Virtue and Vanity: Continuing Story of Desire and Duty (14 page)

After the first dances were over, Sarah watched her sister walk to Andrew and seemed to ask him for the dance! Andrew appeared reluctant, but soon he escorted Laura onto the dance floor. Maria came and sat beside Sarah. “Is he not a wonderful dancer?”

“Yes, of course,” Sarah answered absently.

At this point, Mr. Johnson came to the table and bowed. He then sat next to Maria and turned to her, “May I have the next dance with you?”

Maria stammered, “I do not feel very well at this moment. I should like to rest for a while.”

“Then later?”

“No. I do not think so.”

He paused for a minute with eyebrows furrowed and then inquired in a gentle voice, “Are you avoiding me? Do you wish to tell me anything?”

“I am sorry, Mr. Johnson. I do not wish to dance with you this evening or any other.”

“May I ask why?”

“I do not wish to hurt your feelings further.”

“Nay, you cannot.”

“I daresay many of the women will find you reasonably gallant and handsome. You
are.
. . you are. . . you cannot help it that you are not of high enough rank for me.”

In a disappointed, yet steady voice, he said, “I understand. You do not wish to condescend to being seen with me.” With this, he stood, “A gentleman farmer should not aspire to the pinnacles of Pemberley, eh?” He bowed stiffly and strode away.

“Maria, how could you be so unkind?” Sarah whispered.

Looking a bit surprised, Maria answered, “Well, I would not expect for his pressing of my position. Honesty is the best policy where there is no hope. Do you not agree?”

At a loss for a proper reply, Sarah mumbled as the third dance finished, “I will get us some refreshment.”

Sarah stood and proceeded on her self-appointed errand when a large drop of falling wax narrowly missed her and caused her to lean back and
begin
to fall; a hand caught her and held her steady as the voice of Andrew said, “Falling wax is one of the hazards of an evening ball.”

She turned to look at him and sincerely hoped again she was not blushing as she said, “I was just getting some refreshment for Maria and myself.”

“Allow me. Please sit
down,
I will bring it in a moment.”

As Sarah rejoined Maria and explained, she noticed Maria’s eyes were following Andrew, with a peculiar gleam. Is Maria plotting something?
she
wondered. Did she arrange for Andrew to be there to rescue me? Shaking her head at the impossibility of timing such an incident, she nonetheless felt uneasy as she saw the glow in Maria’s eyes. Even if Maria was matchmaking, it would be for naught, now that the beautiful Laura was making her move to fix Andrew’s attention. How could anyone resist Laura?

Andrew returned with beverages and sat down next to Sarah. “Do you find Derbyshire dull after living in the city of lights?”

“Not at all.
I prefer the north of England over any other place.”

“Good. . . .
would
you find it in your heart to have the next dance with me?”

She was quite happy to say, “Yes,” was her happy reply.

“Excellent.”

Sarah enjoyed the dance as much as any in her life. Andrew was quiet during the minuet, allowing her to observe him as never before. A handsome young man, she thought to herself. The presence of his hand when they touched and the glances of his eye made her heart whisper that Andrew might be falling in love with her. Her mind quickly rejoined that this was only her imagination. As she mused, she felt that it was such a shame there were so many obstacles between the two of them. He was probably just being kind in performing as host to their party. Perhaps, even his father had urged him to dance with her, to make everyone feel welcome. The latter thought intruded frequently during the evening when she watched him ask several other here-to-fore unengaged ladies during the evening.

Finally, the dancing was brought to a stop and the supper served. Sarah was seated between Andrew and Maria. She noticed that Mr. Paul Westbrook was on the other side of Maria.

After the first course, Mr. Darcy stood and asked the seated assembly, “I have been asked to relate some riddles tonight. Is there desire by this assembly for the same?”

The large seated group murmured favorably and several men said, “Here, here,” at once.

As the approbation calmed down, Sir Thomas asked, “And what shall be the prize for the person answering the most correctly?”

“I do not know,” was Mr. Darcy’s thoughtful reply, “what would you suggest?”

