“Pray, what do their fathers have to do with this?” asked Lydia impatiently.
“They travelled to Egypt in their youth,” said Mrs Bennet. “Lizzy told me all about it in her letter. Stay, I have it here.” She read out the relevant section, adding, “I would like to travel to Egypt while I still have mine.”
“Do they say where they intend to go in Egypt, Mrs Bennet?” Wickham asked with careless charm.
“Down the Nile somewhere, I believe,” she said. “There is some talk of them joining an archaeological expedition with Sir Matthew Rosen, a most distinguished gentleman and scholar at the British Museum. Lizzy says he is very keen to take them and that Edward has already proved to be of invaluable help on account of the maps and other documents he has left over from his father’s expedition.”
The gong rang, signalling that it was time to dress for dinner. Lydia left the drawing room, followed by her husband, and as they climbed the stairs to their room—the very room in which Lydia had slept as a child—she stared at him with unabashed astonishment.
“La! My dear Wickham, I never realised you had so much patience in you,” she said, opening her rather old-fashioned fan. “You seemed to encourage Mama to chatter, when of late you have not been able to contain your impatience in anything.”
“I am always interested in what your mother has to say, my love,” Wickham replied smoothly. “Visiting your parents has been a most profitable excursion this day, my dear.” As they went into their room he took her hand, kissing it absently. “Most profitable indeed.”
Chapter 4
Since they were not to travel until later in the year, so that they would arrive in Egypt when the fierce summer heat was over, the Darcys returned to Pemberley. They told the children of their plans and once the initial excitement had died down, life resumed its normal pace. William and John returned to school, and the other children were occupied by their tutors and governesses while Darcy and Elizabeth continued to host balls and parties. Their neighbours were, by turns, envious, astonished, and critical of their plans. But Elizabeth and Darcy, used to pursuing their dreams in the face of fierce opposition, took no notice of the talk they occasioned and continued to make arrangements for their trip.
Darcy wrote to all the British Consuls in the countries they would be visiting on the way and requested their help for the practical arrangements. In particular, he corresponded with the British Consul in Cairo, where they planned to stay for some time, and when all this was well in hand, he made further arrangements for the ship which was to carry them to Egypt. He was helped in this by his man of business, who dealt with many of the minor arrangements.
Then, too, he had to make arrangements for the life he would leave behind. Pemberley could not run itself, and although his steward was to remain in England, Darcy had to deal with many pressing matters as well as foresee any possible problems while he was gone.
One morning in the early summer, having ridden round the estate with his steward and noted any work to be undertaken in his absence, he returned to the house to find his wife and children sitting in the garden. They were bathed in sunshine as they worked and played, and his heart stood still as he halted for a moment, thinking he was the luckiest man in the world.
He had never imagined that his marriage to Elizabeth would bring him such a deep and abiding joy. He had almost resented the fact that he had fallen in love with her to begin with and had despised himself for rejoicing in her company and admiring her humour. When he had overcome his resentment and finally proposed, he had been angry that she had not fallen into his hands like a ripe plum, but had instead rejected him as the last man in the world she could ever be prevailed upon to marry.
It was only then, when he had insulted her and her family, that he had come to know how passionate, loyal, and constant Elizabeth could be when she knew herself to be right. But it was not until the succeeding months that he had learned she was also capable of change when she found herself to be wrong.
And, right or wrong, she was at all times strong and brave and true to herself, no matter what allurements (such as ten thousand a year and Pemberley), nor what threats (such as offending Lady Catherine and polluting the shades of Pemberley) were used to try and persuade her out of her own mind. And with this strength he had fallen more deeply in love. But he had never known that his love would continue to grow with every passing year, until he no longer knew how he had lived without it.
Parenthood, too, held many surprises. Both he and Elizabeth had been amazed at the strength of their love for their children, and they had found the whole venture more challenging, if more stimulating, than they had expected. Elizabeth, who had grown up in a family of girls, had been amazed at the propensity of small boys to wrestle at any available opportunity. Darcy had had no illusions about boys, having been to a school overflowing with them, but he had been surprised in other ways. Indeed, he had been astonished to find that his children, brought up in a happy, informal atmosphere—in contrast to his own, formal upbringing—had none of the awe of him that he had had for his own parents. Instead, they had unrestrained love, which he found extraordinarily fulfilling, and which he preferred enormously—even if it was sometimes a little exasperating.
With a formal upbringing, there would have been no noisy play in front of him, only “Yes, Papa,” and “No, Papa.” And although there were occasionally moments when he thought how wonderful that must be—usually when Laurence had led Jane into mischief—he was nevertheless wholeheartedly thankful that he had married Elizabeth and that he had experienced their fun-filled, exhausting, exasperating, yet joyful family life.
As he joined them on the lawn, William looked up from his book.
William is a true Darcy, he thought, for William was already conscious of his heritage and his future as the master of Pemberley. William had an air of gravity that the other children lacked. A fine boy, thought Darcy proudly, going over to his eldest son and asking him about his book, engaging him in an interesting conversation.
