Chapter Five

Mr. Darcy's presence immediately made the estate a changed place.

Suddenly there was an endless coming and going of neighbors and tenants on business with Mr. Darcy. There were flurries of activity as new building projects and improvements were begun, the conservatory was being expanded, the fishpond widened, and the construction of a line of new brick cottages was started in the village. The servants walked about with a greater enthusiasm as they cooked and cleaned, fetched and laundered, and new columns of smoke rose up from the many chimneys of the estate.

Such was the effect the arrival of a master to join his young sister had upon the estate.

The fine gentleman himself was declared by the doctor to have twisted his ankle, and he spent his first day in the library where Cathy and I had taken our lessons until then. Alas, he did offer to permit us to keep the use of a corner of the lovely, lovely room, as his library became the primary sitting room where he received callers.

I complained to myself about being banished up to a secondary sitting room, away from all of those luscious pages and richly burnished bookshelves, while Mr. Darcy was able to freely enjoy the vast cultured accumulation of books collected by himself and his ancestors.

Yes, yes — the library was his by right of blood and toil. I still lusted after it.

That first day after his return, it was impossible for Cathy to concentrate on anything. Everything Cathy said was "Papa this", and "Papa that", mixed with enthusiasm for the promised doll that would arrive in another day with Mr. Darcy's trunks that he had left behind when he rode ahead.

An unteachable student was another annoyance brought by Mr. Darcy to my life.

Cathy had spent the evening prior in Mr. Darcy's company with Georgiana in the drawing room, while I had been left to myself and my own devices.

I felt the loneliness of being a governess for the first time that night, when there was a bright happy party, including both a gentleman who I was curious to know better and a dear friend, but I could not attend that party because I had not been summoned by the master, my employer.

I had rather hoped that the fascinating gentleman who I had aided on the road would desire to thank me, after all he had said, no doubt solely pro forma that he was in my debt. But he did not.

It was a lonely evening, and I wondered in a serious way if I had made a mistake by seeking employment as a governess. It had been irksome to live with Charlotte as a woman dependent on a friend's whim, with no positive right to live in the house that I had been born in. But at least at Longbourn I could be certain that I would never have been excluded in the evening from the drawing room by my dear friend.

The next morning I again breakfasted away from the usual rooms, though this time not alone, as my Cathy had also not been called down to attend the family party, and I shared my morning repast with my charge and her nurse.

However that morning while seeking Mrs. Reynolds to ask about which room we would be removed to with Cathy's school books, I passed by the breakfast room, and I could not help but pause upon hearing my name pronounced by the stern, stony lips of my employer: "Miss Bennet is by no means so astonishing as you think. Catherine's progress is tolerable enough, I suppose. But none of her improvement is the sort which would impress me."

I flushed, and began to see red. That man.

What did he expect? What did he want — for a child who he paid almost no attention to. He had no right to show so little concern for Cathy and then cast aspersions upon my efforts with his daughter.

I despised him immediately.

Part of my pique was soothed when I discovered that at least I possessed a partisan. Georgiana growled at her brother, "Lizzy is wonderful!"

"Yes, yes — you enthused about her endlessly last night and in all your letters. Your belief in her goodness and grandness of heart would only be a fine recommendation of her talents if I had employed her to be your companion. However, I have employed her to instruct Catherine. Her heart is too soft towards the girl. She does not discipline her sufficiently — effort must be taken to keep Cathy from becoming at all like her mother… or her grandmother."

"That won't happen to our sweet Cathy."

"Once someone called Lady Catherine 'our sweet Cathy.'"

Georgiana giggled. "But Lizzy is wonderful — she loves Cathy near as much as me."

"The role of a governess is to instill proper principles. That is to govern the child — that is why she is called the governess, and not the affectioness."

I heard the moving of chairs in the room and I hurried on to find Mrs. Reynolds, not wishing to be found eavesdropping upon my employer. I also had a little anxiety that he might be so determined to claim that I was deficient in my instruction of his daughter that he would dismiss me.

I was informed soon that I would, after eating another lonely dinner, be at last formally introduced to the paragon of masterliness who had entered my pretty little haven in his estate. Early in the day a footman brought me a note written in the firm and elegant hand of the master: It would please Mr. Darcy if Miss Bennet should attend upon us in the drawing room after dinner.

