Scotch and Sirens

Chapter Three

 

Riemann helped Darcy descend from his horse and showed him into the house. They turned toward Mrs. McLaughlin, who, upon hearing horses, had hurried to meet the newcomers. Riemann, still very nervous with the unexpected visitor, spoke first.

“Mr. Darcy, this is Mrs. McLaughlin. Mrs. McLaughlin, we need a room for Mr. Darcy at once”

“Aye, Sir,” she replied.

“And a hot bath,” added Darcy.

“Please, Mr. Darcy, if you will be so kind and wait in here,” and Riemann gestured the proper direction.

“Thank you, Riemann,” and Darcy followed him.

“Mr. Darcy, the valet said with some trepidation, “I am afraid I was right and my master is not present. I really do not know not how long it will be before he appears.”

“I am all right with it, Riemann, do not worry yourself about it,”

Darcy looked around the room after he was left alone. The masculine furniture flattering his friend’s habits rather than the latest fashion of the world spoke plainly that he had found himself in Brougham’s den. He spotted the tray of drinks, prepared himself a brandy, and took a chair. Judging by the number of books that were lying beside it, Burns being at the top of the pile, he concluded that it must be Brougham’s favourite. Looking straight ahead he saw the deer’s head mounted above the door. Instantly realizing what was before him, having heard so much about his friend’s habits while he was at Clyne, Darcy raised his glass and said, “This one is to you, the keeper of the most clandestine secrets of Lord Brougham,” and he drank a satisfying amount of the fine brandy.

To his Lordship’s astonishment he was met with a pair of serious countenances in the Hall upon his return home that evening. Riemann looked anxious, and Mrs. McLaughlin looked sour.

“Well, what on kind of a welcoming committee would you call this then, eh?” his Lordship asked as he deposited his coat and hat in the arms of his valet. “Do not tell me I have been missed to the degree that you have formed a resentment against my absence! That will never do, you know. I have trout and salmon who have just as much claim on my company as you do.”

Mrs. McLaughlin was not in the habit of wasting time or eloquence on Lord Brougham, so she had the advantage over Riemann.

“Ye have a visitor”, she flatly stated.

His Lordship visibly stiffened, his brow involuntarily wrinkled, and his blue eyes lost all of their humour and softness.

“What?” he sharply said, and directed his eyes to Riemann.

“It is Mr. Darcy, my Lord”, was the perfunctory answer.

“He be in th’libry noo”, the housekeeper mercilessly went on. “Ye be wanting yer bath, an’all?”

But there was no answer. Without a word Lord Brougham took the necessary steps to the library and threw open the doors.

“Well damned and blast! I must declare you took your sweet time getting here. What on earth kept you so long, Darcy?!”

Darcy laid his book on a pile, which was heaping beside him.

“Good to see you too, Brougham. Why, I might ask you the same question. Actually I have spent some time here. Well, I would say, my friend, that one more quiet night in your idyllic homestead with only the Kye River producing any sound, and I would quote your Burns by heart. Your servants are very quiet people, are they not?”

Noticing that Darcy's taste for the best things in life, and his certainty of a positive reception to this secret hide-away had prompted him to opt for his own personal favourite spot and chair in front of the fire, Brougham smiled wryly and carelessly sat down in another.

"Makes a change,” he wistfully said. "Anyway, now that you are here I doubt whether I shall get a word in edgeways with anyone except Rupert." He glanced at the deer's head above the fireplace. "Nasty old thing is he not. Quite dead as far as conversational skills go. And not a very attentive listener either, staring out the windows as he is. I do believe he misses his days alive - ooh, about ten years ago."

He carefully loosened the rest of his neck cloth and made an attempt to wriggle out of his boots. He found, however, that he was too tired to make a real effort and settled back in his chair instead.

"So, have you eaten yet? And how many scrumptious dinners has the sourly Mrs. McLaughlin been forced to prepare for her unexpected charge? Is your valet with you, by the way?"

“Please, you do not really think me that unpleasant! I have eaten, something… something I was offered. Forgive me, I did not ask the particulars. Unfortunately, I have not brought my valet with me. I thought I would do quite well without him during such a short trip. I wish I had known better. It seems that it is his thoughtfulness that usually spares me any inconvenience.

“I visited Wickham’s new regiment though. A general Wentworth, I believe I wrote you about him. Seems a very mindful man. I provided him with some information about Wickham and left him some suggestion as to the best form of treatment for the rake. Mrs. Wentworth is a very pleasant lady as well. She offered to take Mrs. Wickham under her guardianship in the local society, thus I believe everything will come to the best conclusion.

“How have you been doing here Brougham? Is there any trout left in this part of Scotland?”

Brougham smiled ruefully when Darcy mentioned his other business in the north, but his eyes lit up once the fishing was mentioned.