Sir Thomas replied, “I have one in mind, but, perhaps we can name the prize later, depending on the difficulty of the riddles.”

“Here, here,” the group continued.

Mr. Darcy began, “What is it you will break if you even name it?”

Maria piped up, “Mother’s valuable vase.” The group laughed. Mr. Darcy shook his head indicating no.

When the room quieted down, Mr. Paul Westbrook ventured, “Silence, of course.”

Mr. Darcy smiled as the group applauded. “The next one
is.
. . if you feed it, it will live. . . if you give it water, it will die.”

“Father, you make these much too difficult,” Maria complained.

“Are you guessing your father?” Sir Thomas asked as the group laughed again.

Maria remained quiet with a smile.

“What is fire?” Andrew asked.

“Correct,” was his father’s reply.

“Tell me the
following.
. . the man who made it didn’t use it, the man who bought it didn’t want it, the man who got it didn’t know it.”

The group murmured over this one with several incorrect guesses ventured. Finally, Elizabeth ventured, “What is a ‘coffin’?”

As Mr. Darcy nodded affirmatively, the group again applauded. Several members amicably murmured “favoritism” to Elizabeth as she batted at them with her closed fan.

Regaining their attention, Mr. Darcy continued, “One final riddle as a tie breaker to the three correct guessers. . . What is it–the more you take away, the larger it becomes?”

The entire assembly was perplexed.

Mr. Paul Westbrook finally asked, “What is a ‘hole’?”

“Mr. Paul Westbrook, you have given the correct answer,” Mr. Darcy announced. Applause went up from the group before Mr. Darcy continued, “Sir Thomas, what would you name as the prize for our wise clergyman-to-be?”

“My lady has suggested the country scene painting by Gainsborough, which is hanging over the mantel.”

Everyone took
a moment
thinking about the implication of the prize from Lady Staley’s life; and, then, the group roared with approval and clapped their hands. As the applause died down, Mr. Paul Westbrook bowed and said, “I am honored with such a celebrated painting. If I take a curacy away from Derbyshire, it will serve to remind me of many excellent friends here.”

The festivities continued until 2 a.m. when a very tired Sarah asked Sir Thomas, “When are we to return to Staley Hall?”

“We are going to stay at Pemberley tonight and leave after breakfast. Ask Mrs. Reynolds where you are to sleep.”

“Good,” was Sarah’s tired response as she headed to find Mrs.
Reynolds.

Chapter Twenty

During the late morning breakfast, the members of the Darcy and Staley family appeared not quite awake. Maria’s eyes instantly flashed a meaningful look at Sarah when a servant proclaimed, “Mr. Paul Westbrook.”

The former army officer walked into the room and announced, “The painting is safe at the rectory.”

Maria stood up, walked over to him and curtseyed. He bowed smoothly as he kissed her hand. Maria said, “Thank you for your return call. Shall we walk in the south gardens?”

“I shall be honored. The day is as beautiful as my company.”

Sarah was pleased to see Maria leave the breakfast room with her hand secured in Paul Westbrook’s arm.

She was taken by surprise when Andrew’s voice behind her said, “Good morning, Sarah.”

She turned and saw Andrew smiling. He continued, “If you are finished with your breakfast, perhaps you will take a turn with me in the garden?”

“I shall be happy to do so,” was her honest reply.

A hundred yards from the steps of Pemberley, they walked through an archway of ivy into a nursery of seedling stock that covered nearly an acre.”

“Andrew, I do not remember seeing this.”

“Of course, I have been working on this since you have been in Paris. Mr. Taylor, whom you see slowly coming towards us, is an invaluable assistant. As we walk this path you will see apple trees, peach trees and plum trees.” Mr. Taylor approached and greeted them. Is this the Miss Sarah Bingley I have heard about?”

She nodded. “Mr. Taylor is an old friend of my grandfather’s; they were in the same regiment. He lived here for years with my grandfather and returned a few years ago to be welcomed by my father. He wishes to live near the servant’s quarters, but he is counted as a family friend.”

“Thank you, Andrew,” said the elderly man who had a trowel in his dirt-covered hand.

