Page 4 of The Winter of Our Discontent
“Shortly after sunrise,” he said, before dismissing me with a crisp, impatient bow.
5
In the grey light of early morning, my husband’s valet handed my maid a flat package. In turn, Wilson handed Romney a sealed letter from me addressed to Mr Darcy. I turned to my packet and first pulled out the note inside.
Madam—
Your allowance for the quarter ending December 31 is advanced to you on this day.
He had written the dates as specifically as he would with a contract for a lease, making clear I would not receive more until the following quarter day, nor had he bothered with even the barest of complimentary closes one expects in polite correspondence, ending only with his initials:FWD.
I felt my eyes widen to the size of saucers as I next pulled out of the packet seventy-five pounds.“So much?”I whispered.
“Ma’am?”Wilson asked.
“Pay me no mind. I was only speaking my thoughts aloud. Would you let Mrs Spencer know I would like only tea and toast this morning? I do not travel particularly well with a full belly.” I glanced at the elegant little clock on the mantel. “But whatever we do, we must be quick about it. I do not intend to force anyone to wait on me.”
“I shall bring a tray this instant, ma’am.”
Before my maid left the room, I asked, “Do you have with you something warm? I believe we are heading north in the rain.”
She looked at me appraisingly. “Yes, ma’am. I have a good shawl, and my bag is already in the hall with your trunk.”
I was in the midst of dressing myself when Wilson returned with my breakfast. Wordlessly, we went about the business of readying Mrs Darcy for a trip to Pemberley.
Mr Darcy rode. I expected he would, since he had done so after our wedding. Did he plan to spend the entire day in the saddle in the drizzle rather than sit with me? The fringe on my shawl took the brunt of the fretful feelings that arose on my first full day as Mrs Darcy. The note I had penned to my husband early that morning came to mind. Was it worded well enough? Striving to sound neither victimised nor resentful, I wished for—hoped for—the dignity and placidity of my sister Jane and the straight-forward common sense of my aunt Gardiner.
Mr Darcy?—
I had written, mimicking his abrupt style.
I believe I should be told who is aware of our circumstances so that I may be prepared to meet?—
My pen had faltered then, and I had stared at the paper beneath it as I struggled to find the words required for such a note. To write that I would like to prepare myself to meet their disgust was more to the point, but I opted for an impartial tone.
—so that I may be prepared to meet them as I ought. Most particularly, I wonder if your sister has been told, if she is at Pemberley, and specifically, how you wish me to interact with her.
After ten seconds of bewilderment as to how to sign the note, I had resorted to once again copying Mr Darcy’s example by penning my initials:EMD.
The chill came up through the floor of the coach into my boots, pulling me out of my all-consuming worry over what I had or had not written. Soot stains made tracks down the sides of buildings as we passed, and rubbish heaped high made up a forsaken landscape peopled by sodden, miserable crowds. I could never understand the attraction of the metropolis to so many people of fashion, given that much of the city was a wasteland of despair.
My observations mirrored the desolation I felt at the loss of my family, and though endless miles of captivity in a swaying coach were conducive to pining for them, I would not allow such memories to awaken the well of grief that would drown me in a flood of tears.
When at last London gave way to open country, and just as I was beginning to feel slightly less the romantic figure in a Gothic novel, Wilson let out a small gasp of dismay.
“Mrs Darcy,” she said, turning a little pale, “forgive me, but in all the rush to be ready, I forgot to hand you this note.”
“Goodness, Wilson! For a moment I thought something truly awful had happened. I have just now settled enough to read anything, so do not torment yourself.”
I leant towards the greyish light coming from the window of the carriage to read my note while my maid took several fortifying breaths. Mr Darcy must have read my message of early morning and taken the time to reply immediately. I began to suspect he was a man with meticulous habits, or at least he meant to be so with regard to his dealings with me. This did not strike me as a mark of respect, but the act of someone who prefers to dispatch the most distasteful tasks immediately, rather than have them weigh upon him all day.
The note contained an alarmingly long list of persons acquainted with the manner of his compulsory wedding. Among those were his two solicitors—one in London and one in Derbyshire—his two men of business, also from London and Derbyshire, his valet, and his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, who stood up with him. Also apprised were his uncle and aunt, the Earl and Countess of Matlock, and their eldest son.
I could feel nothing but cold dread to learn he had such exalted relations to loathe me. I suspected the disclosure to this branch of his family was due to respect for their position and the possibility they would find the irregularity of his secret, hasty marriage unanswerable without the required explanation. His reasons for confiding in his butler as well as his steward and housekeeper at Pemberley confounded me. I would have much preferred to arrive in Derbyshire as an unknown rather than…well, I would rather not begin my association with the principal members of his household besmirched by scandal.
I aborted these regrets. I could not expect to be spared the unkind opinions of anyone. Instead, I turned to thesecond page. There, the page—full, close-written and in a scrawled, forceful script—suggested the subject of Miss Darcy’s introduction to Mrs Darcy was a matter of extreme vexation.
My sister, being sixteen years old, cannot be expected to understand the vulgar realities of our association. Nor would I give her a fraction of the anguish she would feel if she were to comprehend the death of all my hopes for marital felicity.
