In the dimly lit room Anne DeBourgh stared intently at the pale gray eyes reflected in the mirror. If the eyes are the windows to the soul and God had etched the path of her life on her soul, surely she could see her future on this glorious, this most perfect night. It had taken her three full weeks to work up the courage to call him and suggest that they celebrate her birthday together for old time's sake. She could hear the tremor in her voice as she reminded him that they had missed the last two years and how happy she would be if they could once again share that special day. She had steeled herself against disappointment but she needn't have worried. To her utter delight he did not hesitate in acceptance. He'd even called her 'sweetheart' as he hadn't done for years. It was a good omen and she felt her pulse quicken in anticipation.
She had dressed carefully for her evening with Darcy. She wanted to impress him with her demureness and diffidence and felt she had succeeded She didn't care a fig how her stepmother thought her chances of landing Darcy as a husband was nothing short of a castle in the air, it was a dream she'd held from the moment she first laid eyes on him so many years ago. It might have started as a childhood infatuation but as she saw him grow to manhood, so tall and strong, so very handsome, she knew in her heart that there would never be another man for her. Though he had to have considered her a mere child he'd been so kind to her, treating her with respect, welcoming her into his family. How could she not love him?
When he'd gone off to war she felt her heart break. When word came of his death her life became one of utter despair. But that was all in the past and she must not think on it. Time was running out on her and she knew it. One day he would marry and that woman had to be her. Somehow she had to show him that she would be the perfect wife and mistress of Pemberley. Her only rival was Caroline Bingley and that woman's pretensions had failed miserably. That such a creature should aspire so high was laughable and not to be borne. She dressed like a demented whore, drank like a fish, and her voice reminded Anne of a cat in heat. He had to despise such a woman and could never be happy with such a creature. Elizabeth Bennet was an unknown factor. The way Richard had described her at Christmas she sounded like a paragon of virtue, but Richard always exaggerated. She had to hold fast to that. She couldn't lose Darcy now.
She needn't have worried. The evening spent with him had been magical and her hopes had soared believing that her time had finally come. He had been nothing but kindness, dismissing as unimportant that she didn't want Charles Bingley to share her birthday celebration. He allayed her fears about Georgiana's absence from their dinner due to her need to study for her exams. He complimented her for her new dress which perfectly matched her eyes and assured her that he enjoyed her company. He felt no need for an apology that she had been the one to call him and assured her that he felt remiss to have forgotten such an important date. He seemed perplexed when she begged him to choose her food from the menu and surprise her. But after a moment's hesitation he nodded, "As you wish", he said.
"You don't mind?"
"No, of course not." Had he sighed? Fear gripped her as he glanced at his watch. But then came that soft smile of familiar affection, "Shall we try the lamb?"
She nodded eagerly as her world righted itself.
Looking back she realized that she had made only one mistake. She should never have mentioned her disgust with all the veterans who were now a part of London life. But surely he could understand. It was terrifying to see so many men blind and scarred, missing limbs and brandishing their stumps like badges of honor as they struggled on their crutches. They really should hide themselves away from decent women. When she looked up from her plate he was looking past her, his face a mask. She covered as quickly as she could by adding how brave they all were and how grateful she was for their sacrifices and made a mental note not to drink so much . He looked back at her and rewarded her with a distant smile and poured her third glass of wine which she reached for and drained thirstily trying to compose herself.
The next two courses went smoothly as she built up her courage for the final hurdle. He seemed distracted which frightened her. He had a way of looking through her as if she was some kind of transparent entity that he didn't recognize. She stirred her strawberry mousse absently and watched him sip his brandy just as absently, wondering what he was thinking. She feared he wanted to end the evening. But it could not end, not just yet. She no longer hoped that this would be the evening when he would ask her to marry him. This was not the night when all her prayers would be answered.
"Will," she said in a controlled voice, "I would very much like to get out of London for a while. Would you mind awfully if I come to Pemberley for a couple of weeks? I promise not to get in your way. I just need some fresh air. Please don't say no." When he didn't answer immediately she felt despair clutch her heart and her mind splinter.
