MOVING ON

The morning following her meeting with Mr. Darcy continued gray and grim with a heavy fog lying low on the streets of London. Elizabeth couldn't see the other side of the street and she thought that it was fitting enough; she couldn't see past next week either. However, the morning had brought no regret. She had made her decision and was determined to live with it. She wasn't sure her decision was based on what she truly wanted, or that she was unwilling to disappoint Richard and Lydia. But as Shaw had put it, 'Man gives every reason for his conduct save one; and that one is his cowardice'. Lydia had forcefully reminded her that she was no coward though she had to admit that she had been doing a pretty good imitation of one for the last eight months.

Without her sister's company to occupy her mind she settled down in front of the fire with a cup of coffee and poor Moll Flanders. Surely her problems paled in comparison with De Foe's heroine. At least her mother-in-law wasn't her mother and her husband wasn't her half-brother. There was no insanity in the Bennet family unless she herself was slightly touched. Unfortunately she had reached the chapter where the eldest son invited Moll to act like they were married in bed. "Enough!" she cried tossing the book aside. She could write her own story. 'It was a dark and stormy night when Elizabeth Bennet acted like a harlot. Her lover was so enamored with her charms he ran away the next morning and lost his mind'. The end.

Annoyed, she reached for one of Lydia's fashion gazettes but it was a lost cause. Thoughts of Smithy would intrude. She had carried an image of him that hadn't matched the reality. Her memory had drawn a shadowy figure of unassuming bearing, slimly built with an engaging smile and dark penetrating eyes. Fitzwilliam Darcy was a tall man of strength and power dressed in an impeccably tailored suit with a silk ascot tied around his throat. His dark eyes hadn't regarded her with affection nor had she seen a trace of that secret smile they had often exchanged when something amused them both. Instead he had favored her with a mild curiosity and a hint of good humor. He was wealthy and privileged and she couldn't imagine him sitting down with the cook and housekeeper for a cup of coffee and some small talk. She wasn't sure she could fit into his world even if he did eventually remember her.

She threw the magazine on the floor in disgust unable to pretend she was interested in the contents. Thoughts of Smithy consumed her. Richard had spread a lie about where he had found Darcy and he knew it was a lie. But how much of the truth did Richard know? When exactly did Smithy regain his memory? Before or after Richard had found him? What was the real story? And what were the circumstances leading to Smithy remembering his identity? Was it spontaneous? Was it an accident? Had someone recognized him? And where had it occurred? Her mother was positive that he had planned to return that night. So where had he been going and for what purpose? Over and over questions with no clear answers plagued her throughout the day.

By the time Lydia returned from work Elizabeth was distracted and exhausted. If Lydia noticed anything amiss she ignored it and placed a large box on Elizabeth's lap. "Summer Breeze," she said. Your favorite scent. I remember father said something about scent having the power to open an unexpected gateway to past memories, so be sure to douse yourself liberally. When you bathe, add a few drops to the water and be sure to add some to the rinse when you wash your hair."

"Should I brush my teeth with it?"

Lydia didn't answer. She went to her bedroom where she changed into her robe, then to the kitchen where she opened a bottle of wine. She returned to the parlor with the wine and two glasses which she placed on the table before returning to the kitchen. When she reappeared she held a plate of cheese and crackers and this too she placed on the table. When she finally dropped into her chair she answered her sister's question. "Laugh all you want, Lizzie, but you must treat this as war. Short of knocking some sense into him, you must do everything possible to make him remember you and scent is a start. You mustn't let Caroline Bingley outflank you. Next, you had better go home and pick up your Folding Corona. He typed on it so he might recognize it. And while you're there don't forget to pack your old jacket. You wore it when you'd go walking with him."

"Anything else?"

"Yes. See if you can find a keyring like the one you bought him and attach your cottage key to it."

"Should I wear it around my neck?"

"Don't be silly. You don't want to be obvious."

"You think reeking of perfume isn't obvious?"

"Cologne is subliminal. From what Charlotte says, Caroline wears a heavy musk scent. Remember what Smithy said about musk? Something about devious and greedy. It must have reminded him of Caroline."

Elizabeth watched her sister with some fascination. How had she remembered a bit of table talk a year ago? Elizabeth could hardly remember the conversation. All she could recall was understanding the subtle warning her father had offered about scent being more potent than words when it came to unlocking forgotten memories. She remembered the fear she felt knowing it was possible that one day Smithy would leave and never return. For a brief moment she was transported to the evening she sat at the bus station waiting for him to come back to her. In her mind's eye she saw herself almost crippled with the searing pain of grief and despair too terrible to bear. The pain had finally eased to a dull throb after so many months and now she was preparing to suffer once more. She was surely out of her mind.

