Regina Jeffers: Vampire Darcy's Desire

Over the past few weeks, Mr. Darcy appeared in her thoughts more than Elizabeth cared to admit. At first, her interest lay purely in confirming her aunt’s suspicions, but now there was something more.Yet she could not let anyone else know. Of late, she would often look up to find him studying her, and just as often, his scrutiny made her senses flare with a smoldering she could not identify. On this particular evening, Elizabeth took note of his constant presence, and, as she was prone to do when she had no other way of dealing with a situation, she began an impertinent confrontation. “Did not you think, Mr. Darcy, I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I teased Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?”

He purposely swallowed the smile that threatened to turn up the corners of his mouth. His Elizabeth chose to approach him. “You expressed yourself with great energy—but it is a subject which always makes a lady energetic.”

She bristled, not sure of how to take him.“You are severe on us.”

“I offer you my apologies. As a gentleman, Miss Elizabeth, I would not wish to offend.”

However, Elizabeth had not finished with him; she had determined of late to see if she could ruffle Darcy’s usual self-control. “Mr. Darcy, am I to understand your estate in Derbyshire is an extensive one?”

If she hoped to catch him off guard, Elizabeth succeeded. Darcy wondered if she saw him as a potential mate. If so, she would be sadly disappointed, for he held other plans. He forced his face to appear expressionless, although a plethora of emotions rushed through him.“Such is its reputation, Miss Elizabeth,” he said warily.

“Large enough to employ several hundred, so I hear.” Elizabeth took a small step forward, as if to challenge him, but Darcy did not move.

Darcy kept a steady gaze on her, searching her countenance for information. To what end is she leading? There it was again—that look, the one that left him rattled.“If one counts the cottagers, several hundred seems reasonable.”

“Do you know everyone who works at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy? I mean, do you know the names of your footmen and stable hands?”

“I do not understand, Miss Elizabeth.” His ire grew by the second; he gripped his hands hard behind his back.“Is there a point in this conversation?”

“My aunt is from Lambton, Mr. Darcy. Did I happen to mention that fact?”

Darcy’s forehead furrowed in a frown. “I heard as such from Mr. Bingley.”

Elizabeth raised her chin in defiance. “My Aunt Gardiner used to tell me of Pemberley when I was younger. In fact, a girl my aunt once knew in Lambton,Vivian Piccadilly, was a washerwoman on your estate. Do you know of Miss Piccadilly, Mr. Darcy?”

Vivian Piccadilly? Yes, I knew her. She lost her life to George Wickham, but how could Darcy explain that? Does Elizabeth Bennet know more than she pretends? “I take great pride, Miss Elizabeth, in recalling the names of those who work within my household and who work the land of my estate. Miss Piccadilly was with us for only a few short months. Her father and mother remain as part of our staff, however.” His face was completely impassive.

Ah, thought Elizabeth. Mr. Darcy says more than his words. At least, now he knows that I know, but…

Before she could retort, Charlotte caught her friend and

Over Elizabeth’s protest, Charlotte insisted, and for a bit of spite, Elizabeth turned to Darcy and said,“There is a fine old saying, with which everybody here is, of course, familiar—‘Keep your breath for porridge,’—and I shall keep mine to swell my song.”

Darcy offered her a slight bow as he said, “Excellent advice, Miss Elizabeth; I will heed your words if the situation arises.” She scowled, trying to understand how her irreverence amused him.“I look forward to your performance.”

Elizabeth walked away briskly and took up a position at the pianoforte.Though by no means capital, she offered a pleasing performance. As usual, Darcy moved to where he could watch her, at least in profile. Tolerably good, she entertained everyone with a couple of light-hearted ditties. Then the group entreated her to sing once more, begging for a love song.

“You desire something sad?”They agreed, so she let her fingers play lightly across the keys at first, trying to find the pitch and to remember the words. Then when she took up the melody, Darcy froze. Of all the songs in the world, she chose this one—his song:

Lord Thomas was an artist

And keeper of the King’s leer

Fair Ellender was a lady gay

Lord Thomas, he loved her dear

Lord Thomas and Fair Ellender

Sat all day on a hill;

When night came, and sun was gone,

They’d not yet said their fill.

Lord Thomas spoke a word in jest

And Ellender took it ill:

“Oh, I’ll never marry me a wife

Against my family’s will.”

“If you will never wed thee a wife,

A wife will never wed thee!”

So he rode home to tell his mother

And knelt upon his knee.

“Mother, come Mother, come riddle to me.

Come riddle it all in one,

And tell me whether to marry Fair Ellender

Or bring the Brown Girl home?”

How could she know? he wondered. It made no sense, and he was a man who prided himself on common sense. But there it lay—Elizabeth Bennet knew his deepest secret; she had set him up. Every muscle in his body became taut, and Darcy fought to breathe naturally, but he managed to keep his expression constant. Despite his misery, she continued to sing:

“The Brown Girl gives you houses and land

Fair Ellender, she has none.

And there I charge you, take success

And bring the Brown Girl home.”

He dressed himself all in his best

His merry men all in white

And every town he passed through

They took him for a knight.

He went till he came to fair Ellender’s court

So loudly twirled at the pin,

There was none so ready as fair Ellender herself

To let Lord Thomas in.

“Bad news, bad news, Lord Thomas,” she said,

“Bad news you bring to me.

You’ve come to ask me to your wedding,

When I thought your bride to be.”

She turned around and dressed in white

Her sisters dressed in green,

And every town they rode through

They took her for some queen.

Darcy clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to force the tension away, trying to hide his anguish behind a bland expression. If he could only move; however, her voice mesmerized him as much as it did the others. He had never heard the song done so well and with so much passion.

They rode and they rode till they came to the hall,

So loudly she twirled at the pin

And no one so ready as Lord Thomas himself

To let fair Ellender in.

He took her by her lily-white hand

When leading her through the hall

Saying,“Fifty gay ladies are here today

But here is the flower of them all.”

“Is this your bride, Lord Thomas?” she said.

“She looks most wonderful brown

You might have had as a fair a woman

As ever trod Scotland’s ground.”

“Despise her not, Fair Ellender,” he cried.

“Despise her not to me

For I love the end of your little finger

More than her whole body.”

The Brown Girl, she was standing by

With knife ground keen and sharp,

Between the long ribs and the short,

She pierced Fair Ellender’s heart.

“Oh, what’s the matter?” Lord Thomas said.

“You look so pale and wan;

You used to have so fair a color

As ever the sun shone on.”

Here it comes , he thought. The ending! The story of “Fair Ellender” he knew well—too well. Ellender D’Arcy began the madness; her love of Arawn Benning marked them—all the generations to follow—and Fitzwilliam Darcy fought to stop the evil she brought on his family. Knowingly, or unknowingly, Elizabeth Bennet sang on: