Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I appreciate it. Pyshcodelic-Pixie is my hero for her constant reviews. :-) And thanks to Swampi for a very thorough review--to answer your question, Edith is eight. If she seems a little mature for her age, that's probably because I don't exactly have much occassion to study the behavior of eight-year-olds. XD Also, today is my birthday! Yay! I'm fifteen.
Chapter Five: Past Events
Last summer's reeds
are all engraved in ice
as is your image in my eye; dry frost
glazes the window of my hurt; what solace
can be struck from rock to make heart's waste
grow green again? Who'd walk in this bleak place?
—S. Plath "Winter Landscape, with Rooks"
Rosaline did not like to make mistakes. Mistakes usually involved disappointment—not merely disappointment with oneself, as Rosaline could tolerate that—but the disappointment of those she cared about. And she did not like this kind of disappointment. All her life, she had thought she had been keeping herself away from scenarios in which it would be all too easy to make a mistake, and subsequently expose her to ridicule; and it was mortifying to find that in doing so she had also kept herself clear away from happiness, and that she had not succeeded in making herself infallible. She had made mistakes: mistakes that she would never be able to forgive herself for; mistakes that would haunt her for the rest of her life. It wasn't fair. What had she done to deserve her lonely, miserable fate? She had only ever wanted what every other person wants: safety. Feeling a loss of safety had sent her away; away to where safety was even scarcer.
A single tear formed in her eye and rolled down her cheek as she sat on the window-seat in the first floor drawing-room. She had sat in this chair ten years ago; and it all looked exactly the same, except now a cold rain beat against the windowpane and enveloped the room in colorless shadow. Except now she was ten years older; ten years wiser; ten years too late to save herself. She breathed in deeply, then lifting her delicate hand to wipe away her tear. Slowly she stood, now feeling she had spent enough time in repose so that she might once again face her company. But she was startled out of her languid mindset by the sound of footsteps, and then of someone entering. Composing herself, she smoothed out her expression to its usual serenity and folded her hands in front of her.
It was Mrs. Darcy. She was dressed in a loose-fitting yellow gown, of simpler design than she had worn at the luncheon a few days previous; clearly worn for comfort and not for appearance. She had an easy countenance, betraying through her expression the too-noticeable polarity of each lady's situation.
"Lady Rosaline," she said in acknowledgement with a nod of the head. Rosaline did likewise, and then was bid to sit down with Mrs. Darcy, which was really the last thing which would give her pleasure; but she was too polite to turn her down, so she silently acquiesced and seated herself next to the pretty young lady on the sofa.
"I am so happy that I have found you here," said Elizabeth with a small smile; "for I hope you will take tea with Mr. Darcy and me this afternoon."
"Thank you—I am much obliged," replied Rosaline in her quiet, earnest way. She could not bring herself to look Elizabeth in the eye; instead shifting uncomfortably, twisting her fingers about, and her eyes drifting to all objects but her hostess. "I hope—I will not be a terrible imposition."
Elizabeth laughed. "No, of course you will not be, or I would not have asked you. I will be so bold to say that Mr. Darcy takes great pleasure in your company, perhaps most of all his cousins; though I fear the acquaintance between me and yourself is quite slight."
"Does he?" was all Rosaline could manage to say before she felt the tears once more rising to her eyes, which did not go unnoticed by Elizabeth; and so Rosaline quickly said, "I'm sorry, but you must excuse me." And then she hastily left the room, feeling suffocated by the drawing-room which held so many memories, by the presence of a stranger making herself at ease among them; the only way to escape the feeling was to escape the room.
Elizabeth sat silently and disconcerted as the door clicked, announcing Lady Rosaline's exit. She had noticed her quiet, withdrawn behavior during her stay; but now suspected that something was truly troubling her, aside from being reserved in general. She felt a strange feeling of compassion for her, though she hardly knew her; certainly not well enough to speak with her in any amount of confidence. Her eyes studied the place in which her ladyship had sat, uncertain of what to make of her or her apparent predicament. Pursing her lip, she planned to reflect upon the subject for sometime in solitude; but one is not often at leisure to do so when a house is full with guests, and soon her sister Catherine had entered.
"Hello, Lizzy," she said, draping herself on the chaise by the fire.
"Kitty," said Elizabeth seriously, "what do you think of Lady Rosaline?"
"Lady Rosaline!" cried Catherine, surprised at the sudden question, though it seemed perfectly appropriate in Elizabeth's mind; "I am sure I do not know what to think of her, for she never speaks to anyone except your Mr. Darcy, and has probably not spoken three words together to me since she came." Then after a thoughtful pause: "But you know at the luncheon where some of the villagers came, Mr. Mulligan quite stared at her the entire time."