Mr. Taylor eyed her and said, “This is much the way Andrew’s grandfather kept the nursery.” He then proceeded to give a tour of the seedling arbor.

“Mr. Andrew is the director of the garden.”

“Please don’t downplay your loving care and practical expertise in cultivating the greenery.”

“Aye, but your knowledge of new species has expanded my experience. Mr. Andrew is one of the finest botanists in the country.”

As they turned the corner, they saw a small girl, perhaps ten years of age, amongst a bed of beautiful pink roses. She was clipping flowers and placing them in her bag.

Sarah thought the little girl might be in for a reprimand, but the girl came up to Sarah and handed her a rose before darting off.

“Andrew, tell me about the girl.”

“That’s the daughter of Mrs. Lundy, who has been quite ill. She comes to our garden to pick roses to sell in the village to raise money for her family.”

“I am glad to see you allow her in.”

“Allow her in?” chuckled Andrew, “why old Taylor here, often shows her the best flowers to take.”

The tour of the garden encompassed several hours, with Andrew and Sarah discussing all of the species present. They finally came to a wooden bench in the nursery, which was shaded by an arch of ivy. Mr. Taylor left them.

In the weeks to follow, Sarah’s mind and soul often returned to the hour which ensued. She and Andrew spoke amiably about the nursery and the neighborhood and she shared her thoughts about returning from Paris. The light perfume wafting from the roses made time pass all the more pleasantly. Before they arose, she glanced at the wooden arm of the bench and noticed the name “Sarah” carved into the wood. Could this be her name or some other Sarah? She knew of no other women in the parish with her name.

Did Andrew secretly guide her to see it? In later rumination, she realized the carving was quite old, perhaps dating before her small-pox. In any case, the pleasant connotation associated with such a discovery often returned to her, though she frequently tried to discount its symbolic importance.

As they stood, Andrew said, “The afternoon is fine and I would like some exercise. Would you consider walking back to Staley Hall and allow me to be your escort?”

Sarah’s heart filled with tenderness as she looked at her handsome companion and said, “I would like to very much. Let us return to tell those at Pemberley and be off.”

As the twosome returned from Pemberley and passed the garden nursery, Andrew pointed out one of his favorite spots by the lake. “See the bench
there.
. . under the chestnut tree? I like to sort botanical specimens there. It also gives a very good view of the nearby hill and its top, Becker’s point.”

“Your tone of voice makes the trail sound special.”

“It is. I remember at age nine seeing Thomas and Georgiana descend from Becker’s point after their long separation; I ran from here into the hall to tell everyone about it.”

“I see,” Sarah replied. She was pleased at Andrew’s happy countenance; so much so, that she began wondering if his conversation and outing possessed deeper meaning, perhaps romance. She tried to push away such pleasant thoughts and felt chagrined at having them. Andrew is only a friend. I will only frustrate myself if I allow any further ideas to develop.

The climb of a half mile to Becker’s point was filled with ruminations about her relationship with her sister and with Andrew. Andrew was quiet until the ascent was finished.

They looked upon the southern valley of Pemberley where Andrew pointed out many of the landmarks. Turning north towards Staley Hall, Sarah helped him identify several features he was uncertain about. The breeze was mild and refreshing.

Sarah could see Staley Hall about a half mile away. The tenant’s cottages and the short bridge as the trail crossed the small stream at the base of the hill. Andrew interrupted her gaze by saying, “I wish I could stay up here forever.”

“So do
I
. This spot is so peaceful,” she sighed. “I think being able to see home makes it a very comfortable place as well.”

“Perhaps that is part of the enchantment of this spot.” He took his handkerchief and dusted a spot on the large, flat rock. “Shall we sit and enjoy the view for
awhile
?”

“That sounds delightful.”

They enjoyed a companionable silence as they looked out over the two estates. The softness of the shaded area and a fresher breeze began to lighten the sultry air. Sarah said, “From up here one gets a better perspective of the beautiful addition your trees have been to the area.”

“It does seem like the trees have proliferated profusely; but, then, you must remember that my grandfather began the tradition.”

