Beginning, Section II
Jump to new as of January 27, 2007
Jump to new as of February 5, 2007
Jump to new as of February 9, 2007
Posted on Friday, 12 January 2007
The following day I was sitting to tea with Mrs Gardiner when visitors arrived. My cousins had brought Miss Bingley and had come to invite me explore the maze with them. I was not looking forward to spending time with my cousins, especially both of them together in light of what they wanted from me, and what I was unwilling to give. Though I had no interest in furthering my acquaintance with Miss Bingley, her presence was welcome. Even my cousins would not think to browbeat me about breaking the trust whilst she was with us.
The day was fine – I needed only put on my bonnet and we were out the door. They had walked to the parsonage by way of the road, but we decided to go on to the maze along the shorter and more scenic route following the river. We were making our way towards the path when we were hailed by Mr Darcy, who was at that moment coming through the leech gate from the churchyard. William and George looked at each other and scowled.
“Miss Bennet, Miss Bingley – good afternoon.”
“Mr Darcy!” said Miss Bingley, a bright smile warming her face.
After all the usual formalities of greeting had been made, William took out his pocket watch and studied it intently for a moment.
“Well, Darcy, we must be off,” he said, and started to walk away.
I am certain Mr Darcy would have left it at that. He bowed slightly and stood back, but Miss Bingley suddenly cried out. “Have you ever gone through the maze, Mr Darcy?”
“No, I have not had that pleasure,” he said.
“Oh! But you must join us then!” She turned to my cousins, a pleading look in her eyes. “He must, mustn’t he?”
“I am certain Mr Darcy has important business that needs attending,” said William.
Mr Darcy looked him directly in the eyes. “Not at all. I was only stopping by the parsonage to see how Miss Bennet did.”
George glanced at me, a frown furrowing his forehead.
“Then it is all settled,” said Miss Bingley. “The Mr Bennets say the maze is not to be missed. How comes it that in all these years you have never attempted it, Mr Darcy?” She held her arm out for Mr Darcy to take and began walking with him.
“I believe that the general consensus was that I am afraid of witchcraft.”
Her eyes lit up. “And are you?”
“No, not at all.” He glanced back at me as he spoke. I was not sure what to think, but I did not want to be left too far behind with my cousins, so I followed after them.
“What is his scheme?” whispered George as he came alongside of me. “Why is he here? He has never wanted anything to do with us.”
I shrugged. “He is a great friend of the Gardiners.”
“It is easy to see why he has come with us,” said William, who was now on my other side. “He fears we are too much in Miss Bingley’s company and he wants her for himself.”
“Are you certain it is Miss Bingley he is after?” asked George savagely.
“I do not see why he should be thought to be after anybody,” I said. “He has come out of curiosity to see the maze.”
“I am not about to let him steal the mark on me in any case,” said William. He increased his speed and soon was walking beside Miss Bingley, adding his own smiles and comments to their conversation.
“I do not know if I should take offence that William prefers her company over mine,” I joked.
“You may be assured that I prefer yours,” said George. “Do you really want to see the pavilion? We could get lost among the false paths instead, and you could tell me all about the visits Mr Darcy has been paying you.”
“We may speak of it now. He has paid me no visits. He dined at the parsonage once, and I met him yesterday at the church. Both times he had come to see Mr Gardiner.”
George’s tense expression relaxed. “You must think me very foolish. It is simply that you mean a great deal to me. I do not like to think some other gentleman is wooing you.”
I almost laughed at the idea that Mr Darcy would be courting me; after all we had been close to enemies our entire lives and only really met the other day. “There is nothing to fear from that quarter. Miss Bingley is much more to his taste, I should think.”
“I have no great opinion of his taste, then, if he prefers Miss Bingley. She is pretty, I will concede, but nothing out of the ordinary. And there is a superficiality to her conversation that one could never find with you.”
I told myself that I should stop being angry with George. It was only the outward acknowledgement of our love that was standing in the way of my certainty that he and I were destined for one another. He was doing his utmost right now to be reassuring. But still, I feared being alone with him. His declaration would make it even more difficult to follow through with the decision I had made regarding the trust. And what scared me the most was that the question of the trust would destroy our love. I smiled at him and said, “You begin to make me blush.”
“Fair reward,” he whispered, leaning closer. “It enhances your beauty.”
I was not ready to be made love to, so I pulled away from him and looked pointedly at William, ahead of us, trying his utmost to charm Miss Bingley’s attention away from Mr Darcy. “With such an attribute as superficiality, she should fit in well with this family.”
“Mark the cat and follow,” he quoted. “William is only doing what is best for us. Many a family’s fortunes have been saved through advantageous marriage. But I am sincerely glad that he was born before me. He will be Lord Bennet and I merely stay a second son. I will not have to sacrifice love when I marry.”
“Than you must learn how to be content with being poor.”
“I shall never be poor.”
The conversation was steering into dangerous ground once more. I pointed to the river and showed him the swans with their cygnet. He laughed at my ruse but was content to admire the birds and trees and wildflowers to which I drew his attention. Ahead of us William continued to impress, Mr Darcy to withdraw, and Miss Bingley to carry on a flirtation with both at the same time. Once or twice Mr Darcy glanced back at us, but his expression was indecipherable.
When we arrived at the maze the groupings changed and somehow I was paired with Mr Darcy, while both of my cousins went ahead with Miss Bingley. It was a full year since I had attempted the maze and the old yews were larger and more overgrown than I remembered.
“I am afraid we have not kept this up,” I said, circling with my arm to encompass the entire grounds, maze included.
“It takes much attending to.”
“You would never allow Netherfield to fall into such a condition.”
“That is true, but when it came into my possession it was not already in a state of neglect. Your father did the best he could with what he was given.”
“That is kind of you to say, but after my mother died, my father kept so much to his library that the estate suffered.” I pushed aside a branch of yew. “This way, Mr Darcy.”
“Miss Bingley is certain we shall encounter a phantom at the very least.”
“Then she is due to be disappointed. Neither the maze nor the pavilion are haunted, and black magic has never been performed here.”
“I am sorry for my earlier comment, but it was not said to offend. Your cousins think me prejudiced against your family because of past history – I only said it to show them I am not. They were not at all pleased that I chose to accept Miss Bingley’s kind offer were they?”
“No, they were not,” I agreed. “But it is to be hoped that in spending time with you they will learn that there is no need for animosity between our families.”
“I think it a vain hope, but maybe I am more inured to human nature than you.”
I sighed. In the past few days I had learned more about the nature of my cousins than I cared to. “Behind their bluster they are good men.”
“I can only judge them by my own experiences in their company,” he said. “But you, with your intimate knowledge and strong family feeling, cannot help but see in them what I must strive to find.”
I was surprised at the nature of our conversation – that he should be so blunt and outspoken rather than say something conciliatory that he did not really mean. I was tempted to ask him what his family’s motto was. Instead I smiled and directed him to turn to his left. Our conversation then concentrated upon the maze itself, its history and design. I told him of the discovery George and I had recently made – of the map hidden under the crest for all those years.
When we came out of the shadow of tall hedges and into the bright sunshine I heard him catch his breath.
“It is beautiful,” he said.
I laughed. “You find this whimsical, dilapidated folly beautiful? My cousins have always mocked me for my love of it.”
“There is something both ethereal and tragic about it,” he said. “That is where the beauty lies – it supersedes the condition of the building itself.”
Miss Bingley ran up to us, saying, “I know I should never learn to find my way through your maze – I would have been totally lost without your cousins to guide me. How unfortunate, though, that the pavilion was left to rot like this – it looks so tawdry and cheap – not at all what I had expected to find.”
“You must praise it to Elizabeth,” said William, “for it has been her faery castle ever since she was a little girl. She will not hear a word against it. However, George and I think something of Greek lines would do better here. Look!” He took her elbow and turned her about to face the pavilion. “Instead of this broken-down relic, picture if you may, in the same spot, a semi circle of marble stairs, Doric columns, and a portico with a frieze running across it.”
Miss Bingley sighed and clasped her hands together over her chest. I almost expected her to swoon in delight. “You must do it! Please tell me you will.”
William smiled a smile that was meant only for her. “If that is what you want, it shall be done.”
I was unimpressed by the acting of both, but William’s suggested change to the pavilion affected me deeply. No matter what happened with the trust – which requests I acceded to and which I stood firm against – change would come and it would not be to my liking. Longbourn Keep and the whole of its estates were mine no longer. Doubts about the validity of my decision crept into my mind. If George and William had me alone at that moment, I have no idea what the outcome would have been.
But as it turned out, neither George nor William had any opportunity for time alone with me during the rest of our outing. Miss Bingley, in the quixotic way of young ladies who enjoy being cruel to their many suitors, decided that I would be her companion on the way out of the maze, and stayed by my side till we had reached the parsonage once again.