When he finally broke his silence his voice was so gentle she had to lean forward to catch his words. "Anne, Pemberley is your home. You needn't ask permission to visit there. But there's nothing for you at Pemberley. Lady Catherine is much the same as is Mr. Collins. And of course, Caroline is still Caroline. I'm afraid you'd be terribly bored there."
He hadn't mentioned his new assistant, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She wondered why? Was she so insignificant? Or worse, had she already used her arts allurements on him. She had to get to Pemberley. She leaned back in her chair trying to relax. He hadn't said no to Pemberley and to Pemberley she would go.
She turned from the mirror and stilled her thoughts of the odious Caroline Bingley and the unknown Elizabeth Bennet. She closed her eyes in concentration willing her mind to conjure up her favorite dream. It took longer than usual for thoughts of the magical evening would intrude. But then it happened. She sensed the room darkening, fading to black. She turned back to the mirror eyes still closed waiting for that perfect moment. From long practice she recognized that moment when it arrived and opened her eyes slowly, a gentle smile playing on her thin lips as she saw reflected in the mirror not the bedroom of her childhood, but a room at Pemberley. Once more she closed her eyes breathing deeply of the masculine scent that now permeated the room. When her lids lifted again he was there sitting in an armchair, his hand resting lightly on the massive bed beside him, his dark eyes alive with anticipation. He was dressed in nothing but his silk dressing gown, his long muscular legs relaxed and parted awaiting his pleasure.
She undressed slowly, never taking her eyes off him. She trembled as the gray silk slipped to the floor revealing the boyish figure so well suited for the fashion of the day. His gentle smile was her only reward. Her disappointment was keen as she had hoped to see him look goats and monkeys at her just as the old man had looked at Fanny Hill. She desired above all for his dark eyes to devour her in unbridled passion. Despite her chagrin, she felt that strange ache rise from her thighs and quickly envelope her loins in that yearning for unknown pleasure. She turned from the mirror unconsciously parting her maiden mound to entice him She wanted to see and feel that fierce erect machine just as in Fanny Hill. With a suddenness that left her reeling the light brightened but not before she glimpsed his look of revulsion. As the image of Darcy faded she fell to her knees in crippled anguish crying out his name but his form had dissolved, leaving her bereft.
When she was able to stand she returned to the mirror and once more stared at her reflection. This time she saw not her soul, but the visage of a young woman on the brink of madness.
*****
At Pemberley shortly after midnight Elizabeth gave up any pretense that she could sleep. Her arrival at Pemberley had awakened the memories she hoped would stay in the past. With practice she'd been able to keep that nightmarish night at bay but here at his home when sleep took her she lost control and almost immediately an inky darkness filled her mind followed inevitably by the icy chill of fear. It was all so familiar. Once more she sat waiting for the London bus knowing in her heart that she had lost Smithy. But still she waited unwilling to face the truth; unwilling to return to the cottage; unwilling to feel the dread of loneliness and despair she would endure in the years ahead. Miraculously his pillow appeared and she clasped it to her smelling his scent. She cried out his name but there was only silence. She awoke with a start and and felt the tears. Angrily she wiped them away. She didn't know how long she would be able to stay at Pemberley.
Restlessly she left her room unsure of her direction. She stopped at the door to his suite despair tempting her. She wanted so much to enter his inner sanctum, to touch his things to smell his scent and let masochism have it's way. She turned away once more feeling the bitter tears fill her eyes. Nearly blinded she continued down the hall. From the opposite direction a blurred form appeared which she didn't recognize. When her eyes cleared she thought possibly Anne DeBourgh had arrived. Tall, slim and dressed in a stylish tweed suit, Elizabeth stared in confusion. Shock set in when she realized that it was Caroline Bingley in her third persona. This was not the woman she had first seen wearing a ghastly shade of Chartreuse nor the châtelaine of another age. She was actually an attractive woman. They exchanged a brief look and a curt nod. There was no sign of guilt or remorse for the drunken behavior of the previous morning. There were also no alcoholic fumes in the air surrounding her. Had a truce been called? She hoped so.
