A/N: Hey gang, been cranking them out. It's a bit funny. This is what we would call two 'threads' in the software world, and you're experiencing a 'context switch' each time I flip between threads. It's a bit disorienting, which is both a feature and a bug. I'll talk more about why I made the choice at the end, but I'll mention that it's quite an experience for me as well. When I'm writing Green, I'm tempted to just bang out a dozen more chapters and finish it, while I can barely think about Red. When I come back, then it's the converse and all I can think of is Red. But here's the kicker - we have what we call 'background processes' and in this case, that's what happens. I'm writing Green and Red is percolating on the back burner, ready to boil over at a moment's notice.
These chapters are running a bit long. I'm not sure if that's good or bad, and probably won't know until everything is done and I go back to see what to axe and what to keep. For the moment, if there's too much of one thing or another, mention it in a review (I read them and adjust), or suffer in silence.
It's back to Green after this chapter.
For those of you who have seen 'Sliding Doors', don't read too much into it. I saw it a decade ago, and the split narrative is pretty much all I took from it.
Many of you are worried about Red Darcy. If you need to know when you'll see him again, it's at the very bottom of this page in my spoiler zone. For the rest of you, let's see what the morning light brings.
Wade
RED
Much to Elizabeth's disappointment, the morning light brought little in the way of clarity, but much in the way of a headache and sore jaw – a sure sign that she had been grinding her teeth during the night. Jane had often complained that she sounded like a woodcutter when she had one of her relatively frequent arguments with her mother. She could easily tell because her molars hurt and her jaw ached, and that was the only thing that ever produced that symptom.
She had a small bottle of laudanum that she briefly considered, but she stopped just before taking the dropper because she did not want to let her 'noble' relatives win. Instead, she put on her dress that did not contain any dog slobber (yet), and descended through the hidden stairs, not quite willing to risk running into the Matlocks accidentally.
It was a good plan, and probably would have worked if she had not gone by the hidden door to Lady Matlock's chambers. Mrs. Reynolds, in a fit of either good sense or a subtle putdown, had placed the lady in the room that had all the furniture removed from the Mistress' chambers. It was the most ornate room in the house, and likely in Derbyshire. Elizabeth had no idea if the lady would consider it her just do, or if her eyes were screaming in pain like Elizabeth's had been.
Lady Matlock seemed to be in the sitting room speaking with Lord Matlock, and while Elizabeth did not stop to eavesdrop, she might not have gone past the door with her usual alacrity, when she heard a bit of their conversation.
'Have you learned where she went yesterday. I swear, the little hoyden disappeared like a ghost. Who knows what she could be up to? I hope you plan to write Darcy about this debacle', said Lady Matlock, without any hint of subtlety.
Abandoning any pretense of decorum, Elizabeth stopped to hear what the lord had to say.
'I have no idea. I did ask around, but the servants either did not know, or they closed ranks around her. If the latter, that would be in her favor. The former, very much against her.'
'Well, I for one think she acted despicably, and I will be certain to let Darcy know if you do not.'
'You think refusing to entertain uninvited guests against her husband's explicit instructions qualifies as despicable?' the lord asked in a tone Elizabeth could not quite make out through the door.
'Yes. We came here to help her and look how she has acted. She has no idea what she is about to face.'
Elizabeth waited in breathless anticipation of what the lord would say. It sounded as if he actually might partially admire her actions, or at least that he might not entirely disapprove. She thought the next sentence might be telling.
'Well, I have to admire her spunk. She has some backbone, and I will give her that. However, she seems to lack sense. She could make some friends in the family with little effort, but she seems to think herself better than us. She is the interloper here, not us, and it is up to her to make a better place for herself, not the other way around.'
Lady Matlock seemed content to scoff loud enough for Elizabeth to clearly hear it. Lord Matlock was not finished though.
'We will stay a few days and try to learn what we can, but at the moment, I am inclined to tell Darcy he made a bad choice, and he should undo it. It would be expensive, but I do not see how he can save himself.'
With that, Elizabeth lost all hope of ever repairing things with the Matlocks – not that she ever had much in the first place. If they were ready to entirely abandon all efforts after one exchange, and they were unwilling to hear, let alone acknowledge, her side of the story, then – then – then – well, she began to fear that the family was irredeemable. She had hoped for a moment that Lord Matlock had a bit of sense, and for a moment, things had looked promising, but in the end, it all came crashing down.