Lydia's voice called her back, "I know that look, Lizzie. You had better not be having second thoughts. I won't have it!"

"No. I won't change my mind. I was just wondering how this farce will play itself out."

"Well, at least you no longer think of it as a Greek tragedy. A French farce always ends up happily."

"And you think this will end happily?"

"Why shouldn't it? It has all the elements of a farce. You must admit this is an improbable situation. You pick up a stranger and take him home with you. How absurd is that? You fall in love, naturally. He disappears and breaks your heart. Now you're going to be sleeping down the hall from him. This part calls for an aria."

"This is a farcical opera?"

"It's your story. You can craft it anyway you want." Lydia grew thoughtful, "Too bad you weren't dressed as a boy when you found your true love again. That would have been perfect."

Despite her misgivings, Elizabeth had to smile at her sister's optimism. Her enthusiasm was infectious, but in her heart she thought it improbable that a happy ending was possible.

Lydia, as a junior partner, now had to work on Saturday mornings so their shopping expedition didn't start until the afternoon which gave them no more than four hours to make Elizabeth into a seductive minx. Despite Lydia's attempts to lower her sister's neckline to her navel while raising her hemline to her crotch, Elizabeth stood fast and would not be moved though she did giggle imagining what she would look like wearing nothing more than a wide belt and a simple cross to the dinner table at Pemberley. In the end, and with Lydia's enthusiastic support, Elizabeth spent another small fortune on the latest mix and match fashions. She would not be swayed on the choice of colors, opting for muted jewel tones that suited her complexion and could never be considered garish. Elizabeth preferred soft wool and cashmere for daytime wear and silk for the evening, ever careful of her décolleté. The latest tidbit of gossip from Charlotte was that Caroline set a glaring example of bad taste favoring garish colors of orange, green and fuchsia and invariably all in satin and lace. Elizabeth was convinced that somehow she had come to be in a competition with this woman she had never even met. Richard and Charlotte both tended to exaggerate so it occurred to her that Caroline might be a very beautiful and stylish woman who would make her look like a dull wall flower. If so, then so be it! By five o'clock Elizabeth noticed that the crowds had thinned and the clerks were no longer smiling broadly. She called a halt to the festivities. She could do no more. Being a female and born with that innate love of beautiful clothes she felt her confidence growing but she would never be a femme fatale. Her sense of humor would never allow it.

On Sunday Elizabeth and Lydia met with Charlotte for lunch at the Ritz. Elizabeth was about to join a group of strangers on an estate two hundred miles north and she wanted to get a sense of what she was getting herself into. She was disappointed to learn that Jane would not be joining them as she had a previous engagement with Georgiana Darcy and Anne De Bourgh. She was inclined to believe that Jane wouldn't embellish the basic facts, whereas Charlotte was too much like Richard. It was difficult to discern where the truth left off and their sense of the absurd took over.

To her relief, Lydia had apparently cleared the way for her. "I understand," Charlotte said, "that you want to learn more about the inhabitants of Pemberley and you want the unvarnished truth. I warn you that is impossible! We each of us carry our own baggage and see what we want to see. But I'll do my best."

She started with Lady Catherine. "Our aunt is a poor pathetic soul who believes she lives in the wrong century. According to Richard's father, his sister was perfectly fine growing up. Then she suffered a terrible fall from her horse when she was twenty two and was unconscious for two weeks. When she awoke she was never quite the same again. Not only couldn't she remember the fall, but had forgotten the entire month before the accident. Where she had a placid temperament before, she now had fits of anger and sudden bouts of depression which invariably ended in tears. In those days they didn't know anything about head injuries or what to do about it and they still don't. But after a couple of years she regained some kind of normalcy and got married to a widower with a child. The child is Anne de Bourgh. When her father died Anne was invited to Pemberley because aunt Cat didn't know how to take care of a young child nor did she wish to learn. There isn't much more to say about Anne. She's very sweet and imagines she's in love with Darcy."

Elizabeth resisted the urge to glance at Lydia, "does Anne still live at Pemberley?"

"No. She lives in London but when Georgiana visits the estate Anne usually accompanies her. They're best friends."

"How does Darcy feel about Anne?," Lydia asked.

