A/N: My wife and I just finished La Linea - Shadow of Narco on Netflix, and I highly recommend it. It's a documentary about the efforts to stop drug smuggling in a small town in Spain near Gibraltar. It's #1 in Spain (overall, not just for documentaries), and well worth seeing. My brother in law produced it. Longish chapter today, and maybe another tomorrow, but no promises.
Wade
RED
"Mrs. Darcy"
… …
"Mrs. Darcy"
… …
"Mrs. Darcy"
… …
The words, spoken in little more than a whisper and repeated over and over eventually caused Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy to blearily open her eyes in confusion. Those eyes saw a rather blurry gray haired, impeccably dressed man about her father's age, incongruously kneeling on the floor on one knee. Even odder she felt as if he was shaking her slightly. The man smiled kindly, or more like the way a father smiled when his child did something that was naughty, clever and amusing all at the same time; and he was unsure whether punishment or laughter was in order.
Elizabeth raised her head, and immediately regretted it because it felt like a horse kicked it. With a groan, she let it drop back down to – not to her pillow. She was laying somewhere unfamiliar and a bit confusing.
Her nemesis whispered. "It would seem you found the brandy, and are not quite accustomed to it, my lady."
She grumbled. "Apparently."
The man, still whispering gently said, "I would ordinarily prefer to let you sleep, but it might be better if we managed to quietly get you to your own bed. I also have a concoction I could give you that I keep around for the master's use if you like. It will make you feel like I burned you at the stake for a few minutes, but you will feel much better afterward."
Still thoroughly confused, she said, "Why?"
Still whispering, the man said, "I believe madam, that you might be more satisfied later if your evening's activities remain private, not to mention the fact that this sofa will feel like a torture device and your mouth will taste like sawdust soon. Naturally, you may correct me if I am wrong, or send me to fetch your lady's maid, or chastise me for impertinence if I am out of bounds. I simply endeavor assist you, quietly."
Finally getting something of an idea just how embarrassing it might be for the housekeeper, the butler, the steward and all of the servants, (which amounted to everyone in the county), to become aware that the newly minted mistress of Pemberley had drank herself into a stupor all alone on New Year's Eve, less than a week into a fifty year prison sentence, might in fact not be the best idea that had ever been put forward.
She blearily said, "I believe you speak sense, my good sir. Who are you exactly?"
"Bates, madam. I am your husband's valet."
Elizabeth startled and jumped up to a sitting position, scared to death, head pounding in pain. "He is here!"
Looking startled, and not the least bit happy that a man's wife seemed to be afraid of him, Bates quickly said, "No, ma'am. I apologize for the confusion. He decided to travel without me. I am to spend a few months with my daughter and her husband. I am just here to straighten a few things."
Even though it hurt, Elizabeth laughed a bit. "Was straightening the mistress of the estate one of the things you had in mind?"
Showing surprisingly good humor for a class of men that were trained to compete with butlers for inscrutability, Bates said, "It was not my original plan, madam, but we all must adapt to circumstances."
The alarm of potentially seeing her husband again had woken Elizabeth fully, but she still felt like death warmed over. She asked, "Does the master need your concoction – often?"
Looking slightly embarrassed, Bates replied, "Not often, madam. You need not fear intemperance."
Elizabeth's muddled thinking did not know whether her reaction was fear or annoyance, but she supposed it did not matter that much. Her husband would eventually return, or he would not. For the moment, it did not appear that he was to grace her presence that day, for which she was profoundly grateful.
"I thank you for scaring me to death, Mr. Bates," but removed the sting of the jest with a smile, then added, "I appreciate your foresight and consideration. How exactly would you go about getting me into bed with none the wiser?"
"I will lead you up a set of hidden and rarely used back stairs that should be empty at this time of day, and in fact, are nearly always empty. If you can tell me who your lady's maid is, I could fetch her to go ahead and be certain we are unobserved, but I did not want to ask the question when I stumbled upon you without your permission."
Thoroughly embarrassed to be making the revelation, she said, "I do not have a lady's maid, Mr. Bates. I have coopted a scullery to serve in her stead, but I told her to spend the day with her family because I wanted to spend the first day of the year alone."
Frowning slightly, Bates said, "In that case, I am sorry for disturbing you, Mrs. Darcy."
"Do not be! You did the right thing. I was not exactly thinking clearly last night. I appreciate your efforts, and if you will direct me, I would consider it a great kindness."
"It will be my pleasure, madam."
Elizabeth sighed. "I am awake now, so the bed is no longer attractive, but a bath would not be amiss."
