Page 34 of The Winter of Our Discontent
“I might counter that Mrs Darcy could be pulledupby their friendship,” I interrupted.
My good-natured friend strove to turn the conversation around with false cheerfulness. “I say, Darcy, that is fair of you. I feared your resentment would not allow you to make what you can of it…” His voice trailed off in abject misery.
“In point of fact, Mrs Darcy has turned out to be a tireless force at Pemberley. She is devoted to the tenants and takes prodigious care of the house. She intends to do much good on the estate, unlike more fashionable ladies who might have used such a large holding to set themselves up as scions of fashion and social power.” I directed this speech at Miss Bingley, a woman who once coveted the position of my wife for consequence and wealth alone, adding, “Perhaps I always wished for a country wife.”
“Then you must be deliriously happy,” she replied coldly. “I suppose we will rarely see you in town now.”
I then knew that this ambitious granddaughter of a tradesman with pretensions to land herself in the highest ranks of society meant to cut me if she could. My consequence could not help her now, since it was no longer rising, and I knew her instincts to be so purely self-interested she would not risk being tainted by an association that she now classed beneath her.
I felt a cold rage fill my body. “Of course we will come to London in future, and when we do, we shall be sure to call on you.”
“Excellent!” cried Bingley, oblivious of the look of disgust on his sister’s face. “I wonder if you would help me search for a country house when next you are here. I gave up the lease on Netherfield, you know…” Once again, he looked as if he had stepped in manure.
“I will do better than that,” I said blandly. “I will search for a property close to Pemberley. When you marry, I am sure your wife and Mrs Darcy would enjoy each other’s company.” I paused for effect and said with an unmistakable air of dismissal, “And your sister, too, if she is still with you.”
I still felt rage the following day and thought my anger would endure for some time to come. I paused briefly to ponder the irony of defending and even praising my wife in the face of such an attack. Being proud, I suppose, I refused to open up my wounds for the delectation of anyone, particularly someone of Caroline Bingley’s ilk. Thus, I had defended Mrs Darcy rather more fiercely than I would have thought possible. My immoveable resentment, it seemed,hadmoved a little, yet I was not in the mood to give it up entirely.
The difficult winter roads and the three-day struggle with ruts, ice dams, and mud, however, gave me plenty of time to recollect my humiliation and to reconstitute my bitterest feelings against the woman who had besmirched my consequence.
Upon my late arrival, Pemberley had never looked so warm and inviting, yet I had never felt so cold and unwelcome.
Mrs Darcy greeted me with a hesitant smile and careful words. My sister stood protectively beside her and seemed to swell a couple of inches taller.
“Are we not festive, Fitzwilliam?” she said with unnatural brightness.
I saw no option but to agree that such gaucherie as met my eyes was indeed…festive. The staircase railing was made over to look like a forest, limb upon limb, hung with branches of juniper, ribbons, and the bright red leaves of barberry shrubs that bordered the formal gardens. The mantels and table vases were filled with holly boughs, and my mother’s ornate silver candle branches lit the hall with glowing warmth. The yule log sat in state near the main hall’s hearth, decorated with painted pine cones, green pine and sweet broom. Apparently, I thought gloomily, I would be required to smile while being choked out of my own house by smoke.
As if to underscore my weariness, Richard appeared at the top of the stairs. “We despaired of seeing you for Christmas, Darcy. What took you so long? Are you not amazed, man? Not since your mother was with us has this hall seen such holiday cheer. Will you not take off your coat?”
“How have you arrived before me?” I asked in a feeble voice as I reluctantly surrendered my coat to Harrison.
“My friend Dawson came over in his yacht to Rotterdam to visit his brother who is posted with the Brigade. And since Dawson was for Winsford after his visit, we sailed up to Liverpool together. What a breeze we had!” he laughed merrily. “I hung over the side for two days together and lost a stone at least. But you look fagged, Darcy. I daresay the roads were unkind?”
“Brutal. I hope I am forgiven for taking a tray in my room.”
“Hot water is on the boil as we speak,” Mrs Darcy said, “and I imagine Mrs Tucker is warming up a slice of a raised venison pie to send up to you.” She made as if to lead me above stairs as she would any guest.
“I believe I know the way to my own rooms,” I said, notingwith regret my sister’s sharply inhaled breath at my ungracious tone.
“Certainly, you do,” my wife said softly. “Only I thought to go along to make sure you have all you need to make you comfortable.”
Thus, my welcome was complete.Ibehaved like a churlish brat, allowingherto show off her angelic manners. My sister’s blush was proof of her mortification, and Richard, my loyal cousin, grunted in disgust of my manners.
“Forgive me,” I managed to say while still within hearing of my sister.
“You must be very tired,” Mrs Darcy said at the door to my room. The maids were within with buckets of hot water already, the fire was beginning to catch in earnest, and a pot of hot tea and a decanter of brandy sat in readiness on the table. I could not fault my wife’s attentions to my comfort and wished I could feel something resembling gratitude.
32
The following morning, I strove for equanimity as I went down the hall to the breakfast parlour. I meant to gain the upper hand in my own home at least, and to do so, I knew I must behave better. At the music room I paused, listening through the French glass door.
Richard came up behind and cocked his head.
“She has improved greatly,” I said, much moved. I had never heard her play with such depth, such feeling.
“Has she?” Richard asked, slightly puzzled.
“You forget, I have heard my sister play since she was a child. She is maturing in her style, though she always promised to be a prodigy. I have heard her play more difficult pieces than this, but never have I heard her so expressive.”
