Into Kent (3 page)

“Go on, Stevenson,” Darcy invited.

“It is James Sayers, Mr. Darcy.”

“William Sayers’ son?” Darcy asked. Sayers had been a builder in the village, who had often worked on the Pemberley estates. He had died about the same time as had Darcy’s father, and, Darcy recalled vaguely, had left a widow and a son, James, then in his teens.

“Yes. The boy…well, to be perfectly blunt, the boy is a drunkard. A good-hearted lad, even in his cups, but he cannot sustain any sort of employment in his condition. His poor mother is at her wit’s end, and his custom at the ale-houses is costing her what little savings her husband left her. She has desired me to ask you, Sir, if there might be anything he could do about the manor.”

“Well, Stevenson,” Darcy said in mild surprise, “you would know better than I what might suit.”

“Yes, but, between the family’s history with the manor and the facts of the present case, I was uncertain as to what your wishes would be.”

‘I see,” said Darcy. He thought for a moment or two before pronouncing: “We cannot leave William Sayers’ widow in distress. I noticed last summer that the walls in the south fields were getting rather tumble-down: surely a builder’s son will know how to stack rocks together, no matter how besotted he might be. And when the snow is too deep for stonework in the fields, have him work the walks and walls about the Manor.”

“Very good, Sir,” replied Stevenson. “And his pay?”

“Twelve pence a day.” Stevenson frowned and began to question the amount, as it was half a normal day’s wages: surely not enough to keep body and soul together for two people. Darcy held up a finger, and went on: “And each week, enough food for the two of them will be sent his mother.” As an afterthought, he added, “Make that six pence; send the other six to his mother. He should not be able to do too much damage to himself on six pence a day.”

Stevenson smiled. “Yes, Sir. Very good, Mr. Darcy.” And with that, he took his leave.

Next were come the Reynolds
es. A pleasant older couple, staid, solid, and respectable; Darcy had known them both since earliest childhood. With them, Darcy had but one issue on his mind: the newest member of their staff. “How does Mrs. Annesley get on?” he enquired.

“Very well, Sir,” replied Reynolds.

“A very good woman,” agreed his wife. “Nice in her ways, and not at all above herself: always willing to lend a hand, even before asked.”

Darcy was glad to have such a good account of her; companions were difficult: neither family nor quite members of the staff, they could cause a good deal of friction within the household.

“Excellent; I am delighted to hear it. Is there anything I need be aware of, otherwise?”

The couple looked at each other. “Well, Mr. Darcy,” began Reynolds, “do you mind Hadyn, the footman?”

“Young lad, sandy hair?” asked Darcy.

“That’s him,” confirmed Reynolds. “Well, Sir, he…that is, there is a young woman in the village…” Reynolds seemed to be having trouble coming to the point.

“Your pardon, Mr. Darcy,” broke in his wife, “but Mr. Reynolds will be all day about it—Cyril, you know it’s true; men never can talk of such things. The fact is, Mr. Darcy, that Haydn has got a village girl with child, and is now loath to marry the girl.”

“I see,” said Darcy. “What sort of girl is she? Mrs. Reynolds?”

The good woman pursed her lips and said with deliberate judgement, “She’s a good girl, for all she’s saucy in her ways. I don’t doubt but what she believed he meant to do right by her before she ever…well, having spoken with them both, I’d give my oath he sang her a pretty tune: but when the time came to pay the piper, well…”

Darcy, considering, said, “I see. Well, he has two choices: marry the girl, or leave my employ. If she cannot trust him, neither can I.” He looked to the husband. “Reynolds, I shall want you to look into the matter, as well. Make sure the girl is not pulling the wool over our eyes; but mark you, if the case be such as is stated, I want no misunderstanding on how to proceed.”

To this Mrs. Reynolds nodded in complete agreement; Reynolds nodded, too, but with less enthusiasm. “I’d hate to lose him,” he said. “He’s a powerful good worker.”

