Work Text:
Fifteen year old Elizabeth Bennet accompanied her aunt and uncle on a northern tour to the Peak district, looking into and around many of the great houses in those counties. In one such house, Elizabeth's attention was caught and held by a painting. It was hanging quietly on a wall, not seeking general consideration, but some slight swirl of emotion, some painted-in tendril of feeling reached out for her attention, nonetheless.
She gasped, for it was the saddest thing she had ever seen. She could not bring herself to walk away from it, for she felt it was an abandonment to do so. Her aunt and uncle saw nothing of note, believing the portraits down the corridor and in the Gallery much finer. She was so distraught, her aunt inquired of the housekeeper if the painter of this image was known.
The woman replied it had been only recently painted but she could not say by whom. Mrs. Gardiner gave the common platitudes before moving off to admire another piece of art, but Elizabeth could not follow. She studied every line, every stroke of the brush, every nuance of color; her hand was raised to trace each detail. In her absorption, she did not take note of the housekeeper watching her closely.
‘Does the young miss approve of the painting?’
The question surprised Elizabeth, who startled and stared at the woman. ‘I beg your pardon. I was not aware of having delayed for such a length of time. You must wish our group to remove to another area.’ By the end of her words, however, she had turned her head back to gaze again at the image.
The housekeeper watched her for a moment before responding, ‘No, miss. I would ask how you might describe what you see, for a very few remark upon this piece.’
Miss Bennet pondered, then explained, ‘There is a great grief in it; someone has lost something they are unable to find. It calls out for relief and makes me wish to help and bring light into their pain.’
The older woman nodded. ‘Just so. I thank you for answering my inquiry.’
On they walked, completing their study of the house’s interior before being handed off to the gardener to learn of the glories of the park and gardens.
Once returned to Longbourn, Elizabeth could not rest until she had painted the similitude of that singular work and hung it - to Mrs. Bennet’s chagrin - in the front sitting room. When Elizabeth made known to her mother where precisely she had seen this particular painting, the older woman’s disapprobation was turned in an instant and she proclaimed it ‘simply charming’.
Over the next five years, relations and acquaintance alike came, viewed the picture, and - on being made aware of its origins by the lady of the house - declared it terribly impressive.
When Netherfield Park was let at last, Mrs. Bennet viewed it an opportunity to again exhibit the excellence of her taste. However, in this she was fated to be disappointed, for the members of the party were all previously acquainted with the authentic painting and their astonishment was of a different source than she was accustomed.
‘However did you come by such a piece?’ inquired Miss Bingley. ‘I have seen one like it in Pemberley, but it is nothing to some of the grander works there.’ Mrs. Hurst, for emphasis, repeated her sister’s comments.
Mrs. Bennet, dismayed at such a reception of her former favorite treasure, was unable to formulate a reply until Mr. Darcy spoke. ‘I do wonder, madam, who painted this superb likeness for you?’
‘As to that, sir,’ she answered, ‘it was my daughter Elizabeth. She went with my brother and sister on a tour of the northern counties and was so struck by this picture that she insisted I affix it to my wall.’
He turned his eyes to the daughter indicated, who watched him with no little curiosity. ‘Perhaps, Miss Elizabeth, we might discuss a few details in this piece which appear slightly different from that which resides in my house?’
Mrs. Bennet allowed it and the two walked over to stand in silence, observing Elizabeth’s efforts at recreating the painting which had so captured her attention.
In low tones, Mr. Darcy said, ‘May I ask when last you visited Pemberley?’
‘It has been five years, sir,’ came the quiet response.
At that, the gentleman began to indicate areas on the canvas which were accurate to the painting Elizabeth had seen but were no longer. ‘Further trees have been added around this one,’ he waved at the lone, distant oak in the painting, ‘and a bit of sun now shines through those clouds,’ he pointed to a particularly gloomy portion of the sky.
Elizabeth looked at the picture for a few moments longer, then commented, ‘Those alterations demonstrate a revolution, from deepest grief to something like hope, which gives me to wonder at the painter’s feelings. Has the purpose for which it was created been achieved, sir?’
‘I am not certain, Miss Elizabeth, for I cannot say it does not continue to perform its office.’ He paused, before asking, ‘For the sake of greater ease, would there perhaps be a more secluded place in which we could speak?’
She nodded and moved toward the door to the sitting room. ‘Mama, Mr. Darcy wished to see the little wilderness behind the house which bears resemblance to part of the painting. We shall return shortly.’
Mrs. Bennet acknowledged Elizabeth’s words and went on conversing with the Bingleys.
When they had crossed the side lawn, Mr. Darcy began, ‘It was not a week after your visit to my home when Mrs. Reynolds informed me she met a young lady who had been entranced by the picture. She spoke of how you seemed unable to turn away and how you wished to comfort and lessen my pain.’
Elizabeth quickly looked at him, but remained silent as he continued, ‘To know, to be aware of a person more concerned with easing the grief of one unknown to them rather than worry over the popularity of the picture’s subject or its painter was inexplicably soothing. This buoyed my spirits over the past years when…. circumstances rendered it difficult to maintain my equanimity.’
‘Is all well now, sir?’ she inquired, her expression as concerned as her voice.
He closed his eyes but a moment and, with a slight smile, answered, ‘All seems much better, Miss Elizabeth, for having met you.’ He went on to explain the loss of his father, his subsequent inheritance of the estate and its inherent responsibilities, the pain and fears, and the need to remain strong despite everything.
They walked; they spoke. After covering several miles and a great many topics, they examined their watches and exclaimed over the time.
Before they turned back, Mr. Darcy hesitated then said, ‘Would you be well-disposed to my calling? Knowing of your existence brought comfort, but becoming acquainted with you has given me a desire for a nearer, dearer connection.’
Her agreement to his request began several months of amusement for their friends and relations, ending when Mr. Bennet gave over care of his daughter into Mr. Darcy’s most willing hands.