The rest of the week saw me very busy with preparations for moving to Hunsford. I walked over many times with my maid Annie to inspect the new curtains and wall coverings and the placement of all my furnishings. One morning I interviewed servants and chose a cook, housekeeper and footman for my household in addition to Annie and the niece of the Gardiner’s cook who was to come to me as a scullery maid.
Charlotte arrived finally in a coach piled high with trunks and bandboxes. Our initial reunion was tearful, but she has such great common sense that she had our eyes dried in a few minutes and threw herself into the task of arranging all the final details of our move. The next day I hugged Mrs Gardiner closely and gave each of the children a kiss. By evening I was sitting down to dinner at my own table – mistress of my own house.
I raised my glass to Charlotte. “To new beginnings,” I said.
“To you,” she said, holding her glass high. “I hope our time together may not be too short, but for your sake Elizabeth, I hope it is not too long either.”
“Why do you say that?”
“A year will surely see you married.”
I chose a serving of braised fowl. “Just who is it I am to marry?” I asked, a little conscious because it was a question I had been asking for a long time, but my love had still to answer me.
Charlotte smiled. “He shall be one of your first visitors, mark my words.”
“Then I shall look forward to tomorrow,” I said, “if my destiny is to be revealed to me.”
That night, after Annie had helped me from my clothes into my nightgown and braided my hair for sleep, I looked out the windows of my new bedroom upon the view that was one of my favourite things about Hunsford. My little strip of land started at the road and ran along the far side of the overflow pond, and up into the hills. Meadowland stretched from the house down to the water. The sheep that roamed it during the day were all abed, but the rolling flow of grass and wildflowers was dotted here and there with an oak or beech, and beside the water, a grove of willows that trailed their leaves into the pond. The moon laid a silver trail across the water. It led directly toward the roofs and turrets of Longbourn Keep, which rose above the trees that surrounded it. Distance hid all its imperfections. It floated in the moonlight like a dream I always wanted to have within my grasp.
Longbourn Keep 1641
The lone candle is almost gutted. Night still holds the day at bay. You stir your head upon the pillow, pale curls dance like silken thread. You murmur something in your sleep. My name. I know it is my name, soft and drawn out like a sigh. I whisper yours in return. I think I see you smile that smile of contentment I cherish so much.
It is an invitation to sleep and let my dreams mingle with yours. A few moments sleep will not waste this time together. Dreams take time and unravel it; so much can take place in a moment.
I reach out and quench that last flame, and then I lay my face so close to yours we breathe the same air.
Posted on Friday, 19 January 2007
Our first visitor the next morning was Mr Gardiner. After he had gone I teased Charlotte about her prediction.
“Wait and see, Elizabeth. The day is not over yet,” she said.
And she was right. I had another visitor as I walked across the meadow and down to the pond. While I picked cowslips and daisies from the long grass my love came to me.
Happy with your home, love?
Happy.
But there is still something that disturbs you. I can feel it, underlying your contentment.
Yes, my love.
What is it that bothers you so?
You know.
Soon. I shall reveal myself soon.
It is not only that. You know too well.
He sent me reassurance then, but it was tinged with worry and that hesitant insecurity I had come to expect. Knowing now what I did about the twins’ financial problems, their premature attempt at recovering some of their fortune, and their designs upon the trust, I could understand his diffidence. I sent him what I could of comfort then, to let him know that our love would carry us through whatever troubles we might face. With a twinge of regret he faded away and I walked slowly back up to the house, flowers almost forgotten in my hand.
I entered the parlour by the French windows and was surprised to find Charlotte entertaining a guest.
“I have just now sent the footman out to find you,” she said. “Our cousin George has come to visit.” The expression upon her face was smug and I knew what she was thinking.
I turned to George who had stood up. “I hadn’t expected you so soon.”
“I could not stay away.”
I sat upon the chaise lounge across from him and then remembered the flowers I was holding. “Oh, I need to put these in water,” I said, rising.
“Stay,” said Charlotte. “I will see to them myself.” She took them from my flaccid fingers and slipped out of the room before I was aware what was happening. As a companion and chaperone she had failed her first challenge. I could only think she had decided to change her title to matchmaker.
“I believe I like Charlotte very much,” said George. “She is most accommodating.”
I smiled. “She is a romantic at heart.”
George moved from his chair to sit beside me. “You were right,” he said, looking about the room. “Hunsford bears no stigma though it was a steward’s home. Your good taste and eye for style have turned it into something fine. I need not have worried that living here would lower you in the eyes of society.”
“I care not for the opinions of society. I arranged this house with my own comfort in mind.”
He leaned closer to me and said in a low voice, “Even though you knew you would not be living here for long?”
“I see no reason why I should not live here for many years.”
“Marriage would take you from this house,” he said pointedly.
“Perhaps my future husband has no property of his own, then he would live here with me once we were wed.”
“We can live at Lucas Lodge once we are wed,” he whispered.
I was surprised, after what had taken place in the meadow, to hear him speak of marriage. My impression then was that he had still not been ready to reveal himself.
“George,” I whispered, “are you telling me what I think you are telling me?”
He took my hand and held it to his cheek. “My love, you have always been the only one for me – you know that. Please, say the words I want to hear. Say that you will marry me.”
The moment that I had been waiting for had finally come. I knew my heart ought to be singing but instead I was still tense and expectant, as if this were not enough – not quite what I had expected. As if there should be something more. George was smiling down at me, his expression tender, eager, and confident. I opened my mouth and then hesitated. In our minds we could express ourselves with such freedom, without shyness or reserve. It must be this physical closeness that I was unused to. I urged myself to relax and allow my feelings to flow.
“I will marry you, George. You know I have wanted this for a long time.”
“I had hoped,” he whispered into my hair as he drew me into his arms. “You have answered my dreams.”
Being in his embrace was an unusual experience. His body was warm. I could hear his heart beating under my ear. There was the smell of his cologne, and something else. It was so different than the mental embraces we had so often shared. I was closer to him than I had ever been before, and yet I felt so far away because our minds still had not touched. I sent the enveloping warmth of my love to him. His response was to tip my head up and take my lips with his.
His mouth was warm and wet. I tried to meet his kiss with the same ardour that my mind was sending, but all I felt was the discomfort of the angle of my head, how our noses got in the way of each other, and then his tongue pushing through my lips. I broke away in surprise.
George laughed softly. “My innocent Elizabeth. You are not yet ready, are you my sweet? I will go slowly, I promise.” And then he kissed my forehead and held me close against his shoulder.
I was relieved that the kissing had stopped, and I relaxed against him with a sigh. It was confusing – for months I had been sure that this physical closeness was what I wanted, but now it was all so new, so strange, so awkward. I felt emptiness, too, because for some reason he was not answering my thoughts.
“Dearest, why do you not respond?” I asked.
He had been gazing at me sleepily, but now there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. He bent his head over mine again and said, “You want more kisses?” His voice was husky. “Elizabeth, you delight me.”
I submitted to his lips again. It was not quite so unsatisfactory as it had been the first time, but still, when his tongue slid between my lips I had to repress a slight shudder. When he finally broke away, I said, “Can we not speak with our minds too, while we kiss?”
He gave me a quizzical look and then affected a sheepish expression. “When we are as close as this I am afraid that my body completely takes over from my mind.”
It was a fair explanation – better by far than anything that I had been able to work out. I felt a pang at knowing that we would lose our special communication when we were together, but hoped that with time we could adjust. At least, now, the uncertainty was gone and we had pledged ourselves to each other. The thing to do was enjoy this special time and not let any worries of what was to come intrude upon our present happiness.
“We need to tell Charlotte,” I said. “She must suspect something has transpired between us for she has not returned.”
“I am not yet ready to allow anyone else into our idyll,” George said. “At this moment it is as if we are the only two people on earth. I may be deluding myself in that respect, but let my delusions last a few moments longer. The world will come crashing in on us soon enough.”
What he said was only too true. I did not want to think of the realities that faced us. We had loved for so long, but this face-to-face love was something new, like learning to speak all over again. We needed time together to become accustomed to this type of closeness. Because our courtship was such a different one, so much of it accomplished before I had known in any certainty who my love was, we were now at least a dozen steps ahead of ourselves. My thoughts were all a muddle, and I imagined so were George’s. I slid out of his embrace and took his hands in mine, hoping that distance would clear our thinking.
“We are going too fast,” I said gently. “We must fall in love all over again.”
“If you want to be wooed, then I will woo you.” He raised my hands to his lips and kissed them one at a time. “Shall I build a pavilion to our love and grow a maze about it?”
“That will not be necessary,” I said. “I feel I am in a maze already.”
“And our pavilion is my heart.”
