A/N – So many of you begged me not to make you wait, so here's your next chapter a little early. I considered abandoning the plan I'd made as a newbie writer waayyy back when, so I wasn't overwhelming the story with new characters. Then I thought 'sod that' and carried on! I refuse to apologise.
I have to say, one of my favourite things right now is you all wishing terrible things on the Fitzwilliam family. They should die! Milton should get the French disease! Let's all get together to spit in their food!
oOoOoOo
Wednesday 21st June 1797
It did not take long for Elizabeth's conspirator, a man who had introduced himself as Todd (she was uncertain if this was his Christian name or surname), to signal that the village of Wentworth was a head. Todd nodded "ta-ra!" and tugged at the peak of his cap as he left her by the coaching inn. It was here her fortunes ended.
The innkeep, a balding, red-faced man, informed her that, though he was sorry to say it, it wouldn't be possible for her to take a coach north towards Somerford Park, because the heavy rain had swelled the rivers to destructive proportions. The waters had washed away several bridges along the main routes, and flooded the other roads besides. It was at this moment, for the first time since the entire ordeal began the night before, that Elizabeth succumbed to tears.
She had slept but a handful of hours in more than a day and exhaustion crashed over her with the sudden hopelessness of their situation. She carried very little money, having relied on the carriages of her relations for her trip north, and she would not have enough for the journey if they had to stay a night or two until the roads were passable again. She refused to go back to Wentworth - still stinging with the betrayal of her family's inactions - for fear of what the Viscount would do in retaliation of her refusals. It seemed the only course was onward, wherever that might be.
Overwhelmed at the sight of a crying gentlewoman and her clinging child, the innkeep was quick to inform Elizabeth that the only coach likely to be passing through was going south to Sheffield. In that moment, she struck upon the only possible plan. To Pemberley they were to go.
Of course, this was an enormously nerve-wracking prospect. She had received no communication from Mr Darcy since their disastrous last encounter (what little she remembered of it beyond his unexpected declaration and her emotional collapse) and was uncertain of her reception. Georgiana had last written from London, but that was several weeks ago, and she had mentioned plans to return to Pemberley. Elizabeth was not sure which was worse: that the family could be in residence and turn her away immediately, or that they would not be there and she would wait with baited breath until they arrived.
She had little else to occupy her thoughts throughout the journey. During the first stretch, from Wentworth to Sheffield, the coach had a stuffy air which stifled all conversation. When they changed coaches, this time heading towards Bakewell, the new atmosphere was not an improvement. John was cradled to her side, tired and unhappy, and even the foibles of the other occupants – an elderly gentleman who spent more time asleep and snoring than awake, and a woman in dress indicating a life of genteel poverty who was more concerned with chastising her maid for her every peccadillo than conversing with the other passengers – could not distract her. So she thought and she pondered and she thought some more on the distressing awkwardness that no doubt awaited her. Whether it was Mrs Reynolds or the Master himself who received her, it would be a very unhappy situation.
Her mind was so taken with these imaginings that when the coach arrived in the village of Lambton, her point of departure, she conceived to change her plans entirely.
When last in Derbyshire, Elizabeth had made the acquaintance of the Reverend Ramsey and his wife. Mrs Ramsey, her Aunt Gardiner's sister, was a kindly woman with a plump figure and soft features. She was devoted to her husband's parish, and it was knowledge of her charity which led Elizabeth to her doorstep, child and luggage in tow.
"My goodness!" Mrs Ramsey exclaimed upon seeing her, clothes dishevelled and eyes red. "Mrs Fitzwilliam, are you quite alright?"
She was not, that much was evident, and when she begged for a room for the night, Mrs Ramsey was quick to usher her upstairs. The sorry pair they were, Mrs Ramsey muttered, could stay as long as they needed to, and the Reverend was sure to agree. A maid was sent to see to their needs, and within an hour of their arrival both Elizabeth and John were fast asleep in the Ramsey's guest bedroom. They did not wake until morning.
oOoOoOo
Thursday 22nd June 1797
The day broke with a chorus of sparrows and blackbirds serenading the sun. The oppressive air which had clung in a heavy shroud the previous day – a remnant of the storm – had cleared, leaving blue skies and pleasant warmth in its wake.
Mr Ramsey and his wife were at the breakfast table when Elizabeth made her way downstairs with John. Reverend Thomas Ramsey was an affable, sensible sort. At perhaps sixty or seventy years of age, his hair was a shock of wispy white and his face was deeply lined. Nonetheless, he was sprightly and bright, and much beloved by his parishioners for his kindness and his practicality.
