Friends At Last

Despite frequent intervals of worry and several pieces of blueberry bread, Lizzy resolutely consoled herself to the fact that the young party-guests mouths would be permanently sealed as to the events that had unfolded beneath their eyes the previous evening. And if any of them did speak, who would believe them? Their parents would not certainly not complain to the wealthy and high-off Mr. Darcy and would most assuredly refrain from offending his soon to be eligible son.

And so the summer months passed pleasantly, regardless of the new entrance of Caroline and Louisa Bingley to the social circle. Lazy mornings were spent rambling about Browning Pond, nibbling gingerbread cookies from Martha's tidy cottage, catching frogs and worms and snails and other such creatures by the banks of the Moorington Lake, and playing pirates on the makeshift bridge that spanned its waters. Afternoons were jovial affairs in which Lizzy, Darcy, and the groupe would work in the wheat fields, pay afternoon calls on Bertha and her one-eyed cat, have swashbuckling sword fights in the glen, and end with dinner at Longbourne or Netherfield.

Darcy and Lizzy would not be parted for anything. Though neither would admit it, they were highly dependent upon one another, frequently finishing each other's sentences and coming up with simultaneous ideas. On rainy days they would console themselves to the enormous Bennet library, reading and having scholarly discussions, oftentimes presided over by Mr. Bennet himself. On sunny days their adventures were too numerous to be disclosed, and carried out in confident, brash manners.

Mr. Darcy himself came to regard Lizzy as a sort of daughter, and was often found to refer to her as an adult within the body of a child, tailoring her education as he saw fit and often allowing her lessons with Caroline and the other children. "She is the brightest child I have ever met," he told George Bennet one afternoon, as Lizzy and Darcy sat pouring over a book of Latin terms, "and never have I seen someone pick up history, literature, and arithmetic as rapidly as she does! Her intelligence level is equal to Darcys', and she has not even had an inkling of formal education!"

Even the Netherfield servants began to regard Lizzy as one of their own, for she was known to be best friends with the kitchen staff, on excellent terms with the gardeners (from whom she delved several useful lessons), extremely helpful to the household maids, and polite and courteous to Nanny Craig and the Italian governess, Miss. Papillae. Rather than using her connections with the very distinguished family of fortune to the ill-use of conceited arrogance, she seemed only to blossom and extend her circle of friends to an even greater height.

Drusilla Craig she befriended instantly, as the two were endeared to each other from the start. Elizabeth enjoyed the latter's intelligent conversation and docile courage, while Drusilla admired Lizzy's outgoing spunk and adventurous sense of mischief. Though they moved in two different realms of social circles, Drusilla was still allotted two hours off from her daily chores in order to join Elizabeth, Darcy and the 'groupe' in their various activities, and even though her mother was apt to frown upon such 'mischief', she was indeed glad that her daughter to make friends.

As for Lady Catherine, she regarded Elizabeth with her customary arrogance and condescension, rarely, if ever, addressing the child, even during her frequent visits to Netherfield Hall. Forgiveness for the event that had so 'tarnished' her proud nature was unacceptable, and she even refused to let her daughter associate with the poor girl, robbing her of any chance of becoming friends with energetic Lizzy. "A terrible influence," she told her constantly, "not fit to be any sort of comrade for my daughter!" And yet, deep within her heart, then noble lady herself had some stirrings of admiration for the girl, no matter how she contested them aloud. Indeed, she demanded that Darcy stop seeing the girl and her 'ruffian' friends.

But Darcy adamantly refused to be parted from her, and, as his father loved the child too, the two were allowed as much time together as could possibly be afforded.
Indeed, the two were so much together that summer, many began to believe they were joined at the hip.

And yet all wonderful things must soon come to an end, and eventually the lush, green atmosphere of golden summer drifted into the chilly, harsh reality of fall, marking the end of the Darcys' summer stay at Netherfield Hall. It was then that the shutters began to close, the china packed, the rugs beaten, and heavy mahogany chests loaded up into carriages bearing the Darcy crest. Elizabeth, in a surge of affection for her noble and servant friends alike, came down the day before the Darcy departure to offer her assistance in the last minute preparations and packing. It was there also that she encountered a bitter and sulking Darcy.

"Really, Darcy," she said, encountering him in the hallway, after her fond farewell to his father, "it's not that much longer until next summer."

