Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

W hile Elizabeth had been staring with wide-eyed wonder at the gardens, the servants had been hard at work preparing a feast of delicacies for their consumption. There were cakes, biscuits, sandwiches, tarts, jams, toast, numerous seasonal fruits—but no pineapple, to Miss Bingley's lament—and all manner of delights for them to sample. Elizabeth felt assured that there would be quite the bacchanal below stairs later because there was no possible way that they could consume even half as much as was laid out, even after the gentlemen joined them.

A quick glance across the park to where the stone bridge perched in the distance revealed no approaching fishermen. Tamping down her disappointment, Elizabeth set about filling her plate.

Once all the ladies had selected their food, they adjourned to smaller tables set out across the terrace. The married ladies settled at one, while the unmarried took another. For some time, there was no conversation while they ate, but at length Miss Bingley's appetite was apparently satisfied enough to venture a new topic.

"So, Miss Eliza, how is your family at home? I trust they are well?"

It was a common enquiry and seemed innocuous enough, but there was a certain glint in Miss Bingley's eye that put Elizabeth on her guard. She swallowed and replied, "They are very well, I thank you."

"The last I saw of them, they were very… energetic , particularly around the officers. I have heard that the militia has been quartered at Brighton for the summer. That must be a great loss for your family."

Ah, so that is her game. If she hopes to discompose me, she will have to do better than these paltry attacks. "We are enduring the deprivation as best we can."

"I am sure. Though I understood there were certain members of the regiment who made themselves particularly agreeable to the ladies of Meryton. Was there not one you were fond of?" Miss Bingley asked her question with the air of one who already knows the answer and only wishes to have her suspicions confirmed.

Elizabeth clenched her teeth together at this oblique reference to Mr Wickham. Miss Bingley, she had no doubt, meant to imply that Elizabeth's affections were already engaged elsewhere and not faithful to Mr Darcy, but she could not possibly know of Miss Darcy's history with the miscreant. Rather than risking injury to her sweet new friend, Elizabeth determined it was time for a change in subject.

"I cannot imagine whom you mean," Elizabeth said placidly before turning her attention to her other companion, effectively closing the conversation in Miss Bingley's face like the slamming of a door. "Miss Darcy, you enjoy a good gothic tale. Tell me, have you heard about the ghost that supposedly haunts Pemberley's lake? We have been told that it is quite the local legend."

"How ridiculous! Ghosts!" Miss Bingley interjected with a sniff before Miss Darcy could respond. "Superstitious nonsense spread by servants."

"Actually," Miss Darcy ventured, eyes darting back and forth between the two members of her audience, "I have heard a story like that."

"Indeed?"

"Oh yes, I heard about it from Cook, who has worked at Pemberley since she was a girl. She knows everything about this house, possibly even more than Mrs Reynolds," Miss Darcy affirmed with an earnest nod of her head.

"Miss Darcy," Mrs Annesley spoke up from where she sat at the next table, a note of sternness in her voice. "I am not sure this is an appropriate subject for company."

"Oh, but it is such a romantic story," Miss Darcy replied, becoming animated. "Please let me tell it."

Mrs Annesley still looked unconvinced. "It is not the sort of thing one discusses at tea."

"I am sure there is no harm in telling a local tale," said Elizabeth, rather eager to hear more about this supposed ghost of Pemberley. "In Meryton, we have our own story of a ghostly goat who is known to eat stockings that have not been properly put away. It only ever steals one, however, leaving numerous mismatched pairs behind."

Most of the party laughed, save Miss Bingley and her sister. Though Mrs Hurst, Elizabeth was quite sure, hid a smile behind her teacup.

"Very well," Mrs Annesley acceded, nodding to her charge to continue.

Miss Darcy began her tale with a relish that reminded Elizabeth of Lydia, though her voice was much quieter in the telling. "Well, this occurred so very long ago that no one is entirely sure when it happened, though I suppose it must have been sometime in the last three hundred years because Pemberley did not exist before that. In any event, it begins with a love affair between the young lady of the manor and a gentleman her parents did not approve of. The young lady loved her beau so passionately that she was willing to elope, so they made plans to meet at midnight by the lake, telling no one what they intended."

Elizabeth flinched, better understanding Mrs Annesley's reluctance in sharing this particular yarn. She wondered whether it perhaps painted a romantic portrait of elopement, which in turn could have influenced Miss Darcy's poor decision in regard to her own misadventure. Had she seen herself as the lonely maiden of the manor and Mr Wickham as her devoted suitor?

Suddenly, in a deluge of disturbing clarity, Elizabeth began to wonder whether Mr Wickham had not been familiar with this Pemberley legend himself and used it to his advantage when convincing Miss Darcy to run off with him. Were that the case—not that it could ever be proved—he would be even more despicable than anyone had ever thought. His machinations against a tender-hearted young girl still enamoured of fairy stories and supernatural tales were nothing if not disgusting.

