1
DERBYSHIRE, MARCH 1836
It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that a dutiful child will always put the welfare of their loved ones before themselves.
Elizabeth Jane, called Beth by everyone, even though she disliked the diminutive, was the oldest child of the Bingley family. She had turned twenty-one on the first of the year and had always happily accepted the role of loving and caring big sister.
Now, on this cold March afternoon, with a bitter easterly wind sprinkling thin snow across the roads and woodlands of Derbyshire, causing the early, hopeful, daffodils that had appeared in sheltered spots to lay flat to the ground, she was more than anxious to reach the end of her carriage journey home from Hertfordshire and resume her role as steadfast guide to her siblings.
Although, if she was honest, she had to admit that her brother George would agree to take her advice and then ignore it and her sister Sophia would probably laugh if anything Beth suggested did not suit her. Luckily Alethea, who was only four, still paid her heed.
At least she would then feel needed by someone! It was the one bright spot to look forward to in her uncertain future—to help her mama bring up her little sister, play with her, begin to teach her numbers and letters until she was ready for a governess. It was a future that appealed to her and she was sure that eventually she would put her present black mood aside and embrace what lay ahead.
At the moment as she travelled north, Beth was aware only of a strange sense of unhappiness, that the world that had once seemed so ordered and straight-forward was now disturbed and muddled, a state that irritated and saddened her.
To make matters worse, the events that had caused these feelings were joyful ones, not bad and gloomy, so it was becoming more and more difficult to hide how miserable she felt when everyone else was excited and happy, believing she was, too.
With a sigh, she leant back against the cold leather of the seat as the carriage jolted onwards, forcing herself to relax. The Bingley family’s second carriage was old and not as comfortable as the one that had transported her parents down to Bath.
In irritation, Beth pulled off her hat, it was too tight around her ears, giving her a headache. She felt so tired, not just physically, although she had not slept well for several days, but tired of worrying and wondering what life held in store for her and how she could change a world that seemed unchangeable.
The last few weeks had provided a cascade of emotions—the death of her grandmother, Mrs Bennet, the visit to Longbourn to say final farewells, then waving goodbye to her parents as they travelled west with the Darcys down to Bath.
Mrs Jane Bingley had the notion that taking the waters would be the finishing touch needed to improve her health and her husband, who had never been able to deny her anything she desired, and realising she was still upset at losing her mother, had agreed.
The Bingleys were to stay with his sister and brother-in-law, the Tremaines. Mr Darcy would far rather have returned to Pemberley, but his wife had pleaded to accompany her sister on this trip and he did not, as usual, have the heart to say no, and had taken a house in Bath for an extended visit.
Now, the Bingley carriage clattered along the Turnpike, jolting painfully whenever a wheel hit a pothole.
“My, I’ll be glad to be home, Miss Beth. I hanker for my own bed and a proper cup of tea. That cook at Longbourn never used boiling water no matter how many times I told her!”
Charity, her maid, pulled the fur rug closer around her charge’s knees. “Although it’ll be right strange at home without the master and mistress. But be good chance for you to run Clifton as you see fit for a few weeks, Miss.”
Beth smiled; Charity had worked for her parents for many years, first as maid to her mother and now to herself. She was a big, brawny country woman, kind-hearted but too forthright in her speech to work for a family who were in a higher social rank than the Bingleys.
“Now, Charity, can you see Cook agreeing to what I order for dinner if she does not think it suitable? I could ask for roast pork several times and beef will still be served, if that is what she feels is correct. Mama has often told me that she has never had any power over Cook in all these years she has been with us. And I do not think Mrs Orwell will take kindly if I start criticizing the way she runs the house.”
“That’s as maybe, but there’s no denying you made the world of difference to your Aunt Collins’ household these past few weeks. The way those servants were carrying on when we first arrived made my blood boil.”
Charity sniffed; she had been appalled at the idleness and impertinence of the Longbourn staff. Mrs Collins might well be dear Mrs Bingley’s sister, but they were as different as chalk and cheese.
“The whole house looked and smelt different by the time we left. And don’t you worry, Cook will do as you tell her and that Mrs Orwell will do the same if she knows which side her bread is buttered! I’ve told your mama many times that she lets them take advantage.”