She watched Caroline descend the stairs hardly understanding just what was happening. Realization didn't set in until Caroline's personal maid came running down the hall carrying two small cases and followed her mistress down the stairs. And so it ended.
The following morning the house was in full uproar. Caroline had flown the coop during the night. Short of breaking down the cellar door to get at the champaign for a real celebration the servants were moving with lighter steps and bright smiles seem to be the order of the day. Betty, who had become Elizabeth's grapevine volunteered, unprompted, that there was much speculation below stairs of why Miss Bingley had left in the dead of night. Some said she had eloped to Gretna Green with her secret lover. Others argued that she wouldn't leave while she still lusted after the master. Still others argued that she would leave if all hope was lost, that he had finally decided to marry Anne DeBourgh. Whatever, they finally concluded, it was in her own interest that she left for surely the cook would eventually have chased her out of the house with her trusty meat cleaver.
There was no mention of drunkenness as the cause for Caroline's precipitous departure and for that small mercy Elizabeth appreciated the irony. Ordinarily there would have been dozens of servants milling about but because of Caroline's cavalier treatment, the work force was seriously understaffed and overworked. There had been no witness to her lapse in good judgment. To her surprise Elizabeth found herself pitying the woman. In some ways they were much the same; each suffering from broken dreams, each unable to let go. True, Caroline's dream could in no way be considered admirable. But then again were hers? She had insinuated herself into the family under false pretensions. He had forgotten her existence and if she had any common sense she'd accept the truth and move on with her life. Caroline Bingley was a perfect example of what could happen to a life spent chasing rainbows. So many wasted years. And ending with ignoble defeat and disgrace.
Mr. Collins and to her surprise Lady Catherine who never rose before noon were both seated at the breakfast table. Lady Catherine was clearly out of sorts. Whether it was the early hour or a simple hangover Elizabeth could not discern but before she had a an opportunity to fill her plate she was addressed "Miss Bennet! No doubt you are aware of the latest misfortune to befall our happy home?"
Elizabeth refrained from rolling her eyes, "If you are referring to the loss of your housekeeper, it is indeed a calamitous occurrence."
Lady Catherine regarded Elizabeth with suspicion, "Granted it can't compare with the San Fransisco earthquake, Miss Bennet, but losing a housekeeper is an upheaval all the same. An estate this size must have a housekeeper."
"If I'm not mistaken, you have a housekeeper, Lady Catherine. Mrs. Smyth was the assistant to Mrs. Reynolds for many years. I may be overstepping, but shouldn't she have been offered the position when Mrs. Reynolds left Pemberley?"
"Quite right, Miss Bennet," said Mr. Collins quietly. "Mrs. Smyth earned the position and she remained at Pemberley under the most difficult circumstances." He turned to Lady Catherine, "I"m sure Mrs. Smyth would consider it a great honor if you personally commended her for her faithful service and offered her the position."
Lady Catherine was obviously taken back by the suggestion. Elizabeth hurriedly added, "You are, after all, the acting mistress of this estate. The staff will look to you for direction. I'm sure that Mr. Darcy would be very pleased to see how well you can run an estate in his absence." That did it. Elizabeth could almost see the wheels turning. Lady Catherine had made a serious mistake in hiring Caroline Bingley and this would afford her the chance to rectify her reckless behavior. The opportunity to show her nephew that she was worthy of his trust to run Pemberley might in the end gain her Rosing's Park.
It was really astonishing to see the glow of enthusiasm alter Lady Catherine's usual apathy as she prattled on about the changes she would make at Pemberley. Fortunately her companion kept her fervor on a low boil deeming it unnecessary to dress the staff in costumes more suited to the court of Napoleon, nor did he find it wise to call a staff meeting. "Just speak to Mrs. Smyth, M'lady". he advised. "Rely on her judgment. Of course it will be your duty to make out the day's menu including the wines to be served with each course."