John was busy using books for a less exalted purpose. They lay about the grass, standing in for naval ships sailing on an emerald sea, as John reenacted the Battle of the Nile.
Laurence, for once, was still. The explanation for this remarkable phenomenon was to be found in the book he held on his lap, which contained a picture of an enormous crocodile menacing a suitably horrified man on a sandbank.
Beth was teaching Jane to sew, and Margaret was dressing her doll in their latest creation, a surprisingly successful imitation of an Egyptian gown.
Elizabeth was sitting in the middle of this happy scene. She looked toward the drive as the sound of carriage wheels filled the air, and Darcy remembered that Jane and Bingley were to visit them. He stayed only to kiss Elizabeth and tell her she was looking exceptionally beautiful, and then he went upstairs to change into fresh clothes.
By the time he joined Elizabeth again in the garden, Jane and Bingley were with her and all the children were playing together, chasing each other across the lawn.
The Bingleys were frequent visitors. Having left Netherfield Park a year after their wedding, they had settled in Nottinghamshire, some thirty miles from Pemberley. In the winter they often stayed with the Darcys, and in the summer it was not uncommon for them to drive over for a day. They customarily arrived before lunch and left after an early dinner, which allowed them to return home in the daylight.
Family news was exchanged, and Jane said, “I envy your trip. If the children were old enough, I would be persuading Charles to take us all, too. But with Eleanor less than two years old, it would never do. It is the talk of Meryton, you know. We have just been staying with Mama, and there is talk of nothing else. Sir William and Lady Lucas have decided to accompany Sophie to London in their carriage. They are planning to stay in London for a few days and then they hope to accompany you to Southampton, so that they may see Soph
ie safely onto the ship before returning to Lucas Lodge.”
“I am glad they are so careful of her,” said Darcy. “I think it an excellent idea.”
“Yes. I think I must invite them to stay with us while they are in town,” said Elizabeth.
Jane hesitated.
Elizabeth looked at her enquiringly. “There is something you are not telling me,” she said.
“Only this,” said Jane uncomfortably. “As soon as Mama realised that the Lucases would be taking Sophie to London and that the fourth seat in the carriage would be spare…”
“Oh dear,” said Lizzy, but she could not help laughing at the sight of Darcy’s face, which had fallen comically as he had a presentiment of what was coming.
“You mean to say that your mother is intending to come, too?” he asked.
“I am very much afraid so,” said Jane.
“Cheer up, Darcy,” said Bingley jovially. “It is only for a few days, you know, just while you are still in London.”
“Is that really all, or will she accompany us to Southampton?” Darcy asked, dismayed.
“I am afraid so,” said Jane. “To see you onto the ship and to wish you all bon voyage.”
Lizzy could not help laughing, despite her own horror, for it was so like her mama.
“Do you really mind so very much?” she said, turning to Darcy.
He rallied himself. “No,” he said courageously. “Or, at least, no more than you! But never mind, it will not be for long and the children will be glad to see her. We are taking them away from their grandparents for months, after all.”
“I think, if we are to have the Lucases and Mama to stay for a few days before we set out for the port, we should also invite Paul Inkworthy to stay. Otherwise he will be the only member of the party not to know anyone. A few days at Darcy House will give him a chance to accustom himself to the children, as well as meet Sophie, before we leave the familiarity of England,” said Elizabeth.
“A good idea. I will visit him when we return to London and invite him.”
“When are you returning to London?” asked Jane.
“At the end of June,” said Elizabeth. “That will allow us some time in town to have the final fittings for our clothes, as well as make other last-minute preparations before we set out.”
“You will not forget to write? I am longing to hear all about it,” said Jane.
“I will write very regularly, and you must write to me, too,” said Elizabeth. “I want to know all about my nieces and nephews while I am away. I have an itinerary inside; I will give you a copy before you leave, and then you will know where we will be at any given time. If you send your letters to the British Consuls, they will hold the letters for us until we arrive, for we will be travelling at a leisurely pace and the post will go more quickly than we do.”
“This artist of yours, is he any good?” asked Bingley.
“He comes highly recommended,” said Darcy, “but I hope to see for myself when I invite him to stay with us before embarking on our voyage. I intend to call on him to issue the invitation.”
“Would it not be better to write?” said Bingley. “You will give him more time to prepare if you do.”
“Which is exactly why I intend to call. I would like a chance to see his studio so that I can examine some of his work without him having arranged it all for me in advance.”
“His studio is, I fear, nothing more than an attic,” said Elizabeth. “The address was not in a good part of town. You must not expect too much.”
“Never mind. If the young man has talent, then I mean to give him the opportunity to rise in the world. If I like his work, I am thinking of commissioning a whole set of paintings from him, so that we will have a pictorial record of our trip.”
“I like that idea,” said Elizabeth, “but we will be away for months, and if he is to paint everywhere we go and everything we do, we will need a new gallery at Pemberley!”