The current Mrs Ramsey was the second Mrs Ramsey, and she was considerably younger than her husband. Like her sister, Mrs Gardiner, Amelia Ramsey had a sturdy constitution and an ease with children, making her just as popular about the parish as the reverend. These were all qualities Elizabeth was grateful for when the other woman scooped John into her lap and set to feeding him breakfast.
"It is good to see you again, Mrs Fitzwilliam," Mr Ramsey greeted once she was settled at the table. "Although perhaps the circumstances do not recommend themselves…?"
He was too polite to ask after what exactly had led to an unaccompanied widow arriving uninvited with a small child and few belongings. Elizabeth was grateful for that. She could barely think of it, let alone speak.
"It is very good to see you as well, Mr Ramsey. Yes, it was not under the most ideal circumstances that I found myself Lambton. I am exceedingly grateful you allowed me to stay the night."
"Of course, of course!" he replied, slicing the ham on his plate with vigour. "I am most happy when the house is full – I have often lamented that it is a shame Mrs Ramsey could not have borne a child, and my daughters from my first marriage are quite grown and gone. Did I not say, Mrs Ramsey, did I not say that we should have more guests to say?"
"You did indeed," she confirmed.
"And now you are here! Do you mean to stay long?"
Embarrassed, Elizabeth was subdued when her replied,
"I had not meant to impose upon your hospitality. I will need to stay until the roads are drained: much of Yorkshire is the worse for wear after the rain, you see, but you shall be free of me then."
"Free of you?" Mrs Ramsey cried. The Reverend echoed her,
"Free of you? No, no, you are a most welcome guest, and you shall stay as long as you like."
"And you are my sister's favourite niece, which I am sure makes you family-"
"It does," the Reverend nodded decisively.
"-so you must enjoy yourself here in Lambton until you are inclined to travel again."
The rest of the meal was just as pleasant. Mr Ramsey read his newspaper, spectacles perched precariously on the end of his nose, while his wife cooed over John and asked after Elizabeth's sisters. It was only at this moment, across the table from an elderly gentleman and his unpretentious wife, that Elizabeth realised she felt comfortable here. More importantly, she had not really felt comfortable for many months – since she left Longbourn, in fact. Somerford Park had never been her home, it was merely the house of grief and despair and then hope for her son's future. At Wentworth Woodhouse she had been but a guest, and even that had been grudging at times. But the atmosphere in this square and sturdy vicarage was safe. Contented. Happy, even.
Elizabeth carried this warmth with her as she explored the village later that day. She had left John with a maid at the vicarage and, donning her pelisse against the cool breeze from the hills, she set off alone. It had not been difficult for her to convince Mrs Ramsey that solidary rambles were her custom and no manservant was needed to accompany her – this was a charming English village, after all, not the Town.
Her feet leading her this way and that, Elizabeth first wandered into the centre of the village, where she admired the neat streets of low stone cottages with blooming gardens. When she came to the green, a triangle of grass bordered on all sides by dirt roads leading out of the village, a magnificent chestnut tree drew her eye. It was spectacular – both tall and broad, with luscious green leaves and a trunk so wide she could embrace it and her fingers would not meet. She watched the leaves rustle and sway, a memory dancing just out of reach until it came to her in a swell: she could picture exactly the expression on Georgiana's face as she recounted a favourite family tale.
When Darcy was a boy, his favourite autumn pastime had been running into Lambton for the chestnuts, which fell in great waves from all the trees on the green. But there had been one tree and one tree alone that little Darcy had loved best, and this was the only tree he would collect chestnuts from. Looking at this great, ancient tree before her, Elizabeth knew it was the favourite tree of family lore.
Several hours had passed, and Elizabeth noticed that whichever way she walked, she somehow always returned to the lychgate, a graceful, wooden arch standing sentry at the entrance to the churchyard. It could simply be a design of the village, that all paths returned to the church, but in that moment she could not see coincidence, only providence. She brushed at her skirt, the hem of which had welcomed several layers of dust and dirt on her walk, and slipped into the churchyard. The church was a feat of Norman artistry, with a stout, imposing bell tower and arching windows that shone in the sunlight. The building was clearly well-loved and well-tended[1].
Not a single piece of stained glass had survived the Reformation, but Elizabeth could not lament the loss when the church was still so beautiful. The nave roof was intricately constructed from beams grown dark and rich with age. Light streamed across the pews and cast the grey stone floor as blindingly white. She slipped into a pew and sunk to her knees, where she stayed with head bowed until her brow felt heavy and her hands were cold.
oOoOoOo
Saturday 24th June 1797
What surprised Elizabeth the most was how accurately she had kept him in her mind. In usual circumstances, weeks and months away from an acquaintance could fade their image in a person's recollections, like a painting left in the sun. When Mr Darcy appeared at the parlour door, he was exactly as Elizabeth remembered him. Tall, obviously. He was startled, and his eyes were wide – the most beautiful shade of green. His hair was curling and carelessly arranged, as though his hairstyle was thoroughly unimportant and thus absently disregarded.