The carriage rocked and jolted across yet another pothole and she glanced across at her young mistress to make sure she had not bumped her head.
The girl’s face was white and drawn, but still beautiful. The last few weeks had been a sore trial, to be sure, but Charity didn’t understand why Miss Beth was so sad. Surely the fact of returning home, to pick up the threads of her old life, should have filled her with cheer.
Beth shivered; she was only too aware that her maid failed to understand how she was feeling and she had to admit the same was true for her whole family. Everyone was, of course, delighted that after four long years as an invalid, Jane Bingley was recovering her health and strength and no one was more thankful than Beth who had prayed nightly for such an advent.
She had often despaired that her mama would ever get better, but as difficult and sad as life had been, she had felt she had a purpose, was of some importance in the family. Now her happiness at her mother’s recovery was off set by the feeling that she no longer had a serious role to play.
Suddenly aware that the rocking of the carriage had lessened, she said, “I wonder why we are slowing?” Rubbing at the moisture on the inside of the window, she peered out into the gloomy afternoon.
“We be passing the new gates of Pemberley, Miss Beth!” Charity was staring over her shoulder, suddenly excited at seeing a sign that meant they were now only twenty miles from their home. “Why, how smart they do look. And that new lodge is a neat little house, is it not?”
“Indeed—nearly home. And yes, my Uncle Darcy’s new iron gates do look very well.”
She knew her uncle had only recently had the great gates erected to deter unwanted callers from the main drive that led towards the house for a mile through the woods and parkland.
Travellers used the turnpike in far greater numbers than a few years before and for some the temptation to explore the grounds of Pemberley was irresistible. Shiny and black with gold finials, the gates hung from two tall stone columns with a beautiful stone eagle on top of each.
The lodge, solidly built and roofed with slate, was the home of a very elderly man who had once been the head gardener at Pemberley. Unable to cope with the rigours of the work, he and his wife were now happily employed with opening and shutting the gates when required.
Beth wondered if she should ask Bob, the coachman, to drive up to the house. She knew that her sisters, Sophia and Alethea, together with the child’s nursemaid were staying there under the careful eye of the Darcys’ old retainer, Nanny Chilcot, whilst their parents were away from home.
But they were past the gates now and Beth knew Bob would not be happy to stop the horses and turn the carriage. She would send word that she was home as soon as she reached Clifton Park and request that her sisters join her tomorrow.
She pulled the rug closer around her knees. She was so cold, the heat from the stone footwarmers had long gone.
Beth yawned; she ached all over, the journey from Hertfordshire had been long and tiring, even though they had stopped for the night at an inn on their way north. But the place had been crowded with travellers and army officers and Beth had thought it wise that they eat in their room rather than risk descending to the public dining area.
The noise from the raucous crowd below had continued long into the early hours and Beth had slept but fitfully.
Suddenly she could hear the coachman shouting to the horses—they were slowing, stopping and she heard the groom who travelled next to the driver jumping down into the roadway.
“Oh, Miss Beth! Is it footpads? Highwaymen? Oh Lord, they will slit our throats where we sit.”
Charity clutched her arm and, gently, Beth disengaged her fingers and pushed her back into her seat. “I’m sure it isn’t highwaymen at three in the afternoon! Sit still, Charity. I will enquire.”
She pulled down the window and was about to call out when she realised the groom was at the side of the road, talking to a gentleman.
“Is there a problem? Can we be of assistance to you, Sir?”
The man looked up at her, swept off his hat and bowed. “Thank you, Madam. A thousand apologies for stopping your journey, but I set out for a walk and lost my way. I fear I have been heading in completely the wrong direction. Your man has corrected my mistake and I will detain you no longer.”
Beth smiled: tall, in his late thirties, his dark hair styled in the latest fashion, his manner was courteous and his attire was that of a gentleman. “Where have you come from, Sir?” she asked, puzzled, as they were a long way from even the nearest village.
“Pemberley, ma’am. I am a guest there and have missed luncheon by at least an hour. I must make haste before I am late for tea as well, an alarm is raised and servants are sent out to search for me.”
He bowed once more and with a wave of his hat, watched as the groom swung himself back on board and the horses sent the carriage lurching on its way.
He shivered as the cool wind cut through the cape that had seemed warm in London but was not coping well with the Derbyshire weather. Turning his steps in the correct direction, he found himself wondering who the young lady in the carriage had been.
He did not think he had ever seen such a beautiful face in his whole life, nor one as sad, and hoped he would discover that she lived nearby and was not just passing through on her way to another county.
Beth sank back in her seat, feeling sorry for the man. It would be a very tiring walk back to Pemberley and being a stranger he would need to stay on the road and not cut through the woods as she would have done.
She wondered briefly whom he could be visiting—her uncle and aunt were away in Bath with her own parents. Well, she would ask Sophia when she saw her. There was no doubt in her mind that her sister would know the names and backgrounds of everyone she had met during her stay at Pemberley. Sophia was never backwards at coming forwards.
At long last the gates of the Bingley estate, Clifton Park, came into view and their journey was at an end. Anxious for a hot drink, the warmth of a fire and the comfort of her own room and possessions, Beth was only too glad of Charity’s help to take off her travelling cape and change her heavy winter boots for soft, comfortable slippers.
Hot water in a deep ewer was brought upstairs and she sighed with relief as she washed the dirt of the journey off her face. Glancing in the mirror, she smiled a little. That poor man they had met on the road—what had he thought of her with a huge black smut down one cheek!
Wearily at last she made her way downstairs to the small drawing room which the Bingley children used when their parents were away. In there they each had a table on which they kept the hobby or pastime that was foremost in their minds—Sophia’s was a clutter of embroidery silks and bonnet trimmings, George was in the middle of carving a wooden owl and only Beth’s was neat and tidy.
“Oh Beth, you’re home! I thought I heard the carriage. Goodness, you look a fright. White and cold. Come and get warm. I will ring for fresh tea.”
Sophia Bingley, soon to turn seventeen, was lying on the sofa in front of the blazing fire, eating a muffin, scooping up the drips of butter from the plate with her finger. Tall with long, curly brown hair that she liked to wear loose, and a fine figure, she looked—and acted—several years older than her age.
Sophia was not a pretty girl. She had missed out on the fair blonde beauty that Beth had inherited from their mother, although her dark sparkling eyes reminded people immediately of her Aunt Darcy. But she had such a vivacious, outgoing personality that people tended to overlook the imperfections in her face. Indeed, when the two girls were together in company, it was often the younger that was remembered at the end of the evening.
Surprised, Beth bent to kiss her fire hot cheek: “It is good to see you. You look well although a trifle greasy! You have butter all down your bodice! But what are you doing here? I thought it was agreed that you would stay at Pemberley until I returned? Is Alethea home as well?”
Sophia shook her head and rang the bell for fresh tea. “No, she is still at Pemberley. Nanny Chilcot is like a very old dragon guarding a very new egg! She does not trust me to look after our little sister. Alethea will stay in the nursery there until Mama returns. And, to be fair, there are so many toys for her to play with, I think we shall have tears when we go to reclaim her.”
She swung herself off the sofa and wandered across to gaze out of the window. Vaguely she muttered, “But after a couple of days, I decided to come home.”
Beth frowned. She knew this was not what her parents had intended. Although there was a house full of staff and Sophia had obviously been quite safe, she knew they would have preferred her to stay with Alethea.
She gazed at the younger girl’s expression: since childhood, Sophia had always looked her most innocent when trying to cover up some misdeed.
“I see. Well, I can understand that home is always best. Oh, it is so good to be back.”
The tea arrived and as Sophia poured them each a cup, she said, “You would have done better to have stayed in Derbyshire. I don’t know why you went down to Longbourn. You know girls do not attend funerals and we hadn’t seen Grandmama Bennet for ages. I never cared for her—she was such a silly old woman. It is indeed impossible to believe she was Mama’s mama!”
Beth had to admit the truth of this statement. The death of her grandmother had been a shock and she felt guilty that she did not feel more sorrow than she did. She had tried to love the old lady on the occasions they met but knew she had never quite succeeded.
Mrs Bennet had been a silly, frivolous old lady, always complaining about her nerves, the insolence of her servants and what she considered the lack of respect shown to her by her eldest daughters, Jane and Elizabeth.