“Well, and why not? Each generation of Darcys adds something to the house. We will add an Egyptian gallery. We might collect some antiquities, too. And once we return, I will be able to introduce him to many more patrons. There is nothing I would like more than to make his fortune, if he deserves it.”
Elizabeth was gratified. It was one of the more wonderful things about their position, that it gave them an opportunity to encourage those with talent, and she found herself looking forward to all the paintings, with their exotic backgrounds, which were to come.
“You must bring some antiquities back for us, you know,” said Bingley. “Upon my honour, I think a few Egyptian vases would look well in the hall. Do you not think so, Jane?”
“If you would like some, then I have no objection,” said Jane. “But I would rather have some Egyptian cotton; it is supposed to be very fine.”
As the two women began talking of fabrics and sheets, dresses and shirts, the gentlemen excused themselves and went down to the lake to fish.
“Upon my honour, this is a daring enterprise,” said Bingley, as he reeled in his line, only to find a tangle of weed on the other end. He removed the weed and then cast it again.
“The trip to Egypt or entertaining Mrs Bennet in London?” asked Darcy.
Bingley laughed.
“I meant the former, but perhaps the latter will be more of a trial. We have just come back from Longbourn, where Mrs Bennet spoiled the children dreadfully. Charles and Eleanor have taken no harm from it, Charles being too old and Eleanor too young, but I was glad to bring Eliza and Harry home before they were thoroughly spoiled. And so you will be leaving us in July. How long do you mean to stay away?”
“For six months at least. The journey will take several months each way, and we intend to spend some time travelling down the Nile when we arrive. We will go so far from home only once, and we mean to make the most of it.”
Bingley felt a tug on his line and landed a fish, and shortly afterward, Darcy’s own line gave a jerk. It was with a sizeable catch, at last, that they returned to the house, where the fish were taken to the kitchens and served as one of the dishes at dinner.
Afterward, Jane and Bingley did not linger, wanting to be home before dark.
“Dear Lizzy,” said Jane, embracing her sister. “I do not suppose we will see you again before you leave. Have a safe journey and remember to write.”
Elizabeth promised to do so and the Bingleys departed. Then she went into the drawing room, where she wrote to the London housekeeper, apprising her of the fact that the Darcys would be entertaining five house guests when they returned to London, prior to their departure for Egypt.
***
June arrived, and with it the day of their departure for London drew nearer. The children had all but forgotten about the coming trip, having been engrossed in their summer activities at Pemberley, but their excitement began to mount as the boxes were packed, for the journey to London signalled that the journey to Egypt was not far behind.
Almost as soon as they reached London, Mr Darcy called on Paul Inkworthy. The artist’s home was in a poor part of town, with narrow cobbled streets and overhanging gables. The houses were a relic of the sixteenth century, their black-and-white buildings giving evidence of the neighbourhood’s Tudor heritage.
Darcy found the address, mounted the three precarious wooden steps, and knocked on the crazily askew front door.
There came a drunken shout from inside, followed by the sound of someone falling over, and then a window opened overhead, and a woman peered out.
“Aw, my life, it’s a swell,” she said, before shutting the window and running heavily downstairs to open the door.
“I am here to see Mr Inkworthy,” said Darcy.
“Yes, sir, right this way, sir,” said the woman, wiping her greasy hands on her even greasier apron.
Darcy followed her into the ill-lit interior and up several flights of rickety stairs, until she stopped on the uppermost landing, which was inches deep in dust.
“’Ere you are, sir,” she said, bobbing him something that resembled a curtsey and holding out her hand.
Darcy put a coin into it and knocked on the attic door. A familiar voice called, “Come in,” and Darcy opened the door, walking into the large attic room with a sharp sense of interest. It was bare of any furniture, save for a bed, a table, and a chair; but canvases, sketchbooks, paintbrushes, and all the paraphernalia of an artist’s studio filled the large space. An easel stood over by the east-facing window, and on it stood a painting, while in the corner farthest from the easel, cleaning a paintbrush, was Paul Inkworthy.
The artist had his back to him, and Darcy had a chance to examine him for a moment, curious to know more about the young man who was to accompany them on their travels.
Mr Inkworthy looked much the same as he had on their previous meeting, and yet there was something different about him. He was still tall and thin—Darcy found himself wondering when the man had last had a good meal—and his dark, curly hair still fell in an unruly profusion over his collar, but he had an air of confidence about him that had been lacking before. It was evident in the line of his back and the angle of his head.
Darcy nodded thoughtfully. Before, Inkworthy had been in someone else’s salon. Here, he was in his own studio, the master of all he surveyed—a small domain, it was true, but one full of riches.
Darcy walked over to the easel and was surprised to see a half-finished portrait of Elizabeth standing on it.
“Ah, yes,” came a voice at his side.
He turned to see Mr Inkworthy, who had joined him noiselessly and was looking critically at his own work.
“You have painted my wife,” said Darcy.
Some of the artist’s former nervousness returned.