He continued on in the same manner, speaking sweetly and kissing my fingertips, my earlobes, the tip of my nose. This sort of lovemaking, all fancy words, languishing looks and intimate caresses was different from the honest, open sharing of our minds to which I had grown accustomed. I played the game out for some more minutes until George allowed me to go and tell Charlotte. She hugged me with pleasure and did not hesitate to boast that she had told me so. Surprisingly, I felt happier telling her than I had done whilst sitting with George and listening to his florid endearments.
When Charlotte and I returned to the drawing room, George accepted her best wishes with great pleasure, then he kissed me upon the cheek and said it was high time he rode home and told William of his success. When his horse was brought around I saw him off at the door. He looked very handsome in his saddle, and my cares seemed to slip away. He was mine and I was his – the rest would fall into place. I stood watching the driveway long after he had disappeared around the bend.
For the remainder of the afternoon and late into the evening I tried to contact George, but no matter the sentiment or force I put in my sendings, I received no reply. On what ought to have been one of the happiest evenings of my life, I felt completely cut off and utterly alone. I hoped I had not exchanged one form of love for another, and our easy communication was never to be regained. I fell asleep with tears upon my cheeks, and a last, lonely thought ringing out.
Love. Bennet. George. Answer me. I need you. Answer me.
The following morning, George and William arrived shortly after Charlotte and I had finished our breakfast.
“Let me be the first to welcome you into the family,” said William. “I have always wanted you for a sister.”
“Have I not always been part of the family?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “And did you already want me for a sister when you constantly abandoned me in the maze when I was a child?”
“The act of an elder brother if I ever heard tell of one! I know how you love to tease, but allow me to express my pleasure. This marriage is the perfect solution to everything.”
“Yes, my happiness is assured,” said George, giving his brother a nudge. “You have no need to worry about my future anymore.”
I smiled, but William’s obvious inference had dampened my joy. At least George had the consideration to attempt to obscure his meaning.
William took up George’s lead. “Elizabeth, it must be hard to fathom the guilt of a twin having precedence because of a paltry half hour. I would do anything to make amends to George. Seeing him soon to be settled with you is an indescribable comfort.”
“It is a comfort to me also,” said Charlotte. “Though it would have pleased me to live here for a long time, it gives me more satisfaction to see Elizabeth so well married.”
“I have no doubt you shall marry soon as well, Charlotte,” said William magnanimously. “The cleric is a single man.”
“I do hope he has more to recommend him than his single state,” said Charlotte. “I did not arrive at the age of three and thirty, still a spinster, for lack of offers.”
William conceded the point and turned to me. “How soon are you to wed?”
“We have not yet set a date,” I said. “George only proposed yesterday – we have had no time to discuss the matter at all.”
“We were preoccupied with other things, were we not dearest?”
George winked at me, and despite my resolve not to be missish, I blushed. Certainly the kisses and embraces we shared were no more than any newly betrothed couple partook of, but I did not like that he made such an open suggestion about something that ought to be private and precious to us alone.
William smirked. “You will not want too wait long, I should imagine.”
“Indeed,” said George.
“We cannot wed until I am out of mourning.”
George started. “But that is a year away!”
“Not an uncommon length for an engagement.”
“I am sure you do not need to wait that long,” said William. “If you have a simple, quiet ceremony no one will look at you askance.”
“If it were only a matter of what other people think,” I said, “I would marry at the earliest opportunity. But it is a matter of respect to my departed father.”
William looked as if about to interject, but George moved forward and took my hand. “As much as I have no desire to wait, your wishes are more important than any other consideration
I was grateful for his words, and thus mollified agreed to walk out in the meadow. William and Charlotte followed at a distance, providing both the chaperonage and privacy that was our due.
In the afternoon William and George departed, pleading business as their excuse. I was actually relieved to see them go. The betrothal had not brought me the peace of mind I had hoped for. I thought I would be floating in bliss, enjoying every breathing moment with George, closer than ever before, but I now felt an uneasy distance between us. I did not know if it was the fact that our minds had not touched since our lips had, or if it was the spectre of the Longbourn trust hanging between us, but I almost felt as if I no longer knew him. The physical aspect of love was more difficult than I had ever imagined – it would take time to overcome this unwelcome confusion.
However, I would have to wait longer for time to reflect. Almost as soon as my cousins had left us, we were besieged by another visitor. It is not that Mrs Bingley was not welcome, but that, upon seeing her face, I knew there was more to her visit than an offer of congratulations. She sat facing me, and as Charlotte ordered the tea extended her best wishes for my future happiness.
“Of course we knew that Mr George Bennet had a special interest in you,” she went on to say. “He made no secret of it. And that is probably one of the reasons why our Caroline did what she did.”
Whatever ruse William had tried with the Bingleys, It had obviously not worked. “I am so sorry that my cousins brought your daughter into their scheme. They should never have taken the candlesticks, trust or no trust, but involving Miss Bingley was an even worse act.”
Mrs Bingley patted my hand, “I can see the whole business weighs heavy with you. And with the involvement of love it becomes even more difficult.”
I nodded my head. “I can forgive wrongful behaviour but not support it. I am not speaking of your daughter, she is not culpable at all. I am certain that Wil . . . my cousins misrepresented the case to her.”
“I believe they did, but that does not excuse her actions. She was raised to know right from wrong, but she has been spoiled and petted so much in society that her head is easily turned. She was also bored here in the country and only too excited to take part in a seemingly innocent intrigue. Of course they told her that the candlesticks would be theirs as soon as the will was read, and she believed that it would hurt no one for them to be able to have them sooner. They told her that George needed the money to speed his marriage, and she thought the whole escapade highly romantic.”
I murmured an apology but she waved it away. “You have nothing to apologise for. Never in a million years would we ever imagine that you were involved in any way. It is for your cousins to look into their hearts and make amends. Mr William tried to fob us off with some story of Hill forgetting she had sent them to the silversmith’s for repair. We might have believed him had not Caroline confessed all – she was never good at keeping secrets. Of course we will say nothing, but we cannot stay at Netherfield Keep any longer. We know that Caroline has a sensible head upon her shoulders, though she hides it well, but we cannot take any chances. I do not like to say anything against a relative of yours, but I believe that you want me to speak plainly in this matter. Mr William is a very handsome and persuasive gentleman; many a young lady like our daughter has thought it safe to play with the attentions of a fortune hunter only to end up caught in one of his traps. We had hoped something would transpire between her and Mr Darcy, but if that gentleman has any serious interest in her he will have to follow us to London.”
Throughout this conversation Charlotte made herself unobtrusive, sitting in a corner with her needlework. By the time the tea came, everything of a personal nature that needed to be aired had been said, and she joined us to pour the tea. Mrs Bingley stayed for another quarter of an hour. The rest of her visit was everything that a social visit of slight acquaintances should be. We parted with much cordiality. I appreciated her honesty and the courage it had taken for her to come to me on such a mission. She would have been a good neighbour and I was sad to see her go. It was another stroke against my cousins when what they really needed more than anything were some strokes in their favour.
Longbourn Keep 1641
My eyes open to pewter shadow. The dim light of dawn is breaking through the window. I look at you, so blissfully asleep and do not want to wake you. It will be the last time, I tell myself, and then we shall hide no more. Your sweet eyes open and find mine instantly, always true to their course.
“I must leave,” you say, wrapping your arms about me, absorbing my warmth.
“For the last time,” I whisper, my lips against your neck. “After today nothing will separate us again.”
You slip into your gown, burden your silken body with heavy satins once more. I help with the buttons – one hundred pearls down your back.
“The key?” I ask.
You hold up the map. “I do not need it, but I have it just the same.”
“You cannot be certain in a maze.”
“Whyever not?”
“Here in the centre we are without bearings or directions. Neither compass nor weather-vane function. This is a separate world, unreachable but for the key.”
“Like death, surely,” you say, a shiver running through you.
“Not death. Freedom. In the centre no one can find us. It is our haven from that harsh world beyond these secret hedges.”
“We are only safe till we go out again.”
Your face is so serious; I lean forward and kiss your lips to bring back your smile. “Even outside the maze we are safe, now.”
Posted on Thursday, 25 January 2007
The morning was unseasonably cold for May, but my restlessness could not be ignored. I needed to go out and feel the wind upon my face. I needed to walk, to think. I buttoned my pelisse all the way up and wrapped a wool scarf around my neck. Once outdoors I decided on walking in the lanes rather than the open meadows. I wanted wind, but the wind was so fierce that the protection afforded by the hedgerows would be a blessing.
I sifted all my thoughts as I walked. Everything that was troubling me I examined from every angle that I could think of; my father’s death; his last words to me; my cousin’s deceit; the weight of the trust on my shoulders; finding my love but losing the connection to his soul; loss, betrayal, disappointment. I walked until I knew not where I was and still I came no nearer to equilibrium. The happiness that should be blossoming eluded me.
I looked at the hedges, the blackthorn almost past its bloom, the hawthorn just beginning. The leaves of both young and fresh, a delicate transparent green. In my preoccupation I was missing all this simple beauty. Maybe I was worrying too much.
