A/N: Hello, everyone! Finally, a new chapter to open Part III, after another unintentionally long hiatus. As always, thanks so much to everyone who is still sticking with this story, and leaving follows/reviews in the interim - it's truly what sustains me.
Hope you all enjoy!
Chapter 29: A Reunion Most Affectionate
"Not at all, I assure you; it is all perfectly lovely," Georgiana said most earnestly; though not, perhaps, quite as earnestly as the first time she had had need to say it, when, shortly upon her arrival, Mrs. Bennet had laid at her feet profuse apologies for the state of their gardens, which were not in bloom this time of year; nor the subsequent time, over tea, when she had been begged forgiveness for the state of their kitchen, which must invariably pale before a grand estate such as Pemberley; nor even the third time, when she had been taken to view her rooms, which were the best Longbourn had to offer, but which must 'by necessity appear to her a pitifully paltry substitution for her usual accommodations.'
By the time Mary and Georgiana were allowed at last a few moments to themselves, to escape to the grounds of Longbourn for a walk before dinner, Georgiana was perhaps dangerously close to exhausting her earnestness altogether; and it was only then that a true reunion could at last take place, with much emphatic happiness on Georgiana's side, and as close to expressive sensibility as Mary could ever approach on hers; which in the end saw the two friends making the walk to Meryton, arm in arm, both equally gratified by the restoral of one other's presence. The first stretch of the walk was taken up largely by Georgiana expounding upon her excitement for their impending trip, and recounting all recent goings-on at Pemberley – all signs of haleness in Lizzy as she went to her lie-in, and what exertion and joy had been the cause and sum of the decision at last to send her to London.
"You mustn't mind Mama, really," Mary was feeling the need to explain, once Georgiana had finished her report on Pemberley. "She will always find one thing or another to fixate upon, much to the detriment of her company."
"Oh, she is only very considerate of her guests, I am sure," Georgiana said generously, if a little doubtfully. But then she turned to Mary with eagerness; "Oh, but you must tell me of how you have been here at Longbourn, all of the things which have not made it into your letters, which you judged too trivial to set down, but which must nevertheless be of interest to me!"
"Indeed, you incorrectly presume their brevity to be due to my reticence, rather than for want of the subject itself; I submit to you the counter, that there have been paltry few happenings here at Longbourn."
"But how so?" Georgiana exclaimed. "You made hardly any mention of your trip to Southend in your letters - for that matter, hardly any mention of your fellow travelers, who I presume must serve as constant and dear companions to you here as well - " (here, with a note of plaintiveness)- "No, I argue it is indeed your natural reticence, my dear Mary, which you do not even take note of yourself, for it has no effect on you, but which is much more apparent to a far-removed friend such as myself!"
"Oh, Georgie," Mary turned to her in wry bemusement. "I can assure you, there are no young ladies I have concealed here who are in danger of usurping your place. The Lucases are acquaintances of the family rather than myself, and more so by proximity than match of character. Most of my days have been spent in company of book, pen, and paper, which does not in itself make for a very interesting report."
Georgiana blushed slightly. "Of course, that is not at all what I meant," she said softly, in such an embarrassed way as to betray that she had indeed meant precisely that. Mary was somewhat amazed at the notion that Georgiana might have ever fallen prey to such a concern, holding so little merit in actuality as it did; a reversal of circumstances, in Mary's estimation, should have been far more likely, genial and kind-hearted as Georgiana was, and the thought had occurred to Mary once or twice, perhaps, that their intimacy had been an early precedent in Georgiana's life of many more close friends to follow; and as for herself – one dear friend was, to Mary's taste, amply sufficient, and more than she had previously anticipated herself possessing, besides.
But perhaps there was substance to her friend's light admonishment, nevertheless. Indeed, in contrast to Georgiana's effusive letters – which included details as minute and thorough as the concerto which was currently troubling her, or a particularly rapturous morning in the gardens – there were a number of things Mary had chosen to withhold in her letters, in favor of communicating them in person, not trusting to herself the delicacy required to transmit them through writing – her reunion with Lydia in Southend, for example; as well as Mr. Benson's unprompted visit; and even her mother's renewal of tiresome marital aspirations, which offered no elegant way of being relayed, without inviting at least some embarrassment –
And yet, of all these many unspoken things, there was only one which brought itself forth now to Mary's thoughts. She could not think of the prospect of London without thinking of him; of the notion that once his expedition concluded, he should return to his residence; and she and he might be in the same city; walk the same street; frequent the same theater-house. And she felt now that if she did not seize the first opportunity to undertake the inquiry of him, she might lose courage on its broaching altogether. "In fact," she began stalwartly, "before we are to leave the subject of Pemberley, I have been meaning to ask – that is, I was curious if you had not heard anything on the progress of Mr. Crawford's –"
But here she was interrupted by the call of a familiar voice, quite close by: "Good afternoon, Miss Bennet!" Mr. Radcliff had come upon them; or perhaps, in her occupation, they upon him. The consequence was, of course, the same, and Mary was obliged to abandon the valuable thread of their conversation, in favor of making the proper introductions.