Elizabeth left them, satisfied that Lady Catherine was in sensible hands and the first crisis was over. She spent the rest of the day rifling through Darcy's desk, sorting through invitations long past due. Labels were typed and invoices filed. A new blotter, some pens and a paper weight in the form of a bird in flight, exactly like the one in her father's study, made a businesslike desk. She ordered some plants for the room and stood back and was pleased with the effect. At least he would see that she had been busy and hopefully he would notice the paper weight and ask about it.
She continued her duties by sorting through the invoices, most of which went back to the previous June...a month after Darcy had apparently returned to his estate. There were other invoices that went back to the time before he went to France and she left them to sort through later.
She was still typing labels and affixing them to files when Betty arrived with a tray of biscuits and a small carafe of coffee. It gave her the perfect excuse to stop and indulge in some gossip and her new friend was eager to cooperate. "Oh, Miss Bennet," Betty gushed, "Everyone is so happy that Miss Bingley is gone. Especially Mrs. Smyth. She never said a word against Miss Bingley but cook said she learned her trade under Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs. Reynolds would be very angry to see what was happening to Pemberley while the master was away. Now everything will be as it was before and we are all very grateful to you, Miss Bennet."
"What?" Elizabeth gasped. So much for idle gossip. The last thing she wanted was to diminish Lady Catherine's hope that her decision would put her into her nephew's good graces."I had nothing to do with this. It was Lady Catherine's decision."
Betty's smile faded somewhat, "But it's common knowledge that it was your suggestion."
Elizabeth was discovering to her dismay that the down-side of having so many servants at your beck and call was that any pretense of discretion was impossible to retain. Nothing was sacred and she wondered idly just what the servants had to say about her. In consternation Elizabeth stared at the young woman, "I may have mentioned that Mrs. Smyth was Mrs. Reynold's assistant, but it was Lady Catherine's decision. I had nothing to do with it and I don't want you to spread such rumors."
Betty's enthusiasm was now severely deflated, "I'm sorry, Miss Bennet, I didn't mean to overstep my place."
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Betty, you have not overstepped your place wherever that may be. I'm just another employee like you. If word gets back to Mr. Darcy that I was taking credit for something I didn't do, I could lose my job." She reached out and took the girl's hand trying to soften the message. "Betty, just think what would happen if Lady Catherine heard that I was taking credit for what she had done. She would be very angry."
Betty was appalled and near to tears. "I'd better tell the cook."
Elizabeth nodded. "By all means." The cook seemed to be the ringleader at Pemberley. She doubted if the cook would have been so quick too spread rumors if Mrs. Reynolds was still here. She hoped Mrs. Smyth now would put an end to the gossip below stairs.
After Betty's chastened departure, Elizabeth turned her attention back to the files. She was curious about the amount of landscaping that was required in other parts of England. Just how far did Darcy's holdings extend? None of the invoices listed what was required but by the price charged, it had to be extensive. A small fortune had been spent in Cheshire, Staffordshire, and Herefordshire and all before he left for France. Had he actually bought up estates in those three counties? And what was he doing about them now? According to Richard he planned to restore the homes and turn them into schools. There was no trace of any activity the previous year. Was it possible that work was completed and schools had been built? Or was it more probable that the estates were once more lying fallow?
She was so engrossed in her thoughts that when the lunch bell rang she reached for the last invoice and automatically placed it in the Herefordshire file when her brain caught up with her eye and she realized she had made a mistake. She removed the invoice and stared at it in shock. It wasn't Herefordshire, but Hertfordshire. The copy was smudged, but without too much difficulty she could make out the words Netherfield Park Meryton.
Time stood still, then rolled back to a day she had taken Smithy to the grounds of Netherfield Park. She could hear her voice relating her excitement when she came home from Sussex and saw all the activity at Netherfield. She was sure the estate would once more return to it's former grandeur. How disappointed she was when her mother wrote to tell her that all work had stopped shortly after she returned to Sussex. She could hear Smithy's soft laugh when he said that someone had probably come to his senses. In retrospect, it was not quite an apt choice of words.