I plucked a spray of hawthorn and pulled it through one of the buttonholes of my pelisse. It brightened the black fabric and sent a spark of warmth to my heart. It was up to me to fan it or let it die. I turned to resume walking, and there, not ten yards from me, was Mr Darcy. He stood still, regarding me from hard, grey eyes.
“Miss Bennet,” he said stiffly, “I hear that you are to marry.”
“I am.”
“This is unexpected.”
“Not really,” I said. “We have always been close.”
“Yes – your family keeps to itself,” he said and would have walked away but seemed to recollect himself. “Please accept my best wishes for your happiness.”
I smiled and began to thank him but he did not wait for my response. He was gone around the bend of the lane from whence he had come in a matter of moments, and I was left standing, astonished at his incivility. If I had not met him on those three previous occasions when he was amiable and warm, I would have said that he had acted as one could only expect from a Darcy. But this excessive reserve, this cold disdain, was incongruous with the Mr Darcy I had recently come to know.
The little spark of warmth that had filtered to my heart vanished and I trudged home, weary and more lost in troubled thought than before.
George visited me every day for the rest of the week. It seemed he had taken my words to heart, when I said we were going too fast and must fall in love all over again, because he did not insist on intimate kisses. He kept his lovemaking to soft caresses and flamboyant expressions of his feelings for me. I teasingly told him that he ought to have been a poet because his words rivalled the verses of our illustrious ancestor.
Each morning we walked out upon my small estate and talked of our future dreams. As the days passed the tenor of these conversations evolved from fanciful wishes that the Longbourn estate had been left differently to emphatic statements against the trust. One morning I found myself in the middle of just the sort of conversation I had been dreading from the very first.
“Hunsford is my home, love,” I said. “Could we not live here instead of Lucas Lodge?”
He smiled. “You cannot be so attached to Hunsford. You have lived here for no more than a week.”
“But it is all I have left of my heritage. My father’s house is mine no more – this was my mother’s.”
George looked directly at me. “Longbourn Keep means much to you still.”
“Yes. Does William plan to live there now the Bingleys are gone, or will he let it once again?”
George dropped his eyes. “My brother has not your love of the house. He has other plans.”
“What other plans can there possibly be? Either he lets it or lives in it. If it were to stand empty it would fall into ruin.” As I spoke I pulled a stalk of meadow grass and shredded it.
“It is close to ruin now,” said George. “Elizabeth, you have to stop looking at it with that same romantic vision you have for the pavilion. Longbourn Keep is old – without a huge expenditure it will crumble to dust. It is a thing of the past that has no future. You know there is no money – William told you.” He strode forward towards the pond, leaving me behind.
“William has the Keep to live in, you and I Hunsford. Could you not sell Lucas Lodge, and gain money from that?” I cried after him.
He stopped then, and looked at me. I could see in his eyes that he had no desire to speak the words he was about to. “The Lodge is mortgaged.”
The Lodge, mortgaged. My cousins’ fortune gone. I did not want to face what was coming next, but I asked my question anyway. “What is it you are tying to tell me George?”
He sighed, walked back to me and took my hands in his. As he stroked my fingers he softly said, “We need to sell Longbourn Keep. You must see that.”
I pulled away from him. “No! I will never break the trust to such an end. You may sell some of the valuables to restore the Keep – I will agree to that, and that alone.”
George reached out to me again, pulled my unyielding body into his arms and spoke in a low, cajoling voice. “Elizabeth, be reasonable. You are to be my wife. Do you want to see me sent to debtor’s prison over a house, and one falling into decay at that?”
After my initial resistance I slackened in his hold and leant my head upon his shoulder. “Surely it cannot be as bad as that. You and William can retrench. By making economies you can recoup your losses.”
He shook his head and smiled a twisted, self-deprecating smile. “That is not the way of gamblers. We must live the part to play the part.”
I raised my head from his shoulder and gazed into his face, entreating. “And must you both gamble? Have you not learned from this?”
“What do you want for me? A quiet little life shut up in the country living in a steward’s house? Dearest, if you want me to be happy you must see that I need a bigger world. And so do you – for too long you have wasted your life amid mouldering ruins. We can live in London – you will go to balls, operas, the theatre. And you will have all the fine clothes and precious jewels that you deserve, I promise you.”
“I need no finery, no splendid social life. All I want is to be with you. Our love will more than suffice.”
He leaned forward and touched my cheek. “Our love is precious, and nothing need harm it if you would only listen to reason. Longbourn Keep must go. William has promised me a grand share of the proceeds.”
I felt as if I were slipping into a vortex that led, spinning downward, to some form of hell. I had never imagined it would be like this, with his needs and ideals so opposed to mine. Without our mental contact I was losing the lover that I thought I had known better than my own heart. Had that all just been illusion, or was it money that was pounding this wedge between us? Money and William’s dreams for success. I knew that William was the driving force behind this idea to break the trust, to sell the Keep. And what William decided, George ultimately supported. It was the bond of twinship that ran strong in their veins.
“I am not the only one you must convince. What of Frederick? You cannot break the trust without his consent either.”
“Frederick will do as William and I ask. He always has.”
The confidence in his voice was chilling. I pushed back from him and stood firm amid the grasses and wildflowers. “I cannot agree to sell. My father loved the Keep. His fondest dream was to pass it on to future generations of Bennets to live as a testament to our great past.”
“Our great past?” George scoffed. “We are haunted by witches and scorned in our own community. If Bennets are to face the world and move into the future with dignity and pride, the Keep must go. Surely you can see that, Elizabeth.”
“To England’s great past,” I amended. “Longbourn Keep has parts so old it is of great historical significance.”
“Selling it will not destroy it,” he said. “Only put it in different hands. Hands that can make the repairs needed to safeguard it for the future.” He reached out and held my shoulders. “But of all futures, should not ours come first in your heart?”
“It does,” I whispered, “it does.” I sank down to sit on the grass, defeated. He joined me and held me tightly to his chest. I looked into his eyes and whispered. “Do not push me for an answer yet. I need time to judge. Time to adjust.”
“I understand your predicament,” he said, kissing my forehead. “I have no wish to pressure you at all – but time is in even shorter supply now that the Bingleys are gone.”
I looked at him, a question in my eyes.
“William had great hopes in Miss Bingley. An announcement of their engagement would have done much to stave off the creditors, but now he must start again with a new heiress. You are our only hope.”
I wanted nothing more than to end it all – not hear another unpleasant word. “Soon. You will have my answer soon.”
A look of relief swept across his face and he smiled. “Have I told you today that I love you?” he whispered, and then he pulled me up. We walked back to the house, arm in arm, not speaking. When we arrived at the door he took my hands and kissed them. “I must go.”
“Won’t you come in for tea?” I said, knowing Charlotte would expect him, but guiltily hoping that he would refuse.
“I cannot,” he said, kissing my cheek and turning towards the stables. He stopped, then, and came around again, as if just recalling something. “There is one more thing you must think on which I have not yet mentioned. Please listen to me and try to understand that it is for the best. There is a gentleman who is very interested in the estate, and willing to pay an exceedingly generous amount for it, but he has one stipulation. He wants Hunsford and all its property along with it.”
“But . . .” I was having trouble comprehending what he had just told me. “But it is not yours and William’s to sell.”
“No, but there is nothing to stop you from selling it.” He watched the change of expression on my face and laughed softly, but I detected an edge of impatience underneath the laugh. “It is only a commonplace house and a packet of worthless land, my love. Do not set so much store by it.”
I was still standing beside the stairs when he reached the stables. My brain was numb and I could not have moved if I had tried.
Charlotte came out onto the porch to meet me. “Where is your betrothed?”
“He would go,” I said.
She looked at me closely and then led me into the house. When she had got me comfortably seated before the drawing room fire, she asked, “What is wrong? Have you and Cousin George argued?”
“No. We just have a difference of opinion.” I sighed. “I do not want to do what he and William want me to do.”
“He was pestering you about the trust?”
I nodded.
“Elizabeth, you will make yourself ill over this, and to what end? You are engaged to be married to a man who loves you. This is a time for happiness; do not let a decree by a long dead ancestor stand in your way. I know you love Longbourn Keep, but the trust never should have been instated. How unfair it is for someone to inherit property and have no way of disposing of it, should he so desire.”
“But Charlotte, they want to sell it, and Hunsford as well.”
“Hunsford is yours, and William and George cannot dictate what you do with it. But the Keep is theirs, my dear. As it is, in disrepair with only a pittance coming in from the estate, it is perfectly understandable that they should want to sell it. I am sorry that you have been put into such a taxing position because of that senseless trust.”
“Oh Charlotte, I am in such a quandary! What you say is true but it goes against everything my father cared about in this life. Whose wishes should mean the most to me? My dead father’s or my husband’s? And it is not only that . . . not only that.”