"He treats her like a little sister. They really grew up together." She dismissed Anne with a wave of her hand, "Back to aunt Cat. Years ago she learned that some ancestor of the family once owned an estate down in Kent. Since then she has become fixated on Rosing's Park which is how William Collins comes into this picture. Apparently aunt Cat started visiting this derelict estate regularly and that's how she came to meet Mr. Collins. He was the pastor of this rinky-dink village of Hunsford. I have no idea how or why they became friends, but they did. He began to go up to Town regularly and escorted her to concerts and plays. When Darcy went missing, Lady Cat determined to move to Pemberley. She had great hopes of persuading Georgie to buy Rosing's park for her. Apparently this was something she had been trying for years to get Darcy to do. Anyway, she convinced Mr. Collins to accompany her so he took a sabbatical from his duties and ended up at Pemberley.

"He's the zombie that Richard refers to?" asked Elizabeth.

Charlotte nodded curtly, "Richard thinks he's so clever when he labels people before he knows anything about them. It's only one of his faults." She pushed her plate away and began the process of attaching a cigarette to the ebony holder. This gave Elizabeth time to glance at Lydia who responded with an impish grin.

Charlotte took a drag and continued, "Mr. Collins is a strange bird. He seldom says anything unless spoken to directly so it's hard to know what he's thinking, but he listens, make no mistake. I have a feeling his brain is like a sponge. And he takes care of aunt Cat which is a good thing. He even waters down her gin and sends her off to bed when he thinks she's had too much. And they're not sleeping together! He's more like her caretaker. I have a feeling that he's a sad little man. He's a man in his thirties and he's taking care of a woman in her sixties. Why doesn't he have his own family? Richard has a lot of fun at their expense though in my heart I know he doesn't believe they're doing nasty."

"I take it you're not overly fond of Richard," ventured Lydia.

"You take it wrong," Charlotte snapped. "I'm very fond of him. I just think it's time for him to grow up. Richard has always been lighthearted never taking anything seriously. But since the war he's become almost a caricature of the boy I grew up with. There's an anger beneath his humor."

Elizabeth was startled, "I've never seen that side of him. I've never seen your cousin angry."

"You don't know him well enough to recognize it, Lizzie, and you wouldn't have looked for it. Richard has never spoken of it it but I know he was devastated when he understood that his days in the army were numbered; that he would be relegated to an office smothered in red tape. Then he learned that Darcy had gone missing. He shared guardianship of Georgie with Darcy so now he had to deal with her grief. She had already lost her parents early in the war. Losing her beloved brother almost crippled her. His anger and frustration mounted when he discovered that the army had no record of Darcy. So he spent months in France and Germany looking for him. Once he found him he was dismayed to see how altered Darcy was. Since then he's been attending funerals of his comrades. Mustard gas is an insidious weapon, Lizzie. It takes it's sweet time to thoroughly destroy the lungs and the victim dies a horrible death gasping for his last breath. But why am I telling you this? You had first hand knowledge of this at Sussex."

"Yes. I remember." Elizabeth didn't want to dwell on that part of her past. "Has Mr. Darcy recovered from his wounds?"

"He seems perfectly healthy to me. A little absent minded at times but otherwise fine. Darcy and Richard have always been more like brothers than cousins. They're the best of friends despite their dissimilar personalities. But Darcy has gone in the opposite direction from Richard. He has withdrawn and seems almost detached from his emotions. I know that war changes men. How could it not? But I want things to be the way they were. Our world is changing so rapidly I can't keep up. I'm almost as bad as aunt Cat. She wants to live in the last century and I would be happy to go back to my childhood. I think constantly of long lazy afternoons at Pemberley; picnics on the wide green lawns; crazy games of croquet and so much laughter. Now there's nothing to laugh at. A somber mood has descended on that beautiful estate and no one seems capable of bringing back the happiness we once shared. But", she added with a toss of her head, "life goes on and so must we. What else can I tell you?"

"According to Richard," Elizabeth said gently , "Miss Bingley had hopes of becoming Mr. Darcy's assistant. How will she take to me?"

Charlotte shrugged, "She will be sucking on her bile, I imagine. But you can handle her, Lizzie. You're a lady and she isn't."

"But what is Miss Bingley really like?"

"Greedy and devious."

Elizabeth caught her breath hearing the exact words that Darcy had uttered at Hertfordshire. "Why does Mr. Darcy keep her on?"

Charlotte shook her head in obvious disgust, "He says she reminds him of something. Now my cousin rarely says something stupid...he leaves that to Richard, but that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. He's known Caroline for the better part of five years so of course she reminds him of something. She reminds him of her! At the table she sits at his right hand and chatters gaily about the latest fashions, how wonderful Pemberley is, and how she suffered when she thought he had died in France among all those French people. How he refrains from rolling his eyes at such nonsense, I'll never know. But he watches her intently with this little frown on his face like she's the most important person in the world and I know he can't stand her! Worse still, she wears this ghastly heavy scent and I don't understand why he doesn't drop dead from the vapors."