A low growl of thunder rolled overhead, sweeping across Pemberley like a wave over a pebbled beach. The clouds, which had once hearkened the image of ambling sheep, were knitting themselves together into what now more closely resembled a grey wool blanket. It seemed that more turbulent weather was on its way, and Elizabeth, with another concerned glance towards the stone bridge, hoped the gentlemen were at last ready to abandon their sport.

"However," Miss Darcy continued, apparently seeing no reflection in her own behaviour and unconscious of the menacing sky above, "the bridegroom never arrived. Heartbroken, the young lady flung herself into the water and drowned, unable to carry on without her dearest love. The next morning, she was discovered missing from her room, and a search was organised, but it was too late—she was already gone. Her parents, not knowing how she ended up in the lake, assumed that it must have been a terrible accident, and she was put to rest in the family vault. Now, they say her restless spirit remains, roaming the house and grounds searching for her lost lover." She sighed wistfully as she finished her tale.

Elizabeth, observing the warm flush and sparkle of pleasure in Miss Darcy's eyes, could not help but feel a surge of affection for the young girl who, in spite of her own failed elopement, still held a sense of romantic wonder that had not been diminished by the selfish actions of Mr Wickham. At least he had not robbed her of that .

"Do you think it could be true, Miss Bennet?" asked Miss Darcy, her naturally soft voice quivering with emotion. She clutched her folded hands just above her heart. "If it were, how tragic and romantic!"

"Perhaps," Elizabeth allowed, smiling indulgently. "I suppose we shall never know."

In Elizabeth's opinion, the story itself was incredibly silly when one considered it closely. It was more than a little fanciful, probably derived from the plot of a bad novel, and honestly lacked inherent logic. If the lovers had told no one of their pact, how had the story been passed down? Why did the young woman drown herself before ascertaining what had happened to her bridegroom? It seemed a touch precipitous to take such an irreversible step without first determining whether he had been unable to come due to an unforeseen and reasonable circumstance. What if he had simply been delayed and had been on his way? Perhaps the heroine of this tale had been enamoured of Romeo and Juliet and had taken their melodramatic ending to heart. Moreover, what had happened to the gentleman to prevent him from meeting up with his bride at the prearranged time? The story did not reveal his fate at all.

The other ladies in the circle had various responses to the legend, none of which seemed to parallel Elizabeth's. Mrs Gardiner's was probably the closest to her own—humour—but Mrs Annesley was clearly maintaining her previous disapproval. No doubt, in light of Miss Darcy's own recent history, she felt that discourse about a failed elopement ending in tragic suicide should be avoided. I cannot blame her there.

Miss Bingley, true to her own character, scoffed at the young lady in the story. "Who would give up Pemberley for some penniless nobody?"

Mrs Hurst nodded in agreement, also in line with her usual practices. "So true, so true."

All of them, however, were invested enough in debating the merits of the tale to jolt visibly when a loud crash of thunder sounded from above, rattling the dishes. Mrs Hurst shrieked at the sudden noise. Moments later, the clouds Elizabeth had been eyeing with suspicion opened up and unleashed a downpour, sending the ladies scurrying inside and a coterie of alarmed servants out onto the terrace to preserve the refreshments.

Safely indoors, Elizabeth laughed good naturedly as she withdrew her handkerchief and dabbed droplets from her face. "My goodness! That certainly came out of nowhere."

Miss Darcy stood beside the open door, out of the way of the servants, dripping wet and gawping at the sky. She looked positively terrified, as if she had somehow invoked the deluge. "Indeed! How horrible."

Elizabeth approached, proffering her spare handkerchief. " Do not worry, Miss Darcy. I doubt you have stirred up any spirits. The weather merely has a theatrical sense of timing. It is almost as if a stage hand waits just out of sight, ready to stir up a tempest on cue." A weak chuckle was her reward.

Miss Bingley scowled and fussed at the minor damage done to her appearance, complaining loudly, "Another frock ruined!" From what Elizabeth could see, her gown had retained no substantial damage—a shame, really, given how ugly it was—but her feathers were another matter; they sagged over her tightly curled coiffure like yellowed, wilting lettuce. Beside her, Mrs Hurst and the other matrons more calmly dried themselves with towels efficiently provided by a pair of maids.

Within, there was little cause for concern, but without was another matter. Apprehension twisted Elizabeth's stomach as she squinted across the sodden lawn for any sign of the gentlemen. Yes—there! Several figures raced towards them, having breached the crest of a slight rise that existed between the stream and the manor. One of them was a lumbering, four-legged creature—Freddy, she presumed—who seemed reluctant to follow the lead of her handler. She stopped several times, requiring said handler to cajole her forwards, before at last being tugged by the collar the last several yards to the garden path.

