He pulled a chair to the side of the desk and sat down near her. “Forgive me. I did not mean for the full burden of entertaining her to fall upon you while I attended to other matters. Has not Georgiana helped divert her?”
“Georgiana has earned my eternal gratitude for her efforts, but your sister is no match for Lady Catherine. I doubt that successfully managing her ladyship lies within the power of any sole person. And as for the other matters commanding your attention, I would much rather you spend your time preparing to meet with Mr. Harper when he arrives than listen to Lady Catherine’s discourse. I can handle your aunt.”
His gaze fell upon the note in her hand. “You are rereading my mother’s letter?”
“I spent a fair amount of time in her garden today, and came away wishing to learn more about her. Do you happen to know whether she left behind any other correspondence?”
“Given the amount in which she engaged, one could presume so. Whether my father saved it is another matter, but my guess is that he did. When she died, he was so distraught that I cannot imagine his discarding anything that had passed through her hands.”
“Where might it be found now?”
“I was a boy. Mrs. Reynolds could best answer that.”
“May I read through it — if it can be found?”
“Indeed, I believe at least one of us ought to read through it. Perhaps we might chance upon a letter from Mrs. Tilney that could illuminate our experience at Northanger.”
“Have you heard from Henry Tilney?”
“I had a short report from him today. No new information, but he has not yet completed the enquiries we discussed. Once Mr. Harper and I have had a chance to confer, I intend to send him to Gloucestershire to work with Mr. Tilney.”
“You mean, to supervise Mr. Tilney.”
“To ensure all leads are followed.”
Elizabeth knew how difficult it was for Darcy to delegate such a critical matter to others rather than performing every particular of it himself. He had been restless since their arrival at Pemberley, even though plenty of estate affairs had arisen during their absence to command what segments of his attention were not absorbed by the Northanger crisis.
“I am sure Mr. Harper and Mr. Tilney will conduct a thorough investigation in Gloucestershire,” she said. “Meanwhile, I shall peruse your mother’s missives with due diligence. The sooner all of us determine what truly transpired at Northanger Abbey, the sooner Lady Catherine can go home.”
Elizabeth awoke the next morning to the same thoughts and meditations which had at length closed her eyes.
— Pride and Prejudice
Elizabeth’s mind hovered in that state where dream and wakefulness merge and one cannot quite determine where one ends and the other begins. Images of infants and mothers, letters and locks, keys and chrysanthemums floated through her sleepy consciousness as the rest of her senses similarly teased her. She thought she heard a woman’s voice, felt a gentle touch on the back of her hand, smelled the summertime flowers of Lady Anne’s garden.
The scent of one flower in particular dominated the aromatic illusion. It was a pleasant scent, but unfavorable associations nagged as her foggy mind struggled to identify it. Several minutes passed before she recognized it as the same fragrance that had overwhelmed her as she’d argued with Lady Catherine. She groaned and tried to push Darcy’s aunt out of her otherwise agreeable fancies. It was just like Lady Catherine to intrude where she was least welcome, even Elizabeth’s dreams.
She opened her lids just enough to see that darkness yet cloaked the world. All Pemberley slumbered; even the servants had not yet risen. Only the infrequent pops of the diminishing fire broke the stillness. Despite the warmth provided by Darcy sleeping beside her, Elizabeth fought chill. She had never quite warmed up after yesterday’s prolonged outing, and now that the waning flames of the hearth no longer generated much heat, the room felt especially cold.
Loath to leave even the inadequate heat of her bed, but still less willing to shiver through the unknown number of hours that remained until morning, she reluctantly parted company with the covers and crept across the chamber to bank the fire. She added the fuel, then lingered before the fireplace to let the warmth seep into her bones.
The nearest window faced southeast. Lucy had not completely closed one of the shutters, and as Elizabeth stood she noticed the barest hint of light starting to permeate the landscape. Clouds still stretched across the sky, promising an All Hallows’ Day as grey and somber as had been All Hallows’ Eve.
Her chill diminished, she went to the window and pushed the shutter fully open. The south garden lay in the same sleepy state as the rest of the grounds, but she knew that with dawn approaching Mr. Flynn would soon enter it to prepare the chrysanthemums. Indeed, were Lady Anne still alive, she would have already been within its gates.
Movement within the garden — a figure passing along its paths — caught her gaze. The garden walls and yew trees within its perimeter prevented her from obtaining more than a fleeting glimpse, and the faintness of the light further limited her view, but she presumed the head gardener had reported for duty. A desire to join him possessed her. If Lady Anne could not lay blooms on those three little graves herself, Elizabeth would do it for her. As the sun rose.
She dressed quickly and headed out. A surprised Lucy encountered her leaving her dressing room.
