So. Er. This is an update. Sort of. Not the one you're hoping ofr, alas. The document was gathering dust; it was seen by my wonderful betas at some point but of course I then fiddled with it. I've hesitated to share it, but I if I don't post it now it'll wait a Very Long Time. I'm still having difficulties with my inspiration (the fact that the desk computer had some problems didn't help, because typing on a touchscreen is... complicated. Homeschooling because of covid doesn't help either - the children compete both for my time and the access to a computer).

This is only an Interlude, and what comes next is barely written yet, so you'll have to wait a Very Long Time anyways.

Hope you'll enjoy that tidbit!

Third Interlude

or

The Year With Neither A Summer Nor A Decent Case (Nor Many Words In It)

On the road from Bath to Pemberley, late winter 1816

One thing had led to another, and what should have been a short stay in Bath had lengthened. Before they knew it, the Darcys had spent more than two years there, and yet, when it came to wooing his wife, the gentleman was very much in the same place than when he had left.

"Elizabeth," he said as they left the city. "If we ever have a daughter, she shall [i] not [/i] be named Catherine."

"It is fortunate, then, that we do not plan to have one, for I am sure your Uncle would insist on that name," she answered with a smile before turning her head to observe the rolling landscape, thus missing his disappointed gaze.

Pemberley, mid-March 1816

When it had become clear that their stay in Bath would not be of short duration, Miss Darcy had decided to join them and have her first season in a place that appeared, in her eyes, less intimidating than London. She was lucky enough to catch the eye of a nice young man, and they had been married for some months. As a result, Darcy and his wife were alone at Pemberley—as alone as one can be in the middle of an army of servants.

The weather was particularly grim, and while her husband had been updated about various estate matters which had not found their way into his letters, Elizabeth did the same with Mrs Reynolds and household matters.

"I do not think Mrs Reynolds likes me much," she said to him one evening.

"What makes you believe such a thing?"

"She reminds me of Mrs Danvers—you would not know her, she was the housekeeper at Oakley, some years ago."

"I do not remember an estate of that name."

"Because there is none to remember. The house was near Oakham Mount and burned to the ground in the year three, a new one was then built on a low field, and the whole estate renamed."

"Oh. [i] That [/i] is why the building was so new?"

"Precisely. The landlord and his second wife never wished to settle there and tried to rent it out, but it was a long time before they found a tenant."

"Did his first wife die in the fire?"

"No, Mr Summers had already remarried at the time. I believe Mrs Danvers thought the second Mrs Summers did not live up to her expectations of what a good mistress should be, and ended burning the house in retaliation. [i] This [/i] is what I believe is Mrs Reynolds's opinion of me."

Darcy laughed.

"It is the truth!" his wife insisted. "Oh, your housekeeper was happy enough when we married, but I believe she imagined you would stay more often at Pemberley after that, yet we are forever gone, and so is her sister. The way she looked at me last night—I swear I am of a mind to hire a food taster before she decides to slip arsenic in my soup in order for you to then find a wife she can approve of."

"I believe I ought to restrict your access to gothic novels, dear. I should have thought about that as soon as we arrived. Meanwhile, try to not allow the weather to influence your mood too much."

The weather did not improve with the spring. Elizabeth spent as much time as she could in the library, mainly browsing volumes related to botany; she had even begun to read some treatises on agriculture. As for Darcy, he was often found in discussion with his steward, trying to determine what should be done in the fields.

One such morning, Elizabeth decided to join them.

"Maybe we ought to wait just a little longer," she heard Mr Miller say when she entered the study.

"Or maybe we ought to forego the idea of barley this year." The men turned towards her. She held a volume in her arms and appeared enthusiastic about something.

"Elizabeth?"

"The weather is wet, and grows worse every day. And it is cold, and the light is very strange."

"Yes?"

"Thus, I think you need [i] this [/i] ."

With a thump, she let fall on the desk the book she held—one describing various crops. It was opened at a certain page. Darcy and Mr Miller looked at it, raised an eyebrow, and glanced at each other dubiously.

" [i] Parsnips [/i] , Elizabeth?"

"It might not be the most wonderful or valuable crop, but as it is, it [i] would [/i] be able to grow should the weather continue to be so bad. Well, given all the rain, provided the fields are properly drained, of course? Which would provide work to the farm-hands who were not currently needed by the tenants, and even to some of your tenants if their crop is a disaster. You may want to convince them to try parsnip. Or spinach, even."

"Elizabeth—"

"I know," she said. "I am planning for the worst."

"I rather think you were bored and wished to experiment."

" [i] Touché [/i] ," she said with a small smile. "Still, can we afford to do this? I should also like to grow some spinach, oh, and perhaps lentils in the conservatory."