It was as they drew nearer that Elizabeth realised there were only three men when there ought to have been four. Surely the one leading Freddy must be Mr Darcy, but who was missing? Had any of the gentlemen suffered some sort of calamity out in the elements? Was it her beloved uncle or Jane's Mr Bingley? She was greatly tempted to rush out herself to sate her anxious curiosity, but of course that would have been foolish. Still, the anticipation was difficult to bear .

With the darkness of the clouds and the punishing sheets of rain coming down, Elizabeth was unable to determine the identity of the absent gentleman until the party was clambering up the terrace steps. Mr Gardiner was in the lead with Mr Bingley and Freddy directly behind him, whilst Mr Hurst availed himself of the opposite staircase. Contrary to her earlier assumptions, it was not Mr Darcy leading his dog through the storm but his friend.

But where is Mr Darcy? Elizabeth's worry was growing apace, and her pulse quickened accordingly.

Mr Hurst was the first to dash inside, with the other gentlemen hard upon his heels. Mr Bingley tugged Freddy by her collar, but she seemed most reluctant to come in and whined in protest. The poor beast attempted to throw her weight into the effort, but her paws could gain no purchase on the slick tile, and Mr Bingley, with the assistance of Mr Gardiner, was able to lug her indoors despite her protestations. The servants, having already saved the feast, closed and latched the doors behind them. Wind and rain pushed back but were no match for the protective force of Pemberley.

"It is raining buckets out there!" announced Mr Bingley cheerfully as he released Freddy's collar and slumped to the floor, panting from his exertions. The dog went immediately to the glass doors and peered out into the storm, still keening for her master.

Mr Hurst stepped around his brother-in-law and trudged through the room without acknowledging anyone, even his wife. Mrs Hurst scolded him regardless for frightening them all half to death, little though he seemed to hear her. He was gone within seconds out into the corridor and, presumably, upstairs to his assigned chambers.

Mr Gardiner laughed as his own wife fussed over him, assuring her, "Now, Maddie, a little summer shower never hurt anyone. I shall be right as rain, you will see." He winked at her.

"Oh, Edward, that was terrible!"

Elizabeth, seeing no amusement in the situation, wrung her hands and blurted, rather impatiently, "But where is Mr Darcy? Surely he was with you."

"Him?" replied Mr Gardiner, still in the mood to tease. "I am sure he has gone for another swim. Do not fret, Lizzy."

Elizabeth scowled at her uncle, feeling it was hardly the time to joke, and Mr Bingley stepped in to resolve the mystery. "He is on his way, Miss Elizabeth. He sent us on ahead and stayed behind to see to one of the servants who had slipped and fallen into the mud. Twisted his ankle, poor chap."

"Why should Mr Darcy do such a thing?" Miss Bingley demanded, rushing over to the window to peer out, even though visibility was extremely low. "The clumsy oaf should be more careful and not expect his master to risk his own health for his sake."

Mr Bingley frowned at his younger sister. "That is hardly how it was, Caroline. The man had an accident, and Darcy was the one closest to render aid. I like to think I would do the same."

"Oh, Charles— gah !"

Whatever scold Miss Bingley was about to issue was cut short by Freddy, who chose that moment to shake herself dry. As the one closest to the dog, it was Miss Bingley who suffered the worst of it, though Mr Bingley, Elizabeth, and the Gardiners were also required to shield their faces from the onslaught of droplets.

Just like that, Mr Darcy's travails were apparently forgotten by Miss Bingley, who screeched in a most unladylike fashion and scolded Freddy for being a ‘dirty beast' and her brother for bringing the dog indoors in the first place. Mrs Hurst joined the dispute with the apparent intent to calm her sister—an endeavour that only bore fruit once she led Miss Bingley from the room.

The squabbling was largely lost on Elizabeth as she squinted out into the haze of rain beyond the window. Surely Mr Darcy would return soon, and safely? Freddy, the dear soul, leant against her leg and whined piteously for comfort. She provided it with a weak smile and a scratch behind the Great Dane's ears.

A soft touch to her shoulder incited Elizabeth to turn. Miss Darcy, wearing a look of commiseration, said, "My brother will be perfectly well, I promise you. The stables are not so very far from the trout stream, and he knows better than to dawdle in a storm. I am certain he will return to the house forthwith."

Not wishing to distress her hostess, Elizabeth nodded and proffered a tight smile. "I am sure you are correct, Miss Darcy."

"Come," the girl said, stepping away. "We could all do with a change of clothes. We are not the same size, but I am sure we can find something that will suit."

Elizabeth was almost to the door when she remembered Freddy. She called to the dog, who glanced betwixt her and the window before sitting down where she was. Elizabeth left the Great Dane to her sentry and followed Miss Darcy upstairs.