Charlotte knelt before me and looked up at my face. “What else, then?”
“My father sent me a warning of danger before he died. I do not yet understand the whole of it, but it has to do with Longbourn Keep and the trust. He commissioned me to do what is right. How do I know what is right?”
“You must follow your heart.”
“My heart is in more of a muddle than my head.”
“Then what I would suggest is some tea.”
I sat and sipped my tea thinking what a blessing it was to have Charlotte to bring me back to reason. Capable Charlotte! “You are right. Why should I stand in the way of William’s inheritance? It is only causing heartache for George and me. But if only I knew what my father meant by his warning, then I could give them my answer without qualm.”
“Your father was quite unwell when he said those words. Maybe when he spoke of danger he was referring to his own accident.”
I mulled this over but could not accept it. The words were still clear in my head. Tell Elizabeth . . . take care . . . danger . . . this feeling I have. “No, I am certain he was worried for me.”
There was a knock at the door and the footman entered. “This express has just arrived for you, Miss Bennet,” he said.
I took it and dismissed him.
Turning slowly, I faced Charlotte. “It is from Mr Jones in Harrowgate – my father’s doctor.”
“What could he be writing about?”
“The magistrate promised to investigate the accident.” My hands were shaking as I broke the doctor’s seal. The letter was not long. I read it through once quickly, and then again more slowly. I sat because I feared my legs could not hold me. “Oh no! It cannot be!”
“What is it?”
“My cousins – they visited my father in Harrowgate not a week before he died, and yet they have not told me. Why would they not tell me?”
“The shock of your father’s death must have put it from their minds.”
“Yes,” I said. “Yes, that must be it.”
“Did Mr Jones have anything else to say?”
“Nothing of any importance, Charlotte.”
“Then finish your tea before it is cold, Elizabeth dearest, and try not to worry so much.”
I gave her a tremulous smile and drank my tea. She looked at me with concern but asked no more questions. Nervously twisting the paper, I went over its contents in my head. There was one other piece of information revealed in the letter, but I could not bring myself to tell it to Charlotte. On the day of my father’s accident, the baker’s boy had ducked out of the way of a curricle driving rapidly from the lane. He did not recognise the carriage or the two gentlemen in it, but he had said he had never seen two swells that looked more alike. William and George were very near identical.
If it were they, why were they both in Harrowgate on the day of my father’s accident, driving out of the same lane in which it had taken place? It was almost too much to comprehend but I knew that in the end I would have to face the likely truth. It had been my own cousins who had knocked my father down in the lane that day. Knocked him down and left him to die.
It had been my own love, following again in his brother’s footsteps.
I excused myself as soon as I possibly could and went up to my chamber. Charlotte, taking one look at my ravaged face, had agreed immediately that a rest would do me good. But rest I could not. Thoughts were running through my head too quickly. My cousins had been very quick to steal the candlesticks from Longbourn Keep, very quick to already have a gentleman offering to buy the estate. Their fortunes lost and creditors pounding down their door, they must have gone to my father for help. That would have been their first visit to Harrowgate – a visit where they asked my father for money. But he had nowhere near enough to give, so they had asked him to break the trust.
His answer would, of course, have been no. They must have decided that if the estate were theirs they could break the trust and sell it. All they had to do was eliminate my father – their father had already signed his estate over to William. I clung to the belief that George was only doing as William asked him, that it was not his wish to kill my father. I tried my best to deny that as an accomplice he was just as culpable.
And that was the danger to me. My father had tried to warn me against them; against breaking the trust and against the peril that standing fast would put me in.
Longbourn Keep 1641
I rest my head on the very spot where your sweet cheek dented the pillow. Even still your warmth comes to me from the linen, and the scent of roses that is your aura.
The moon no longer glides its way through the sky. Now the sun is preparing to steal her stage. I look to the window where the shutter yet swings. You said that this one last time you wanted to climb through my window, for after this night we need be clandestine no longer. You lifted your skirts and bared your pretty ankles, climbed upon the casement, gave me one final endearing glance, and then nimbly jumped, silk and lace billowing. I watched entranced.
In a few hours I can claim you as my own. My eyes are heavy from choosing to watch you all night rather than sleep. One more dream of you and I, too, will depart.
Posted on Monday, 5 February 2007
I slept uneasily that night. I had strange, disjointed dreams, but the only one that stayed with me in the morning was pleasant and soothing. I dreamed of rolling hills giving way to forested slopes. Cresting the forest were rocky peaks. And in the valley, nestled between river and pleasure grounds, was a mansion, so well proportioned and graceful that it fit the setting as if it were not built by man but placed there by the hand of God. As I was dreaming I had the impression I had been there before, and often. But in the light of day I had never seen such a place.
When morning came, I still had not resolved what to do. I needed to go to someone for counsel and comfort and the only person who I had previously been able to rely on, besides my father, was now more lost to me than ever. I could not place such a load upon Charlotte. It had to be someone who was accustomed to bearing other people’s burdens. And then it came to me. I had to speak to Mr Gardiner.
I went downstairs early and breakfasted alone, though in truth I could barely eat a bite. I walked past the pond with its swans and its ducks, along the river, bypassing the maze that rose ghostly out of a low morning mist, and into the churchyard. I stopped by my father’s grave and sent him a message, telling him that I understood what he wanted and I would try my best to do what was right. Then I went looking for Mr Gardiner.
He was not in the church. I searched in the garden and found him tilling the vegetable plots, preparing the soil for seedlings.
“Good morning Miss Bennet,” he said, looking up from his work.
“I am in need of counsel, Mr Gardiner. Would you have time to listen to me?”
“Always, my dear.” He put aside his hoe and pulled off his gloves. He motioned for me to sit upon a bench in the corner, against an ivy-draped wall, and then sat next to me. “What is troubling you?”
“It is not easy to speak of, but I do not know where else to turn. It should be very straightforward, right versus wrong, and yet it is not. Because of us Bennets being who we are, there are complications. You know that my namesake was burned at the stake for talking with someone who was not with her. Well, it is a family trait that I have inherited. Since I was a girl I have talked with someone mentally. We never used words, our minds just met. Do you think me a witch for having this ability?”
“The world is full of mysterious things, Elizabeth. If you can speak to someone else by way of your mind then God must have a reason for it.”
“Thank you for believing me and not thinking me crazy.”
“To own a truth, your father spoke of something similar to this with me – about the connection he had with you. He told me that he sometimes wondered if you had more of the gift than him. But this is not what now troubles you.”
“No, but it is connected – it is what complicates everything and makes right and wrong so difficult to decipher. When I was old enough to question things I came to realise that my friend I spoke to in my head must be one of my cousins, to have the same ability, and he verified that, but refused to tell me which of the three he was. As I grew, I came to love him, and he me. This we acknowledged to each other but a year ago. Lately we became engaged. It is my cousin George.”
“I imagined from what you had said that must be the case.”
“The strange thing is that ever since we acknowledged our love in person, our minds have ceased their connection. I feel lost and alone – it is as if I need to learn who he is all over again. When I cannot reach his heart, it is harder to understand his mind.
“But that is a small part of my problem. When my father was dying he left me a warning, so confused it was that I had trouble understanding it – now I think I have interpreted it. My cousins, both William and George, have gambled away their fortunes. I believe that in their desperation for money, they caused my father’s death. George has begged me to break the trust so that they can sell Longbourn Keep. My father was warning me to be careful around them. He said to do what is right. Do I stand beside the man who I think responsible for my father’s death? Do I keep my promise to marry him? Or do I expose both my cousins and see the Bennet family destroyed and socially shamed once more?”
“Are you quite certain that your cousins are responsible for your father’s accident? Do you have proof?”
“From all that I know I cannot help but believe they were the cause, but I do not have certain proof.”
“Elizabeth, even if your cousins struck your father down that day, they may not have intended to. The weak take chance and use it to their advantage. Your cousins may have been more opportunists than murderers, if we are to believe it was indeed them. We may never know the truth.”
“So I should not expose them?”
“Your father is no more. What good will it do to make all this supposition public?”
“But ought I still marry George?”
“You must look to your heart for the answer to that, my child.”
My heart was too bruised to disturb. I looked instead to the rows of cabbages so neatly laid out. ‘Can I still love the man who left my father in the hedgerows to die?’ I asked them. They did not answer. They had no need.
“I cannot marry him,” I said to Mr Gardiner, “but it is as if part of me is dead. Will life be supportable with his thoughts and mine no longer linked?”
“Did you not say the speaking between minds had already stopped?”
I nodded. I had lost the best part of my love that day we became engaged. What I was giving up now was the part of him I had yet to understand. “Thank you, Mr Gardiner. I know now what is the right thing to do. I will break the trust and give them the Keep to do with as they will, for it is mine no longer, but Hunsford they shall not have.”