Highhanded tone — and an automatic expectation that I would obey. Simply because he happened to be providing me with room, board, and thirty a year. If Papa was still alive, I'd throw the thirty pounds in his face happily.

Almost spitefully, desiring to prove his charge that I was too soft hearted towards my charge, I made little effort to make Cathy to concentrate that day, and instead allowed her to freely patter on about the gifts Mr. Darcy had promised her, about how tall and handsome her father was, and about how she was very happy to see him again, and everything else the child had to say in excitement upon this interesting change in her circumstances.

I did however insist she make the effort to prattle upon the subject in French.

Georgiana at least had not abandoned me now that her brother was returned. When he was busy dealing with callers present upon business matters, she joined me in our new schoolroom, as had become her wont over the past months and played a little upon the small secondary piano in the room now set aside for me and Cathy.

She enthusiastically described her delight at seeing Mr. Darcy returned from the continent, and her hope that he would stay a long time this time.

Of course she also insisted that I would like Mr. Darcy very much.

I had my doubts.

However that evening while I enjoyed my lonely dinner — too high in position to dine with the servants, too low to dine with the family — I schooled myself to think my pique towards him was silly. I was employed by this man under good conditions and for good wages, and he had every right to expect obedience to reasonable commands from those who had voluntarily chosen to take service with him. That I disliked my position of dependency was simply another sign that I had not yet accustomed and accommodated myself to my changed position in the world.

No longer Miss Bennet of Longbourn, now just "oh yes, the governess, I forgot the governess".

However I knew I must accustom myself to that, and I liked my position here — at least I had liked it when I was treated as a friend by Georgiana as opposed to being treated as a not particularly valued servant by Mr. Darcy — and I had no wish to risk losing my position. I must remember when I spoke to Mr. Darcy to not suffer myself to run on as I was used to, and to be quiet, submissive, and above all else, to present the façade of being a capable teacher — I repeated these instructions to myself in a voice that sounded remarkably, and annoyingly, like my mother's.

That evening I went to the warm drawing room attired in a fine but simple grey silk dress that I thought would make the proper impression: Fine enough to show that I had excellent taste — the dress had been in fashion only two years before, but not spectacular in a way which would make me seem to be claiming a particular position as a daughter of a gentleman.

It was a balancing act, and I felt even before I had properly met him as though my every action was being minutely observed, like under a microscope by the intense searching eyes of Mr. Darcy.

I felt a strange, odd hesitation — something I had never felt before in my life, when the summons to join the family in the drawing room was finally delivered to me. I walked to the drawing room, and stood half frozen before the oaken door with an inlaid painting of a battle from the Civil War that one of Mr. Darcy's ancestors had participated in.

For some reason I could not explain to myself I feared to turn the knob and enter.

I turned the knob and opened the door.

Mr. Darcy was seated near the fire in a huge winged armchair which faced into the room, his twisted foot stretched out and resting on a cushioned footrest.

At his side Cathy adoringly played with a huge doll and she involved Georgiana in her play.

She jumped and came to me eagerly. Cathy grabbed my hand and blinked up at me with her darling eyelashes. "Papa is here. Papa is here!" She pointed at Mr. Darcy, who inclined his head upon catching my eye. "Papa is here!"

"Let me introduce you, let me. Let me!" Cathy clapped her hands eagerly. "Miss Bennet. Miss Bennet! This is my Papa." She pointed her small, slightly chubby finger at the handsome man who coolly observed me from his chair. "Papa, this is my special, special friend. My governess. I like her very much, and she teaches me so much, about French, and about history, and about science, and strange stories. And so much. Do you have a gift for her too?"

Cathy smiled at me, but most of my attention was on the even, unchanging face of Mr. Darcy. He seemed to have a coldness, almost as though Cathy's enthusiastic childish lisp offended him.

This did not endear me to him, or make me to set aside the offense I'd taken from what I had overheard of what he said.

"Sit down, Miss Bennet. Sit down." He gestured to the chair to his side.

I took it, a rather familiar chair, one I'd sat in many times while spending time in this room with Georgiana.

"Pardon my remaining seated, Miss Bennet, but it is an enforced sedentariness." He spoke with a deep, resonant voice that rumbled from his chest. Mr. Darcy looked at me closely. "Do you wish to have a gift, Miss Bennet?"

