TO ADMIRE A GAINSBOROUGH PART 9
The next book she looked at was dated at Rosings, after Elizabeth had left Kent.
"I must warn you that it gets more speculative from now on," he explained. "These are not always scenes that actually happened, I was just trying to make sense of my feelings and visualising alternative outcomes. If things happened the way I drew them, how would I feel?"
They were mostly watercolour with few captions but Elizabeth felt like the lights and shadows and colour choices told stories of their own.
There was Mr. Darcy walking away from Longbourn on a cloudy, grey day, a lonely, desolate path in front of him.
There was Mr. Darcy in the bluebell grove at Rosings. He was on one knee in front of Elizabeth. It would have been a lovely, romantic, ethereal painting, if only Elizabeth had not had such a terribly distorted expression of horror on her face.
There was another proposal scene in which he was looking at her lovingly. But she remained cold to him, only entranced by the enormous diamond ring that he was putting on her finger.
There was a sweet picture of the two of them in Pemberley, looking fifty years older, holding hands and surrounded by excited grandchildren. The room was decorated like Christmas, and everyone was happy.
Another Christmas scene looked like Netherfield. The Bingleys were busy with their children. Elizabeth was holding a baby. Mr. Darcy stared awkwardly at the floor, alone on the other side of the room.
The next scene was a crowded, lavish ballroom, presumably in London. Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy stood on the left, seemingly embarrassed. In the middle of the scene, Mrs. Bennet was holding forth, gesturing wildly. Lydia and Kitty were being coquettish at a foppish gentleman. Mary was on the far right side and looked like a character in one of those cartoons in which you had to find the object that did not belong.
"I want you to know that if you agreed to marry me I would always treat your family with respect," he said. "But I do think that your sisters would benefit from some time with an experienced companion, like Mrs. Annesley."
"I cannot disagree," she said.
"It is not too late to learn more decorum," he said. "Some of those rules have been quite helpful for me over the years. Strangers' behaviour is easier to predict when they follow the same rulebook."
There was Mr. Darcy marrying someone very rich, very stylish, and very faceless. Nobody in the crowd behaved inappropriately or stood out in any way, if not for the fact that everyone was so blank and dull. He was the only one who was drawn with a face, but even he looked frozen and stoic, as if he was purposefully devoid of all expression.
"These people are like unpainted nutcrackers," she said.
"I did not intend it that way," he said. "But you are right."
There was another wedding scene, with Mr. Darcy and Anne De Bourgh as the couple plighting their troth. But their clothes were in tatters, there was a ghost in the ceiling, and the only ones who looked happy were Lady Catherine De Bourgh and Mr. Collins who appeared to be dead.
Then there was a beautiful picture of Elizabeth walking down the aisle, radiant and glowing, ecstatic to be marrying the love of her life. The man waiting for her at the altar was shown from the back and his face was not visible. But he was wearing an officer's uniform.
Elizabeth looked at Mr. Darcy questioningly.
"I was asking myself what the worst case scenarios would look like," he explained. "The ones I came up with both involved you marrying a soldier. Either you would marry my cousin and I would see you happy all the time. Or you would marry Wickham and be absolutely miserable if I ever saw you at all."
"That would be worse than being wed by a corpse?"
"Objectively speaking," he said, "yes."
She considered the picture for a moment. "May I caption this?"
Mr. Darcy was surprised by the request but agreed without demur and gave Elizabeth a pencil.
In the corner, in small letters, she wrote, "Thank you but no thank you. EB."
He searched her gaze.
"Thank you for making me so beautiful," she said. "But neither of them has asked me, and if they did I would categorically refuse to marry either of them just to suit your morbid imagination. I am too poor for Mr. Wickham's tastes, and while I am sure your cousin is a fine man I have no ambition to marry a stranger."
"He is indeed a fine man and my closest confidante."
"I must take your word for it, for I have spent more time with your sketchbooks than I ever spent with him."
Mr. Darcy tilted his head and looked at her speculatively.
"You would not say we are strangers now, would you?"
"No, I dare say I could not," she said. "It is not every day that people allow one to see the inside of their minds like this."
In the next picture, an older Mr. Darcy was alone in the picture gallery at Pemberley, looking worn, tired, and slightly mad. All the paintings of his family were gone, and the walls were full of Elizabeth.
"Did you get rid of the Gainsborough too?"
"I might as well sell it to the museum at Louvre. My life goal is to replace all art with pictures of you," he said, only half joking.
"Were my portraits in the gallery a part of this project?" she asked.
