Mr. Darcy's Daughter (27 page)

Unhappily
for young Lizzie Gardiner, at a time in her life when she most needed a
confidante, one who could help her understand the turbulence of her feelings,
she had none.

*

The
cold fingers of the North wind had already begun to reach down and strip the
leaves from the trees; those that had already turned gold and russet in early
Autumn were crumpled and strewn around, as the year moved closer to Winter. In
the fields a good harvest had been gathered in; it had been a fruitful season
and, following the thanksgiving at the church, the young people in the parish
had planned a picnic to Dovedale.

But,
a cold spell had come without warning, spoiling their plans, and a disappointed
party of young folk was about to return home when they met Mr. Carr returning
on horseback from Matlock. Stopping to greet them and hearing of their aborted
plans, he invited them up to Rushmore Farm, which promised more shelter and
warmth than their original destination.

The
delighted picnickers, including Darcy Gardiner, his two sisters, their cousins
from Kympton--Jessica and Jude Courtney, and a few other young men and ladies
from the parish, packed up their baskets, climbed into their vehicles, and
followed their benefactor up the road to the farm.

With
a great log fire ablaze, ample food, and good company, the day was spent in the
pleasantest possible ways that a party of young people might devise.

Jessica
Courtney, the Rector's daughter, who had come along as a chaperone, had brought
her book and curled up on the sofa by the window to read.

The
room in which they were accommodated was the very room, which many months ago,
Lizzie had described as the perfect recreation room for a family. Since then,
it had been refurbished and appointed to look exactly as she had imagined.

Reminding
her of the earlier occasion, Mr. Carr asked, "What is your opinion of the
room now, Miss Gardiner? Do you approve?"

Lizzie
was enthusiastic in her reply. "Indeed, I do, Mr. Carr; it has been
perfectly done. I cannot have imagined it better."

"I
have you to thank for it. Without your most original suggestion, it may have
become a billiard room or a place where the gentlemen met to drink and boast of
their success after a shoot; instead we have this charming room, one that a
family and its friends may all enjoy. It is now my favourite room in the house
and I owe it all to you," he said graciously, and she replied with
suitable modesty, "It's kind of you to say so, but I think you have done
exceedingly well; the soft hues and pleasing tones of the drapes and carpets
are quite perfect."

Despite
the lowering clouds, the threatened storm did not eventuate and, by early
afternoon, the wind eased and the sun came out, enabling them to leave the
house and walk out to enjoy the beauty of the woods and meadows, which
surrounded the farm. Those who had never visited the property followed Darcy
Gardiner, whose familiarity with his friend's estate made him the ideal guide.

Lizzie,
who had not met Mr. Carr alone since the day in the village when he had saved
her from being pestered by Jones, found herself walking with him, as they made
their way along a path that cut across the woodlands towards the stream that
flowed through the property.

As
the path grew more steep, he took her hand, as if it were the most natural
thing to do, and let her lean on him when they had to climb down towards the
water, as she used her right hand to pick up her skirts.

They
had reached a point where the stream made a shallow pool among the rocks, which
one might cross by means of stepping stones. Lizzie, who was accustomed to
admiring the grandeur of the grounds at Pemberley, was completely enchanted by
the natural simplicity of the woodlands here and wanted very much to get across
the pool, so she could do as the others had done and follow the stream to its
confluence with the River Wye on the borders of the property.

She
was about to place her foot on the first of the stepping stones, when Mr. Carr
held her back, and standing astride the rock pool, lifted her over the water
and stood her down on dry land. "There you are," he said. "At
least, you will not have wet feet."

Lizzie,
very conscious of his closeness when he had picked her up, said lightly, as he
set her down, "Thank you and I shall have you to thank when I do not catch
cold."

"Indeed,
we cannot have that," he said, adding, "Come, we must hurry or we
shall miss the others," and reaching for her hand again, he helped her
along the rocky path.