She never spoke or thought of Mary, living out in Africa, all her affection was reserved for her youngest, Lydia—who was always far too busy to visit her mother more than once every two or three years.
Even poor Kitty, who had in desperation married Mr Collins when his first wife died, was only tolerated, even though Mr Collins had inherited the entailed Longbourn estate and had graciously allowed his mother-in-law to stay in residence with them.
Mrs Bennet had, although apparently in good health, surprisingly died in her sleep having partaken of an extremely large festive dinner the evening after Christmas Day.
Plans had been well advanced to hold a ball at Pemberley to celebrate the twenty-first birthdays of Anne Darcy and Beth Bingley which fell just over a week apart. Anne’s twin sister, Jane, lived in London and, as she wrote, was now an old married lady so would have a quiet celebration with her husband Archer instead of attending the party.
Of course the celebrations were immediately cancelled, and the Darcys and Bingleys had journeyed to Hertfordshire, the men to attend the funeral, the women to gather around their sister, Kitty, whose wailing and crying—as if Mrs Bennet had been her mother alone!—had been found extremely irritating by all concerned.
Beth’s Aunt Lydia had not travelled down from Edinburgh, where the regiment her husband served was now stationed. She had written that she was far too distraught to undertake such a journey in the middle of winter and would Kitty make sure that the amethyst necklace her mother had always promised would be hers, was sent north post haste.
It had not been felt necessary for all the grandchildren to make the hazardous winter trip. Indeed, only the two eldest boys, Fitzwilliam Darcy and George Bingley had accompanied their fathers to the church and the graveyard where the Reverend Collins had made an extremely long speech about his late mother-in-law as the snow gusted around their bare heads.
Beth, who had spent the last four years caring for her mother, whose health had been so precarious following the late arrival of Alethea, had felt it important that she accompany her parents to Longbourn, although she had to admit that her attentions were not needed now her mama had recovered so much of her strength and vitality.
Gladly sipping her tea, she kicked off her slippers and rubbed her cold feet together in front of the crackling fire. “It was a very sad occasion, but I’m glad I went.”
“But you must have been so lonely when Mama, Papa and the Darcys went to Bath. It would not have suited me at all. I would have come straight home. What in the world did you find to do for all those weeks? It must have been so dull with just Aunt Kitty and that irritating Mr Collins preaching at you during every meal.”
Beth stared into the fire. “Mama wanted me to go with them to Bath, but I wasn’t needed. It is such a long time since she and Papa have been away on their own, I thought it better to stay at Longbourn.”
Sophia stared at her sister, perplexed. Thinking about other people first had never been part of her nature. “Perhaps, but the social life in Bath is interesting. You will have missed gatherings in the pump room, musical evenings, dances, all sorts of fun.”
“I did not mean to stay in Hertfordshire so long, but there was a great deal to do. I must tell you, Sophia, the house was in disarray, so dirty and untidy. You should have seen Mama’s face when we walked through the door!
“Poor Aunt Kitty had taken to her bed and her servants are insolent and idle and completely ignore Uncle Collins when he gives them orders. There were no fires lit and I cannot describe how dreadful the tea was when it finally arrived.”
“But our family weren’t staying there, were they?”
“No, I heard Uncle Darcy saying to Papa how glad he was that Longbourn was too small to house all of us. There is a good hostelry in Meryton and they took rooms there. Aunt Kitty said there was one spare room, which was up in the attic and bitterly cold, but in the circumstances I could not refuse.”
Sophia screwed up her face in disgust. “Well, I would certainly not have stayed somewhere dirty. Really, Beth, how the Collins run their home is nothing to do with you. Why did you feel it your place to help? You should not have interfered.”
“The person I felt sorry for was little Harriet. She is our cousin, after all, and no one takes proper care of her. She is not an attractive child and Grandmama Bennet apparently spoiled her dreadfully. She pays no heed to her mother or father and drives her nursemaid to despair.”
Sophia bit into another muffin. “I remember her making a great fuss and bother in the church at Cassandra’s wedding. She must be what, seven or eight years of age now? I can’t see that you would be able to make any great changes to her character in just a few weeks.”