"I suppose it was due to a little magical thinking on my part," he said. "I put you up as an experiment, to see how it would feel to see you amidst all those revered ancestors. And it felt like you belonged in Pemberley, and it made me feel like I was one step closer to bringing you home for real."
"I see I have passed a test," she said. "None of the long-dead Darcys staged a revolt seeing me up there."
"I know it was an absurd thing to do, and I am sorry if it made you uncomfortable."
"It was a little strange, to be sure."
"But on the bright side, it worked," he said. "You came, you saw them, and you stayed, even if it was just to interrogate me."
"There could not be a single soul who was able to just walk away from such a sight without an explanation."
When Elizabeth was about to turn the page again, he touched her hand and halted her.
"If you are going to be mad at me, please do not look any further."
"After such an introduction, I have no option but to see it all the way through," she said, and turned the page to a startlingly intimate scene.
It was the two of them hiding in the hedgerows, kissing. This was not a chaste peck, he had painted two passionate lovers who were desperate to get closer, to touch more, to merge their breaths and forget everything else.
She looked at the picture for a long time, taking a figurative leaf out of his book and trying to visualise how she would feel if that was their reality.
"It gets worse," he finally said, unable to bear her silence. "But you understand now why I could not show these books to your relations."
"We certainly kiss like we mean it," she said.
The next page was a bedroom scene. His bedroom, probably, for the furniture looked masculine. They were tangled in the sheets but clearly unclothed. Her hair was unbound and she was touching him everywhere, he was touching her everywhere, and they seemed frantic to get closer, but also so very safe and comfortable with each other.
The next portrait was just her face, her hair spread on the pillow, tired and dishevelled but oh, so happy and fulfilled. There was a tiny newborn on her breast, swaddled and sleepy, holding on to a finger, probably Darcy's.
"You did not include pictures of yourself in most of the earlier sketchbooks."
"Those books were more about me observing the life around me," he said. "This book is about the life I want."
"And what is it that you want?"
"Everything," he said. "You and me, on the same page."
"I see."
She contemplated the pictures for a long time. He was getting nervous, but he waited patiently, studying her every movement, every shadow on her face, every flicker of emotion she showed.
Finally she spoke. "Go and be civil to the Gardiners for a moment, please. They are my favourite relatives, and I need some time alone while I visualise something."
He exhaled loudly.
She could tell that he would have liked to press her for answers, but all he said was, "All right, take all the time you need."
#*#*
Mr. Darcy invited the Gardiners to a private parlour for refreshments.
"What have you done to Elizabeth?" Mr. Gardiner asked.
"Overwhelmed her with visuals, I dare say," Mr. Darcy said. "She has waded through what amounts to an illustrated autobiography listing every thought I have ever had, including pictures of my pets and even my grandchildren."
"Ooh, you have hidden depths, Mr. Darcy," Mrs. Gardiner said, her eyes twinkling. "At first sight, I did not take you for a proud grandparent, but you may be one of those who carries a miniature of their grandbabies in a locket or a pocket watch and insists on showing everyone."
"I could be so much worse than that," Mr. Darcy said. "I could start painting all my dinners and asking you to like them."
"The still life is a popular style," Mrs. Gardiner said.
"Personally I cannot see the appeal of painting apples and vases," Mr. Darcy said. "People are always more fascinating."
"I would prefer to skip the artistic review and ask you to give us a brief summary of your acquaintance with Elizabeth," Mr. Gardiner said. "She seemed to think all this was rather unexpected."
"I am afraid it is my fault entirely," Mr. Darcy said. "I noticed her straight away but I did not immediately know what to do about it, so I did nothing, and she was in the dark about my struggle."
"I do not know if I like the thought of courtship being such a struggle," Mr. Gardiner said.
"I certainly could have made things a lot easier for myself," said Mr. Darcy. "But I have never been good at figuring out emotions without a lot of initial dithering."
"I understand you left Hertfordshire with Mr. Bingley," Mrs. Gardiner said.
"Yes," Mr. Darcy said. "We both had some concerns, some of which were later proven to be unfounded. Or irrelevant, considering the stakes."
"Concerns?" Mr. Gardiner said. "Such as an entailed estate and relations in trade?"
"Miss Elizabeth tells me that you are her favourite relatives and I trust her judgment," Mr. Darcy said. "As for the entailment, it might be a concern if I was in financial trouble. But Pemberley is doing all right, with or without money from my bride's family."
"So what changed then?" Mrs. Gardiner asked. "You left, and only Mr. Bingley came back, yet here we are, talking about this."
"I had thought I would forget her in time but when I saw her again in Kent I knew I had not. And with my friend married to her sister, I would get more reminders of her. I had been all over London, but nobody compared to her. So I had to decide if any of my remaining concerns held any weight, and the paintings in the gallery were part of the balance sheet, so to speak."
