Page 19 of The Winter of Our Discontent
Journal Entry, November 6, 1811
On the fourteenth of last month, I married Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire under the worst possible circumstances. The lady is squat, freckled, and ill-mannered, but I have satisfied the heavy penalty required of a gentleman’s honour and paid a high price for a single moment’s inattention. This unhappy occurrence has been the cause of my failure to keep up with my diary. However, I realise that life must continue even though my personal hopes for felicity are now extinct.
I have returned to Pemberley as a married man, but where I had once expected no less than twenty-thousand pounds from my bride, I bring nothing—not even a shilling—to shore up our future for many years to come. Harvests have been moderate this year. Heavy rains at the early part of this month took their toll. We prosper regardless, as the tenants are all solid men, and they have been astute in ourprogramme of diversification. We have had one setback. Our pheasant stocks are in disarray this season, and approximately half of our birds, by estimate, have left our wood.
Work on the south entrance bridge continues until we are stopped by a hard freeze. I hope we will at least have a passable structure by then, but Waters says the pilings must be made deeper if we are to build as wide as I would like. My plan continues unaltered. I hope to use a wider road to open the rockiest fields on the estate for quarrying so that we can build up Lambton and establish an income through the rental of properties as the town grows.
I sold two ponies to Anderson of Fairhaven and will use that income to buy additional desks for Mr Roger’s school. Georgiana seems slightly more contented of late. Mrs Annesley is turning out to be a satisfactory companion, and I am glad I chose her.
Mrs Darcy appears ill today. I understand she rode too far this morning. She and I have discussed a confidential matter regarding one of the tenant’s wives which she will oversee in spite of her deficient upbringing, inferior connexions, and ill-preparedness for her new role inexperience. My resentment towards her is immovable. A woman trained from the cradle to the position of mistress of a substantial estate would be infinitely preferable, as would someone taller, with more elegance and a more curvaceous form. At least she is not stupid— a paltry comfort.
Mr Waverley is of an age to retire, and I will speak to him about the brick cottage east of the spinney to discover if its endowment will induce him to stand down. Meanwhile, I will make enquiries as to a suitable physician for Mrs Darcy to consult on the confidential matter. If the man issuitable, I will invite him to take over Mr Waverley’s practice.
Standing in the shadow of my study’s draperies after re-reading this entry in my journal and scratching through most of what I had written, I watched my wife meander through the formal knot garden with my sister. I watched her covertly with great regularity. I was constantly on edge with regard to her presence because I feared she would permanently disrupt Pemberley and bring unwelcome change to the order of things. Among the many possibilities I dreaded, chaos was the worst. Of anyone I had ever had to deal with in my life, Mrs Darcy had the singular power to unleash this plague to order.
I also feared she would negatively influence Georgiana, manipulate my loyal servants, lower the standards that had come to represent my family, and bring scandal to my door. She had certainly succeeded in destroying me privately, and I was in a state of unending anticipation that she would now proceed to destroy everything around me.
It was no wonder I could not write in my journal without destroying most of what I wrote down where she was concerned.
I watched as my sister and my unwelcome wife spoke animatedly together, their heads sometimes coming close as though exchanging confidences and coming apart again with tinkling laughter. Georgiana was beginning to care for the woman, and how could she not? She was at that very moment tapping my sister playfully on the nose and causing her face to light up with joy.
Bitterness constantly rose up like bile. I tasted it, feeling my brow lowering and my eyes contracting into resentful slits. I did not like that my sister was growing fond of Mrs Darcy,yet here, as in many places regarding the woman, I was caught in a vise. If Georgiana had not liked her, then what? Was not a friend, a real companion—not just a paid minder—what I always hoped to bring my sister when I married? To watch Georgiana suffer because of my new wife would have been torture.
And Georgiana was not Mrs Darcy’s only convert. Mrs Reynolds had somehow decided to admire her new mistress. How and why utterly confounded me. I had written to her that I had married under the duress of circumstance with the expectation that my long-time housekeeper would be vigilant against any of the woman’s duplicity. Harrison, though not precisely a follower of Mrs Darcy, was careful to remain neutral with respect to her. In so doing, he treated her with excessive courtesy. Mrs Darcy’s personal maid seemed to have taken on the role of shield-maiden, and this staunch support irked me to the limit of my endurance because her defensive stance implied my wife required protection frommyill treatment.