Beth shrugged wearily. How hard it was to explain that with her mother’s wonderful improvement in health, she was no longer wanted or needed by anyone. Even making sure Harriet was washed, wearing clean clothes and trying to instil some form of manners into her boisterous little cousin had given her a sense of achievement.
The last few years acting as her mother’s constant nurse and companion had left their mark. She had been a shoulder to cry on when Jane Bingley had become distressed with the weakness and lethargy that refused to dissipate. Jane had been determined to only show her most courageous face to her husband; he had believed her cheerful demeanour and hopeful words.
But Beth had seen the darker side of her dear mama’s life and had sacrificed much to be her constant companion. She had lost count of the invitations to parties, dances, picnics and outings that she had turned down because she had needed to be at her mama’s side.
So many of her friends had drifted away because she did not have the time to join in any of their activities. Indeed, a few were now married and even further from her society, excluding her from their whispered gossip which was not for the ears of an unmarried young lady. As far as Beth could determine, this would be her role in life for many years to come and she was glad to feel needed at home.
Then fate had intervened. Dr Marchwood, a doctor whom Jane Bingley had trusted implicitly, had put his recalcitrant hunter to a fence that was far too high for the bad-tempered animal which had prompted dispatched him to his sad demise.
A close neighbour of the Bingleys, Dr Richard Courtney, who had a flourishing practice in Clifton, was a doctor with very modern ideas. His marriage to Jane’s niece, Cassandra, had brought him into the family circle and he was greatly liked for his kindness and common sense.
Now with Dr Marchwood no more, the care of the family had been entrusted to Dr Courtney and his modern views on diet and exercise had resulted in a most satisfactory improvement in Jane’s health. She no longer languished on the sofa, pale, weak and unable to journey far from home.
Although she was not yet strong enough to ride, she could and did travel by carriage and as her strength grew, long overdue visits to friends and family were discussed and planned.
The ball to be held at Pemberley to celebrate Elizabeth Bingley and the Darcy twins reaching the age of twenty-one would have been the ideal time for the former invalid to emerge into society once more.
Mrs Bennet’s death had, of course, meant the cancellation of all festivities. Although she was, of course, upset by the cause, Beth was not sorry to have the ball postponed. She disliked great gatherings and, she had to admit, recently had begun to dislike always being the girl who was added on to the twin’s birthday celebrations.
Unhappily, she had come to realise that she had never ever had a birthday party just for herself alone. With the dates so close, 24th December and 1st January, the invitations had always been sent as from the Miss Darcys and Miss Bingley.
In the normal course of events, the Bingleys and Darcys would not have travelled so far from home in the depths of winter, but as they had already made it as far as Hertfordshire, it had seemed sensible to carry on to take the waters in Bath.
Beth had stayed to help her Aunt Kitty as much as she could, but knew, in her heart of hearts, that although she was glad to be of use, she was really just delaying her journey home, running away from having to face a future that was very different from that she had planned.
Sighing, she turned her attention to Sophia. “All is well here and at Pemberley, I trust?”
“Alethea has the sniffles—oh, nothing serious, nurse assures me, but she has been grizzling. So annoying.”
“I expect she misses Mama.”
“Well, she won’t see her for a few weeks, until they return. And La, isn’t it nice to see Mama and Papa going on a trip together, hand in hand, like two sweethearts? I declare that every time I go into the drawing-room and she is not lying on the couch, I get shivers down my spine. But good ones, not horrid ones.”
Beth nodded her agreement. She glanced around the snug little drawing-room that all the children used when their parents were not at home. She wished her brother George had travelled back with her, but at nineteen he had suddenly become interested in steam railways!
Good-looking and amiable, like his father, George drifted through life with a happy smile and a kind word to everyone. The heir to the Bingley fortune found pleasure indulging in what the family called “George’s little passions”.
These ranged from breeding spaniels and wood carving, to excavating a pond to make an ornamental lake (a disastrous affair that had flooded two labourers’ cottages).
Railways were the latest thing to take his attention and he and Fitzwilliam Darcy had stayed in London so they could visit a railway built so people could travel easily from the city out to Greenwich. It had been described as an engineering wonder but Beth could not see the attraction; it seemed noisy and dirty to her.