"So you are saying you wanted to forget her but could not," Mr. Gardiner said.
"Guilty as charged," Mr. Darcy said. "I did not have the good sense to immediately understand how important she had become to me."
"What were your remaining concerns and what happened to them?" Mrs. Gardiner asked.
"Certain of her family members behave with exuberance that I find hard to adjust to," Mr. Darcy said.
"Frankly, I cannot fault you there," Mrs. Gardiner said. "As I have often thought a bit more decorum would not go amiss."
"Do you think Mr. Bennet would agree to hire a companion for the younger girls?" Mr. Darcy asked. "I could help with the expense. Provided that…"
"Perhaps," Mr. Gardiner said. "If you tell him it would make his house quieter. Were you worried about anything else?"
"My family," Mr. Darcy said. "They have been expecting me to marry someone with more fortune and connections, so I had concerns that it might affect their attitudes toward my bride negatively."
"And how did you resolve that?" Mr. Gardiner demanded.
"One of my aunts might be loud and unpleasant," Mr. Darcy said. "That is probably unavoidable, unless I marry the one person that she thinks I ought to marry, which I am never going to do. But my aunt does not often leave her estate, and I may be an undutiful nephew but I find that I do not really care about her distress. She can talk but there is no real harm that she can do."
"What about your other relatives?"
"I have not asked them but I would like to think that my sister and the dearest of my cousins would be happy for me if I found happiness."
"If they love you they would," Mrs. Gardiner said.
"Neither love nor happiness feature much in my uncle's wishes for me. First and foremost he wants me to marry someone whose connections can help him politically. But I travelled to Matlock last week to talk about the matter, and I secured his wife's promise to aid my wife in London society as much as she could. And once my uncle was finally made to understand that I would not cooperate with his dynastic plans he reluctantly promised his show of solidarity."
"Good," Mr. Gardiner said.
"It is probably too much to ask to expect him to be happy about it," Mr. Darcy said. "But he will not make trouble for me or my wife."
"Should you get married," Mr. Gardiner reminded him.
"Should I be so lucky to get her to agree, yes."
"And is that all?" Mr. Gardiner asked. "Did you have any other concerns?"
"I think we have covered the principal issues," Mr. Darcy said. "Apart from the most important one."
"Which was?"
"I did not believe Miss Elizabeth liked me much," Mr. Darcy said. "But I am hoping to change that state of affairs."
"I think you have made a great start," said Mrs. Gardiner. "She seemed very pensive last night."
"But where is Elizabeth?" Mr. Gardiner asked. "You seem to have misplaced her."
"She is still in my study. She said she wanted some time to think by herself."
"Was she upset?"
"I do not know," Mr. Darcy said. "She did not say."
"Well, did she look upset?" Mr. Gardiner asked impatiently.
"I do not know," Mr. Darcy said.
He thought for a minute, grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil (there seemed to be a stash of those in nearly every room at Pemberley), and did a quick sketch. "She looked like this, more or less."
The Gardiners studied the drawing for a moment.
"Well," Mrs. Gardiner said, "if that is at all accurate, I dare say you have reason to be cautiously optimistic."
"Young man," Mr. Gardiner said severely.
"Yes, sir?" Mr. Darcy said, startled by his tone.
"Welcome to the family!"
#*#*
Elizabeth had returned to the earlier sketchbooks, flipping through them quickly, trying to absorb a more complete sense of who Mr. Darcy was as a person and how he had become that way. In a way, she thought she now knew him better than some of the people she had known her entire life. His behaviour was aloof in social situations, but he was more observant than she had given him credit for, and even if some of his character studies were harsh and biting, it was not as if he was usually wrong. He had revealed to her his vulnerable side, his self-doubts, fears and hesitancy. But she had also seen him as a competent, trustworthy, hard-working sort of person, capable of taking charge, never shirking from his responsibilities.
The intimate portraits were unsettling but intriguing, and his feelings for her appeared to be inarguably ardent –
Somebody came in without knocking, and startled, she slammed the sketchbook shut.
It was an older man carrying a decanter. "Please do not worry, I did not see anything, and even if I did, I am well compensated for my discretion," he reassured her. "I am sorry for disturbing you, Miss Bennet, I saw Mr. Darcy going in the parlour and I thought this room was empty."
She noticed he knew her name, and when he came closer to the light from the window, she recognised him from having seen him at Netherfield. She had taken him for one of Bingley's servants. But apparently she was wrong.
"It's Fowler, ma'am," he said. "I am Mr. Darcy's valet."