“Then let us hope he will make the right choice,” Darcy said firmly. “Was there anything else?” Neither one had aught to add, and he dismissed them to their duties with a request that Reynolds send Mrs. Annesley to him.

Darcy was very keen to hear from Mrs. Annesley: his sister’s concerns had the strongest of claims on him, and he very much wanted to know what that lady had to say about her. She arrived very shortly after, a pleasant-faced woman of middle years. She seemed at first rather anxious to make the right impression; as their discussion proceeded, however, she became more comfortable, and her expressions more candid. For the next quarter-hour Darcy listened attentively to what she had to relate: her arrival in Derbyshire, her first impressions of Miss Darcy, and her opinion as to her current state of mind. When he had interviewed her for the post of Georgiana’s companion in London, he had found Mrs. Annesley to be thoughtful, amiable, and perfectly gentle in her manners; she now justified his judgement by the sensibility of her observations of his sister’s condition over the last several months. He was greatly aggrieved by her description of Georgiana’s dejected spirits in October, but even more greatly surprised to learn when they had lifted, and what had seemed to be the cause.

“You are an exceedingly generous correspondent, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Annesley had observed, “and it has done your sister more good than you may know.”

“How is that, Mrs. Annesley?”

“Why, Sir, your letters from Hertfordshire were her constant study,” she replied. “And if I am not mistaken, they raised her spirits quite considerably. I know nothing of their contents, of course; but she was always excited to receive them, and always appeared happier for having read them.”

This startled Darcy considerably, for, while he had certainly hoped that he might in some way have bolstered Georgiana’s spirits and offered her solace, he hardly thought what he had written could have worked so great a change as this. “I confess,” he said after a moment’s reflection, “she seemed to have read into them things I had no idea I was writing, and her replies have often left me wondering if I had not told her much more than I remembered. I now begin to think that whatever she discovered in them could only have come from her attentiveness and insight—not my abilities as correspondent.”

“Whatever the cause, what you wrote her has certainly lifted her spirits. Even her playing on the pianoforte is livelier.”

“I am very glad to hear it, though I cannot think how my letters might have had such effect. If she found anything to value in them, I assure you it was rather due to her generous interpretation, than my writing.” He added affectionately, “Her goodness colours every thing she touches.”

Mrs.
Annesley, smiling, said “If you will allow me, Sir, I have to say that Miss Darcy is one of the most thoughtful, and sweetest, young ladies I have ever met with. Are all the ladies of Derbyshire as delightful? If they are, be sure to keep word of it away from the fashionable young men in Town: no doubt there would be a sudden exodus to Derbyshire if it were widely known—and the peace of the country would suffer for it, I fear.”

Darcy smiled back. “I would not make that claim, Mrs. Annesley; but, as I have told my sister, England’s heart is in the country, and I can tell
you
that she was principally in my thoughts when I said it.” He stood to signal the end of the interview. “Thank you for your time; I am well pleased with your efforts on Miss Darcy’s behalf.”

“My efforts have been slight, Mr. Darcy,” said she. “It has done me good, I am sure, to be with her, and to see one so young and so good-hearted regain the lightness of spirit due her.”

Darcy replied, “Again, thank you; I am very satisfied with how things stand. And as to Miss Darcy’s good heart—I am prejudiced, of course, but I truly believe her to be the most genuinely good person I have ever known, save possibly our father.”

The good woman had also risen in preparation for leaving, but she turned back at the door to say, “Based on my own knowledge of brothers, and what their sisters may expect of them, Mr. Darcy, I would venture to guess that it must be a family trait.” She smiled gently and closed the door behind her.