I blushed. The intensity of his gaze made it rather difficult to think clearly. I greatly wished that I could run on in the most teasing manner, for I was certain that if I spoke humbly towards him, it would end with me being most intimidated in half a day. "I certainly do not expect one, Mr. Darcy… Sir… the true gift, after all, which any teacher desires is merely to hear good spoken of her student."

He barked out a laugh. "You seek a compliment then? But compliments ought to be given sparingly, lest they lose their meaning."

"I seek to hear Cathy complimented."

"And thereby yourself. No pretense. No pretense of disinterestedness."

"Of course I wish for the second handed compliment, but I am also authentically attached to her, and wish to see her excel and learn, and I seek to forward that for her sake."

Mr. Darcy shook his head, smiling to himself. "She has improved since you have come. In her general knowledge certainly, perhaps in the training of her character. Though breeding matters more by far than education."

"No, no — that is a common position. But the care and concern of loving guardians, or their absence, is what forms the central character of a person."

"That is hardly an astonishing position to be expressed by one whose profession is the education of young children — one must defend one's own value, and it is unlikely for a person to argue that they do nothing of use."

I was not terribly certain how to reply to that. I rather wished to argue with him, and there was a tilt to his head that reminded me of my father, and the way that he liked to argue. But remember, I told myself, you are his employee, don't pretend to be an equal. "I do not wish to argue with you, sir, but I see your… view as quite contrary to what most people say."

"To what most people say? But what do you say? You claim you do not wish to argue with me?" He smiled thinly. "I think you rather do — I can see that in your eyes. You are waiting to jump at each word and express something disagreeable — this is another shameful secret of yours that I have discovered. And one we share. I confess this shameful secret openly: I too enjoy disputations rather beyond what is seemly."

"Mr. Darcy," I replied in a voice I hoped to keep sweet. "You have now drawn from my statement that I do not wish to argue with you a claim that I have an unseemly joy in arguing."

"And now you have continued the argument — and opened new topics of disputation at the same time. I think my claim has been proven already — but do not look so annoyed. I think I shall like you."

He smiled, an actual smile and the first I had seen on his face. It made him look younger and handsomer. And it made it hard for me to remain properly annoyed.

"I now rather wonder at you being such a dear friend of Mr. Bingley that you would accept his recommendation of a governess. He actually hates to be made a party to any dispute, or a participant in any argument."

"It is not so surprising, Miss Bennet, after all you, who are again arguing, are also a dear enough friend for him to recommend as a governess. Bingley is a man who it is easy to be a friend too — I rather miss him."

"I believe he wishes you would spend more time together as well."

"Hmmmm." Mr. Darcy nodded thoughtfully. "But you did not admit my point — that I am justified in being Bingley's friend, despite being a disputatious man."

Now it was my turn to laugh at his turn of phrase. "When you have scored a point, I shall acknowledge it. So I will say now: A fair point."

"Excellent — now let us move on to the proper subject. You. Your defenders have claimed you to be accomplished. Describe your accomplishments."

"I believe, sir," I replied, "that you have already read the letter of introduction Bingley sent to you upon my qualifications."

Darcy waved his hand to the side at that. "I did, of course. Well as I could make it out. The dashed fellow thinks he gains distinction by being illegible. Always has. And I read your own addendum to that letter, written in a clearer hand. You write very neatly, Miss Bennet."

"Thank you, sir."

"That is not an accomplishment. Anyone can write neatly."

I laughed. "I acknowledge that you have not given me a point."

He smiled back. "But you do not wish to defend your friend Mr. Bingley from my aspersions upon his writing and character? — he has been a good friend to you."

I frowned.

In truth… because of Jane… I would have rathered by far that Mr. Bingley had never entered the neighborhood. "I am indebted to Mr. Bingley for his efforts upon my behalf, but he would not take the claim that his rapidity at writing makes his letters difficult to interpret as an aspersion upon his character. He is a self-effacing gentleman who is able to admit his own flaws — too ready to mistrust his own judgement perhaps."

"A fool. But a sweet fool — I once thought of him as nearly a brother… time took us apart. He married poorly. He always tended to leap from flirtation to flirtation, and in the end he proved to not have enough sense to wait to discover if his feelings would endure seeing the next pretty face before leaping into the married state. Never marry: I always counsel all my friends against marriage. It is a thankless state."

