15 • Pemberley

“When I requested peace in this house, I did not mean for half of its inhabitants to fly off,” Mr. Bennet declared indignantly while their carriage was being packed. James and Jane had already said their goodbyes; the latter was doing the kindness of distracting Lydia and young Gardiners elsewhere. He and Kitty both looked up at their father with mixtures of humour and apology.

“Are you not pleased to spend time with your nieces and nephews?” James accused.

Mr. Bennet uttered a gruff sigh as he looked elsewhere, jaded by things not going his way. James felt his jaw on top of his head, though, when he embraced him, and then Kitty landed beside him. “Will you miss us, papa?”

“I am trading two of my own for twenty of someone else’s,” he complained. “This is hardly a fair deal.”

Kitty giggled, “There aren’t that many!”

“Hard to tell when they all talk at once,” James sympathized. The three of them separated for Mr. Bennet to shake his brother-in-law’s hand.

“I’ll have them back to you in one piece, not to worry,” their uncle chuckled.

“I’ll thank you for it with a meal upon your return,” Mr. Bennet nodded.

“Speaking of, my offspring tend to be particularly energetic in the evenings, so plan their supper right before bed. They fade soon after. Otherwise, you’ll find yourself woken up most rudely before dawn.”

That reminded James of the small one he was bringing with them on this journey. He handed the kitten into the carriage for Kitty to hold while he sat with their driver for fresh air. He looked back at the lane infrequently used by carriages before it turned out of sight of their home. Mr. Bennet noticed and raised his arm for a final wave, which James returned.

James had not spoken to Kitty of his reservations about entering the county he had heard so much about. He consoled himself by reassuring that their travels would take them quite a distance around Derbyshire before they entered it, and then even, the residents were not alerted every time travelers passed through. It was also extremely unlikely a certain family were even home, so much time did they seem to spend in London.

This tactic was largely successful as they met their first natural wonder: a lush stone bridge blooming with moss, and the trees around filled with blossoms. It looked ancient, and despite its architects making something everlasting, the latest frost had worn into the stone like sharp pockmarks, resulting in their first delay. It was nothing more than a fractured spoke in one of their wheels, easy enough to repair, but the time was well spent sitting on the raised sides of the bridge or skipping stones over the tranquil waters passing underneath it.

Only once did their aunt scold them. “Kitty, are you not concerned for stains on your dress?” she voiced as the Bennets ate lunch.

James’ mouth was fully but Kitty remarked, “I don’t care much what happens to Lydia’s dress.”

He coughed on his food, laughing after he managed to swallow. Mrs. Gardiner frowned, “Do not encourage vindictiveness, James.”

“It is hardly my fault if cleverness is used for evil,” he defended as he examined her dress. “You finally learned how to fix hems.”

“I can’t ask you to adjust everything for me,” she defended, “especially after it became apparent I had stopped growing but Lydia had not.”

“Do you even like the same colours?” he queried, “Or were you just intent on sharing everything?”

“I like the colours,” she admitted. “I look better in them than Lydia.”

James guffawed, his crossed feet dangling contently above the water. “Why on earth would you ever hide this personality behind Lydia?”

Kitty grew solemn. “Because people like Lydia.”

He looked at her. “They’d like you too.”

When she appeared doubtful and let her chin drop, he leaned abruptly to bump her shoulder. She shoved him back as their driver announced the wheel fixed. Kitty visibly hesitated in getting back in the carriage, and asked when James voiced his concern, “Could I perhaps sit with the driver?”

He did not mind at all, and when they arrived at their first stop, Oxford, he helped her hop down from the seat, looking red cheeked and bright eyed. “That was wonderful!” Kitty bloomed as he curled her arm with his and guided her into their hotel for dinner, listening to her chatter.

“Our driver’s father is French and he is bilingual! He taught me how to ask for bread and cheese as if I were in France! Oh Jamie, would you ever go there? You wouldn’t go without me, surely?”

“Let us hope you would not discover seas sickness,” he chuckled.

“Let us just hope the rain finishes this night, let alone more water,” their aunt intercepted as the putter of rain sang through the rafters over their heads.

Their uncle settled down with a bottle of wine and glasses. James poured for Kitty after a splash of water diluted her cup while their uncle said, “You know, I cannot care much for Paris. All those narrow, crowded streets—overcrowding is becoming quite the issue there, you know. You take a turn down a lane and suddenly you’re lost, mugged, can’t remember the smell of anything which isn’t a horse carcass.”