The greetings were exchanged, Georgiana accepting Mr. Radcliff's address with a familiar diffidence, which Mary recognized quickly as her friend's guardedness before strangers – a marked contrast to her easy manner of moments earlier. To his merit, Mr. Radcliff did not seem in the slightest affected by it, his bearing remaining as easy as ever.
"Are you starting your retreat to Longbourn? Old Philips has just sent me over to Mr. Bennet to bring fresh reports. I might walk over with you, if it is not too much an imposition on you and your friend." Here he smiled kindly at Georgiana, to which she quickly bowed her head, a slight color to her cheeks.
Mr. Radcliff's enquiry was, despite all, a timely one. The dusk had crept up on them without their notice, Mary now saw; and they agreed it was most likely advisable that they should turn round now and make their return to Longbourn. Mary did not see a way of refusing Mr. Radcliff's accompaniment, and trusted his natural inclination towards easy conversation to sustain them for the remainder of their walk.
She was not rendered disappointed. For a brief stretch, there was silence, and then Mr. Radcliff remarked genially to the both of them, "Such a pleasant afternoon it has been, has it not? Indeed, here in –––hire, we have been spoilt a great deal this month by such lovely weather as it is now." Mary conceded this truth, and he continued - "I myself fear it portends a proximate turn in our fortunes, and each time I venture out, I find myself in morose apprehension of a sudden downpour of rain."
"Yes, I do not think you are wrong; I should imagine it is not likely to stay much longer," Mary was wont to agree, peering up consideringly into the sky. "It is generally this time of year already drizzling continually, and a great deal colder."
"Oh, but I am compelled here to advocate for sanguinity in lieu of pessimism," Georgiana ventured to say, much to the surprise of Mary, who had imagined her friend's shyness might render her silent the whole of the walk in Mr. Radcliff's company. "That is," she continued tentatively, "there is no use in anticipating it, for even if you are correct, the rain shall begin anyhow; only in the meantime, you have failed to enjoy the gift of such agreeable temperateness."
This elicited a warm smile from Mr. Radcliff. "Indeed, Miss Darcy – you are quite right. I can see no fault in your reasoning; you must know I myself see little benefit in the despondent mood, but even I am at times in need of a gentle reminder. Tell me, Miss Darcy, Mary has mentioned your family's estate is in Derbyshire?"
Georgiana had presumably not intended to place herself at the chief subject of conversation, but she replied to him hesitatingly, "Yes, just west of Lambton."
"Ah! I have never been to the area myself; but my mother used to make mention of visiting a distant uncle there in her youth, I believe, who might have been settled in the region thereabouts."
"Oh!" she said. "Perhaps our family has heard of him?"
"Oh, I do not imagine – " Mr. Radcliff began, with a momentary coloring of discomfiture, and then corrected, "He was in trade, if I recall, and I confess I do not know the name, anyhow; my mother did not speak much of her more distant relations."
"Oh, I see," Georgiana said, reddening once more, and turning her gaze determinedly towards the rolling fields about them. Mary, who was arm-in-arm with her friend, and walked between the two of them, feared for a moment the burden to restart the conversation had fallen upon her; but Mr. Radcliff had recovered himself quickly –
"Tell me, Miss Darcy; Miss Bennet; to what are you most looking forward on your stay in Town?"
Georgiana certainly had a fair share more experience with London, but she was busy with examining her shoes still, so Mary replied first: "The lectures are quite popular these days, I understand; and not generally the sort of attraction one can attend here in the country." Mary had in fact been some weeks trying and failing to conjure the image of these fabled scientific lectures, which she had first heard featured in stories of Georgiana's time in London – whether they took place in a dim, austere college hall, with somber-faced dons; or perhaps in a great, standing arc of audience in some open pavilion; or even in some grand, ornamented theater. But she had gleaned only thus far that lectures were commonplace in Town – or, as her sister Jane had expressed in her recent letter, 'all the fashion.' This seemed to Mary an odd turn-of-phrase, and put her in mind of an adorning accessory; as if knowledge of botanica or historia might be donned en mode, in the same way one might don a hatpin or new pair of gloves. Fashion had somehow made a harmonious union with scientific instruction; which of the two had suffered the more for it remained to be seen.
