Page 40 of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bennet

“How do you shape the lead so thinly? Is it done by hand?” I asked, looking about the shop.

He nodded, glancing towards a workbench where a woman with deft fingers was trimming a slender stick of black lead.

“Aye, miss, that it be. Every bit’s cleft and sawn, and polished by hand, as is right. Then we set the lead ‘twixt two slips o’ cedar, and bind it firm wi’ glue. The choicest leads we keep back for artists and for ladies’ own hand, mind.”

I watched the woman at her work—the precision required, the patience in her movements. It was a busy place, the scent of wood shavings and soot hanging in the air. Kitty laughed. Such pencils—such drawings!

Darcy addressed the craftsman. “Would you be so good as to choose a selection for us? Some sturdy, some fine? The lady is an excellent artist—I would have you choose only the highest quality.”

“Aye, sir. Ah’ll get thee a box ready, right sharp.”

Kitty beamed, and I could not help but smile in return. It seemed a small thing, but the promise of new pencils lifted my spirits.

“Oh, thank you, Fitzwilliam.” I squeezed his arm, leaning happily against his coat.

“There is nothing to thank me for, Elizabeth,” he said. “It is my pleasure.”

Had he called me Elizabeth? I flushed—oh dear, just as I had called him Fitzwilliam. Likely both of us forgetting I was merely an honorary sister to Georgiana—a casual acquaintance, not a true sister to Darcy. It seemed, at that moment, something ever so special, and I found myself wondering what it would be like to belong so naturally in another’s family.

Kitty fluttered out into the sunlight ahead of us, the new pencils clutched in her hand like a prize. ‘Oh Lizzy, how clever you are! I should have been far too shy to ask alone,’ she said, skipping along the cobbled street. I laughed and followed, Darcy beside me.

We took a different route on the return to Ambleside, passing close by the plumbago mine near Borrowdale. We were told it had been flooded; the government shutting the mine to keep the price of black-lead high and to prevent theft. It was worth over ten shillings a pound—truly black gold.

Disappointed at not being able to see the raw mineral, we continued on through the valley of Langstrath, where all was wilderness and uncultivated desolation. We climbed to the top of Langdale Stake—I could not deny that my legs were grateful for having a strong Galloway pony beneath me. At the top of the Stake, we came upon a grand exhibition of the high summits of Bow Fell, Hanging Knotts, Scawfell Pike, and Great Gable. I looked longingly at the Pike. It was then that I set my heart on climbing it; the highest peak in England.

We then descended to Langdale Head, making our way past Dungeon Gill, then across the Pelter Bridge to rejoin the road a mile north of Ambleside.

“Hey ho!” cried a voice we had come to know too well. Lady Augustus and her daughter drove abreast of us as we walked our horses slowly down the road. “We heard you had gone to Keswick, and made there in our chaise. Enquiring at the Oak, you had already departed.”

“We returned by way of Borrowdale,” replied Mr. Darcy. “Once into the hills, only cart tracks are passable, certainly not suitable for a chaise. It is only a mile to the Salutation Hotel—shall we meet again for dinner?”

* * *

Lady Augustus was rather subdued at dinner, where we took the same places as the evening before. I found very little to laugh at, and came to see that she was like any Meryton Mama who wished to settle her daughters well. Miss Eustacia was a sweet girl and, perchance, thought herself more accomplished than she truly was. It was unfortunate that, in Georgiana and me, she had found that her performance on the piano-forte—though adequate for most drawing rooms—was inferior to ours.

Both Mr. Darcy and Fitzwilliam—oh, I must think of him as Darcy!—were able to relax and enjoy the dinner, with Miss Eustacia no longer enthusiastically promoted by her mother. Lady Augustus often looked at me with some puzzlement, for though I was introduced as Miss Darcy’s friend, there was an obvious intimacy with the Darcys that extended beyond mere casual friendship.

“Are you often in Town, Miss Bennet?” the lady asked. “You play exceedingly well—I must know who your master was.”

“I have been to Town on only two occasions,” I replied, “to stay with my aunt and uncle in Gracechurch Street. We did not travel often, for my father disliked London and avoided travelling there if he could.”

I paused. The Bingley sisters had mocked my mother’s brother, Uncle Gardiner, for living near Cheapside, in the commercial heart of the City of London. While the address was not Mayfair, the Gardiners’ elegant townhouse off a secluded court was only a few minutes’ walk from the Mansion House, the Lord Mayor of London’s residence.

Lady Augustus did not raise an eyebrow, and I suspected that her London residence was also situated in a less than fashionable district. “And your master?” she continued the interrogation.

“We had neither a master nor a governess.”

“No governess! How was that possible? Brought up at home without a governess!—I never heard of such a thing. Mrs. Bennet must have been quite a slave to your education.”

I could hardly help smiling. “Between my mother and my father, my sister and I never wanted for the means to learn. We were always encouraged to read. There was a lady in the town who taught us the rudiments of the instruments, and we were always encouraged to improve our skills from the many instruction books available. Lately, I have had the pleasure of tutoring some of the young girls in Meryton.” Mama was looking at me with pride, and, to my puzzlement, so was Darcy.

“Docendo discimus—by teaching, we learn,” he said, softly.

“I prefer Horace: sapere aude—dare to know,” I replied, arching my brow. “But it is so very rude of us, sir! Mrs. Bennet has already scolded me for speaking Latin, and doing so at dinner is, I daresay, quite vulgar.”

The conversation moved on. I was particularly interested in the plays and operas Lady Augustus and the Darcys had attended in London. To visit the opera, to stand in the auditorium of the King’s Theatre in Haymarket, to see the five tiers of boxes soaring above the pit! ‘Lizzy,’ cried Lydia, ‘it must be magnificent. And that massive chandelier illuminating the whole—surely it must hold more than a hundred candles!’

“Oh, Elizabeth,” said Georgiana, taking my hand. “Fitzwilliam took me to see the premiere of Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro—The Marriage of Figaro. It was wonderful! Angelica Catalani sang the final aria ‘Deh, vieni, non tardar—come now, don’t be late’ when Susanna was waiting in the garden for Figaro. Oh, so romantic. I do wish you could have been there.”