Lydia giggled, "She probably bathes in it."

"I wouldn't be surprised if she gargled with it!"

Back home Elizabeth and Lydia agreed that it had been an interesting afternoon. Lydia was focused on Charlotte and Richard, positive that love was in the air. Elizabeth was not that sure. "I think they have a serious problem. I'm surprised Charlotte doesn't call him Peter...as in Pan. She may be in love with him but being in love doesn't necessarily make a good marriage. He's an outrageous flirt and Charlotte won't put up with that."

"He's just sowing his wild oats."

"Lydia, Richard Fitwilliam is twenty-seven years old. Most men of that age are looking for a wife and not a good time."

Lydia grinned, "When I get married I plan to give my husband a good time."

Elizabeth laughed softly, "I suppose I might have worded that differently." But it was all so sad. Charlotte longing for the summer days of long, lawn skirts and parasols. Richard, despondent over the loss of his career, probably longing for the happy days long past; angry at what the war had brought home to his family. Lady Catherine desperate to find her place in another age. William Collins was another soul adrift. And what of Darcy? What was he seeking? And would he find it? "If I wasn't depressed before, I am now. These people are living in paradise and yet according to Charlotte they are all miserable."

"You'll simply have to write your own story, Lizzie."

"I suppose. I can be Catherine Earnshaw, wailing over the moors for her lost love, Heathcliff. Or I can be Jane Eyre and run away from Rochester and end up starving in the hedgerows."

"Surely you can think of a heroine who finds her true love and lives happily ever after."

"I suppose I can try."

On Tuesday Elizabeth headed home to Longbourn. Beyond following Lydia's instructions she wasn't sure just what else she was planning. She had to tell her parents that she was now employed and at least for the next few months would be living in Derbyshire. How much more information she wished to impart she was still undecided. She feared her parent's disapproval. But more importantly, she didn't want them to discourage her. She'd made the decision to take the job and had to admit that for the first time since meeting him again she felt excitement building at the prospect of entering his world. She was, however, not so blind that she couldn't see the reality of her situation. If he hadn't shown any sign of recognition when she stepped into his office, there was no reason to expect that her appearance at Pemberley would be any different. They would have a working arrangement and nothing more. There would be no long walks along country roads; he would not offer his arm to her; there would be no teasing banter between them. And she would not allow her eyes to be drawn to him while in company. She had to be particularly cautious when Richard was in residence for as far as she knew he was the only one who knew that he had been found in England and not in a French hospital and she didn't want him to suspect that she had played a part in Darcy's life during the time he was lost.

At Meryton she stopped at a small shop and found the identical key chain she'd purchased for Smithy. At first she asked for her name to be engraved then changed her mind. She had the small gold disk engraved with a Sweet William, one on each side, hoping he'd remember the flowers bordering the cottage.

Elizabeth hadn't warned her parents that she was heading their way so when she walked into dining room in time for lunch they greeted her with surprise and delight. This was followed by concern that something was amiss. After reassuring them that both she and Lydia were fine they settled down for a pleasant meal. She relayed all the news concerning Lydia and assured them that their youngest was as happy as she had ever seen her, that she was already looking to the future. She planned one day to create her own signature fragrance and might even try her hand at fashion design. All three agreed that with Lydia Bennet, anything was possible.

"And what of you, Elizabeth?" Her father asked. "What are your plans?"

"I've taken a position as the personal assistant to a Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy who resides in Derbyshire, Father."

"Darcy of Pemberley?"

"Yes. You've heard of him?"

"Of course. His family is known for their philanthropy. He's known to be a kind of recluse. Will you live at the estate?"

"Yes."

"Well, from what I hear, Pemberley is very beautiful and there should be enough variety to keep you from getting bored. I hope it works out for you."

"What," her mother wanted to know, "does a millionaire look like? I don't think I've ever seen one."

"Mr. Darcy is quiet and unassuming."

Perhaps you'll meet a nice rich man there, Lizzie."

She managed a smile, "perhaps."

Twice during the course of the meal she was on the brink of telling them the truth but each time the words stuck in her throat. They'd been so worried about her during the past year and now when it seemed that she had finally accepted her loss, she couldn't very well tell them that she was deliberately courting disaster. Elizabeth could not bring herself to tell them the truth. It would only upset them and there would be questions she was unable to answer. She was uneasy enough over her decision. She simply could not leave her parents at Longbourn knowing how much they would worry about her.