Kitty looked ghastly. She slowly set her wine down. Mrs. Gardiner laughed, “Take care, dear, the same has been said about our London but we make do perfectly well. Your uncle is just too English to receive other cities.”

The final dregs of the storm lingered in the morning but for the most part Oxford was theirs the following day. James could not say he cared for the town much; a place of collegiate learning and professional interest, it was certainly a stop catering to Mr. Gardiner, but he and Kitty enjoyed their explorations until their journey continued the following day to Blenheim and then Warwick.

James could by no means claim to be a horseman, but their hosts arranged for the next three stops, as they were so near each other, to be attained on horseback while their luggage went ahead in a carriage. A stableman assisted Kitty to climb behind James in the saddle and she chatted excitedly during their lap of Blenheim before they continued on to Warwick.

Lush with spring, the village was decorated with medieval architecture and spacious greens. All of it was easily visible in an afternoon, however Birmingham was their next stop and it provided quite a contrast.

Like a smaller London without the rush for modernity, Birmingham was simultaneously urban yet rural. Kitty much more preferred the variety of shops and proved far more frugal with James holding her purse and their aunt guiding her fashion tastes.

James kept his preference for London to himself as he strolled along the avenues. A few start-up industries smeared the roads with black and perfumed the air with coal or less identifiable elements, but where the city was yet untouched, it was clean and spacious. He particularly liked walking along a narrow part of the river. It was more like a canal as people traversed along both sides of it or stopped to scoop water to clean their faces.

They quickly moved on, however, traveling ever further north. This was James’ favorite part. Though the hubs of humanity were lively and quaint, the smell of the trees in spring, and the wet crush of petals underneath his feet could not be overcome. He enjoyed the humidity which curled Kitty’s hair into frizzy ringlets and his own into mussed waves. He enjoyed walking along pebbled riverbanks and picking leaves out of Kitty’s hair; he had previously only shared such experiences with Jane, so quickly had Lydia’s interests stolen Kitty from her elder siblings.

However the destination could not be avoided and quite snuck up on James, as he did not realize they were in Derbyshire until their aunt began pointing out natural landmarks. James quickly evaluated with no small amount of annoyance and shame, that the area was beautiful. By far the most lovely they had yet seen. Rolling hills guided them into the county of stone cottages tucked within gardens and groves. It did remind him a bit of Hunsford in regard to the upkeep of the homes and vast grounds and fields, but there was a warmth here Hunsford did not have. People waved to them as they rolled into town; more than one person from their inn emerged to assist with their bags. For all of Lady Catherine’s righteous charity, these people seemed to do it freely and happily, without obligation or forced hospitality.

The Gardiners settled in for the afternoon, but James agreed to stroll through the town with Kitty. They could not make it twenty paces without someone calling “Afternoon!” or asking how they liked Derbyshire, or stopping them altogether for conversation. He and Kitty only made it down the street where a kind older woman let James use her garden to play with and feed his cat.

‘Oho! Please, come in! Use the garden however you like! Oh, what’s his name?” she asked cheerily.

“I don’t think you ever told me his name,” Kitty realized as they passed through the woman’s gate. “Have you named him?”

James looked embarrassed before he admitted, “Would you think ill of me if I were to call him ‘Darcy’?”

The woman’s expression went blank for a second before she guffawed, “Not at all! Oho, very good!”

Word of his ward quickly spread throughout the neighborhood and the evening became filled with children. The woman was kind enough to host dinner for him and Kitty while he reminded the children to be gentle and let the cat rest if he was tired from play.

He carefully lifted the groggy creature from the lap of one of the girls and promised to be round again the following the evening as they would be in Derbyshire for the week. The children ran to their homes with this promise and James slept soundly with it as well, however come the following morning, his aunt’s intentions quickly evaporated all feelings of rest.

“Surely you don’t mean the house is open for tours?” he blanched over breakfast.

“Why shouldn’t it be when I spent a number of years with the housekeeper?” Mrs. Gardiner challenged. “With no residents at home, and ourselves being respectable, she is happy to host us, and I have the pleasure of meeting a too long distant friend.”

“I’ve seen enough fine carpets and satin curtains in Netherfield,” he remarked bitterly, looking down at his eggs and roasted asparagus without appetite.

His aunt harrumphed, “If it were merely a fine house richly furnished, I should not care about it myself, but the grounds are delightful and Mrs. Reynolds is loyal to her post and so we must go to her. I doubt you will mind as they have some of the finest woods in the country.”