“If it is scarce now, come spring I will have them and the salmon dancing merrily up the stream again for my pleasure. I am just back with McLaughlin from the best watercourse in all of Perthshire and have been very busy providing for the little rascals and their comfort. We shall see, but I have high hopes…”

He stretched his long legs, got up, and grinned at his friend.

“Well, we have a log in the fire and brandy in our hands, all that is missing is my dinner and a bath, would you not say? Will you excuse me while I tend to it? I see you have found the most comfortable spot in the house and have already browsed through half of my Tristam Shandy, so you should be able to withstand another few moments. If Mrs. McLaughlin tries to intimidate you, just work your charm on her. She is quite motherly towards shameless young men, I have found.”

Darcy sat back in his chair. Since working his charms on servants was never his intention, he bent his head to his book once again. Soon, however, he found that the emptiness of the room as well as its quietness were not helpful to his reading. On the contrary, his thoughts started to withdraw, his eyes looked for an obscure spot beyond the window. He turned to look at Rupert’s head.

“What is it then, that you look for in the darkness? Are your memories there? Full of life, of hope? Is my fate now as hopeless as yours? Will I be searching through the past till the end of my days and even after?”

Darcy raised his glass.

“Here. Here is to you my friend! Yes, I know what you mean. Too much brandy. But would it change anything? Whatever! I am sure Brougham will not mind.”

“Now, where were we?” Brougham cheerfully greeted Darcy, who was in the exact same spot as he had left him. “Ah yes, I think you were about to tell me how you found me and which one of my servants I am to have flogged for letting you enter my premises.”

Darcy awakened from his rumination and looked at Brougham, searching for his meaning. It took a while before he simply uttered, “Why, Brougham, I believe it was you who gave me the directions.”

Brougham laughed and slowly walked around the chairs and stopped in front of the hearth. He peered at his languid friend, glass in hand and dark brooding eyes and defiant look directed at him. That was a look he recognised, and he smiled mischievously. Brougham had not been pleased when he had heard about his visitor, but although he would not have liked to see it happen with anyone else, this particular visitor almost certainly would turn out to be a most welcome diversion.

“I believe, my sly persistent friend, I gave you an address to direct your letters to: the Caledonian Thistle with the excellent Mr. Robertson as its discreet proprietor. Now, it is obvious that you somehow contrived to obtain closer directions than that, for however much I am in awe of your deductive skills after our adventures around the seedier parts of London lately, I cannot comprehend how you could stumble across my humble abode almost three miles from there by anything else than design and extortion.”

“Yes, the Caledonian Thistle. That is what I meant speaking about the directions. I went there to get the more exact address. And from there I came here.”

“Now, old man, I am afraid I have ordered a plate full of food, and I am determined you shall entertain me while I empty it! Consider this an opening to many other even more clarifying topics during your stay. As for instance what, besides my cheerful company and silent meditation by a trout stream, could have been your motive for sinking into a depressive mood enough to look me up and abandon Pemberley?”

“There is nothing unusual in my visit, only that I was close enough to pay it. And as I wrote you before, I did not feel like Pemberley.”

Brougham raised his eyebrow at this singular obstinacy, even by his friend’s stringent standards.

“Nothing unusual, indeed!” he muttered, while he stoked the fire and played around with the half-charred log. The door opened and Mrs. McLaughlin marched up to the sideboard and deposited the awaited dinner.

“Yer dinner, Sir”, she announced. “Will tha’ be all?”

Brougham smilingly nodded at her and noticed she was shooting his guest stern looks from under her brows.

“That is quite marvellous, Mrs. McLaughlin. Rest assured I will take it from here.”

He turned to Darcy, who had not paid attention to the tacit exchange.

“You know, I find the air around here astonishingly enough renders me either quite appreciative of solitude and silence or coaxes me into plain-speaking. To your peril I am afraid, for I must own I am curious as to who led you to Clyne from the inn. Or do you prefer to keep your host in uncertainty? Perhaps it is a tale that would reveal unflattering detection methods? Maybe I should cajole you into revelations by admitting Mrs. McLaughlin is very cross with you because of your discovery of me. You see, for various reasons I have insisted my servants guard my privacy and anonymity even more jealously than I. I think you will find that your stay here will prove much more pleasant if we settle this matter to Mrs. McLaughlin’s satisfaction right away. She mothers shameless young gentlemen, but she dotes on frank ones.”

Darcy looked at his friend in astonishment.

“Brougham, do you earnestly expect me to flatter your servant’s curiosity? Why, I knew not your homage was particularly protected. I simply assumed you did not want to reveal its address in letters. I went to the inn and waited for Riemann. As soon as he showed up I proposed that we go to Clyne together. You did not want me, I hope, chasing him across the Scottish roads. If you mind my presence I can leave tomorrow.”

Brougham let out a loud laugh.

“Oh, you will find out about flattering servants’ curiosities soon enough if you decide to accept my sincere hospitality for a longer period!”