"Oh, yes, you shall enjoy them a great deal, I think, Mary; and the demonstrations which accompany are always an impressive spectacle." These words Georgiana addressed to her friend; but then, turning timidly towards Mr. Radcliff: "I myself am quite eager to attend the concerts; to hear my favorite pieces, which I have only ever heard in my own amateur rendition, but as executed to their full potential, in the hands of masters."
"And in your so-called amateur renditions, Miss Darcy, which instruments have your favor, then?"
"Oh – you mean to ask – yes, I play – that is, pianoforte, and harp."
"I must admit, the rare time I have had the pleasure of hearing it, the harp has always appeared to me an enigmatic instrument; such lightness of touch, practically faint as a feather, is capable of producing such richness in its notes. I am betrayed by my ignorance on the matter, no doubt."
"Oh, not at all," Georgiana replied; she was warming to the new subject; eased, perhaps, by a more familiar and dear terrain. "The harp can be a fickle creature, as you say; a fair deal more so than the piano. Each instrument, I believe, has a language uniquely its own. To play is merely to exert the efforts to learn it, and to listen when it chooses to speak."
"I see. Then, you imagine yourself to be in discourse with your instrument as you play?"
"Well, of course," Georgiana replied earnestly. "Otherwise, it should indeed be a rather lonely occupation."
Mr. Radcliff laughed. "Fairly said, Miss Darcy; though – does the audience not at least in part fill the role of companionship?"
"Oh, that can be true, I suppose," Georgiana said, lowering her gaze in her own unconscious gesture of modesty, "if one prefers to play to the attention of observers rather than on their own. However, to know one's skill and artistry is being judged directly is, for myself at the very least, to remove much of enjoyment from the endeavor."
"Well, then, you must not think of it as judgement; I, for one, have never passed judgement on a musician's performance in my life. I haven't nearly the ear for it, and am therefore free to enjoy music without the burden of feeling obliged to critique it."
"And if only all in an audience thought as you do," Georgiana said, restoring her gaze to him, "I do not think I should mind it nearly so much." And shily she returned his smile, before turning to look away at the fields again; but for the rest of the walk, there was now a far greater ease about her, Mary noted, than upon her first introduction to Radcliff.
They parted in the hall to Longbourn. "I wish the two of you an easy journey, and a most profitable stay in London, comprised of both lectures and concerts alike," Mr. Radcliff said, "and Miss Darcy, a pleasure indeed to make your acquaintance. I hope you may soon find the audience you seek."
"A great pleasure, Mr. Radcliff," Georgiana said softly. Perhaps, she wished to say more, but Mrs. Bennet at that moment had bustled in, and sent Mr. Radcliff directly on to the library to find Mr. Bennet; and was meanwhile quick to usher the both of them upstairs to change, with a great deal of remonstrance in her tone to Mary, who must have been the culprit of such an unduly long outing; adding that they were expected at the Lucases for dinner very shortly, and were in very grave danger now of arriving late.
"I might well have expected such absentmindedness from Lizzy, but from you, Mary –" was the last thing Mary caught from Mrs. Bennet's unhappy muttering as she and Georgiana hurried up the stairs, both holding back laughter with the unintentional mirth of freshly scolded children.
While Georgiana was still having her hair fixed, Mary joined her in her guest room. "Mama fears you shall be bored with a family dinner," Mary said frowningly. She herself had not been consulted in the matter. If she were, she would have recommended a private meal, with little fuss, but it should likely have been to no avail with Mrs. Bennet; never mind that they should soon be carted about Town on constant outings, nary a moment left for quiet.
"Oh, I am sure I shall not mind it," Georgiana said, absently; then, keeping her eyes fixed pointedly to the dresser mirror: "Mr. Radcliff, then, was one of your companions to Southend? You have formed a close acquaintanceship with him, I imagine, seeing as he works with your family."
Mary studied her friend a moment. "I cannot say we are particularly close, whatever my mother's wishes on the matter might be," she replied. "He is agreeable, to be sure; and I may pay testament to his good character, as far as I know him; but there is little which is not disparate in our dispositions. I cannot say we have discovered many shared interests."
Georgiana remarked, "He seems very high-spirited. It is very easy to converse with him, even being strangers."
"Certainly," Mary said. "I cannot disagree with you there."
Georgiana only nodded to this, but her friend's affectation of indifference seemed very studied; and her cheeks a little pinker. Mary could not be entirely ignorant of the notion that, had Mr. Radcliff been at any station above his current one, or Georgiana from any family less distinguished, there might have even been some promise there; both so easy-natured and kind-hearted; and humbly attractive as they were. She found herself curious of where Georgiana's thoughts lay at that precise moment, but knew also that Georgiana was just as reserved, almost, as herself, and to inquire now about her private musings should have been an intrusion on their friendship.