Mr Gardiner smiled and patted my hand. “Your father was very proud of you, and today you have shown me he had every right to that pride, and more. Go with God, Elizabeth. I pray that one day you will find the happiness you think is now lost to you forever.”
He returned to his vegetables and I wandered out of the garden, grieving for the love that had vanished. I mourned that I was never to feel the comforting caress of his mind again, never to connect with his soul. And without meaning to I sent my yearning out. For a glorious moment he responded with the same intense longing and an image so clear that I could see the very thing he surely was seeing with his own eyes: tiny pink flowers gently cascading, billow upon billow covering the tree. And then I was completely alone.
I knew that tree. I had seen the pink hawthorn earlier this morning when I had visited my Father’s grave. It was behind the church. Knowing only that I had to break the engagement as soon as possible and tell my love goodbye forever, I went to find George.
When I rounded the church, instead of George, I saw Mr Darcy sitting in contemplation on a low stone wall.
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out.
“Do I not have the right to sit in the churchyard?”
I felt my face turn red. There was no excuse for impoliteness no matter how disappointed I may have been. “I am sorry – you have every right. It is just that . . . have you seen my cousin George Bennet? I thought to find him here.”
“No. I have not seen your betrothed.” He hunched his shoulders and was about to turn away from me, when his expression changed from distant to concerned. “Are you unwell, Miss Bennet?”
“No . . . Yes . . . No. I am disturbed that is all.”
“Is there anything I can do for your present relief? Come, take my arm and I will escort you inside the church – you may find solace in its cool solemnity.” He stood and came forward, holding his hand out to me.
“You are very kind, Mr Darcy, but really there is no need. I must find George and tell him . . .”
“Tell him what, Miss Bennet?”
Mr Darcy was very close. His face showed nothing but friendly interest. I never questioned the propriety of his asking what he did. Indeed, I found his presence so calming I almost broke down and told him the whole.
“The trust. I am going to break the trust like he and William want.”
“Try not to let it trouble you so – you are doing what is right.”
I stared at him for a long moment. I noticed things about him that I had not noted before. His eyes were a dark grey, and his lashes very fine. His skin was already slightly brown from being out in the spring sun. His dark hair did not sit flat but ruffled untidily in the light breeze . . . and then I recollected myself. “Thank you, Mr Darcy. Your words are exactly what I needed to hear – they have set my mind at ease. Now I must go – good day to you.”
He stepped back and bowed, his face already a bit more aloof.
I walked out of the churchyard and back along the river towards Hunsford. Though the willows upon the banks draped their leaves into the water with bucolic splendour and the hawthorns in the hedgerow bloomed profusely, my mind was taken up with that image of clouds of pink flowers, dancing in a gentle breeze.
On my return, I told Charlotte of my decision. We spent the afternoon together in quiet pursuits. The day, which had started out so fine had turned blustery. By evening, the wind had risen and the scudding clouds were heavy with rain. The weighty atmosphere of impending storm had given Charlotte a headache and she retired early.
I stayed in the library and examined the books once more, with the intention of returning them to Longbourn Keep in the morning. Upon opening Arthur Brooke’s Tragicall History of Romeo and Juliet. I noticed that one edge of the bookplate was curling away from the page. I examined it and found that it felt thick, as if something were between the bookplate and the page. I took the loose corner and eased it up. The bookplate came away quite without difficulty and a folded paper fell out onto my lap.
My heart beat madly as I picked it up and unfolded it. . the paper . . . in William’s Brooke. Finally I had it in my hands – the paper that was so important to my father, he used his last minutes in this world to try to make its existence known to me.
It was a page from a parish register. The date at the top of the page read, May 18th, 1641. The third entry was the record of marriage between Fitzwilliam Charles Bennet, Esquire, of Netherfield Keep and Lady Jane De Bourgh of Rosings Park. I stared at it for some moments before the full impact of what I had read came to me.
Fitzwilliam Bennet and Lady Jane had been legally married! There had never been a breath of this in any of our family histories or any of the rumours that had been passed down through the generations in this community. Since the death of Fitzwilliam’s mother, Elizabeth Bennet the so-called witch, there had been as much bad blood between the families as with the Montagues and Capulets.
I looked at the book that now lay on the table beside me. Romeo and Juliet had married in secret because of the hatred between their families, and so too had Fitzwilliam and Lady Jane. A marriage so secret that when the De Bourghs discovered he had lain with their daughter they shot him without question. A very short time later she had married the eldest son of the Darcy family.
But why had the registry page been removed and why was it hidden in this book? That could not have been done by the De Bourghs. It must have been a Bennet who found the entry and hid it. If it were Lord William Bennet, what had he to gain by it? As the brother of Lord Thomas, who had died only days before his only son was murdered, the title and estate had passed on to him with Fitzwilliam’s death.
Lady Jane had borne her husband a son! I gasped when the thought struck me. The son she bore was not of Darcy blood, but of Bennet. He was the true heir to Longbourn, the legitimate son of Fitzwilliam Charles Bennet. And that must mean . . .
A strong gust of wind burst into the room. “Elizabeth, I am happy to see you are still up.”
I jumped from my chair and twirled around. The French window was open and William was standing half in the library, George I could see a few paces behind in the shadows.
“What are you doing here?”
William smiled a tight, false smile. It was his mask – the antlers hiding his hunting-cat face. “We have come to talk about the trust. George was very disheartened when he last spoke to you. He thinks you do not mean to let us have what is ours.”
“Why have you come this way, and not through the front door to be announced by my servant?”
He honeyed his voice. “We had no desire to disturb anyone.”
Rain was pelting down on the grass and blowing in through the open door.
I straightened, head erect, chin jutting forward to hide the fact that I was trembling. “If you are intent on coming in, do so.”
They entered and George rushed over to my side. “Elizabeth, love, do not look so alarmed. When we are married and live in London you will come to agree that selling was all for the best.”
“There is something I have wanted to tell you all day, George.” I closed my eyes for a moment to collect myself and then swallowed in an attempt to gain the courage to say what I knew was going to hurt. “I cannot marry you.”
His eyes flashed with what looked to me like anger. “You are pledged to me – you cannot break your vow!” He grasped me by the shoulders and gave me a little shake.
“Leave her be,” said William. “Do not you see it is immaterial whether she marries you or not? What is important is that she agrees to break the trust.”
“But what of Hunsford?” hissed George. “Do we not need Hunsford in order to get the best price for the Keep? Is not that why we made the plan?”
“The plan?” I asked. “The plan to marry me, do you mean? What mockery of love is this?”
“I like you very much, Elizabeth,” said George. “It would not have gone against the grain with me to marry you. We could have been happy together.”
“And all the time I thought you were the one! But I should have known when our minds didn’t speak to each other and when your kisses did not thrill me like I had expected them to. I should have known you were not he!”
At the mention of his kisses, George’s demeanour changed. His look of entreaty turned to ugly anger.
“What is this?” asked William. “Minds speaking to each other?”
“It is something she has been saying since I proposed. I had thought it some mere lovers’ nonsense, till now.”
William laughed and took me by the chin, turning my face from one side to the other and looking at it appraisingly. “So you are a witch just like the Elizabeth Bennet of old. How lucky for you they no longer burn witches at the stake.”
I pulled away. “If you have come here to mock me, you can leave immediately.”
“Just give us your promise that you will break the trust and we will leave you in peace,” said William.
“If you had come two hours ago and through the front door like gentlemen, I would have made that promise. I was ready to break the trust, but not to sell Hunsford. Now I have changed my mind.”
“What – because of this bit of cousinly teasing?”
“No,” I said. “Because of this.” I held up the paper and waved it before William’s face. “This is a page from the parish registry, dated 1641, and according to the information here, you are not the true heir to Longbourn Keep. How can I promise to break a trust that I have no legal say in and you no legal right to?”
William reached for the paper, but I pulled it away and thrust it in my pocket.
George had been silent the whole time, standing still and simply staring at us, but now he spoke, his voice low and menacing. “Who is the rightful heir, then? Who?”
I suddenly remembered that though these two men were my cousins, they were unscrupulous adventurers. They would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. They had not gone easy on my father, who had warned me of danger. I was now looking danger straight in the face.
George advanced closer. “Does this heir speak mind to mind?”
And then what had been eluding me for so many years was suddenly and shatteringly made clear to me. I sent a call out into the air. A call of love and warning. Bennet!
And as I called I heard George yell to William, “1641 was when Fitzwilliam Bennet was murdered. That paper must be a record of his marriage to Lady Jane! The heir must be Darcy – no wonder she no longer wants to marry me. With Darcy she gets to keep it all, and gain his estates too.”
And then, as I opened my mouth to cry out for Charlotte or alert a servant, a sharp pain ran through my head and I fell into darkness. As I lay on the ground, unable to move my limbs or call out through the thick blanket of fog that wrapped me, I heard their ghostly voices arguing in the mist above.