That did not necessarily mean her husband was irredeemable, or that her marriage was beyond saving. She could well imagine someone abandoning her over her own family. In fact, she did not even have to imagine it. Mr. Bingley might well have made an offer for Jane absent Mrs. Bennet's intervention at the Netherfield ball. Not only that, Elizabeth strongly suspected Mr. Darcy would have dissuaded him from making the connection anyway, and to be honest, after the experiences of the previous five months, Elizabeth could not blame him. Therefore, having some disagreeable relatives did nothing to raise or lower her husband in her esteem. She tried to keep reasonable limits on hypocrisy.
As she left the Matlocks to their scheming, she wondered where that left her. The rest of the stairs to the hidden exit door, and the walk to the stables convinced her that the basic situation was unchanged. She would either get along with her husband or she would not. He would either listen to his relatives or he would not. The two were related, because if he took their word over hers, the game would be up before it started.
In fact, she thought that the whole ordeal might prove useful in one way. It was a very convenient and easily administered test of her husband's character. If he condemned her based on his relatives' testimony without listening to her side of the story, she would know everything about his character that she would ever know. If he instead acted fairly, tried to ascertain the truth and act accordingly, as a gentleman should, then that would conversely speak well of his character.
All in all, Elizabeth felt some satisfaction in the assertion that within a week of her husband's eventual return, she would know how to judge him fairly and correctly. She would then know how to act.
Elizabeth found Mr. Longman in the stable and gave him a cheery hello. They exchanged the usual pleasantries, but then the ageing groom surprised her by asking a direct question. "Not my place to ask, Mrs. Darcy, but you do not seem to be in the best of humors."
Elizabeth sighed. "You are correct, Mr. Longman, but I hope to not take it out on you or your horses."
Longman seemed a bit hesitant, but then finally said, "Lord Matlock mistreats his horses," with the same tone of voice he would use to describe a murderer.
"I suppose that tells you all you need to know about him."
"Would you care for a suggestion, ma'am?"
Curiously, Elizabeth agreed immediately, so the man led her out of the stables, and a few hundred yards to another pasture. When about a dozen yards from the pasture, he let out a whistle, so that by the time they approached the gate, a horse was running towards them.
"He is not quite as obedient as he seems, ma'am. He just knows from long experience that I only whistle like that if I have a treat."
Elizabeth watched the horse trot towards them, and she had to admit that he was the most beautiful stallion she had ever seen. A minute later, she became somewhat frightfully aware that he was also the biggest horse she had ever seen.
"Do not worry, Mrs. Darcy. He will not harm you."
Elizabeth smiled, and was pleased to see Longman started slicing a couple of apples. When the stallion poked his head over the fence, she was happy enough to feed him the treats, a piece at a time.
"He is a beautiful specimen, Mr. Longman. Whose is he?"
Longman scratched the horse's nose. "This is Omega, my lady. The master was going through some sort of Greek phase when he named him. Alpha and Gamma have been long sold, though."
"Ah, so this magnificent beast belongs to Mr. Darcy?"
"No ma'am, he is yours."
Elizabeth startled. "Explain that, if you please."
Longman scratched the horse a few more times, looked around to insure they were unobserved. "I think this horse suits you, and it would not hurt to have your relatives see you on it. They think they can kick you around with impunity. It wound not hurt to let them see a bit of your mettle, without having to do anything disagreeable."
Elizabeth laughed. "That is a good plan, except that you of all people know perfectly well I do not have the skills. Your instruction has been wonderful, but not that extensive."
With a chuckle, the groom replied, "That is where you are wrong, Mrs. Darcy. You see, the master does not ride Omega anymore. We only keep him around because he still brings in good stud fees. Are you curious about why Mr. Darcy does not ride him?"
"Dying to know."
"The master does not ride him because he is too docile. Mr. Darcy likes his horses spirited. For certain, you can get him to run like the wind for a few hundred yards, and none are faster. But once he loses interest in speed, he becomes as docile as a plow horse, and it takes some effort to even keep him going. He will do admirably for you and I think he will allow you some amusement."
Elizabeth laughed at the groom's antics. "You have never steered me wrong before, Mr. Longman. How shall we proceed?"
"I ride him periodically just to keep him in form. Let us saddle your old horse and Omega and we will ride out. After a mile or so, I will switch saddles and let you become accustomed to him. Give us a few days and he will be as comfortable to you as the old nag you have been riding thus far."