Therefore after breakfast they loaded into the inn's modest phaeton and rolled out of the village into the deeper hills of Derbyshire. James, as they drove along, watched for the first appearances of Pemberley Woods with some perturbation and forced calm. Simply put: he felt it an insult to Lord Darcy for coming here, however as they entered the dark canopied, wild woods contrasting with trimmed carpets of green fields, he could not deny his pleasure and curiosity.

James’ spirits fluttered as their driver narrated how they had actually been in the Park a good while, so large as it was. James’s mind was too full for conversation, as his gaze was glued to the moss on trees and the silvery-blue leaves of plants he had never seen. The town was in a lower valley while they began a steady ascent into the woods and eventually exited from under the shadow of the canopy to look out over Pemberley House on the other side of the valley.

“I didn’t realize we were following a river,” Kitty said, and indeed, James’ eyes lowered to the ribbon of water curling back toward town before first turning a waterwheel and rushing through a line of washing hanging over the river.

They drove down the hill and crossed the bridge over the river to where the road arrived at the house: a large, handsome, stone building not unlike the cottages of the town, however at least thrice as large as the biggest one. The valley was deceptive depending on which angle you stood. As James set foot on the pebbled drive, he looked around at the space carved into the valley for such a residence. He could now see how the house stood upon a raised hillock of the valley to better look out over the river. If this was the front, he was curious what the rear gardens were.

James turned back to look up at the house as well as Mrs. Reynolds emerging from it. A respectable, more elderly woman, she carried herself with the air that was fitting for one tasked with the upkeep of a Lord’s home, and yet…there was something remarkably casual about her. As she guided them up the stairs into the home, James peeked back over the valley, realizing it was the complete opposite of Lady Catherine’s abode: tucked away from prying eyes instead of situated high up for everyone to see. Inside was much the same as he met the eyes of various servants going about their duties: the uniform was certainly of high quality, but highly customizable.

Mrs. Reynolds led them into the dining parlour first, however the journey to the room was not without its wonders. After surveying the servants, James’ head was permanently craned toward the high ceilings; eventually he felt Kitty’s hands curl around his arm for guidance, as she too gaped at their surroundings.

Chandeliers and wall sconces lined the ceiling and walls of the vast rooms, however they were unnecessary as tall windows stood between each one, cascading the ornate floors with natural light. Instead of expensive dark colours, the place glowed with few, but bright materials. James reckoned the darkest colour was the black or blue of a servant’s trousers, perhaps the green marble of the foyer while white or peach marble were dominant everywhere else.

The dining parlour was certainly the room meant to impress: a massive portrait hung over the fireplace tall enough for Kitty to enter, its frame gilded in gold. “The late Lord Darcy,” Mrs. Reynolds introduced, “and just opposite him, his wife, Lady Darcy.”

Kitty and James craned their heads back and forth, looking at the previous generation of this house. The late Darcy was as tall as his son if his portrait was to be trusted, along with his similarly dark hair. The Lady Darcy, however, had given her son most of his traits. Warm eyes and a full mouth, the artist had done her justice as well as the faintest of smiles; a sense of humour not lost from her townsfolk.

James was glad when they moved out of the room, for it contrasted with the luxurious airiness of the rest of the home. He unconsciously stroked between the ears of the sleeping Darcy in his shirt, glad to have played out his energy before coming here; Mrs. Reynolds gave his shirt several looks before she was swept away by her narration of the rooms.

What on earth could he have intended, James wondered silently, by confessing to me? That I might live here?

James briefly considered asking Mrs. Reynolds where her employer was, but his courage failed as he thought better of it.

However leave it to his uncle to bring up unwanted inquiries.

James turned his back on the words which left Mr. Gardiner’s mouth, “Where is the man? I wouldn’t bear to leave such a place for long, nor as frequently as he does.”

James quickly moved on to the next parlour, a more intimate space with various portraits and miniatures. He exhaled heavily, not realizing his aunt was beside him until she asked, “What do you think?”

He looked at her and followed her gaze, with some shock, to the miniature of none other than George Wickham on the mantelpiece. Mrs. Reynolds had since followed them in and voiced, “Ah, he is the son of the late Lord’s steward. Brought up by the Darcys’ own expense, in fact, but I am afraid he has turned out rather wild.”

His aunt hummed a note of You don’t say? as she met his glare. She was smug. He moved on.

“And this,” Mrs. Reynolds continued behind him, “is my master.”