The way he carried himself was different, however. Mr Darcy was comfortable in his body in a way she had never seen in person, though she knew it from his portrait at Pemberley. His clothes settled on his shoulders, his waist, his hips like they were made to fit him – which, no doubt, they were – but instead of serving to detach him from his surroundings, as they had in Hertfordshire, they aided his commanding presence. Here, Elizabeth noted, Mr Darcy took up space.
When he wasn't staring at her in disbelief, at least. Mouth agape, Mr Darcy stuttered over his greetings. He spoke with little composure, but his manner was all civility and there was a softness in his eyes as he watched her face intently. Unaware of any discord between the two, Mrs Ramsey cheerfully poured tea and asked after Georgiana.
"No thank you, Mrs Ramsey, I am afraid I do not have time today for tea. I am come to seek Mr Ramsey's assistance on a particular manner-"
"He is in his study, sir, and you will find yourself most welcome, I am sure. Bates!" the servant appeared again, "please show Mr Darcy to the study."
Still clutching his hat, Mr Darcy searched Elizabeth's expression and asked,
"If Mr Ramsey's assistance allows me to find a solution with some expediency, perhaps I shall have that cup of tea afterwards?"
"Certainly! I do not see why we should move from here – we are having a perfectly pleasant morning, are we not Mrs Fitzwilliam?"
Elizabeth nodded, unable to raise her eyes in Mr Darcy's direction. The gentleman bowed his head and left. Cup delicately held to her lips, Mrs Ramsey raised an eyebrow but did not comment.
They engaged themselves in idle conversation for some half an hour – a neighbour had visited for a few minutes but was unable to stay long – before Mr Darcy returned to the parlour, trailing on the heels of Mr Ramsey.
"You were able to resolve your concerns, then, sir?" Mrs Ramsey asked, as she set about serving the gentlemen.
"Ah yes. Or rather, I feel confident that I shall resolve it in due course."
"Our Mr Ramsey is simply a font of good advice," Mrs Ramsey told Elizabeth.
"It is in the application of our principals and values that Our Lord gives us strength," the Reverend commented airily.
"Which is to say, Mrs Fitzwilliam, that I sought Mr Ramsey today because I can consult my maps and survey marker stones, but when two of my tenant farmers are adamant that the other has encroached on their plot, I cannot induce them to settle their quarrel."
"Mr Darcy sells himself short!" Mr Ramsey declared, slapping the other man on the knee as he would pat the neck of a horse. "He is a gracious landlord, and has those talents buried under his stern mien."
"There is no need to pretend with me, Mr Ramsey, I know very well Mr Darcy can wield his words with little skill."
Elizabeth said this with a smile, meaning it lightly, but Mr Darcy wheeled back as though struck and she felt ashamed of her words.
"I shall call upon the men myself if they cannot resolve this dispute with your guidance," Mr Ramsey told Darcy, "they have wasted enough of their own time and yours already."
"That would be greatly appreciated."
"You did not tell us earlier," Elizabeth said with a reconciliatory air, "how dear Miss Darcy fairs? Is she well? I think she is recently returned from London."
"Yes, we both travelled down last week. She is well – she enjoyed her time in Town but had grown tired of it, and I believe she is glad to have returned to the country."
"Oh indeed!" cried Elizabeth, "there is no greater balm for the soul than Derbyshire's peaks. Except, perhaps, the rolling hills of Hertfordshire, though I would not own that here."
The others, all Derbyshire born and raised, agreed that there was no landscape more beautiful. Like coming home to Our Lord's Kingdom, the reverend concluded.
As the conversation continued, Elizabeth marvelled at how loquacious Darcy was now that he had overcome his shock. She had known he could speak most eloquently when the opportunity arose, but in her experience this had happened when they were alone together and rarely in company. She could tell he was comfortable with these people, and it took her a moment to realise that she was counted in that number. This pleased her, though she could not quite say why – at any rate, before their final conversation at Longbourn she had grown to enjoy his companionship and was grateful their friendship had not disappeared entirely.
When the reverend indicated he must return to his work and Mrs Ramsey called a man to collect the tea things, Mr Darcy moved to sit closer to Elizabeth. He was silent for several moments, something Elizabeth knew preceded thoughts he had difficulty sharing, and when he finally spoke his jolting manner from before had returned.