These were not Mrs Darcy’s only friends. Through her complete lack of horsemanship, my wife had somehow conquered the stables. Mrs Annesley, the tenants, the shopkeepers, the local gentry, and most recently, the schoolmaster actively admired the woman. Had I been in love, I would have been immensely proud of her. But I did not love her, and I could not rejoice to see her succeeding.
Perversely, those resistant to the new Mrs Darcy offered no comfort at all. Because he is my valet, Romney considered it his duty to feel as I do. His active dislike, though not overt, showed itself with regularity in his reports on her activities, his careful attention to gossip below stairs, and his well-timed sniffs whenever she was mentioned. He made a great showevery night of locking the adjoining door between my apartment and the mistress’ suite, as if the woman might creep into my room and slit my throat as I slept. This nightly ritual annoyed me, but I did not wish to bring any attention to that particular door, and consequently, I ignored it as best I could.
Johnson, too, had overstepped in his antagonism towards the pretender. My steward burnt his bridge there, and in consequence, I found myself questioning my confidence in him. By attempting to rub Mrs Darcy’s nose in her inferiority, Johnson has shown himself capable of the misuse of power, and this alone had served as a corrosive on my opinion of the man.
Below stairs, the household seemed undecided. The maids were more inclined towards the mistress. The footmen, smelling my distaste for her, despised her while behaving with cold politeness. The two camps had not mobilised enough to go to war, but the threat remained a worry. I regretted my inability to disguise my dislike of my new bride.Shehad done as much as could be expected to minimise the appearance of discord, but then,shewas an accomplished liar—an actress, an adventuress.
I, on the other hand, could not bring myself to pretend feelings I did not possess.
I amDarcy, for all love, and I will not be brought so low as to dissemble or pretend.
Those were the hallmarks of George Wickham’s oily talents, and regretting I had brought his name to mind, I shuddered and stepped away from the window.
18
While the conflict that roiled my inner world threatened to constantly break through and show itself in some act of frustrated rage on my part, the matter of Mrs Travers required my attention. Almost two weeks had progressed without a suitable lead on a new doctor to replace Waverley, who had quite inconveniently leapt at the chance to retire on Pemberley’s grounds. He claimed to be bone weary and had his eye on a comely widow in Lambton to bring comfort to his twilight years. As a result, Pemberley, Lambton, and the surrounding area were currently without a regular doctor, though Waverley would likely rouse himself to attend an emergency.
I shifted my attention from my abstracted thoughts to the note that lay beside my plate of ham and eggs. Mrs Darcy did not take breakfast with me—thank heaven for small mercies. She reportedly took tea and toast at five in the morning before storming around the grounds at dawn like a plague of locusts, then she sat down to break her fast with my sister and her companion.
I read the note again while drinking the last of my tea.
Mr Darcy –
I know you have made enquiries, and no candidates have come forward, but I grow anxious that nothing has been done for poor Mrs Travers. I intend to take her to Derby to see the doctor there so that at least something can be prescribed for her relief. I expect you will point out that this expedition would be extremely curious to Pemberley’s people, and I have thought long and hard as to how to manage it. My plan is to ask that Mrs Travers accompany me to Derby’s Wednesday market to educate me on the local poultry. To that end, I have made an effort to learn what I can about the cultivation of domestic birds so my interest will not be so greatly remarked upon and scrutinised.
I will make an effort to then single out the other prominent tenant wives for attention, and hopefully, we can quietly move on while Mrs Travers can begin to heal. Meanwhile, with regard to a physician, I have read that these kinds of complaints are rampant in the Royal Navy. Perhaps a naval doctor who is currently land-bound might be discovered and interviewed? I hope you do not take this suggestion as encroaching. No doubt you have already thought of it.
EMD
I stared ahead into space. No, I had not thought of it, and she was perfectly correct. But really! What business had she to know the frequency of these sordid outbreaks in the Navy, the canny witch. I had no choice but to fall in with her everymove. I had forced Waverley’s retirement at her suggestion, and now I wrote every day to my contacts far and wide enquiring as to a suitable replacement. I rubbed my jaw. It was clenched with the continuous effort of biting back my growls.
Her note went straight into the fire in my study. I always felt a grim, adolescent satisfaction to burn paper with her marks on it. Then, with an air of resignation, I picked up my pen and wrote an express to my cousin.