James was almost to the next room but his heart froze as he turned back to her. He realized with some horror that he expected the man himself to be in the room, but she was only pointing to a different painting lying on the table between the opposite wall’s windows. They crowded around it while she lifted it up.

“It is perhaps my favourite, however he stubbornly always removes it from the mantelpiece. This one is only smaller than his parents’ portraits because it was painted at the same time as the miniatures, about eight years ago. It is very like him. The artist is the same who painted his mother; he has a great talent for capturing eyes.”

An immense pain bloomed in James’ chest. He could not quite hear what was said around him, but felt Kitty’s hand on his arm. He looked down at her and realized what expression he must have worn due to the concern on her face.

“…heard much of your master’s fine person,” his aunt’s voice drifted through his ears. “It is a handsome face, but Lizzy, you can tell us whether it is like or not.”

Mrs. Reynolds’ respect for him seem to grow tenfold in the second it took for her to turn to him. “Does the young man know Mr. Darcy?”

“Uh,” he blurted dumbly. “A little.”

“A little,” his aunt snorted. “You spent some time with him while he was at Netherfield and then again at Hunsford, did you not?”

James gaped like a fish as Mrs. Reynolds pressed, “And do you not think him a very handsome gentleman? Though perhaps it is a strange question to ask a man; as they are too often taught to be negligent or arrogant of masculine beauty.”

“I can’t but agree,” Mrs. Gardiner declared while her husband indignantly cleared his throat.

“Yes,” James admitted, his voice hoarse, “he is handsome.”

Mrs. Reynolds beamed as she went to return the piece to the mantel. “I am glad to say there is another, larger one, in the gallery upstairs. This room was simply my late master’s favourite, and these pictures are just as they used to be then, apart from my Lord’s stubborn removal of his own image.”

Before they could move on, Mr. Gardiner had likewise returned to the mantelpiece, where a similarly sized portrait was raised in his grasp. “And is this the young Miss Darcy, then? She has the colouring of her mother.”

“Oh yes!” Mrs. Reynolds chimed.

His wife came to look better at it. “Is Miss Darcy as handsome as her brother?”

“Of course, the handsomest young lady that ever was seen; and so accomplished! She plays and sings all day long. In fact, in the next room is a new instrument just down for her—a present from my master. As I told your husband, she is due back tomorrow at the earliest with him to see and play it, however it is so customary that his travels are delayed up to a week, I cannot be sure.”

James felt sick. He had to stride ahead of them but found himself in the telltale room: a long rectangular expanse of gold and orange tones from the lacquered wood beneath his feet. In the center of it was a matching pianoforte, glistening with newness and he all but ran from it to the French doors to his left.

His boots clipped over the veranda marble, his lungs expanding with a gust of fresh air billowing in his shirt and lifting his hair. He looked out over the carved banister at the gardens around the side and back of the house. They were an array of uneven green spaces made intimate by the trees or flower bushes fencing it all in, but the front of the property was deceptive of how much space was behind it. The house was high enough for more hills to be visible beyond the treetops.

The creature in his shirt perked up at the rush of smells around. James squirmed somewhat against the whiskers as he strolled along the veranda that went along the side of the house and curved around the back of it. He plucked a long strand of silvery-green sea grass from one of the plant urns and set the creature on the marble, wiggling the strand to occupy its time.

Through the windows he could hear faintly Mrs. Reynolds’ voice going on about Mr. Darcy. “…best landlord and the best master. Not like the wild young men nowadays, who think of nothing but themselves. Some people call him proud but I am sure I never saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men.”

“Ugh,” he groaned. “This is a unique torture.”

“Is your master much at Pemberley in the course of the year?” Mr. Gardiner’s baritone resonated.

“Not so much as I could wish, sir, but I daresay he may spend half his time here. Miss Darcy is always down for the summer months, to be sure.”

Mrs. Gardiner offered, “If your master would marry, you might see more of him.”

It was the first occasion James had of hearing Mrs. Reynolds laugh. “Perhaps, but I do not know when that will be. I do not know who is good enough for him.”

James sighed as he threw himself down onto the stone floor, eagerly climbed over by the cat. Kitty’s voice surprised him when she giggled, “What melancholy has inspired such a display?”

“It is a long story,” he groaned, his hands lightly wrestling the claws and needle teeth.

“Then perhaps you might share it with me tonight?” she asked. He did not have a ready reply and she did not demand one as she sat next to him and looked through the balustrades to the lawns around them. “How different is the account of a man we so despised previously. I haven’t heard a single negative thing about him from anyone here.”