"Ah. I begin to understand you. A misogynist."

"Yes. Yes you do see that. And I am. But would you believe, Miss Bennet, you must believe that once I thought the best of all men, and women too — I once was determined to do some good for my fellow man, to arrange matters better in the world in general."

"Ah. But you do not at all now?" I smiled at him. "That disagrees with the general tone of speech about you — I have been told a hundred times if I have been told once of how you are generally accounted to be the best of landlords, and the best of gentlemen. Always willing to help with improvements, to aid a tenant who has fallen on hard times, and I am told you are fair to all and only strict with those who prove they wish to abuse your good will and—"

"And nothing. That is nothing. I merely employ sound practices in matters of business, and a bit of basic human decency to those beneath me. But I speak of deeper feelings, of deeper matters — in deeper matters I have been entirely stripped of good will towards mankind. You smile, Miss Bennet. What does that arch, critical smile mean?"

"Merely that you have established your brutish and inconsiderate character beyond any doubt with me. I promised to acknowledge when you made a point and I do so — you are a fair landlord, a kind master, a loving brother… a—" I could not praise him as a father.

"Yes, a what?"

"A brutish man who is only kind because he does not like to hurt others, as opposed to being kind because he does like to hurt them, but likes to deny himself more. You will never be named a Papish saint."

Darcy laughed. "Oh, I have done wrong. Believe me, I have done wrong — do not let this surface deceive you. There are things in my soul — things I have thought, and things I have done… and would do were I to let loose myself and take what I wished. No, I am not as good as I once was. I once was like you, thinking that those things you speak of were the essence of goodness, but no longer, they are not."

There was silence.

I could not smile at him any longer, though I was full of curiosity. I had nothing further to say.

"Have I scared you, Miss Bennet?"

"Not at all, no — I merely wonder… what evil might be in my own heart that could make me despise myself, as you seem now to despise yourself."

I blanched.

Fortunately Georgiana had occupied herself in playing with Catherine and Mr. Darcy's hound Captain, so she did not hear what I had just said to her brother.

Mr. Darcy laughed after a long pause. "You do not hesitate from speaking what is upon your mind — it is quite strange in an employed woman—"

"I have not been in service for a sufficient time that the habits of dependence come ready to me. Give me enough time, and I promise I can become as servile as anyone raised to the state."

"Ha! One need not be raised to the state to be servile. The worst bootlickers I have ever met were born to greater fortunes and higher stations than my own — you were always contrary. You never followed orders or expectations, did you? Did your mother and father always appreciate your behavior?"

I smiled at him. "My father, nearly always. My mother, seldom."

Darcy laughed again. "I would beg you not to make the effort to gain the servile skill, not to change. I beg you, Miss Bennet, at least for so long as you are under my employ, I beg you to say your mind to me at any time. I promise to never dismiss you over simply a matter of speaking — and I know women of society. Few of them would have the bravery to disagree with me either."

"You are rather intimidating. It is your height. I can only speak so honestly to you as you are seated."

Mr. Darcy seemed pleased by this, and after a moment he returned to an earlier topic: "But, Miss Bennet, pretend I had not read that dashed off letter Mr. Bingley gave me. You claim to be accomplished: Defend that claim."

"I claim to be accomplished?" I laughed. "I had thought it was my eager partisans who made that claim for me."

"So you now claim to not be accomplished? Then why do you think you can govern a child who I intend to be highly accomplished."

"And now you put words again into my mouth — I leave claims of my accomplishment to the observer, and not to myself — but about sweet Cathy, is there anything beyond what she is already learning that she ought to know? I certainly have enough skill at all the ordinary matters — much more than the average talent in French."

"Yes, yes. Yes — how can someone who only has a skill in the ordinary matters, as you described them, also be described as accomplished?"

I looked down, unable to repress my smile.

"And I see that arch smile of yours once more," Mr. Darcy said. "And what meaning has it now?"

"Only that I wonder what you include in your description of accomplishment. How wide its scope is."

"Hmmmmm." Darcy sat back, thoughtful.