She felt sure that Darcy had never been to Netherfield Park or in the guise of Smithy he would have been recognized. Though after a moment she realized that in no way did Darcy resemble Smithy. Neither did the Darcy she knew resemble the Darcy that his family knew. From what she could gather the Darcy who grew up to become the Master of Pemberley was a man whose cool authority commanded automatic respect. The Darcy she knew seemed more like a country gentleman more interested in leisurely pursuits than the everyday operation of the estate. She repented her unkind thoughts immediately knowing that her own anger and frustration colored her assessment. Pemberley was like a well-oiled machine. It was the house that was in disarray.
Elizabeth entered the dinning room still digesting this new information. She was so distracted that Mr. Collins had to repeat himself.
"I said, Miss Bennet, if you have had a hard day at the office?"
Elizabeth summoned a smile not wanting to discourage him if this was an attempt at a joke. "Did I forget to wipe the sweat from my brow, Mr. Collins?"
"Miss Bennet, I hope you never utter such a word when in company of Lady Catherine. She would be appalled."
She stared at him with interest. "You are referring to sweat, Mr. Collins? I suppose Lady Catherine perspires."
"Not if she can help it, Miss Bennet."
Elizabeth was able to smile in genuine amusement. William Collins was proving to be extremely affable and with a puckish sense of humor. It was no wonder that Richard had seen Darcy engaged in friendly conversation with the cleric on several occasions. "May I ask where that formidable lady is?"
"She's had an exhausting morning dealing with the housekeeper and the cook and felt the need for some bed rest to recover."
"And how did the housekeeper and the cook fare?"
"Mrs. Smyth learned the art of diplomacy from Mrs. Reynolds and the cook looked rather smug when I saw her last."
"Oh dear. How long do you suppose Lady Catherine will feel the need to rest."
"Until the cocktail hour."
Elizabeth laughed softlt, "She's very lucky to have you as a friend."
"Our friendship works both ways, Miss Bennet. We filled each other's needs. Lady Catherine was born into a respected family of wealth. She wanted nothing, yet she was unable to find happiness or even contentment in a life that would be the envy of most people. She came to believe that she had been born in the wrong century. Once she learned that Rosing's Park had once belonged to the family she became obsessed with the estate, determined to own it and take her place as it's mistress. Naturally this made little sense to rational people and her family dismissed her as an eccentric. I've heard stranger tales in my fifteen years of ministry. I remember a young man who confessed that he thought he'd be born in the wrong body. He was convinced that he was really a woman in a man's body. We know very little of how the mind works, Miss Bennet, and I am the last person in the world to dismiss such beliefs out of hand. I sometimes fancy that I would have been happier if I'd been born in Rome two thousand years ago. Naturally I would have been a great orator and not a slave.
Naturally," Elizabeth said with a smile. "But, some people don't wish to go back so far in time. I remember a conversation with Jane Postlewaite. She longed for her last summer at Pemberley. Muslins and parasols dotting wide green lawns. It's a memory she holds close. She often wonders if she will ever be that happy again."
Mr. Collins nodded in understanding. "And there are some people who await something in the future that will bring them everlasting happiness. Until that occurs they will never be content."
And was that what she had in store for herself? Was she destined to live a life of misery unless Darcy remembered her?
After lunch Elizabeth spent a tranquil afternoon in the massive Pemberley library. There were thousands of books reaching back through time to the seventeenth century and beyond. Memoirs written by past mistresses had a large section and Elizabeth planned to set aside an afternoon and read a few of them. The various masters of the estate obviously had been fascinated by maps and there were hundreds of them to prove her point. The variety of information in the room spoke volumes of the kind of men who had kept the estate running for more than two hundred years. Finally, Elizabeth chose an over-sized chair and snuggled down in it's soft depths with a book of poetry hoping to distract herself but in the end found it impossible to concentrate on the words of Robert Service. There was no doubt that here he would find quiet repose surrounded by the books he loved. She was overwhelmed with sadness for him. She was also beginning to feel guilty. He had a right to know the part she had played in his past. It would fill in the blanks of at least part of what had happened to him. But would he thank her for not disclosing this information the moment she met him in London? She feared she had waited too long. He would never forgive her. She was even contemplating an anonymous letter telling him to inquire at the Tynebridge asylum. But that would raise more questions than answers. Just thinking of the mess she had created gave her a headache and she returned to her room and poured a small brandy. She'd come to Pemberley to see Smithy or at the very least his alter ego, Darcy, but she'd seen precious little of either man. And no one seemed to know if or when he'd return. She imagined him wining and dining Anne DeBourgh while the besotted girl giggled and batted her eyelashes in an attempt to seduce him. What man could resist her charms? It was all so hopeless.