"I feel I must- that is to say I am not acting out of obligation but I do- well, Georgiana simply would not forgive me-" Mr Darcy rubbed at his forehead with the back of his hand. Mrs Ramsey was watching them both closely. "I would like to extend an invitation for you to stay at Pemberley while you are in the county. I understand your presence here was unplanned, and I would wish you to be comfortable while you are in Derbyshire. That is not to say you would not be comfortable here!" he winced as he cast an apologetic glance to their hostess, "but you would have the park to enjoy. And it would please Georgiana greatly to have you at the house again."
When she reflected back on it, Elizabeth would think that she should have taken longer with her answer. She had spent hours and days ruminating on the inevitable awkward and uncomfortable change wrought on her relationship with Darcy. And yet, when he offered her refuge, all she could think of was the last time she stayed at Pemberley, and how it had felt rather like a home. In the end, there was only one answer.
oOoOoOo
Of all the places Elizabeth had known in her life, Pemberley was the most beautiful. The approach to the estate was unassuming, unremarkable oak woodland. But at the point where the road ran alongside the river, the dense trees opened up to a truly remarkable view. The river swept in a generous curve across the landscape, a swathe of silver through a patchwork of brown and green. In the distance the foothills – the gentle swell of the land before it rose into the bare stone of the peaks – were dotted with livestock, and the wind rippled across the hay meadows in a dance.
If only the beauty of the view could distract Elizabeth from the heavy silence in the carriage. Oh why had she persuaded herself any embarrassment could be brushed aside? she lamented. The air was thick enough to choke on.
Mr Darcy had arranged to pick her up in his carriage with Georgiana, who had missed her beloved cousin dearly and could not be parted from her a single moment longer than necessary. The young woman had rushed out to embrace Elizabeth, effusive in her delight. Elizabeth had returned the embrace with equal enthusiasm, then directed Georgiana's attentions to little John. The young woman's squeal could have shattered crystal.
Once the party was inside the carriage, however, it became apparent that the small measure of ease Elizabeth and Mr Darcy had found with one another that morning had been contingent on the mediating presence of the Ramseys and had thus disappeared with no trace. Unable to meet each other's eyes, they could not progress past the simplest of conversational topics. Unfortunately, Georgiana was a sensitive girl. Not only did she detect the unease – dense as it was, even oblivious Lydia would have noticed it – but she felt keenly that she must be the cause. Her joy promptly shrivelled away.
So the five miles between the vicarage and Pemberley were spent in painful silence, broken only by the complaints of a little boy who was thoroughly sick of carriages and voiced his displeasure vociferously. Too occupied with maintaining a fixed gaze on the passing countryside, Elizabeth could not bring herself to scold him.
By the time the driveway widened and swept up the to the magnificent Palladian façade of the house, all uniform windows and gleaming limestone steps, Georgiana had near been reduced to tears. Her delicate sensibilities upset by this unspoken quarrel between her favourite people in the world, she begged to retire, and in a fit of adolescent rebellion barely waited for her brother's response before fleeing.
The servants, firmly directed by Mrs Reynolds, saw to Elizabeth's few belongings. She was left standing with her hand in John's, until the housekeeper saw to that too, cooing over the boy with pleasure and whisking him off to the nursery.
Now alone with Darcy, Elizabeth was regretting every decision which had led her to this point. Her usually quick thoughts had abandoned her in the exhaustion that had been gathering in her bones for days, and she could not think of a way to politely excuse herself without engaging the gentleman. She considered turning on her heels and leaving without even looking at him, but what little measure of propriety was left demanded she not give in to the urge. This became another thing for her to regret when Mr Darcy took a step towards her and began earnestly,
"I know that our parting was- somewhat difficult, but I am very glad you are here, Mrs Fitzwilliam. Georgiana has greatly missed your company. As have I."
Smiling tightly, Elizabeth sighed. Mr Darcy continued,
"I realised some months ago that I have not apologised to you. And I did not feel, after our parting, that I could do such an apology justice in a letter. Which is to say, I am sorry, Mrs Fitzwilliam."
Elizabeth blinked at him. She was too tired and overwrought to summon a response.
"I am sorry for how I treated you prior to our introduction, and I am sorry for how I approached-"
"Oh I beg you, Darcy, please be quiet" Elizabeth snapped, a tense hand rubbing at her forehead. There was a pounding beat behind her eyes, and the sheer weight of the past week came crashing down around her. "Please, not now. I cannot do this right now."
His expression troubled but respectful, Mr Darcy said,
"Of course. My apologies. Let me fetch Mrs Reynolds to show you to your room."
oOoOoOo
[1] As ever, too much of what I write has a real-world basis. This church is roughly based on a 12th century church called St Edmund's church in Castleton, Derbyshire. I couldn't find if it has a lychgate, and it does in fact have one medieval window that survived the Reformation (when separation from the Vatican and the creation of the Church of England led to all Catholic finery and ritual paraphernalia being stripped from religious buildings).