“What about the water? Shall we open the sluice gates?”
“No, if we leave them closed it will make it look more natural.”
“What do you mean? What are you planning to do?”
“George – this nonsensical story of hers cannot be made known. The ensuing legal battles would tie up the estate for years.”
“So – simply destroy the paper!”
“It is not that easy. Did you not say she communicates from mind to mind with somebody? Who could it be but Darcy – he has the witch’s blood in him too.”
“She may have already told him – what is to be gained then?”
“We can deal with him after we deal with her.”
“And Elizabeth?”
“Do you not think it fitting that she die where that traitor of a child was conceived?”
“The pavilion?”
“You must own she has always loved the place.”
I felt myself being taken up then, thrown over one of my cousins’ shoulders, and then my mind slipped, losing . . .
Longbourn Keep 1641
I slide from the bed, from your still lingering warmth, and step over to the window. Watery light of dawn streaks the sky above the guardian yews. Day, and I am still in my nest of love, not the cold ancestral bed as is expected of me. But no light shows yet from the Keep. I must hurry my way there before my absence is noted. No one shall mark me as I slip furtive through the back door.
But you are home and already now and we are safe.
I notice the cold in my nakedness with you not here to heat my blood. I collect my clothes, strewn over the floor and tangled by passion’s haste, pull them on, tie my cape about my shoulders. Today I will face the world – be proclaimed Lord Fitzwilliam Charles Bennet, and then I will claim you, my wife. All will be well.
I jump from the window in mirror of you. I feel a sudden fear crawl up my spine, chasing my courage inward. It is only the hour, nothing more. This unholy time when men ought not be awake. This is not the time of lovers, but executioners. A time of no mercy at all.
I look through the window to the room again, hesitant yet to leave that trace of you, which lingers still. This little haven of ours will never again be the same. Our private world will be exploded when truth revealed. Will our love that blossomed bright in this protected place, survive the mark of treason that will be placed on it in the cruel light of day? Do I have the power to face the livid hatred in your father’s face?
I think of you, your silken body, your angelic grace, your tender heart, your beauteous face, and draw the valour I need to put forth one foot and then the next, to enter the winding, enchanted path that leads from this heaven to the earthly plane.
Posted on Friday, 9 February 2007
I was cramped into a small space. It smelled of earth and rot and animal musk. My head was pressed against rough wood, and aching. And my mind was swirling, filled with images of somewhere other than this dark place. Branches whipped past me, the moon flickered between the thick trees, lighting a narrow trail through the countryside. Rain slashed in my face, thrown by a cruel wind. I became dizzy, not only from the pain in my head, but the double images of my damp prison and the headlong rush through the woods.
Numbing water seeped around me, deepening. But at the same time I could feel a horse under me and reins within my chilled hands. My fear escaped from me in a ragged call. Bennet!
Love! I thought I had lost you!
I am here.
Hang on. I am coming. Hang on!
And suddenly I knew that just as I had seen the hawthorn flowers bounce and sway this morning, I was now seeing with my love’s eyes as well as my own.
Danger!
I am ready for danger.
The water around me was deepening. I pushed at the boards above me fruitlessly, while the landscape changed to moonstruck meadow. In the distance I could see the Keep and the moat and we galloped closer and closer, my love and I. Soaring over a hedge, racing down a sharp declivity at breakneck speed. And still I could not find a way out.
The sound of raging water was loud in our ears and a fierce wind beat at our face. We tore through a band of trees and came to the fork, where the river was channelled to either moat or weir. The rain-swelled water was dangerously high and crashing against the closed sluice gate. Trees were swaying and creaking in the wind. A wide fall was escaping through the weir, pounding down the overflow and spreading like a blanket over its banks, rushing out of bondage towards the maze.
Elizabeth, the water?
I must somehow have transmitted a vague impression of my prison, enough that he had guessed where I lay trapped, though till now I did not know myself where I was.
Not too deep yet, love!
It was then we saw them. Out on the middle of the weir, William stood bent over, wielding an axe at an obstruction of logs. George was by his side, pushing at the debris with a pike. Water foamed around their feet. George turned, pulled his pike from the water and advanced, holding it now like a spear.
“Darcy,” he yelled above the wind. “You’ll not take this from us!” His foot slipped on the wet wood and he fell backward into the tangle of logs and bubbling water.
William let out a strangled yell, dropped his axe, and dove towards his brother, just managing to grab his hand. Lying straddled upon the top of the weir he held on as water surged about them. “Help me, Darcy! For the love of God, Help me!”
And we were down from the horse, running to him through the wet. Just as we gained the edge of the weir there was a resounding crack. The aged wood, unable to withstand the force of so much water, tore asunder. We fell, still reaching across the wood as the torrent dragged away ragged spars. William and George were swept away, beyond our grasping fingers, tumbled along with logs and broken timbers. The deluge raged fast and hard, tearing everything in its course and pulling it in a deadly path through the maze.
Elizabeth! The cry was raw with pain and fear and hopelessness.
And in that same instant, when all I could see was the rushing water dragging my cousins to certain death, the boards above my pushing hands gave. With what strength I could muster I heaved against them and my trap was sprung.
I pulled myself through the opening, leaving behind the water that tugged and dragged at my clothing as it flowed angrily around me.
Safe. I lay on the ragged floor of pavilion, gasping for breath. My double visions, the shadowed interior of the pavilion and the water rushing through the ruptured weir, clouded with a thick cloying fog and dimmed as darkness overtook me once again.
I awoke in my love’s arms. Real, corporeal arms. Though both of us were wet through I have never known such comfort as that first feel of mingled thought and physical presence. It was more than I ever hoped it would be. Happiness radiated through us in bursts of spangled light. Our first few minutes of contact were beyond word, thought, or touch. Together we created a new, indescribable sense – overwhelming and intoxicating. After a time it mellowed to something manageable.
“Why did I never guess it was you?” I said, using mere words as I reached up and stroked his cheek.
“You were so certain I was a Bennet.”
“You answered to the name.”
“I did.” He kissed my forehead. “It is the only explanation I could find to my being able to talk to you with my mind. When I was old enough to understand the ways of the world I realised that Lady Jane De Bourgh must have already been with child when she married into the Darcy family.”
“Why did you never tell me?”
“I was afraid. Your family hated mine so.”
That explained the hesitant vulnerability I had sometimes sensed. “But you knew I loved you.”
“You were ready to believe I was George.”
“I thought I only had three choices.”
“And you have to admit that our debut meeting at the Assembly did not bode well for me.”
I held him closer and pressed my lips against his cheek. Seconds later his lips were on mine, accompanied by a mental flash like sheet lightening, that sizzled and showered us with enveloping warmth. The kiss was long and slow, lips moving against each other, mouths opening, relishing the warmth and softness, fulfilling our long yearning with tender passion. At last we broke apart and looked at each other with wonder and delight.
“I knew from the moment George kissed me that something was not right,” I whispered. “It was awkward and unnatural and I couldn’t reach him with my mind.”
“The moment that happened I shut you out.”
“And I missed you so much.”
“It was impossible to share minds when you thought you loved George and I thought you loved George. I believed I had lost you forever. The pain was unbearable. And I was consumed with anger.”
“But I was so confused.”
“I know. And after some time I realised that it was mainly my fault for being so reticent to reveal myself to you. I was no longer angry but that only made shutting you out that much harder.”
“That time we met in the lane – surely you were still angry with me – you were so uncivil.”
“I wasn’t angry anymore; I was holding myself back from pulling you into my arms and making fervent love to you.”
I laughed. “That would have brought me to my senses. You are too much of a gentleman sir. Yes – I see now that is your true fault, not that you are descendant from murderers.”
“And you, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, are truly a witch because you have bewitched me body and soul.”
“Please, sir, none of that. I had too much fatuous flirtation from George.”
“Then I shall be more careful in what manner I tease you from now on. I do not want to remind you of George at every turn.”
“You are nothing at all like George,” I said. “Can you forgive me for thinking him you?”
He sent me a thought that made me know how foolish my words had been. We were lost in the depth of our love again, and then I chose to revert back to words, just to settle down my racing emotions.
“What do I call you now? I cannot call you Bennet anymore, and Mr Darcy sounds so very formal after moments like we just experienced.”
“Call me Fitzwilliam.”
“Fitzwilliam?”
“Yes. It became a family name after Lady Jane insisted on calling her first-born Charles Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
“After his true father.”
“Yes.” He glanced around the room, then, gently brushing my hair back from my face and stroking my cheek, he said, “There is a bed in the corner. Shall we not use it?”
I blushed. “I know that our love is unorthodox and we have been expressing it rather freely, but I am not quite so wanton . . .”