He then dug into his dinner with a ferocious appetite. Every now and then he made small inane comments on the food and the drink, the fire and the weather. Finally, he emptied his wine glass, wiped his mouth, and got up.

“Well, that was excellent! Now, with all of my needs fulfilled and entertainment exhausted I am going to bed. I expect I will catch you somewhere around the grounds tomorrow? Good night!”

And without further ceremony, his Lordship left the room with a satisfied smirk upon his face and retired.

Darcy returned to his book and musings, but the full moon outside the window took his attention again. He decided to go out and take a long walk in the moonlight. A few hours later, with a thoughtful countenance and a distant look in his eyes, he entered his chamber. What the time was, he knew not, nor did he care. There was nothing tempting in the word "tomorrow".

Sleep had eluded Darcy for a long time after he had retired to his bed. The accommodations were far from what he was accustomed to expect from his surroundings. He wondered briefly about Brougham’s carelessness of his guests’ convenience, yet soon came to the conclusion that there was no need to remodel the guest chambers if no visitors were ever invited. He hoped that Brougham would be understanding of his sudden decision to trespass upon the privacy of his home.

Never before had Darcy paid an unexpected visit. This time, however, the resolution was taken on the spot. He had persuaded himself that Brougham’s cheerful letters, full of wit and picturesque descriptions, had awoken some kind of yearning in him that prompted him to come and lose himself in the pleasures of the country. His entire journey to Clyne was full of the determination that usually accompanied his assignments. Now however, he could not remain in that illusion any longer.

There was no determination in his life, nor any set goals. He came here with the last hope of quelling the yearning in his soul, but it was merely the hope of an escapee. He could not but be severe about his own foolishness. True, he had gone away from anything he had known, and the unassuming company of Brougham had always had a soothing effect on his thoughts, yet there was no place in the world where he could find refuge. The nostalgia was within himself, the emptiness was in everything that was not her.

Bingley was probably in Hertfordshire by now. The very place Darcy himself would like to be in had he not thought better of it. ‘Has he seen her?’ Darcy wondered briefly, but scolded himself immediately for the thought that followed the first one, and that carried the hope that she could have been disappointed by his not accompanying his friend.

For the thousandth time Darcy tried to think rationally, estimating his chances. He had hoped, he was almost certain, that her ill opinion of him must have changed. Her behaviour during her brief visits to Pemberley was nothing like before, and had he not hoped that his letter and his determination to show her that he was a better man than she had ever thought him to be were enough, the very fact that she had granted him her confidence with her sad family affairs was his greatest reward. Still, it could mean much less than he would wish for. Perhaps it was within his power to win her respect, her trust, and maybe even her friendship. There was a chance that with sufficient courtship she might, one day, agree to marry him. And knowing her liveliness, her spirits, he was confident that he might awake the kind of passion in her that would almost match his own. His passion... His own passion for her was so powerful that, had she ever agreed to marry him, he was in danger of taking her as his wife without being assured of her own feelings.

Yet his feelings were so much deeper, and it was unlikely that she might ever find it in herself to reciprocate them. Then, even if with his courtship, her kinder thoughts about him, and an eventual chance of there never being another man who might both be able to gain her love and propose marriage, she might one day be persuaded to accept himself, he could not be sure if it was the right thing to do. Would there ever be happiness in such an unequal marriage that was based on strong feelings on his part and, at best, friendship and rational decisions on hers? He wanted to give her everything in the world. Her well-being was of the utmost importance to him. He could go through all the necessary changes she demanded of him and prove to be worthy of her respect. All of that was perhaps within his reach, but one thing, and the most important one, was not. And he could not be such a fool as to blind himself to the most troubling truth. As much as she was mistaken about him in many aspects, a woman would not develop such ill opinions about a man if her heart had been touched at least a bit. It was not her rejection that tortured him so, but her indifference.

Would he be ever able to give her up, he knew not. He had decided to use his time with Brougham to think things over. Should he ever wish to see her again he would go to Hertfordshire, with Bingley or without him. Should he decide there was no life for him without her, he would be as close to her as possible, even with the pain that such proximity would have to mean for him. If nothing else, just to be able to take care of her, for he could not bear the thought of her being in any misfortune.

Yet, if there was even the slightest chance for him to perish her from his thoughts he had to take it. He owed that to his family, his people, and himself. Although he could not know if he would ever be able to promise to another woman what he was so willing to promise to this one only. Perhaps he should forget his wishes for his own happiness and marry a woman like Miss Bingley, for it would be meanness to hurt one that truly loved him with a lack of his feelings.

The helplessness of his situation was disarming him. Something should be decided – and soon. He could not stay away forever. He thought about the disappointed eyes of his sister when she saw him go again and, if nothing else, that guilt was enough for him to scold himself into action. He turned in his bed many more times before the heavy drops of sudden rain loudly bumping against the window’s sill finally cuddled him to sleep.

 

This story is written by Laura and Sylwia, and they own full © copyrights to it.

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