When the bell for cocktails rang Elizabeth descended the stairs with little enthusiasm.
Bolstered by brandy she plastered a bright smile on her face and entered the drawing room. She had no fear of Mr. Collins picking up on her mood and making a comment but Lady Catherine knew no restraint and Elizabeth was in no mood for finesse. Her smile had been a waste of time. Lady Catherine was nowhere to be seen.
"Lady Catherine will be joining us in a while," Mr. Collins informed her as he handed her a sherry. "She was on the phone."
Elizabeth took a large sip of an excellent Amontillado and wondered how long it would take to wall up a rival and how much mortar would be required. "Probably Mr. Darcy calling to announce his engagement to Miss DeBourg." She hoped he hadn't heard the liquor inspired snarl in her voice.
For the first time since making his acquaintance, the little vicar looked befuddled. "I beg your pardon?"
"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a large fortune, must be in want of a wife."
Any response Mr. Collins might have responded to her inanity was delayed by the entrance of Lady Catherine in full throttle and voice. "I am furious, distracted and dismayed! I've received a call from my odious step-daughter who was positively gloating. Apparently she had a romantic dinner with my nephew last night and he's invited her to Pemberley so they can get better acquainted."
Mr. Collins signaled the butler who immediately left the room though Elizabeth suspected that it was a bit late for discretion. Rumors of a forthcoming wedding would soon be the grist for the rumor mill. She felt sick.
"Calm yourself, M'Lady," he said, handing her a stiff drink.
"I will not calm myself, Willie. You don't know that girl the way I do. She's positively demented and capable of anything. She sits around like a little gray mouse, doing her handwork like a perfect little machine working on her hope chest. Do you know what I found in her hope chest? I found The Memoirs of a Passionate Woman, that's what I found."
Elizabeth choked on her drink, "I thought that book had been banned from England."
"Not from a collector of curiosa which my late unlamented husband was," Lady Catherine responded in disgust. "She was eight years old and reading Fanny Hill! I tried to take the book from her and she grabbed a pair of shears. I thought she would kill me. Can you imagine? Eight years old!" Lady Catherine downed her drink and handed her glass to Mr. Collins. "That's when I washed my hands of her and sent her off to Pemberley. I couldn't control her. She was willful and disobedient and clearly had a taste for pornography." She fell back against the cushions, "No one knows what I suffer," she moaned.
Half-way through her second sherry, Elizabeth laughed out loud. "The whole house knows what you suffer, Lady Catherine."
Lady Catherine allowed a thin smile, "If my nephew connects with Anne he will eventually have to lock her in the tower for she is as mad as a hatter."
Elizabeth responded cleverly, "I'm sure he can hire a good nurse for her. Grace Poole perhaps?"
"There are no towers at Pembeley", said Mr. Collins with such a pensive look on his face that both women laughed.
Lady Catherine exchanged a wry smile with Elizabeth, "I'm afraid the good vicar does not include Gothic novels in his reading material."
It was all very enlightening, and amusing as well, this picture of an eight year old and her forbidden reading material. She and Lady Catherine were both a bit tipsy but Elizabeth now registered a look of fright in Lady Catherine's eyes which gave her pause. Surely Anne was no longer the recalcitrant child she remembered. Children grow up. She imagined Anne DeBourgh was a sensible young lady, perhaps beautiful. Elizabeth suspected her time at Pemberley was coming to an end after just a few days. She knew she would be unable to stay if Darcy returned to Pemberley as an engaged man. She allowed the vicar to pour her third glass of sherry.