escalate into a full-on session every Tuesday with the regiment?”

“It wasn’t!” Mary exclaimed with appalled interest.

“It was indeed, my little prude. Almost all the lads participated. I must confess I rather thought Wickham’s dimity gown was the most pleasing. I had to make do with a muslin which tore easily.”

“Wickham!” Mary gasped. “Oh, I wonder if Lydia knew! Why, Fordyce....”

“Oh no you don’t. Not that wretched man.”

“I thought you liked Fordyce, Humperdink.”

“My dear girl, let’s be honest for a moment. How could anyone with a brain larger than a pea (see, that includes you, but excludes that woeful parson cousin of yours), profess to like someone who drones about drivel with the excitement level of a dead snail?”

“That’s one thing I love about you, Dink. You always put things into perspective. It’s true, he is rather tedious. But all Papa’s other books were too high on the shelf for me to reach, and I was too afraid of falling off anything I tried to climb, so since I wanted to be a voracious reader, and not turn out like Kitty and Lydia, I had to settle for Fordyce.”

“Tell you what, Mary. I promise I’ll buy you a whole library of scandalous novels and Shakespeare, I’ll never take you to Harrogate, and I’ll never force you to visit your mother like we just had to, if you promise to burn your Fordyce and not quote him.”

“Very well.” Mary was silent in contemplation for a moment, then smiled. “I’m so glad you didn’t want to stay at Longbourn for any longer. It was the worst week of my life, being in my mother’s company like that, without anyone else for her to exclaim over or be vexed by, except for papa. I’m so glad we’ve got our own house to go to, and our own lives, without reference to my parents more than is necessary. It’s nice to be happy again, now that we’ve left, isn’t it?”

~ VII ~

Michelle Gruffudd crept stealthily into the room at Atherton where Georgiana spent most of her time - the music room, playing mournful melodies on the pianoforte. “Georgiana, I.... Dash it, I don’t know how to say it. It’s not very nice news, I’m afraid.”

“What is it?” Georgiana asked with alarm, her fingers suspended above the instrument. “About my family?”

“No, mine. Well, and yours too, because Patrick is... was... which am I meant to say? Well, Patrick’s a part of your family too, or at least he was... Oh don’t cry yet! Yes, it’s about Patrick.”

“What about him?” Georgiana asked, on the way to hysterics.

“I’ve got a letter, which was addressed to him. It says..... Maybe I’d just better read it to you.”

“Bentley,

The time has come, to pay the score. I’ve given you your full twelve months, and you’ve caught your heiress, so I will expect payment of those debts within the month, else your pretty little wife might realise what a cad she’s married, because I shall have no compunction in telling her of that little secret of yours.

Harrison.

“See?” Trix whispered, watching Georgiana’s face get paler and paler by the moment.

“He married me ... For my money????” she uttered on a high-pitched squeak. “He married me ... For my money!!!!”

“Um, is this the part where I suggest you calm down, even though frankly I would be better pleased if you yelled the house down?” Trix asked.

“He’s a Wickham! Oh Lord, please help me! But I really did love him! He loved me! He had to love me!”

“Oh, I think he did love you, Georgie. I’d never seen him happier. But maybe that was because he knew he’d get this debt paid... No. It wasn’t that. Georgie, he did love you. Didn’t you tell me that practically his last words were “I love you?” And anyway, he must have loved you, because why would he marry you just for the money, when there were so many other women he could have had with as much if not more money? Like your cousin Anne? Wasn’t she unmarried when she met Patch?”

If it were possible, Georgiana’s face went paler. “Anne” she whispered in a strangled tone. “He went after Anne before me.”

“He didn’t!!!” Trix looked appalled. “And you married him, without even asking a thing about his connection with Anne?”

“Yes.”

“Louder.”

“Yes.”

“Georgiana!!”

“Yes?”

“Why??”

“I.... trusted him.”

“There is no trusting appearances.* I learnt that when I read The School For Scandal. I think it was about Book 125 of the books Patch banned me from ever reading.” Trix explained. “I’m up reading to at least Book 200 now.” She said proudly.

“You’re a card. I hope I can trust you.” Georgiana tried to smile.

“Oh yes. You can trust me. We’ll stick together, and woe betide anyone that makes us trust them without a very good excuse.”

* Richard Brinsley Sheridan, The School For Scandal.

~ IX ~

Christabel did not keep Natalya for very long, for as soon as Lady Alyssa discovered her niece's royal identity, as the daughter of the Russian Tsarina Natasha Romanov, she insisted her father, the Marquis of Fairmont, take her to live with him. He did not take kindly to the child, and she held him in slight aversion. Thus, when the eccentric old man died, he made no provisions for his Natasha, or Natasha's little princess.

The greatest surprise in that old man’s will came with the naming of his heir.

Having once met Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, and treating him with cordiality, the Marquis decided there was no-one better to pass the reigns to.

Thus Colonel Fitzwilliam and Anne became the new Marquis and Marchioness of Fairmont. They were fond of Natalya, and when it was found Natasha really didn't wish for her daughter's return, Anne and Richard offered to take her, for it was unlikely that they should have any more children than they already had - a baby girl named Amily.

Eventually they adopted Natalya, and Christy gained a niece whom she adored, and who adored her in return. The little girl with the pale tiny body and the large haunted eyes remained the undoubtedly Russian child, but her eyes lost that particular look, and her body began to fill out, so that she was no longer a waif, but a happy little girl, charming and sweet, who forgot the traumas of her past, focusing on a new horizon.

~ X ~

Anatole did not know when he could return to England. He knew he must; for something inside him told him he did not want her to marry another man. And yet, he would be gone for several months at the very least - quite long enough for that treasure to be discovered by someone else.

A few minutes before he left, he came to Christy, to say au revoir, because goodbye was so harsh and final. Her eyes looked up at his pleadingly, and he knew what he wanted to do, but what would his brother say?

"You know I must go, don't you." he said, a statement more than a question, as he took her hands.

Christabel looked down at their hands, and said quietly "Yes. I do know." She looked at him again. "Parting is such sweet sorrow, is it not?" She answered for herself. "Aye, it is." Seeing the look on her face hurt him more than he felt possible.

Softly, he raised her chin, and kissed her. Softly, she returned his kiss.

"I will come back for you, my love. I will come back." he said finally, tracing her cheekbones with his finger.

"I know you will Anatole." Christabel said, lightly smiling. "I know you will."