But at least the boys had the opportunity to do what they wanted. There was talk of them going on a Grand Tour of Europe next year. Her Uncle Darcy was apparently seeking a suitable companion to escort them.
How she wished it was she whom her uncle selected. Not that she had any great desire to look at Greek temples and old Italian ruins, but when she thought of returning to a life of embroidery, music practice and executing bad watercolours, she wanted to scream.
“Oh, that reminds me, we came across a gentleman out for a walk at the edge of the Pemberley woods who was sadly lost and needed direction. He said he was staying at the house. Do Anne and Bennetta have visitors?”
Sophia finished the last of her muffin. “Anne is, I believe, spending time with friends in Newmarket again, only Benny is at home. But there was a gentleman staying—a Sir John Carlyle. A very dull sort of man—an architect or some such. I think he is to proffer advice to Uncle Darcy about some building work that needs doing. There was talk of a long gallery for statuary, or some such. I forget.”
Sophia turned to her own interests. “Beth, listen, now you are home, sister dear, I need you to do me a very great favour.”
“I wondered why you were being kind and considerate in ordering fresh tea and muffins! I doubted it was just pleasure at my return. What do you want to borrow? If it is my lavender lace, you are welcome to it, although I fear it may be a little tight on you.”
Sophia tossed her head. “I can’t help having a prettier bosom that yours! No, I don’t want to borrow anything. You see—” she hesitated, then stuck out her finger. “I seem to have agreed to marry a Mr Roderick Lennox and I really don’t want to. I need you to take the ring back and tell him, I'm sorry, but I have changed my mind!”
There was silence, broken only by the crackling of the logs on the fire. Beth stared at her sister in astonishment and shock, her eyes widening at the sight of a shining gold signet ring on her finger.
“Engaged to … marry … who is Roderick Lennox? Oh you silly girl, what have you done?”
Sophia tossed her head and pouted. “Oh Beth, don’t look so old maidish and prim! I met Roderick when I was walking back from the village one day, just after you left for Longbourn. He comes from Portugal, where he has lived all his life, but he has been unwell and his family have taken Maze House on a short lease in order for him to rest and recuperate. We met several times in the village and one day he invited me to tea and I went.”
Beth was horrified by what she was hearing. “So you have met his family? Oh Sophia, you should not have done that with Mama and Papa away from home.”
“No, he is living there alone with just the staff at present. He is an orphan, poor boy. His guardian is his cousin. Oh Beth, Maze House is such a peculiar place, creepy and dark, not at all pleasant. Some of it is in ruins and Roderick told me the maze—which gives it its name—is overgrown and almost impassable. You could get lost for ever if you wandered inside!
“Oh Sister, don’t frown so. You know we have always wondered what the house was like, shut up, hidden away amongst all those great trees. To go inside and see, well, it was far too good an opportunity to turn down.”
She waved an impatient hand in Beth’s direction. “Your expression is so annoying! I only went there once and no one saw me: they have very few servants, just a cook, a housekeeper and a Portuguese gentleman who escorted Roderick on his journey to England.
“All three had a free afternoon and were out so I made tea for us in the kitchen! It was great fun. Usually Roderick and I met in Clifton and he escorted me home, although you needn’t raise your eyebrows at me in that silly fashion: I did not invite him in and he did not ask.
“I missed him very much when I had to visit Alethea at Pemberley and so I came home as quickly as I could. Roderick was so pleased to see me and when he asked me to marry him, how could I refuse?”
Beth stared at her in despair. Sophia was not yet seventeen but although she was out in society, and looked older, surely any sensible gentleman would realise she could not possibly agree to marriage without her parents’ consent.
“I am at a loss for words!”
“He is so very handsome, Beth, tall and pale, with lovely golden hair and sparkling blue eyes. I declare I am quite in love but—although I admit I did at first quite like the thought of being married—well, there will be all sorts of parties and outings when our parents return and I know Bennetta is planning a big ball at Pemberley because your twenty-first birthday dance was cancelled.
“If I’m engaged to Roderick, he will insist I dance with him all the time and that would be so tiresome, so you, dear Sister, must oblige me and go to Maze House with the ring and tell him I am dreadfully sorry, but I have changed my mind!”