Lizzie's
face was flushed and she did not look up at him as they walked, but she made no
effort to take her hand away from his. They had walked on for quite a while,
before they heard the rest of the party returning. They had already climbed to
the crest of the hill descending to the river; their excited voices were heard
describing the view of the valley below.

Lizzie
looked up at her companion and he seemed to understand the unspoken message in
her eyes, as he patted her hand reassuringly and let it go, just seconds before
Darcy, Laura, Rachel, and the rest emerged, crashing through the undergrowth
and snapping the ferns underfoot.

Lizzie
cried out, "Oh, look out! You must not crush the undergrowth so, or you
will kill all the little creatures that live in it."

The
others stopped in their tracks and everyone went suddenly silent.

For
Lizzie, the magic was suddenly gone. It was time to return and they tramped
back to the farm and gathered up their things, preparing to leave. The daylight
was almost gone, too.

But,
Lizzie could not forget how she had felt, at that moment in the woods.

It
seemed to her that Mr. Carr remembered it also, for when he helped her into the
carriage, his hand grasped hers firmly and stayed so for a moment or two after
she was seated, while they said their good-byes. Darcy was driving and did not
see them, and little Laura Ann was too tired after her walk in the woods to
notice anything at all.

When
Mr. Carr asked, "And may I call on you at home on Sunday, Lizzie?"

her
eyes shone and she smiled as she said, "Yes, yes of course, Mr.
Carr."

*

The
Gardiners had scarcely reached their house when the storm that had been
threatening all afternoon broke across the dales. The rain poured down
relentlessly for an hour or more.

"That
must be the last of the Summer storms, returning in Autumn," said Cassy as
they sat taking tea in the sitting room. Looking out at the rain as it lashed
the trees and spilt the last of their leaves across the lawn, Cassy suddenly
cried out, "Good God! Who could that be in this weather? I could have
sworn I saw a woman run across the lawn and back towards the kitchen."

Darcy
and Lizzie, who'd been curled up on the rug in front of the fire, toasting
muffins, got up and went to the windows; they could see no one. "You must
have imagined it, Mama," said her son, while Lizzie thought it may have
been the broken bough of a tree, being dragged across by the wind.

They
had just returned to their places by the fire when Mrs. Bates, the housekeeper,
entered the room. She seemed troubled and wary. "Beg your pardon, ma'am,
but there is here a young person, says her name is Susan; she is asking to see
Miss Elizabeth, ma'am."

"Susan?
Did you say Susan? Why that must be Aunt Josie's maid!" Lizzie was up and
out of the room in seconds.

"Where
is she?" she asked.

"I've
made her sit by the fire, Miss Elizabeth; she was soaked through, the poor
creature. It seems she has walked here from Lambton," Mrs. Bates replied.

"Oh,
my God," Lizzie exclaimed, as she rushed into the kitchen followed closely
by her mother, who was puzzled as to what this might mean. Sure enough, sitting
by the fire, wet and bedraggled, looking absolutely miserable, was Susan,
Josie's faithful maid.

"Mama,
it
is
Susan. My God, she is
shaking with cold; hurry, get some towels and dry clothes, else she will catch
pneumonia," Lizzie cried, and Cassy sent the maids racing upstairs to do
her bidding.

The
girl's hands were blue with cold and she was shivering even though she sat
close to the fire. She kept trying to tell them something, but Cassy insisted
it could wait until she was dry and warm, with a large mug of hot, sweet tea in
her hands.

Some
half an hour later, they took Susan upstairs to Lizzie's room, where sitting in
front of the fire, she related an extraordinary tale that both Cassy and her
daughter heard as though it concerned some fictitious character in a
melo-dramatic romance, so incredible did it seem.

Susan
gave a terrible, bitter account of foolish, misplaced trust and cruel betrayal.
Josie, she told them, was in dire need of help. She had tried, during the first
few weeks after she left her home, to discover how and when Mr. Barrett
intended to have her book of poems published. He had led her to believe it had
all been arranged with his friend Mr. Jones, but then he had made several
excuses--his friend had gone overseas to Italy on business, was attending a
family wedding, had become involved in some important business in Scotland, and
so on.