"Not that long!" he cried, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "I will not get to see you or Elton or Charlotte or John or Clara for an entire year!"

Sensible Lizzy bit back laughter. "There is always pen and paper correspondence," she told him soothingly, "and, if it will make you feel better, I shall write you every week about the goings on around Hertfordshire. And, if you will loan me the book on Latin terms, I shall be able to write you letters in Latin."

"That would be a bit better," he responded gloomily, "though it would be nothing as to actually getting to talk to you in person. And I don't want to go back to that insipid school! Don't you realize I'll eventually have to go off to Cambridge? Then I won't get to see you at all!"

"Don't pout, Darcy," Elizabeth told him, "it is certainly not becoming to anyone. Stop behaving as if you were a spoiled child. You cannot always have your way! We've survived without each other before, I am sure that we can do it again."

He glanced down at the newly polished floors, scowling at his reflection. "I hate talking to anyone else but you, Lizzy," he informed her quietly, "I don't make friends easily; for some reason it doesn't come as naturally to me as it does to you."

"Practice makes perfect," she replied, "do you think that I learnt how to play the piano overnight? If only you would try!"

His scowl grew deeper. "It is so hard to keep one's countenance when daily surrounded by people the likes of Caroline Bingley," he informed her, glancing at the room behind his shoulder in which girlish whining could be distinguished. "I suppose that is why I enjoy your company so much. You are fresh and wise, whereas Caroline is selfish and arrogant. I am arrogant too, I suppose."

"But there is a human being underneath it all," Elizabeth responded, slipping her brown paw into his own, while swinging it cheerfully, "if only you would take time and come into the realization that you are your own self."

It was then he looked into her eyes, so young-yet so old-blue as the cornflowers that grew wild near the forest, as soft as the sky on a clear summer's day, yet as dark as the sea when driven by storm-tossed waters. He would never forget those eyes, intelligent and sincere, and every time he closed his eyes he would picture them in all their electricity. "Elizabeth Bennet, you are my best friend. You are dearer to me than George Wickham or Charles Bingley. And much more obliging than Caroline Bingley."

Lizzy laughed, listening as it echoed throughout the high-ceiling vestibule. "I guess that I will take that as a compliment," she replied merrily, "though I do not know if being compared to Caroline-in any form-is necessarily good."

"But it was a compliment," he insisted, dropping her hand and blushing hotly, "I was paying you a compliment." There, he had admitted it, he actually admired Elizabeth Bennet. The tom-boy that was the cause of all his major verbal battles.

It was odd, they seemed never to get along and disagreed on everything, and yet they were the two people that seemed most alike.

"So I suppose that you have admitted you want to be friends?" inquired Elizabeth cheerfully, "for we have had all summer to become acquainted. You are, indeed, an interesting character and well worth my acknowledgement." Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

He laughed, his color returning to its usual dark hue, as he eyed her warily. "Friends then, I suppose?" He awkwardly extended a hand.

She ignored the hand, enveloping him in a hug. "Naturally," she replied, patting him on the back before returning to her former position. "We shall be very good friends and even better corresponders."

"So you shall write to me?" he inquired attentively, shifting his knee and straightening his position.

She laughed. "I will. I promise. Every week faithfully. And if I do not, then you have full permission to push me into Browning Pond next summer." Her eyes were dancing and she gave him one last hug before departing to wish the servants a happy rest of the year.

Darcy stood standing there, watching her retreat towards the kitchens, her footfalls making sharp 'taps' upon the floor. It was an unusual good-bye for an unusual girl, thought he, and he almost wondered if there had been some hidden meaning within her light, airy phrases so resilient with golden memories. Had Lizzy been trying to convey to him something that could not be spoken in words?

He did not want to leave Netherfield Hall; he wanted to stay there forever and ever. He wanted to live there and see Elizabeth every day, during rants down in the wheat fields and play-acts for the peasants. Wild Lizzy, who, underneath her mischievous exterior, really possessed a warm and compassionate heart. Non-judgmental Elizabeth who not only befriended the servants, but also immersed herself in their trades, ready to learn with open ears, open eyes, and an open heart.

"Good-bye," he said softly, taking in the grand entranceway of Netherfield, with its sculpted columns, soaring ceilings, polished floors, and austere grandfather clock. "Let us pray that I shall see you all next year."