Elizabeth laughed, and wondered exactly what it was about her personality that brought out so much impertinence in her staff. She wondered if it was a good thing or bad for a mistress, but since she had no control over it, decided it was not worth the worry.
It turned out that everything Longman said about Omega was correct – when he had a male rider. For some reason, once Elizabeth climbed on him, he seemed to become a different beast altogether. Over the next several hours, Elizabeth found that the horse did exactly what she wanted him to do, almost without instruction. Longman took her to a field where she could first canter, then trot, then run. Elizabeth found it the most thrilling experience of her life. She now understood why gentlemen did this habitually, and she was at a loss as to why ladies typically disdained the pleasure.
By the end of the first day, she was thoroughly comfortable with her new steed, and she rode in and out of the pasture through a back gate that nobody was likely to see.
On the fourth day she was told the Matlocks were preparing to depart, so she went to the stables to ask Longman to be prepared, then returned to the house where she could observe the Matlocks leaving. Once she was certain all was prepared, she waited until they were walking towards the front door, then went out a side door to greet them on the front porch.
She noticed Lord Matlock wincing as if in pain as he exited the house and wondered what malady afflicted him, but she could not manage to work up very much sympathy.
When the nobles approached, she gave a curtsy, exactly appropriate to the situation – no more, no less. "I hope you have enjoyed your stay at Pemberley, Lord and Lady Matlock. Please have a pleasant journey."
She had deliberately chosen a public venue to eliminate any chance for the Matlocks to reply with any more venom, or at least, to prevent them from doing so if they possessed an ounce of decorum.
Matlock looked her up and down, while Lady Matlock just frowned.
Matlock finally said, "I thank you for your …" then waited quite a noticeable time before continuing with. "… hospitality, Mrs. Darcy. We hope to see you at Matlock soon."
Elizabeth did her best to not mutter anything under her breath about certain places freezing over. "My travel plans are up to my husband, my lord. If he chooses to go to Matlock, I suppose we will go."
Lady Matlock looked like she was eating a lemon, but managed to say, "Of course. You are welcome any time."
Taking one last chance to dig out some information, although to be fair, she had passed up a dozen chances in the few days of the visit, Elizabeth asked, "Are you certain you have no idea when he will return?"
She had made certain there were no servants close enough to hear before speaking and said it quietly enough that it would be private. She had chosen the venue carefully to prevent them throwing a public screaming fit. She thought it unlikely to be productive but had to at least try.
Matlock looked her up and down with an expression she could not read, and finally said, "Well played, Mrs. Darcy."
Elizabeth just shrugged. It was damning by faint praise if she had ever heard it, but she would take what she could get if it would reduce her uncertainty just a little bit.
Matlock finally said, "I do not know when he will return. I expected to hear from him by now but have not. If I receive anything, I will send you a note. Will that do?"
Elizabeth thought it might just be the tiniest bit of thawing in their relationship. She still thought very poorly of the couple, and she was disinclined to spend any time in their company – but she would take what she could get.
"I would appreciate that, sir. Please enjoy your journey."
As the Matlocks mounted their coach, Elizabeth waited on the steps until they departed. The couple did not wave or otherwise acknowledge her, which saved her the trouble of ignoring them. She was still not entirely certain she had played the visit correctly, but it was done so there was little point worrying about it.
She briefly worried about Mr. Darcy. It was understandable enough that he would ignore a nuisance wife, and she had not the slightest idea whether to be worried that he was ignoring the Earl and his wife or not. She really had no idea how her new family operated. There was reputed to be a judge for an uncle somewhere, he had Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who frankly sounded about half mad, and then the lovely couple she had just met, who seemed little improved over Lady Catherine. There was apparently a sister somewhere, but she had no idea where.
Was it meaningful that her husband had not contacted his uncle? She had no idea if the Earl was trusted advisor or family nuisance, so the fact that he had not heard did not necessarily mean anything. Her own family had no idea about where or what she was doing, so why would her husband not do the same thing if necessary?
The lack of contact was either a worrisome development, or yet another indication that her husband did not really care about her very much. It seemed equally likely it could be either.