“Yes. What beauty it adds to both our homes.”

“This is such a wonderful day,” cried Sarah and without thinking she added, “It is a pity that you and I were not lovers, to enjoy it thus alone together!”

After a moment, Sarah realized the import of her innocent statement and hastily added, “I meant it as an idea for my next novel.”

She thought she detected Andrew regaining composure as he answered with great self-possession, “I make no pretensions to the character of a lover; but if you allow me to converse with you like a friend, that will do as well.”

Playfully she replied, “Oh, the very worst substitute possible; for the conversation of lovers is all complaisance, whereas I find friends meaning to ask something I do not wish to tell, or to tell something I do not wish to hear.”

She could not believe what she had just said. A character in her current composition made such a statement. Was her make-believe world of fiction over-shadowing reality?

She wondered if he was going to say anything else, but he remained quiet. After a minute, he continued, “I suppose we should descend.” And so they did. As they were going past the last outcropping of rock at the base of the hill, two large men, with black hoods covering their heads, accosted them.

“We seek donations.”

“Tis a funny way to request donations,” Andrew
reparteed
as he moved in front of Sarah.

“Give us your purse and we might let you go.”

“Here it is,” Andrew replied throwing it at their feet.

“An arrogant, uppity fellow,” the shorter man growled and proceeded to assault Andrew. Andrew pushed him back; the other advanced. Fisticuffs went back and forth, but the two men began subduing Andrew.

Sarah began stepping back.

“Hey, she’s getting away,” one yelled. She turned to run and
then.
. . blackness.

The next thing she knew, she was flat on the ground with her face in the grass. She sneezed and turned over to sit up. Upon doing so, she felt a throbbing in her head and noticed the twilight of the closing
gloam
. How long had she been there?
Perhaps an hour or more.
As she slowly stood up, she remembered she had been with Andrew.

“Andrew,” she exclaimed, “are you all right?”

Silence greeted her.

She started to walk towards Staley Hall and soon discovered his body, face-up.

She knelt, holding her breath for fear that he was dead. She could feel a pulse, but he was unresponsive to her gentle shaking. She noticed one of his legs not having a normal angle to it–probably badly broken.

What to do? I must get help. She began walking to Staley Hall as fast as possible in the twilight and trying not to stumble. She made it to the door of the Hand’s cottage. After knocking, she fell into Mr. And Mrs. Hand’s arms.

“Miss Bingley,” they exclaimed.

“Andrew is badly hurt,” she quickly said.

“Where is he?” Mr. Hand asked.

“He is back on the trail to Pemberley, just across the bridge. We were robbed.” Then it was black again.

The next thing Sarah knew was a light touch on her hand. She immediately withdrew it, fearing some animal was nibbling on it. Then, she opened her eyes to discover she was in her own bedroom at Staley Hall with Anna at her side.

“I was waiting for you to open
you
eyes,” the young girl quietly said. “Now it’s my turn to play nurse.” Scooting towards the door, she turned and said, “Mother told me to come get her whenever you awakened.”

Anna scurried out of the room and returned with Lady Staley.

“How are you feeling?” her mistress asked.

“A little foggy.”
She then sat up and asked, “How did I get here?”

“The men brought you here last night.”

Waking entirely with a jolt of alarm she asked, “Last night? How is Andrew?”

She noted a momentary grimace on Lady Staley’s face before it became hopeful. “Last night the surgeon said he has been severely injured. His leg is broken and was set. We hope for better news this afternoon when Mr. Barnes returns to see his patient.”

“I must get up,” Sarah said. Lady Staley and Anna went to support her. Pushing their hands away, Sarah said, “I shall be fine.” She took a few steps without their support.

“Do you have a headache?”

“Not at
all.
. . where is Andrew? May I see him?” she asked as she leaned against her writing desk.

“You must be feeling well to ask multiple questions,” Lady Staley said. “We had a bed moved into the small downstairs parlor for him. With his broken leg, the first floor seemed a most reasonable place for him to convalesce.”

“Then let us go see him.”