"I shall see to it quietly, madam. And the concoction?"
"I will follow your wise counsel, Mr. Bates."
Bates came to his feet, quite spry for his age, then helped Elizabeth to her own. "This way, madam. This route is one that you might want to be aware of. It is convenient for moving about unobtrusively, which is useful from time to time."
"I thank you, Mr. Bates."
With that, they walked to the rear of the library, and then through a cleverly hidden door to a small, cramped hall that led to some stairs, apparently going to the family wing. Elizabeth was grateful to know about them, and she thought she might even consider moving into the halls permanently when her dour excuse for a husband returned.
As predicted by Mr. Bates, his concoction made Elizabeth regret that it did not kill her for the first twenty minutes of her bath, but she did manage to emerge feeling almost human. It turned out that Molly did not really take her seriously when Elizabeth suggested she stay with her family, and her young maid returned to Pemberley before luncheon. Another upstairs maid named Martha helped with the bath, and Elizabeth felt like she may have pulled it off credibly.
The mistress reflected that the holidays had been quite a disappointment. Her family did not normally go to extraordinary lengths to celebrate Christmas, but they did exchange small gifts, and do a bit of holiday decoration. Many people in England did not do anything at all, and many deferred all real celebrations to Twelfth Night. Elizabeth had arrived the day after Christmas to find some servants had been given brief holidays, but by New Years, they were all back to doing whatever it was that they did. Elizabeth frankly had no idea, nor at that moment, any real desire to find out. She supposed if anything happened on Twelfth Night, she might accidentally stumble on it, but otherwise gave it no thought.
After her bath, she dressed in her second black dress. She had asked the laundry maid to dye another day-dress, and thought that the two she had might last her until her husband returned, or until she had to start mourning him instead of just her innocence and naivete, which she was presently grieving.
A while later, she heard a knock on the door, and found Mr. Bates with a tray of food, that surprisingly also held a small purse. Her eyes raised in surprise at the purse, but she did not ask about it right away.
"There are certain foods that are known to be more beneficial than others after a night of er …" he said, but unable to add a word like 'indulgence', or the more accurate but less acceptable alternative 'stupidity', he just left the middle of the sentence out and continued, "… I have chosen a selection of things that are easy on the stomach."
"I thank you, Mr. Bates. That is very thoughtful of you."
"I am just doing my duty, ma'am."
"On the contrary, unless you somehow acquired the title of 'lady's maid', you have been going well beyond, and I certainly appreciate it."
Looking somewhat embarrassed by the praise, he suggested. "Perhaps I should put this on the table, and you may partake."
"I thank you, Mr. Bates," she said demurely.
Once she had sat down, she was surprised when Bates poured out her tea and prepared it just the way she liked it.
The elder gentleman winked. "You are not surprised that I have rudimentary knowledge of how to do my job, I presume."
Elizabeth liked the older man. "I would not dream of it, Mr. Bates. I must confess that my father's man has been my only reference for the duties of a valet, and I can assure you that he could not serve my mother her tea if you gave him a week to work it out and ask directions."
Bates chuckled a bit. "You do have a sense of humor, madam."
"Oh no, that was just a statement of fact."
Bates bowed. "Anything else, madam. Otherwise, I will leave you to break your fast. I have asked Alice, to come for the tray in half an hour."
Elizabeth asked, "The purse?"
"Ah yes, the purse," Bates said, looked slightly uncomfortable, before replying, "I found it among the master's things, ma'am. He did not specifically tell me to do anything with it, and in fact seemed to have forgotten it entirely. Since it has your former initials, I thought it might belong to you."
"It does."
She examined the purse, looking exactly as it had when she handed it to Mr. Baker. Apparently, her father thought she at least deserved to have her purse back, although she would have to dye it black if she wanted to use it. Elizabeth wanted to open it in private, having not the slightest faith that her father would not have done something disagreeable. "I thank you for returning it, Mr. Bates. I will examine it later."
"Very good, madam."
Before he walked out, Bates turned back. "I will leave in two days' time, Mrs. Darcy. If you like, I would be happy to show you some of Pemberley's secrets before I go."
Elizabeth laughed a bit. "Are you asserting that Mrs. Reynolds might withhold something, Mr. Bates."
"I make no such assertion, madam. You may make your own conclusions. I just believe there are certain sorts of access you may wish to acquaint yourself with. Mrs. Reynolds would not dream of withholding the information, but she might consider it, shall we say, of lesser importance."
"I thank you, Mr. Bates. Perhaps you might return after luncheon?"