"Mr. Mulligan?—the parson?"
"Yes, Mr. Mulligan." Catherine thought she had made an excellent segue to the subject which had been grating at her mind, and continued, "I got on well with his little girl—she is not his daughter, so I have no idea of their relation—her name is Edith. I was thinking of calling on her to-day. Don't you think that would be the right thing to do, Lizzy?"
Elizabeth was a little dazed by this sudden transition; but after taking several moments to orient herself with the new subject, said: "Mr. Mulligan, I believe, has adopted this Edith in a way. She is the natural daughter of nobody knows whom, and apparently discovered her when he traveled to Rome. As to your calling on her, I am sure there can be no objection to it; I can call for the carriage to take you there, as you do not know the way."
Catherine very much liked the idea of being taken to the parsonage via Elizabeth's carriage, as she would undoubtedly be much admired as she was driven down the lane in a vehicle with the Darcy crest; and she also had an ulterior motive to seeing Edith. She had been anxious and uneasy since her last meeting with Mr. Mulligan, and feared that she had not been forgiven for her remark; only seeing the man himself would assure her of whether he was still at odds with her. It was certainly not agreeable to have made an enemy within the first few days of coming to a new place; and they had got on so well, and seemed on the path to becoming such friends!
"Thank you, Lizzy. I do not think I shall stay long."
----
Edith was lounging on the sofa in the wainscoted sitting-room, yawning lazily as her governess, Miss Brendan, attempted to teach her some French. Attempted being the operative word, as her thoughts were a thousand miles away; and Miss Brendan, annoyed but not surprised upon observing the dreamy expression in her student's eyes snapped the book she had poised so elegantly in her hand shut with a loud bang. Edith started, waking from her half-sleep, smoothing her hair and swinging her legs onto the floor. Miss Brendan simply stared at her pupil for a while with her sharp gray eyes; giving her such a chilling glance that it seemed reprimand enough for letting her thoughts wander.
"I am sorry, Miss Brendan," said Edith pitifully, looking down and letting her arms drop to her side as if ashamed. The governess sighed and set the textbook on the table beside her, wishing that Edith was more willing to learn, yet at the same time not wanting to be hard on her.
"It's all right; just try to pay attention in the future." And so she was prepared to begin teaching again, till the sound of the doorbell deferred it all. Edith, happy for an excuse to neglect her lessons, leapt to her feet as if she had not just been daydreaming, and begged that she receive whoever was come.
Without waiting for an answer, Edith quickly slipped into the hallway, scurrying to the drawing-room, where visitors were always received, and quietly opened the door just wide enough so she could squeeze through. This accomplished, she glanced around with eager eyes to behold the mysterious visitor, and then her expression transforming from curiosity to delight once she saw that it was her new friend Miss Bennet. At first Catherine had looked at the girl dumbly; but once she stood in front of the window, where the sunlight poured through and illuminated her figure, she smiled with recognition.
"I am so glad you are come, Miss Bennet," said Edith cordially, and hastily took the chair beside her. Catherine gave a similar greeting, and then after a thoughtful silence, Edith asked: "But why are you come?"
"Because I wish to see Mr. Mulligan; he seemed cross with me when we last met."
"Oh, I remember! He was very quiet the rest of that day, and I couldn't bear it; I told him you were very sorry, like you asked, and he said that you were forgiven. Simon never lies, so I'm sure you are, but he kept on being so grave and solemn. I think there must be something else that is bothering him, other than what you said. I don't like that he seems so sad; so I hope you can cheer him up." Edith spoke earnestly and with a genuine concern for her guardian; she was used to seeing him tender, jolly; but not quiet and reserved. These differences in behavior were obvious enough to even be detected by her childish mind.
"I hope so," said Catherine sadly, though her mind was busy conjecturing as to what could be this foreign source of discomfort to the parson; then adding, "is he here now?"
"Yes, I think so." But as it was being said, Edith's suspicion was confirmed by the entrance of Mr. Mulligan himself. He looked well enough, dressed in his usual garb and with his hair tidy, though there was in his expression something unwontedly stern. This was not his usual look, and it did not become his girlish features and complexion well; and something amiss could be detected even by Catherine, who had only met with him twice before.
He took a seat beside Edith after exchanging the usual civilities; and after a brief silence which was not entirely comfortable, Catherine said pleadingly:
"I hope, sir, I have given you no offense in the past (not wanting to specifically state the comment she had made regarding Lady Rosaline). I am heartily ashamed of it if I have."