Lizzie,
knowing exactly where Jones had been for most of the Summer, bit her lip to
keep from interrupting.

As
each month passed, Josie had become more impatient and Barrett had grown less
and less considerate of her feelings, Susan said.

"Poor
Mrs. Darcy, ma'am, she wanted so much to hope that he would do as he had promised.
She hoped he would keep his word about the book; she tried to keep her spirits
up, but sadly, ma'am, he never said
nothing
to her
about it.

And
if she would ask him, he'd get angry and shout at her, telling her not to
bother him."

Cassandra
looked at her daughter and saw the compassion in her troubled face as Susan
continued, "Then, when most of the money she had brought with her was
over, she was too proud to ask him for any, so she sent me out to pawn or sell
her pieces of jewellery and her trinkets. She will never have the means to
redeem them; they're gone forever, ma'am, all her lovely things Mr. Julian had
given her, all but her wedding ring, are gone and all of my little savings,
too."

"And
where is she now, Susan? Is she still with Barrett?" asked Cassandra.

Susan
shook her head vigorously. "Oh no, ma'am, we left the house one day while
he had gone down to Richmond to a friend's wedding. Miss Josie was keen to
leave. I had found us a couple of rooms in a boardinghouse on the other side of
town," she said.

"Is
that where she is?" asked Cassy.

"Yes,
ma'am, but Miss Josie is very sick, ma'am. It's her chest; you should hear her
wheezing--it's something terrible. Please, ma'am, she needs a doctor,"

said
the girl, and Cassy asked, "Did she send you?"

"No,
ma'am, she did not want me to come; she was ashamed and sorry, but I knew she
would die if I did not try to get her some medication, at least. I had to come;
I knew Miss Lizzie would not refuse to help her. Please, ma'am, will you help?"
she pleaded, and there were tears running down her tired, woebegone face.

Stunned,
Cassandra stood mute, but Lizzie said, "Of course we will help.

She
needs a doctor and Papa could probably recommend one in London. You were quite
right to come, Susan. Mama, how soon can we go to her?" she asked and
Cassy, realising that time was very short, said, "Well, we shall have to
wait for your father, but I daresay we can make preparations, get our things
together, and be ready for an early start tomorrow. Susan, you will come with
us and take us to this boardinghouse?"

Susan
nodded eagerly. "Yes, ma'am, but Miss Josie is very poorly and needs some
good food. She has not eaten a decent piece of meat or fish in weeks. She has
no appetite; I did ask the woman who runs the house to look after her and see
she eats her meals, but she is very busy, ma'am, and has no time to
spare."

Cassy
sent for the cook immediately to ask that some simple, wholesome food be
prepared and packed to be taken on the morrow to London.

"She
will need nourishment as well as medication, if she is to recover," she
said and later she would pack a basket of fresh fruit, cheese, and honey from
the larder for the ill-nourished patient, hoping they would not all be in vain.
If Josie was as ill as Susan had made out, Cassy was very afraid for her,
especially if the Winter was a harsh one this year.

*

When
Richard Gardiner arrived home, the whole sorry tale was retold by his wife and
daughter, as he sat, shocked and appalled, before the fire, wondering how a
young woman of intelligence and sound upbringing could have been so totally
bereft of judgment as to let herself be so badly deceived.

"I
cannot believe it. How could Josie have been so naive, so wanting in
understanding? I know she was always reputed to be self-willed, much like her
father Mr. Tate, but she was also intelligent and sensible. I saw no signs of
irre-sponsible or impetuous behaviour in her, when she lived here in Matlock,
nor after her marriage to Julian, when they were at Pemberley. That she could
allow herself to be taken in and betrayed in this way is incredible. Mr. and Mrs.
Darcy will be very shocked."