And Mary could hardly be critical on the matter anyhow, seeing where her own thoughts lay these days; she, who had always spoken her thoughts so unreservedly, suffered so little indecision in her own soul, was now caught herself in the prickly snares of hesitancy, unsurety of tongue – but no! this was insupportable – it went soundly against her character, to continually succumb thus to mute indecision; if she wished to say something, she would always say it directly – why not so now?
"Georgiana, have you heard any news of Mr. Crawford's expedition?"
Georgiana was broken from her revery, and turned, reanimated, to Mary, who was wholly surprised by her friend's sudden keenness on the subject. "Oh, yes! It is funny you have brought it up, for do you know, I was only thinking of it recently myself; but I am afraid I do not have too many of the precise details. I recall it was meant to be a six-month, or maybe a little more; and it was to Iceland; or… the Laplands, perhaps?" She paused a moment, in consideration, then continued, "Only I was reminded of it recently, and it particularly struck me, the excitements which must be inherent to such a life, as to suddenly set off to some distant clime, and at a time to spend half-a-year, or even years at its exploration – I confess, I find it an existence most difficult to conceive! – indeed, even when I –"
Mary was beginning to doubt any information might be gained from this avenue; her hopes had been pinned on the notion that the Darcy household might be somehow apprised of his homecoming, or the expedition's general progress – but perhaps, she had been wrong on that front. There might now be need to consider from which other source she might avail herself of news; frustratingly, none at the moment suggested themselves to her. In vain, she was trying to find a way which was not indecorous, to forestall Georgiana's speech, and confirm there was indeed no more intelligence to be gleaned -
– but only then, a maid had been sent to check on them, and hurry them along. Several minutes later, they were departing for the Lucases, and had no more opportunity to speak properly the rest of the evening; and not afterwards, either, when both were sent to bed with the impending departure first thing the next morning; and Mary heartened herself, at least, that a long carriage ride should be ample time to return to the conversation, which might elucidate not only his departure for distant climes, and their conception, but more specifically, his return from them.
The next morning was a flurry of gathering cases and belongings, and stowing them onto the Darcy carriage in which Georgiana had arrived. Mrs. Bennet excelled at nothing so much as fussing at the centre of activity while herself contributing very little; she was in fine form that morning, and rendered everything so aflutter that it was as if all five of her daughters were departing, rather than just the one.
"How lucky we are, Mr. Bennet, to have family in Town who might host our daughters thus," she remarked rather breathlessly to her husband from the threshold of the dining room, from where she might still keep look-out on the front hall. "I would not even begin to think of joining, of course, were it only on my account; but I wonder at the Gardiners, for the sake of dear Mary, who will surely want for me, for not suggesting I accompany."
"My dear," Mr. Bennet said, still poring over the day's papers at the breakfast table, "I am all but certain she shall keep your memory so distinct in her mind, as to ensure she has no cause to be in want of you."
"Oh, mind that valise, Harriet! Gently, gently! Jo, I have changed my mind - go fetch the blue bonnet in stead of the gray – it shall serve her better, I am sure. Quickly now!"
In the end, no more arrangements and rearrangements could be made; the departure could be delayed no longer. With no insignificant relief, Mary bade Longbourn farewell, and she and Georgiana set off for London at last.
As it transpired, she was not in need of summoning up courage yet a third time; they were only half an hour departed from Longbourn, when Georgiana, remarking on the turning of the flowering trees, exclaimed, "Oh!" – startling Mary. "I had not finished telling you of Mr. Crawford's expedition; was it Iceland or Laplands, do you recall?" – this to Mrs. Annesley, who was knitting intently at her side.
"Iceland," replied Mrs. Annesley with surety.
"Oh, yes! You are right, I am sure! Well," Georgiana continued, "I was reminded of it recently, as I said, several weeks ago; we learned from him that he is soon to return from his expedition, I think, in some weeks or a month."
"He has written to you, then?" Mary said faintly, turning her gaze outwards to the window, the sloping, verdant scenery that was slipping swiftly passing them. It was one thing to have so long held on to the possibility that he might return to London while she was visiting; quite another to have it suddenly confirmed with a certainty, all as their carriage trundled ever nearer there.
"Yes, we received a short note from him. Several supplies he had left behind at Pemberley, we are to send on to Somerset."
Mary was halted by this, turning back to face her friend. "I had thought his residence was in London."
Georgiana nodded, herself peering out the window at the passing fields. "Yes, but apparently he has been employed in Somerset for another commission of illustrations, by some estate. He will go there directly, I gather, upon his return."