"It would be my pleasure, madam, and if I may say so without being impertinent, it is lovely to meet you. I have hoped for a mistress for this house for quite some time."
Elizabeth sighed, unwilling to disappoint the man by telling him that she was not a real mistress, and seemed unlikely to ever be one. She simply said, "It is lovely to meet you as well, Mr. Bates. I hope your grandchildren are mischievous."
Bates bowed, and left Elizabeth to her breakfast and her thoughts, one of which was far more enjoyable than the other.
At length, Elizabeth opened the purse and found it to contain the exact coins she had given Mr. Baker. Two of them were somewhat distinct because of some damaging marks, so she was certain it was her money. She saw a small folded parchment and opened it to find a note, that lacked all the usual parts of a letter.
I know you are angry with your entire
family right now. I will not opine whether
it is justified or not. I sill simply suggest
you remember your promise to give your
situation six months of best effort. Perhaps,
it will become something better than it presently
appears, but it certainly will not if you
do not bend a bit and try.
Have some faith. That is all I ask.
Elizabeth looked at the note for quite some time, walked over to the fire to burn it a dozen times, but in the end, she just stuffed it back in the purse, and put the purse in a hidden corner of her dressing table for a rainy day. Taking marital advice from her father seemed akin to engaging a fox to guard her chickens.
Twelfth Night came and went without any real celebration. Elizabeth was accustomed to a large, boisterous family gathering, engaging in all the traditional activities including games, punch, wassailing, and small exchanges of gifts. At Pemberley, snow had fallen heavily during the day, so nobody was leaving Pemberley for any reason, and Elizabeth would not have known where to go or what to do if she had anyway. She was still 'in mourning' so nothing much was expected of her, and she wondered if she would be doing anything the next year or not.
It was difficult being in Limbo or Purgatory or whatever this in‑between state was called. She vacillated between hating her husband, being afraid of him, and wondering if she was being too harsh or too generous. Perhaps, she occasionally thought, he was a better man than he appeared, and she had not caught him at his best. She would occasionally sit in the library, particularly after she had read a novel with a likable male character, and imagine it was all explainable. He was distraught in the first assembly because… because… because something awful had happened in his family. He was awful the rest of the six weeks because he was being hunted mercilessly by Caroline Bingley. He was awful after the betrothal because some evidence suggested Elizabeth had conspired with her mother to entrap him.
When she encountered those thoughts, which were somewhat rare and hard to believe, she liked to imagine all the horrible things that might have led him to such behavior. Maybe his sister had disgraced the family, or his uncle, or – well – she actually did not know a single thing about his family except that he had a younger sister, his uncle was the Earl of Matlock, and his aunt was Lady Catherine de Bourgh, the patron of her silly cousin, Mr. Collins – and that his mother's taste in decorating was frightening. Her flights of fancy were at least entertaining, with everything from elopements to gambling to heavy debts to murder and duels. The more ridiculous the scenario, the better she liked it. Seductions between Mr. Wickham and Miss Darcy, cousins in debt, pirates, privateers, estates lost to gambling – nothing was too outlandish for her imagination.
Of course, such thoughts were diverting, but all she had to do to contradict the idea that they were exculpatory was think of any random sentence he had actually said, after she had told him in plain English that she had nothing to do with the compromise. Her favorite way to rouse her anger, which was a pointless exercise but diverting, was to remember something like, 'Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections? – to congratulate myself on the hope of relations, whose condition in life is so decidedly beneath my own?' Now, there was a useful phrase for wooing your wife if she ever heard one.
January gradually passed as January's usually do. The snow mostly left, or at least became manageable, and she walked into Lambton with Molly to reacquaint herself with Mr. Bartlet. He was just as congenial as he had seemed, and she spent several hours in his shop every time she visited the village, which gradually became several times per week.
Mrs. Reynolds, whether out of pity or self‑preservation, had explicitly instructed Molly that she was to be at Elizabeth's beck and call, even though the mistress did not actually need very much of anything except some footmen to carry bathwater periodically, her meals, and some company. Of course, she supposed the servants were probably grateful that Elizabeth's decision to forego formal dining had greatly reduced their work, but not their number.
All in all, January was occasionally pleasant, occasionally vexing, but mostly dull and dreary aside from her time with Molly.
Elizabeth was happy with Molly's progress in reading during the few weeks of her betrothal, but she thought that if she wanted any hope of convincing Mr. Darcy to make Molly her official lady's maid, that she had better be up to the task. Elizabeth spent quite a lot of time tutoring the young woman through January, but they also frequently just sat in the library together with Molly practicing and asking help for any difficult words.