Trying to think through it, she reasoned that England had had reliable mail service from just about anywhere within several thousand miles for centuries. It even carried on through most wars, with the notable exception of the current one. Regular mail service with the Continent had been established in the 17th century, although it was curtailed by the war with Napoleon. Therefore, if her husband had the poor sense to go towards a war instead of away from it, she supposed it was possible he just could not get regular mail service, or perhaps he might not trust the couriers. It seemed possible, but unlikely.
A much more likely explanation might be that he went to some far-flung holding that required some attention. It was entirely possible, and even likely that he had holdings in the Indies, or the Americas. Even if he did not, it seemed inevitable that someone in his family did, and he had said his task was a family matter. For those places, a trip would take perhaps six months to get there and back, presuming something had to be done while he was there. It was possible that he could not get a message back to England, but it seemed unlikely. At the very least, he had plenty of time to write her one letter before his departure, or even in the first few days of the journey. Almost any ship would meet up with any number of mail packets on any voyage of significance.
Of course, she had to admit, there was a real possibility that he was lying dead at the side of the road somewhere, or buried in a shallow grave after being robbed, or at the bottom of the ocean, or sitting in a hospital dying. He had an obvious fever at the wedding, so the chances that it had gotten worse were significant.
All in all, Elizabeth decided to put it from her mind since she was climbing on Omega again. It seemed likely that he was sick, dead, incapacitated or imprisoned somewhere – but equally likely that he just did not feel the need to inform his wife of his whereabouts. If he wanted her to know where he was going or what he was doing, he could have done so easily when they had the privacy of the coach. Ergo, the fact that he had not written to either her or the Earl meant absolutely nothing.
Feeling another headache coming on, which happened whenever she got dizzy from chasing her tail like a dog, she decided to just quit worrying about things she could not do anything about.
What she could do something about was show just a bit of pride and allow her faithful groom his share of amusement. She followed the Matlock coach towards Lambton to a spot she had chosen just for the moment. It was a wide spot in the road where two coaches could pass each other with room to spare.
With a shout of glee, she kicked Omega into the fastest run yet, and flew by their coach looking like some kind of screaming banshee, her head inches from Omega's and her bonnet lost somewhere in the first hundred yards of her dash. She never looked back, nor did she worry about Longman. He would be along soon enough. She just gave Omega his head and let him run for as long as it pleased him. For that day, he seemed to match her humor because it pleased him to run for nearly another mile.
With her little temper tantrum out of the way, she gradually slowed the beast and continued to Lambton at little more than a trot. The first couple of months in Pemberley she had walked to Lambton. It was five miles each way – a good hour and a half at best. That meant three hours of a day was consumed just in going back and forth. That had been a good system when she had nothing else to do, but the fact that she could get there in a half‑hour anytime she pleased was a good inducement to visit more often. She even visited Kympton from time to time but did not like it quite as much.
When they reached the village, Longman took both horses to the stable, and went to visit his daughter who ran a small bakery with her husband. He had visited her quite regularly during his usual duties and doing so when Elizabeth was in town made little difference.
Elizabeth walked through the street, looking at all the windows. She had used her somewhat limited bits of coin to buy some small things from time to time, so most of the merchants were at least familiar with her. She believed that most assumed her small purchases were due to her mourning, and they would pick up over time. Elizabeth believed this may have made them nicer to her than her patronage was worth, but she made it a point to never overextend the courtesy. She would pass by if a shop was very busy, or she had been there recently. She was always absolutely polite to everyone in the shops, but not to the point of satisfying anyone's curiosity about her. She was Mrs. Darcy. She was in mourning. That had to be enough.
The one exception was the bookshop. On her first visit to the shop after returning to Pemberley after her wedding, Mr. Bartlet had made it abundantly clear that she was welcome to come as often as she liked and for as long as she liked, and Elizabeth had taken him up on the offer. She had purchased a few books for Molly, but she mostly believed that the aging proprietor just enjoyed her company. She never disturbed his custom, and they could easily while away hours at a time talking about things they had read. Mr. Bartlet was unsurprisingly the best‑read man she had ever met, beating out her father in his one lone accomplishment. Every day brought a list of another dozen books Elizabeth would like to read, and she kept an ongoing list that she continuously organized and reorganized.
On that particular day, she saw another gentleman perusing the shelves.
Bartlet said, "Ah, Mrs. Darcy. Welcome as always."
Then he pulled her aside, and whispered, 'Since you should be coming close to leaving deep morning, would you care to meet a few of the local gentry? If so, today would be a good day for it, and if not, you might want to go to the tea house for an hour.''