“You are awake early this morning, Mrs. Darcy.”
She did not wish to reveal her errand to the servant, but neither did she want anyone to worry about her. “I could not sleep. Should Mr. Darcy enquire, tell him I thought I would enjoy the sunrise.”
Upon reaching the garden, she found three bouquets of chrysanthemums, tied with ribbons, waiting at the base of a small statue. Mr. Flynn, however, was nowhere about. She glanced at the sky. The clouds had thinned at the eastern horizon, and those closest to the ground had a pinkish cast. Sunrise rapidly approached. If she were to reach the family graves before the sun broke across the horizon, she would have to go very soon. Though she hesitated to take the flowers without the gardener’s knowledge — surely he would wonder what had happened to them upon his return — she picked up the bouquets.
She walked briskly to the churchyard where the Darcy family had buried its dead for generations. While the church that served the estate and nearby village stood near the house, she had been in the cemetery only once before, when Darcy had shown her his parents’ final resting places during her early days at Pemberley. She easily identified the monument that marked Lady Anne’s grave, and knew that his infant siblings lay close beside their mother.
She found the three little headstones: Gregory, Maria, and Faith. The inscriptions of each grey marble slab revealed ages heartbreakingly short — a day of life, an hour, a moment. Each bore a portion of verse from the Gospels. With a silent prayer for all three souls, Elizabeth laid the flowers on the small graves. Just as she placed the final bouquet, the first streak of daylight illuminated the markers.
The brilliant shaft brought out every subtle hue of the marble. Light and dark gradations became more pronounced, and the angle of the light defined the engraved epitaphs even more boldly. But beneath the inscriptions she had read before, a tiny word, previously unnoticed, appeared at the bottom of each headstone. Across the three markers they read, “Love conquers all.”
So faint they were almost indiscernible, the three words appeared for but a minute against the pattern of each stone. When the angle of the climbing sun shifted, they faded altogether from view.
Elizabeth peered closely at the markers, trailed her fingers over the now-invisible words. The engravings were so small, so shallow, their strokes so thin that she could not feel any variance in the surface of the stone. Had she not been here precisely when sunrise broke, she never would have detected the words. Running as they did across all three headstones, they must have been inscribed sometime after the last of the three children, Faith, had been laid to rest.
She studied Lady Anne’s memorial, read the epitaph that bespoke the heartache Darcy’s father had suffered at her loss. This marker too bore the words “love conquers all,” but carved boldly into the marble. Elizabeth recalled that the words had also appeared in Lady Anne’s letter to her. She had interpreted the line as a general expression of encouragement — perhaps written as much for the author’s sake as the reader’s as she faced her final trial. But now Elizabeth wondered at the connection between the words in the letter and the words on the headstones.
The subject occupied her thoughts throughout her walk back to the south garden, where she found Mr. Flynn just entering the gate. He carried a box of gardening tools and appeared freshly dressed; though she knew he had been working since before dawn, no dirt or other signs of labor yet streaked his clothing.
She hailed him, and he waited for her to pass through the gate.
“I hope I did not bewilder you when you discovered the chrysanthemum bouquets gone this morning,” she said as they walked together toward the garden’s interior. “I would have told you I was taking them to the cemetery, but I did not see you about.”
Mr. Flynn appeared confused. He started to speak, stopped, and made a second attempt. “I was not about, ma’am. Mr. Darcy requested all the flowers be ready at noon, so I am only just now coming to prepare them.”
“But—” Now Elizabeth regarded the gardener in puzzlement. “But from my window I saw someone in here before dawn, and when I reached the garden, three bouquets were waiting.”
“ ‘Twas not my doing, ma’am.”
“That is certainly curious. If you did not leave them, who did?”
A twinkle entered his clear blue eyes. “My da might have said a garden sprite, being as last night was All Hallows’ Eve,” he said. “But I suspect one of my assistants decided to spare my old bones a little work. They all think I’m too old to be up working before the sun, though not a one of them would be so bold as to tell me directly.”
He surveyed the chrysanthemums, chose a grouping of plants, and settled down to his task.
“May I help?” she offered.
“You already have,” he said. “It might not be my place to say so, ma’am, but I expect her ladyship appreciated your being there at sunrise.”
Elizabeth returned to the house to find Darcy already dressed and breakfasting. Generally an early riser, he had become even more so since arriving home from Gloucestershire. She knew the unsettled state of affairs involving Northanger caused him restlessness that interfered with his sleep. Either that, or he wanted to be clear of the breakfast room before Lady Catherine entered it.
“I was wondering where you had hidden yourself this morning,” he said when he saw her.
“Did not Lucy tell you?”