In mid-February, Elizabeth stumbled into the music room. She had still not asked Mrs. Reynolds for a tour, and to be frank, was a little afraid to do so. She had no idea what she was afraid of. Would she find she hated the house that was to be her home for the rest of her life, or would she love it and feel trapped in a gilded cage? Perhaps she would come to love it and Mr. Darcy would shuffle her off to the dower house or some remote estate in Scotland or annul their marriage and throw her out to starve in the hedgerows.
The hateful thing about her situation was that she had very little control over her destiny. Just as before the wedding, her choices were to take what he chose to dish out, or to make her escape, only this time, at the expanse of breaking a vow. She was educated enough to know that she would not be the first or last married person to break a vow, and she thought she could make an excellent case that her husband already had, but still, it rankled to be so powerless, and rankled far worse to be so – ignored. That was by far the worst of it.
Discovering the pianoforte gave her yet another dilemma to ruminate on. Should she practice? Should she engage a master? A master was out of the question, since her husband had said she would have to pay for that out of her pin money. Any master worth his salt would cost an awful lot, and she was not about to waste half her pin money on doing something to attract a husband, when she already had one too many. Aside from that, Miss Darcy was supposed to be ever so accomplished, and Elizabeth was unlikely to be able to compete anyway, so she eventually concluded that a master was out of the question.
She did however decide that practice would not kill anybody. Pemberley was so big that anyone who did not like her playing could avoid it readily enough. Practicing would allow her to improve the ever so silly 'accomplishments' that were supposed to be so useful, and it had the added benefit of chewing up several hours per day, not to mention the sheer pleasure of sitting at an instrument without fighting Mary for it.
Such thoughts always made her melancholy. She longed for the simple days of old, where she still esteemed her family. She wondered if time would soften her anger enough that she would one day form some sort of rapprochement, and really had no idea. In the first place, it seemed unlikely Mr. Darcy would ever venture into Hertfordshire or meet with them himself. She supposed he could send her by herself, which would be an improvement, but then she tried to picture coming back to Meryton without her husband. In the end, it would be as humiliating as the marriage itself had been – and that was saying nothing of how her family had treated her in December.
All in all, Elizabeth thought that she would just leave her family behind along with the rest of her childish things.
Early March brought rains that washed away all lingering traces of snow, and most of the locals thought that would be the end of winter for certain. Molly was progressing nicely, and one day, Elizabeth left her in the library with strict instructions to practice.
An hour later, Elizabeth found herself back in her suite, and decided to go check to see how her charge was doing. Molly had, over the course of the previous two months learned how to fix Elizabeth's hair good enough, although with a mobcap, 'good enough' was not a very high standard. She reckoned that if she ever was introduced as a proper society woman she might need better, but then again, if she ever learned to fly, she would need wings. Both seemed equally unlikely.
Elizabeth took the shortcut that Mr. Bates had shown her on New Year's Day, mostly because it was faster and easier, and she would not encounter any distractions along the way. She had managed to learn the name and basic biographies of all the footmen and maids in the house but did not feel particularly close to any except Molly. She was the mistress, yet she was not really the mistress. The state of Limbo left her uncomfortable, and the household staff even more confused, so Elizabeth avoided interaction whenever she could. She thought it could be counted as kindness or cowardice with equal precision.
Entering the library, she was surprised to see Noah sitting beside Molly. Since he had been the first footman Elizabeth met, entirely by chance, on the day she met Mr. Knight, she always had a soft spot for the young man. He was sitting at a mostly proper distance from the young maid, and the two of them were apparently taking turns reading from a text. Noah seemed to read about as well as Elizabeth had when she was ten, and molly was at about the same level by then.
Elizabeth had never really put too much thought into how courtships happened or did not in the servant classes, nor did she think it was an area that she needed to investigate or form an opinion on. Noah seemed to be improving himself along with Molly, and that was entirely good enough for the mistress of the house. She did however start thinking about ways for the young man to spend more time in her near vicinity. She still had never called for a carriage or horse even once, opting instead to walk the five miles (97 minutes) to Lambton a few times per week. Molly thought nothing of the excursion, and Elizabeth thought perhaps she would drag Noah along occasionally and see what happened.
Satisfied that all was well, Elizabeth returned to her suite, and an excellent book on law that she had found on one of the non‑black shelves. She was not particularly interested in the law, but she had picked it as the one book on the non‑forbidden shelf her husband was most likely to disapprove of.
It was a small act of defiance, until she got to the part about marriage law, which she found almost infinitely fascinating – horrifying and barbaric, but fascinating.