He laughed. “That was not my meaning. We are tired, cold, and wet. I thought if we wrapped ourselves up in that musty coverlet we might at least stay warm and sleep to gain the strength we will need to face tomorrow.”
Fitzwilliam lifted me then and carried me to the bed. He sat me on the edge and pulled back the dusty covers. I scrambled in and he lay by my side and brought the covers back over us. I tucked them up under my chin, feeling all at once ridiculously shy. He smiled softly, put his arms out and brought me to rest firmly against his chest. With bodies and minds entwined, we both drifted off to a much-needed rest. The last thing I remember was his mind caressing mine.
Sleep, love. Sleep.
I woke with the dwindling memory of Elysian Fields, a meandering river and the mansion I had dreamt of the night before. My eyes opened. Fitzwilliam was leaning against the headboard, a faded damask pillow behind his back, and a faraway look in his eyes.
Where has your mind travelled?
He turned to me and smiled, that soft, sweet smile I learned to love so quickly. “My family has an estate in Derbyshire. It has recently come down to me. When I was a child we would spend our summers there. For beauty it falls just short of heaven.”
“Does it have a low, rambling mansion with a view of the peaks?”
“Yes. And meadows that stretch from river to wooded slopes.”
“I dreamt of it the other night and woke up right now with it in my mind. It is as if I have known it for most of my life.”
“It is called Pemberley. Sometimes, late at night when all the world is asleep, I sit and think of it. I must have sent those images to your dreams. I feel the same way about Pemberley as you do about Longbourn Keep. When I inherited, I would have moved there immediately, had you not kept me here. I have only been waiting for you.”
“But now . . .”
“But now there is nothing to keep you here, my love. Last night you were betrayed in the gravest possible way. No matter the outcome of the evening’s misadventure – whether your cousins have survived the river or not, this place is yours no longer. Let Pemberley be your new home. Yours and mine.”
“There is something I have not yet told you – one of the reasons why my cousins acted with such desperation last night. I discovered proof that they are not the rightful heirs of the Keep.”
“If not they, then who?”
“You, my love. I found proof that Fitzwilliam Charles Bennet married Lady Jane De Bourgh before he died.” I went on to tell him all about my father’s warning, the books, my cousins’ act of theft, everything that led up to the terrifying events of the evening before. “They needed the money from the sale of the estate. They were prepared to do anything to prevent you from discovering the truth.”
He touched my cheek, a gentle feather touch to contrast the severity of his words. “They meant to harm you – for you to die. I cannot forgive that.”
“They meant to kill you too, if need be. They were ruthless and heartless, but I cannot help but pity them in their weakness.”
He gazed into my face and our shared thought was clear – neither of us would insist on retribution. “So we shall leave this place, settle in Derbyshire and put them from our minds forever.”
“But – the Keep is yours by right!”
“Even if they have not destroyed the paper, I want no part of it. Let it remain with the Bennets – they need it more. I have estates enough; but more so than that, I have you and you are everything to me.”
We lost ourselves then in expressions of love, which overrode all other considerations. When we came back to earth again, I noticed the first rays of the risen sun were now streaking through the window, directly on the rectangle in the middle of the floor the open trap door had laid bare. I shuddered, thinking what my fate would have been had I not found that door and managed to open it at the last moment. I might be tangled with storm debris, left high on the meadow by the receding waters, like my cousins surely were. My mind struggled away from morbid thoughts and Fitzwilliam instantly reached out with his comforting, reassuring patterns.
“I will close it if it disturbs you,” he said, getting up from our bed and walking to the centre of the floor. “It is time I took you home, at any rate.”
“Yes!” I could not believe that I had not yet thought of how long I had been away. “Charlotte must be frantic with worry.” I sat up and attempted to brush the wrinkles out of my gown. The black silk was snagged and torn in places and stained with mud and watermarks. And my hair was a tangled mat. “I hope we do not pass anyone on the way – I must look a fright.”
“Never mind,” said my love; not quite the answer a lady wants to hear when discussing her appearance. But his voice was tinged with some kind of strange excitement, so I took no offence. “You must come and see this.” He was crouched beside the opening in the floor, looking down through it.
I had no real interest in seeing my prison again, but the tone of his voice brought me to his side. What I saw through the hole made me forget all else.
Water still sat under the pavilion, about a foot or so of clear, still water, with sunshine shafting through to what lay at the bottom. A tawny cat, antlers sprouting from his head, strode across tiled pavement. The tumult of floodwaters that had raced through the narrow space must have torn away the two centuries of earth that had covered it. I stared in awe until, like a key unlocking a secret door, the words of Lord Thomas Bennet’s poem came to me.
What strange surprise would hunter see
This antlered beast so bold and free,
Head held high, coat of brightest gold
He strides in glory t’ward the fold.
This was what he had written about! This wonderful Roman mosaic floor, hidden and preserved by my ancestor under his frivolous folly.
Here dwells another beast, you see
Hidden now, and no longer free,
Till sunlight spills upon his face
And wakes him in this field of grace.
He must have built the trap door so he could come and look his fill of this secret treasure. But still, everywhere he had left clues for anyone who cared to find them. The map of the maze with the cat superimposed upon it. My father must have discovered the whole while reading the poems, and this ancient relic was what he had struggled so hard to preserve. Indeed he had even tried to tell me about it.
the key . . . the cat . . . on the pavement . . . the map
“Your family took him for their crest,” said Fitzwilliam. “But he is not a shallow pretender, hiding behind a mask. He is powerful and brave, holding up his prize in triumph.”
And looking at the magnificent cat, I could see that Fitzwilliam was right. He shone through the film of water in all his majesty – tile of gold and glass brought to life once more. My family history had maligned the beast for centuries. “This must be safeguarded,” I whispered.
“We will see to it that it is, before we go north. You still have the power of say in the trust. If money is needed to uncover and restore this treasure, I will be glad provide what is necessary.”
We sat and gazed upon his splendour for a few more minutes but the day was advancing – we knew we had to leave the antlered cat. Fitzwilliam lowered the trap door into place with care. We left the pavilion through the battered entrance that he had forced open in his urgency to get to me.
“I have only just realised something,” I said, turning to face him before setting my foot upon the stair. “How on earth did you make your way through the maze without me there to guide you?”
“I was coming to save you, my love. No maze could hold me back – I just bored my way through.”
I laughed, and arm in arm we followed his rough hewn path through the tangled maze, water up about our ankles. When we came out from the ravaged yews we saw a gentleman standing, staring out upon the desolation of flooded meadow and uprooted trees.
“Frederick!”
He turned and smiled and stepped forward. If he was shocked at my dishevelled appearance, or the fact that I had just come out of the maze with Mr Darcy at such an early hour, he never gave any indication of it. Instead he asked if we knew what had caused the flood.
Though I needed to return home, we owed him an explanation, so together, taking turns, we gave him the complete story. It was almost certain that he was now the new heir to Longbourn Keep and he had a right to this latest piece of family intrigue – we knew it would go no further than him. Afterwards, when there was nothing more to say, he left us in search of his brothers’ remains and we made the long trek around the swollen pond and up to Hunsford.
Later we heard that William and George’s bodies had been found tossed against the bank by the bridge amid branches and mud, one resting across the other, their white faces as alike in death as they were in life. I gave Charlotte Hunsford and happily left everything else behind, knowing now that Longbourn Keep was in good hands with Frederick.
The day I made my final farewell, Fitzwilliam walked with me into the churchyard. The blooms of pink hawthorn had been blown from the tree and scattered like snow over my father’s grave.
Father, I have done what I think right. I held my hand out to show him the ring. Rising slowly from the ground, that feeling my father and I had shared came to both my love and me.
Blessing.
Longbourn Keep 1641
The lark has sung already and now cock’s crow shatters the dawn. I hear a rustle in the hedges – a badger, mayhap, or a deer.
Today I must face them all as Lord Bennet and find the courage to tell them what we have done. Today I bring you home with me, my lawful wife. Today, all I hope for is that our love erase the family hate.
I see a light patch upon the green grass at the opening from the maze. I stoop to pick up the square of silk you have dropped in your haste. It is still redolent of you; roses and moonbeams is what I smell when I hold it reverently to my face.
I step out of the maze – now compasses work, weathervanes point the direction of the wind, and the evil of the world runs at will.
A sudden sound, a swift, searing pain, and I collapse, the silken hanky clasped to my cheek. What am I doing here, lying on the dew-soaked grass and why do I feel as if there is fire in my bowels? Shadows move past me, blurred words sound from above, but I care not for them. All I know is that I must find you and tell you of my pain as you hold me in your arms.
My head is light and even the pain is fading. If I cannot come to you, I know you will come to me. It is strange to float up here and see my body as if asleep, spread out on the grass.
You are here with me, still, nestled in the bed. A dream. It must have been a dream. We still have this night in the pavilion. This night made only for you and me. May it last forever.