"I can see you are very good at whatever you do," she said. Mr. Darcy was an attractive man, and he was always very neatly turned out, the epitome of great taste, no doubt thanks to Mr. Fowler's efforts.
"I thank you, ma'am," he said. "I pray you will not take this amiss but I am right glad to see you at Pemberley, and I hope it means you have finally decided to put the master out of his misery, ma'am."
"His misery?"
"Ever since Hertfordshire, he has been fretting something fierce, ma'am. Staying up at all hours to paint, and forgetting how to sleep, ma'am."
"I see," Elizabeth murmured.
She was fiddling with the empty notebook and flipped through it once, then the other way around.
"Have you been in his service for long?"
"I was his father's valet for five and twenty years," he said.
"So you have known Mr. Darcy since he was a child."
"Yes," he said. "Once he drew me a cartoon of Robinson Crusoe, wild and unkempt on the island, and after he was attacked by a good valet."
"I can imagine there was quite a difference."
"He is the best of masters, and we all wish him happiness, ma'am."
"I must see what I can do about it."
#*#*
The Gardiners had had their tea and Mr. Darcy was about to order some for Elizabeth, but she came in the room before he could manage it.
"Thank you but Mr. Fowler already brought me some," she said.
"My valet," Mr. Darcy told Mr. Gardiner. "He is not one to spread tales."
"And it is not that scandalous for a young woman to drink tea alone, is it?" Elizabeth said.
"It was a little unconventional for you to do so in Mr. Darcy's private study," Mr. Gardiner said. "Although if he does not care, I do not see why anyone else should."
"I no longer have any secrets from Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy said.
"Or Mr. Fowler, for that matter," Elizabeth said. "Do not worry, your valet put in a good word for you."
"I am grateful although I must note that I did not ask him to," he said.
"Now, Elizabeth, were your ponderings fruitful?" Mrs. Gardiner asked. "Do you have some answers for this young man? Your reflections took quite a long time, and he has scarcely been able to sit down for his nerves."
"I have sat through four and fifty books of your visualisations, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said. "The least you can do is to allow me to show you one. A measly little thing, really."
"Oh, did you draw something?"
"In a manner of speaking," Elizabeth said. "I am no great artist but I have done this."
She handed Mr. Darcy the small notebook. He opened it and saw that the pages were no longer empty. She had drawn two stick figures on each page. One was wearing a top hat, another had a triangular skirt on, and the third thing on the page was an odd shape.
"We never had a governess or any other instruction in the art of drawing but I have some experience entertaining my young cousins so I have made a few of these over the years," Elizabeth said.
"But what does it mean?"
"That one is you," she explained unnecessarily, pointing at the stick figures. "And this is me."
"She is wearing no bonnet," said Mrs. Gardiner. "So of course it is you."
"Yes, but I do not understand," Mr. Darcy said.
"You are looking at it wrong," Elizabeth said. "It is a flip book."
She took it and showed him how to flip through the pages quickly. That way, the stick figures seemed to move. At first they stood in opposite corners and there was a strange smudge in the middle of the page. But the figures walked or glided jerkily towards the center of the page and ended up holding hands in front of the shape that had grown from an indistinct blob into a large heart.
"You have set a high standard with your sketchbooks and must think this is rather pitiful in terms of aesthetic merit, but at least I am trying, and that must count for something, does it not? This is quite abysmal compared to your efforts, and I am almost ashamed to show it to you, but it is only fair that you are forewarned that our children will not inherit any artistic skills from me. But my Gardiner cousins are always riveted by the moving pictures so perhaps there is some novelty value in even these substandard drawings."
"Do you think artistic skills are inherited?" Mrs. Gardiner asked. "Perhaps you only need to practice, dear. If you had filled four and fifty sketchbooks, you might be a better artist too."
"Possibly," Elizabeth said. "What do you think, Mr. Darcy? Your aunt, Lady Catherine was a great proponent of diligent practice, and from what I saw earlier, the accuracy of your drawings certainly improved in time."
"I think… Our children?" he asked.
"If we are so blessed," she said.
A huge smile of happiness spread on his face, and one did not need to dedicate years to the diligent study of expressions in order to figure out that he had just been handed his heart's every desire, buried deep in a very subordinate clause.
NOTE: I had to include the valet when I realized that there probably was at least one person at Pemberley who would have seen Elizabeth in Netherfield and might have recognised her from the paintings. But he is discreet, so no worries.
I have one more chapter of this storyline after this. (Do you think we finally get to see the Gainsborough?)
Flip books were patented in 1868 but in some form of the idea was around in the medieval times. I am sure hers wasn't a perfect animation but it got her point across.