The following day she packed her car with everything she thought might provoke memories of the time he spent at Longbourn including the fisherman's jersey that he'd been so fond of. It had been her gift to him on Christmas day. She'd always believed that he was so partial to the jersey because it had been her gift. Now she wondered if it had only seemed to be something familiar to him. Possibly he owned one and she would see him wear it at Pemberley. She herself planned to wear it with her jodhpurs in case there was an opportunity to ride on the estate.

Time spent at Longbourn would not be complete without a trip to Mount Oakham to speak to her old friend. She murmured softly to the giant ancient moving her hand slowly over the rough bark. As always, her thoughts turned to all the lovers who had come before her, remembering the last time she had opened her heart. She had returned to Longbourn fearing how short her time with Smithy would be and mourning his loss before he had even gone. So much time had passed; so much pain and longing. And now she was starting the process all over again, possibly with the same end. Her only hope was that she was better prepared to face another loss; her only consolation was that Smithy would never again hurt her for that man no longer existed.

After a leisurely breakfast on Thursday morning she set out for Derbyshire. The roads were clear, the sky blue and after a dreamless sleep she felt refreshed and determined to treat this escapade not as a folly but as a lark. And why not? She had nothing to lose that she hadn't already lost. And there was an irony attached to her situation for it had occurred to her that she might not love Mr. Darcy. He was, after all, not a stranger in a strange land but a man of power and wealth, comfortable in the home of his birth. There would be nothing vulnerable about him; nothing that would invite tenderness as it had with Smithy. She had to keep that in mind and treat Mr. Darcy as a common and indifferent acquaintance. All well and good as long as he didn't look at her intently with a little frown on his face as if she were the most important woman in the world; she hoped fervently that he wouldn't succumb to the vapors of 'Summer Breeze'.

She expected the drive not to take little more than four hours and all went smoothly enough for the first three hours. She was making good time until the road began to gradually rise. She hadn't taken into account the narrow roads that crisscrossed the hills and peaks of Derbyshire. Compared to the scenery of Hertfordshire, the landscape of Derbyshire appeared almost primordial in the starkness that greeted her as she gained each crest. At one point she pulled over to stretch her legs and gazed out at the panoramic view of what she imagined the world had looked like in it's infancy and was moved to tears by it's stark beauty. It would not be to everyone's taste but at that moment she thought she would be content to live the rest of her life in Derbyshire. Or was that wishful thinking?

By the time she reached Lambton she was slightly unhinged by the experience of navigating so many curves on such narrow roads. She was torn between stopping at the small inn for a cup of tea and a quick wash-up, or pressing on to Pemberley. She wanted to make a good first impression but a glimpse at the lowering sun decided for her. She'd been told that Pemberley lay only five miles from Lambton but in Derbyshire five miles could take an hour of twists and turns and she didn't dare continue on in the dark. She settled for a brief stop at the local inn where she bathed her face in cool water and attempted to calm herself. Five miles from Pemberley! How on earth had she come to be here? She gazed at herself in the mirror hardly able to recognize herself. She saw a mixture of fear and excitement. She couldn't decide which emotion was paramount.

To her vast relief, after she passed through Lambton the road began to gently slope down onto a straight road bordered by a forest. She could see for miles ahead and relaxed behind the wheel enjoying the scenery and keeping an eye out for a glimpse of the estate. If she missed the turnoff she feared she'd end up in Scotland. Finally she spotted a discreet sign announcing her destination had been reached and she turned off the road and stopped at the small lodge adjacent to the massive gate guarding the estate.

A guard approached her from the lodge and offered her a smile, "Miss Bennet?" he asked. At her nod, he turned from her and waved to someone who remained hidden. A moment later the gate opened and the guard waved her though, "Welcome to Pemberley," he said.

Past the gate, she groaned. Still no sign of the house. She wondered how on earth did the people a century ago manage travel with a horse or carriage? It had to have been exhausting and surely once arrived, it would take a week to recover. Once more the road began it's gentle slope up. When she reached the crest she slowed to a crawl and then stopped. She got out of the car and leaned against the bonnet taking in the beauty before her. Lush greenery and wild flowers abounded everywhere she looked, and at it's boundary deep forests of towering oaks. The swelling stream captured her attention and she followed it with her eyes before raising them to the massive granite mansion almost hidden from view as it nestled among nature's harmony.

She lost track of time as she stood there gazing in rapture at Pemberley. But thoughts of the master of this estate soon intruded and her excitement began to ebb. She could see the writing on the wall. Caroline Bingley was not the only woman who was reaching too high.