"Must she know how to dance, play, sing and sew, and all of the modern languages, and how to draw, and know all facts from history and the sciences, and beyond that… beyond that she must have a certain way of walking that displays her particular distinction? And an elegant mode in her speech."

"And beyond that she should enrich her mind through an extensive reading." Darcy smiled at himself. "And if I include all forms of perfection in my definition of accomplishment, it would be a wonder if I knew even one such woman."

There was something a little rueful and a little thoughtful on his face that made it very handsome.

I shrugged and smiled. I took his expression as his admitting that this time I had scored the point.

"So then, Miss Bennet, what would you describe as the essence of accomplishment?"

"I… I think an accomplished woman would be one who while she is at least average at most of the ordinary things we train women to be able to do, she would be a woman who gains distinction by having an excellence in one particular domain of effort — such as your sister Georgiana with the piano. She is one who I would describe as a properly accomplished woman."

"Georgiana!" Darcy laughed, and then he smiled delightedly. "No wonder my sister loves you, for she finds a partisan in you surely as you find one in her."

"Is that not what friendship should be?"

"So then, in what area are you remarkable? How have you achieved distinction?"

"I did not claim to be accomplished."

"Yes, but you must defend your own accomplishment, as your friend has claimed it for you, and you cannot leave me disappointed in Georgiana's discernment."

"I think then my chiefest unusual aspect is that I have read rather more widely than is usual for girls of my age, or the class I was born into."

"Not merely novels and Mrs. Radcliffe!"

"I of course have read them as well — that is part of what reading widely requires."

Mr. Darcy laughed, and it again transformed his face, as if for a moment that bitterness and harshness that was in his manner was forgotten. "Of course, of course. But what else have you read?"

"My father considered himself a scholarly man, and he took pains with my education, so that I could converse with him upon topics of interest to him — we followed all of the journals with the latest results of experiments, read widely in history, read a great deal in French and German. Talked at endless length upon these matters — argued philosophy. I think… I think that our disputes and discussions are what made me happiest, more than balls or dances, though I enjoyed them as much as any other young miss."

"Ah, now I begin to understand you. No wonder you are as much a disputatious fresh faced maiden as I am a disputatious gnarled gentleman. You see in every argument a chance to be seated on your father's knee again, safe in childhood times."

"Something of that sort."

"He was a gentleman, was he not? Bingley wrote about his death making you all destitute. An entail?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hmmph. And nothing set aside for the girls so that they would not need to turn to employment for their survival?"

"We are not in such desperate straits that I was enjoined by the pains of a hungry stomach to enter service. However, what money we had went to my mother who was quite set against me, on the account of my refusing an eligible offer of marriage shortly before my father's death. Though there is no great store of money for her either."

"A disputatious maiden indeed. You argued with your mother's choice for your future happiness."

"Had you ever met Mr. Collins, I believe you would admit that I had sufficient cause to dispute her choice. Or perhaps not — after all many do think marriage ought only to be based upon considerations of connections and income."

"So you ignored your chance to settle yourself and your family in a good condition, and your father likewise was imprudent, and did not settle you upon the pathway to a happy and peaceful existence."

"Exactly." I smiled at him, rather thinly. "I know my father's failings — but he loved me, he cared for me."

"Except in that vital material way."

"I loved him, and I love him yet… he was no perfect man. That he failed to provide for me in 'that vital material way' does not change that we had tight between us that affection, those many happy years together. That love. I am who I am today because of how my father raised me, and I confess, though it perhaps be improper, to liking myself. So how can I mourn that my father was not more prudent?"

"You are who you are due to your father? I suppose I have become who I am due to my parents as well." Darcy's voice was bitter.

"Do you claim your parents cared for you equally well in every possible respect?"

Mr. Darcy's face went blank again. He did not speak for a long minute. I knew I had spoken in a way that poked a tender point, and I was sorry for that, but I did not apologize. I already trusted him in this at least, that he had spoken truly when he said he would never dismiss me or punish me over a matter of speaking.

At last Mr. Darcy sighed. "No, no they did not. And perhaps… Perhaps I would have done better with your father's imprudent love than my parent's prudent pursuit of my advancement."

He sighed again and did not speak for another minute. Though the silence was awkward at first, I could not find anything to say to that. When we began to speak again, it was on other topics, chiefly questions about the plan of study I had laid out for Cathy to pursue.