Her implication rather startled Darcy and made him pause to assess himself: on serious reflection he found he could not entirely agree. Responsible, certainly. Charitable? Yes, he could allow himself that; he certainly tried to be liberal with those dependent on Pemberley. But good? Georgiana was good, Elizabeth was good, Bingley was good, but he could not accuse himself of deserving the term; his flaws were too numerous, and too grave. These reflections brought to mind an evening during which Elizabeth had teazed him with: “I am perfectly convinced by it that Mr. Darcy has no defect…” A moment’s warmth spread through him at the memory, until he remembered, too, that it had been that very evening when he had realised the necessity of distancing himself from her. Reining in his wandering thoughts yet again, with resolute purpose he picked up the papers Stevenson had left. The figures were good; the next year should proceed well…But how would Elizabeth fare in the coming year, and beyond? He saw still a drudging, dreary future for her, even if there were no parson—Heaven forbid—in the offing. She could be such a…with a gesture of frustration and disgust at his want of self-discipline, he firmly pushed the papers from him and left the room in search of his sister and Bingley.

He found them in the front salon up stairs, as Georgiana had said he might; on entering it he remembered that Georgiana and his mother had often used it together when Georgiana was quite a girl. He also saw that it was largely unchanged since that time, and was in want of new furnishings. Not that the room was shabby, but the colours were dark and muted, and the style was from a generation past; he would see to it that it was lightened and brought up to date before Georgiana returned to Pemberley. Dismissing Reynolds, who had stayed to attend Miss Darcy in Mrs. Annesley’s place, Darcy went over to join his sister and friend.

Bingley and his sister were seated together on the sofa by the window playing vingt-un between them, and as Darcy went to join them he was highly gratified to see that Bingley seemed in better spirits than he had been this last week and more. As he reached the window, Darcy was pleased to refresh his memory on the fine prospects the windows afforded of the river and fields in front of the house; he had not taken in this view for some years.

“Well, then; all serene?” he asked, leaning against the corner of the window.

“I have been telling Mr. Bingley about our plans for Christmas,” Georgiana informed him with a degree of pride and pleasure in her voice.

“Your sister has a magnificent scheme laid out for the holidays, Darcy,” said Bingley admiringly.

“Hardly magnificent,” Georgiana demurred quietly. “Mostly it will be only family and friends.”

“Precisely as it should be,” Bingley stated firmly.

In jest, Darcy fixed his sister with a stern look and said, “So, you have let my friend in on the secret before telling me? I see now in what regard you hold me!”

Instantly, Georgiana was all over confusion: “No, Fitzwilliam…truly,” she stammered, “we were only just talking…I was waiting until you should have done…”

“Dearest,” Darcy interrupted her gently, “I was only teazing; it meant nothing.” He smiled at her and kissed her hand reassuringly. To his friend he said, “She kept her plans from me, even pledging my own butler to secrecy.”

“Aunt Eleanor wanted it to be such a surprise!” cried Georgiana, still upset that she might have offended him. “You were not to know until we were sure the plans were complete,” she explained hastily. She looked as though she would say more, but had not the courage.

“Well, your holidays promise very well, I assure you,” said Bingley, taking pity on Miss Darcy’s confusion and shifting the burden of conversation to himself: “She has planned every evening: games, entertainments, all the best dishes of the season: the perfect Christmas.”

“Merely what one expects, nothing extraordinary,” Georgiana protested again, softer still.

“That is exactly what makes it extraordinary,” Bingley insisted. “This modern idea that English food and English customs are out-dated offends me; why should the French and German holidays be held in higher regard than our own?” he protested. “The vogue to-day for pretending that the old-fashioned holidays are beneath us is stuff and nonsense. Do not you agree, Darcy?”

“I am entirely of your opinion, Bingley,” he answered pleasantly.

“Not that I do not enjoy variety in cuisine, or feel it right that other countries should have their own way of doing things; I am not so illiberal as that,” Bingley said. “But why our own should be any less agreeable or proper is beyond me.”

“Well, then,” said Darcy, “we must venture to bring a touch of the old ways back to England’s capital city, must we not?” To his sister he said, “So tell me, then, what have you planned?”

Georgiana, searching her brother’s face anxiously for any sign of disapproval, said hesitantly, “Well, we have plans with our friends for most evenings, but the Saturday before Christmas we are giving…a rather large dinner party.” At this last Georgiana looked at her brother with a fearful and apologetic face.