"Oh! Do not trouble yourself about it," he replied. He had taken some offense, but he saw well enough that she was merely a young lady, and one of their favorite pastimes was making funny little observations such as Catherine had; and besides, it could do him no good to go around being put off by a sister of Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley. "It was very good of you to call."
"I am glad you have forgiven me. I am used to speaking my mind without any thought as to whether I shall be injuring someone. I hope you will come to Pemberley sometime. Well—I suppose I cannot invite you exactly—but I shall make sure Lizzy includes you in all of the invitations. Pemberley is so secluded, that I don't meet new people there very much—I mean, there are plenty of relatives about now it is Christmas—but I do not meet new people very much in general, and I cannot talk to all of these lords and ladies. Nobody is about where I live." And he will no doubt want to come very often to see Lady Rosaline, added Catherine privately.
"I am honored, miss." Mr. Mulligan could not help but be flattered that this genteel young lady with such high relations should condescend to call on a clergyman such as himself, and be so earnestly trying to gain his approbation. It was in Catherine's nature to want to be liked by those whom she liked, and she thought that Mr. Mulligan was very likeable when he was not being offended. She smiled at him widely, her cheeks dimpling; and he simply studied her, impressed by her youthful expression and artlessness. Edith sat prettily with her arms folded on her lap, though feeling a little bored; and then, looking at the pianoforte in the corner of the room, said with a sudden impulse to play:
"Miss Brendan taught me to play the piano a little. Do you want to hear a song, Miss Bennet?" And so she went to the instrument and began to delight her audience.
----
Elizabeth, Rosaline and Darcy were scheduled to take their afternoon tea in the conservatory, since it was Elizabeth's favorite room and by far the prettiest. There was a table in the center of the room, small, but sufficient to accommodate three; and Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were sitting on chairs gathered round it, with the tea things in the middle, patiently waiting for their guest. It was the usual ritual for them to have this meal always alone, but since the household was so full, they had decided to invite someone to dine with them every day till they once more had Pemberley to themselves (Georgiana aside); and Darcy, with all of his fond childhood memories of his cousin, had thought Rosaline would make delightful company for the occasion.
They sat in relative silence, not feeling the need to talk; and Elizabeth was pillowing her cheek with her hand as she looked about at all of the colorful plants and flowers in the conservatory, admiring them and breathing in their sweet aroma. She then lifted her head so as to study her husband instead, smiling contentedly.
"Shall we entertain Cousin Margaret to-morrow? Or should we save the best for last?" asked Darcy bemusedly. Elizabeth laughed. Lady Margaret, she had observed, took after her aunt Catherine; for she seemed to have a constant desire to be advising, reprimanding, and ruling over somebody; and this somebody took the form of her husband, Mr. Gibson. Mr. Gibson was an easy-going, good-humored man from a respected and ancient family, though lacking in cleverness. He was short and plump, with a sanguine complexion and straw-colored hair, and exactly disposed to take his wife's constant reproaches as lightly as possible and not mind bending to her will.
"The best for last, of course," said Elizabeth with a raised brow; and then, looking round, she saw that Lady Rosaline had at last arrived. She looked more her usual put-together and calm self than she had that morning, with her eyes brimming with tears and her words quiet and trembling. She sat down after greeting her hosts, not smiling, but not giving the impression of being grave or unhappy either.
"Did you lose your way, Rosy?" teased Darcy as his wife poured him his tea.
"No," replied Rosaline coolly; "I remember it as well as I did ten years ago. I also remember that no one has called me Rosy since I was a girl."
"What! Are you saying you don't like it? But I can never call anyone a name more than two syllables. Mrs. Darcy is Lizzy, and Georgiana is Georgy; you expect me to exert myself for you?"
Rosaline smiled at this, and it was the first occasion on which Elizabeth had the privilege of witnessing it; and she was surprised how different she looked when she smiled, with the mirth flowing into her eyes and brightening up her usually indifferent countenance; but when the smile faded, so did this momentary appearance of good humor, and she looked much as she did before.
"Very well, Rosy it is. But you must not expect me to call you any more than Darcy."
"Now, now, do you remember me being a hypocrite too?"
And so their afternoon tea proceeded in the same genial way; and Elizabeth was slightly envious of how naturally the conversation seemed to flow between her husband and Lady Rosaline, she contributing to the conversation now and then, but the other two dominating it. She was surprised at how altered a creature the earl's daughter was around people whom she was intimate with; but upon further reflection, supposed she ought not to have been, since this seemed to be a family trait. But even Rosaline, when she was at leisure to reflect upon the day, had not expected to feel so easy around her cousin, especially since her mind had been laden with woe and self-pity that morning. She would try not to think of it; she could not change the past; and the memories of it she could become numb to.