Elizabeth thought about it a minute, and then decided it was the perfect loophole. Her husband had specifically prevented her from calling on any of the neighboring estates, but he had not said a single thing about meeting them entirely by chance in a bookshop. She believed that the bookshop door most likely worked as a strainer to keep most disreputable people out, since most of the terrible people she had ever known disdained the written word.
She whispered her reply, 'It would be my pleasure!'
Bartlet led her over to the gentleman and said, "Sir William, might I introduce you to Mrs. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy, Sir William Gladstone. He owns an estate about ten miles north of Pemberley."
Sir William gallantly bowed. "It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Darcy. I have understood you to be in mourning so I have forbidden my wife and daughters from making a nuisance of themselves, but I am not certain how long I will be able to hold back the tide."
Elizabeth laughed. "Well met, Sir William. Tell them they will be welcome in a few months' time. My husband is away in addition to my mourning period, and I prefer to await his return before entertaining."
"Sensible enough. I shall deliver the message, madam."
Elizabeth gave him a slight smile. "I knew another Sir William in my previous home, but I do not think he could correctly differentiate between a bookshop and a tobacconist without a clearly written sign."
Both laughed, and Elizabeth was happy to see at least one gentleman in the area with good humor. She thought that if she could accumulate nine more, then any gathering with her husband and the local men could boast good humor in nine of ten of the inhabitants, which, all things considered, would be adequate.
Sir William chuckled. "I might have the same problem, but of a different sort. The tobacconist might draw my attention to the point where I was quite unable to see anything on either side of it. I do like my pipe."
Everyone found that they shared the same good humor, and Elizabeth spent the rest of the day in the bookshop. Quite how she had spent so many hours there over five months without meeting anyone of note before was a mystery, but apparently things went in bunches. Before the end of the day, she had met Mr. Keats, Mr. Follet and his daughter Gretchen, Mr. Mead, Mr. Reeves and his son Garth, and another half‑dozen of the local gentry. She suspected that word had gone out in the rumor network that the new Mrs. Darcy was in the bookshop and not averse to introductions, but there was no way to be sure.
Elizabeth was incredulous at the meetings. Were these the people her husband was averse to her making the acquaintance of? Was he worried about her, or about himself? After some consideration, and observation, Elizabeth came to the depressing conclusion that Mr. Darcy was not worried about the neighbors discomposing his wife – he was worried about his wife discomposing his neighbors. There seemed no other reason, unless there were some truly bad apples that he was trying to protect her from. That thesis sounded unlikely, but it was at least plausible.
Nearly everyone had left the shop and dusk was rapidly approaching when Mr. Longman finally ran out of patience. He had been perfectly content to sit and listen to the chatter for three hours, but he wisely drew the line at any perceived danger for his mistress and riding a new horse in the dark was just plain stupid.
With a thoughtful expression, Elizabeth mounted with Longman's assistance. She envied his ability to ride astride, as well as his ability to mount and dismount anywhere he liked, but she had to be content with what she had.
For all the ride back to her home that felt less like a home than anyplace she had ever been, she kept wondering about her husband's restrictions. Was he afraid of his neighbors or afraid of his wife – or the far more likely explanation – he just wanted to control everything in his sphere of influence?
Only one of the potential explanations was to his credit, and Elizabeth eventually decided she could chew on the problem like a dog with a bone for six months, but absent more information, it would be just as unknowable at the end of the process as the start.
After a decent supper shared with a very chatty Molly, who had managed to finish The Romance of the Forest since Elizabeth left her at Pemberley all day without a single thing to do except read – she finally laid her head down on the admittedly very fine pillow atop her admittedly fine bed.
She was happy for her meetings that day, and she did not really care if her husband would be happy or not. She now had friends, and better yet, she had some ideas about how to spend some of her days in a way that was more interesting than talking to her friend who had read only a single book in her life. She had made certain arrangements before leaving the shop, so she at least had something to occupy her time for the next fortnight.
Her last thought before drifting off was that she would endeavor be scrupulously fair. She would give her husband enough rope to either hang or save himself – but just like any rope, there was a limited supply of it.
A/N: Mini-Spoilers below.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
No, Darcy is not dead, but he is the same Darcy in both threads, so you know what that means. He's not having as much fun in Red as Green.
For those waiting for a Darcy fix, he will reappear in the next Red act.
Green is next.
Wade