“Curious,” James agreed, and then corrected himself. “Though not anymore.”

She looked at him. “I didn’t know you met him while you were at Charlotte’s.”

“He is the nephew of Lady Catherine,” he confirmed. “He was there for Easter.”

Her features opened with surprise and then furrowed with analysis. “Is that…expected? I mean, are they a pair?”

James did not voice his reply so much as shake his head at the sky. “No, they’re not. They are entirely opposite. This is a home. Lady Catherine’s estate is an untouchable statement.”

“Is she as awful as Mr. Collins made her out to be?”

“Worse.”

Kitty made an unladylike sound of disgust, which drew laughter from her brother. He heaved himself up, feeling better as he caught sight of the stairs leading down to the grounds. “I’m sure this one needs to relieve himself. Are you going inside or staying with me?”

“With you,” she beamed, and trotted after him. Thankfully the cat had not yet grown to a size that granted speed, so the two of them were able to keep track of him while the gardeners were otherwise amused by the display. Once free of his bowels, James quickly scooped him up before he made any lasting damage to the fragrant blackberry bushes, whose leaves he found most enticing.

They entered the house from the back, and immediately discovered that they were lost. James took a step through the large lobby, stopped, and turned to find Kitty paused on the stairway going upstairs. They both laughed nervously and looked around.

“Where’s a servant when you need one?” she queried.

James, holding the wriggling kitten to his chest, joined her on the stairs. “Mrs. Reynolds said something about the gallery. They have likely gone there by now.”

They rose to the next level and were two rooms deep before James realized, “Wait, she said it was ‘upstairs’ from where we were…”

“That was the second floor, was it not?” Kitty puzzled. “This one? So we need to go up one more—oh, Lizzy!”

The cat had finally freed itself from his grasp, and bolted from the room. “Hell,” he cursed, running after it.

“Don’t let him claw anything!” Kitty called, running after him. “They’ll remove us from Derbyshire tonight!”

“More like don’t let him under anything,” James corrected, lunging to divert Darcy’s path from a room of unused, covered furniture. “We’ll never get him out.”

“We can’t chase him forever,” she huffed behind him. “He’s running because we are chasing!”

James agreed, “We need to trap him in a room! Here! Shut the door!”

Darcy ran into a room and James heard Kitty slam the door behind them while he almost shut the opposite, but not before the cat slithered between his legs to the next room.

“Jamie!”

“Stay here! Catch him if he comes back around!”

His head turned as he looked around. Thankfully, the creature had paused to listen, his ears swiveling atop its head. James realized he heard music. Someone was playing a piano. They must have been near the music room.

Who would be playing the pianoforte? he wondered perplexedly. Then again, it would come as no surprise if the household had a musician for hire who could tune any instrument whenever they liked. If the masters were to return tomorrow, her ladyship’s gift would need to be ready.

“Darcy, come here,” James called quietly. The cat looked at him and then scurried elsewhere in the room. It was unfortunately an office of sorts that was clearly used often if the furnishings were any indication. The cat went directly under a writing desk and behind the window curtains, swatting at the gauzy material.

“No! No no no…” he quickly snatched the curtain and the cat exclaimed an annoyed “Mrow!”

The pianoforte fell silent.

James felt mortified. The last thing he needed was a servant bringing him back to his aunt after causing a ruckus. He would never hear the end of her ridicule and mirth—

“Darcy! Come here! Now!” he crawled under the large table, sighing briefly in relief at hearing another door shut; at least Kitty was being productive.

The chairs pushed in around the table gave the illusion the cat was walled in, allowing James just enough time to scoop the creature against him before it realized it could fit between the legs.

“Darcy—!”

“Yes?”

James’ entire form froze into a statue. That soft, deep voice thundered through him. It was unmistakable, but it couldn’t…but it was. James’ head jerkily turned toward the boots waiting patiently in the center of the room—

The clip of slippers and rustle of skirts announced Kitty’s entrance to the room. In a breathless voice she exclaimed, “Jamie, have you got—oh my god.”

James clamped his eyes shut and forced himself to calmly exhale. Pushing one of the chairs out, he climbed out from under the table, met the shocked face of his sister, and then turned toward Lord Darcy. He looked very much the same as any other occasion James had seen him apart from the morning of his confession. Mr. Darcy was clean pressed apart from his hair being unruly from travel. James could only imagine what image he and Kitty made.

He bowed and heard Kitty rush to curtsy likewise.