"We would have the necessary funds for such an endeavour, even should the tenants fail to pay rent this year, but I ought to warn you that this will not help our reputation as eccentrics."

"Thank you!"

Elizabeth, beaming, came to embrace her husband before she left the study. The steward managed, with great difficulty, to avoid laughing, while Darcy endeavoured to hide both his happiness at this unexpected contact and his frustration at the fact that this was not enough considering what his wishes were.

Summer 1816

When the summer arrived, or rather ought to have arrived, the weather was still bad. Darcy was relieved that they had stayed at Pemberley, for there was much work to do and many tenants to support. He would have trusted his steward to deal with all of the difficulties, but in these troubled times, it was better if the local population did not imagine that the Darcys were gallivanting away in London when they could be of some help to their dependants.

Elizabeth's experiment was more or less successful. The plants she had chosen did not suffer from the humidity, and though the crops did not promise to be very good, for they would have benefitted from more exposure to the sun, it did look as if there would be something to gather in the harvest. Pemberley's dependants would not starve. The price of the bread was high, but the farm-hands had been employed to drain the fields or to repair some bridges and roads, and their salary allowed them to afford the expense; it also helped that the Darcys had decided to subsidise the baker so that his prices would not rise too much.

The tenants had followed Mrs Darcy's experiment, and renounced their usual crops in favour of spinach, chicory, and grass for the cattle in preparation for the winter.

Though they had barely ever seen Mrs Darcy before that summer, and though Mr Darcy was less present in the neighbourhood since his wedding, the local people decided that the gentleman had chosen his wife well.

Autumn 1816

Apart from planning for a crop which would be neither plentiful nor lucrative, Elizabeth had found other occupations.

Solving the mystery of the summer which did not come was outside her range of skills, and she settled on making sure that no one would get away with stealing food or taking advantage of the most unfortunate people of the neighbourhood. On one or two occasions, it proved to be rather tricky—the miscreant who stole the last jar of strawberry preserves nearly escaped.

At other times, when people were too busy to misbehave, Elizabeth occupied herself with reading more of the books in the library. Despite her husband's earlier tease, gothic novels held no appeal for her—even less since their stay in Bath. She was nearly done with the tomes on botany, and had begun to browse the ones about anatomy.

January 1817

The weather looked like it was turning back to what it should be, though it was still cold.

"Are you thinking what I am thinking?" asked Darcy at breakfast.

"If you think that Cook's fare was particularly delicious this morning and that Reynolds has not poisoned the tea yet, then yes."

"Er, that was not it. I was thinking about the spring."

"Oh. What was your idea?"

"Shall we encourage the tenants to grow wheat again, but perhaps only on half the land?"

"I believe they could try, but I would recommend that they keep parsnips on the other half for security."

"Must it be parsnips? Have you no other suggestion?"

"Perhaps the ones with light, rock-free land could try to grow carrots."

"We shall see whether there are some volunteers to experiment."

The tenants, as it turned out, were happy to follow Mrs Darcy's suggestions, since it had benefited them so much the previous year. Having spoken with farmers from other areas, they had seen that their difficulties could have been worse had they not grown the roots she had suggested.

March 1817

At last, the sun came back. With it arrived a letter from Bingley.

"What does my brother write?"

"I think," said Darcy, squinting, "that he says he will not renew the lease for Netherfield."

"Oh? Why is that? He loved the house and the neighbourhood. Was it too painful a reminder of Miss Bingley? Or does my mother tax his forbearance too much, after all?"

"Hm, no."

Elizabeth looked at him expectantly.

"It appears that, er, the owner is thinking about selling the land."

"Why would he do such a thing?"

"From what I can understand, he would need the money for his main estate after the difficulties it suffered this year. Netherfield is mostly all wood and pastures; Bingley would not receive much from it, but he writes that he will keep enough capital to maintain an appropriate income overall."

"I did not imagine they would settle there," she sighed. "I had hoped that they would end leasing or buying an estate in the neighbourhood of Pemberley."

Darcy threw her a dubious glance.

"There are not many such estates—and even if there were, we are away so often that I am not sure it would grant your sister her wish of living near you."

"True. Pemberley is delightful, but a little too serene for my tastes. I long to leave."

"I know," her husband answered with a fond smile. "I had been thinking of offering them to live at Pemberley, so that whenever I needed to be here for estate matters, you would have been able to see Jane."

"That would have been a lovely idea."

Each became lost in thought, and some minutes were spent in silence, troubled only with the noise of cutlery on plates.

"I think I have an idea," said Darcy at last. "That lady we met in Bath, with whom you regularly exchange letters ... do you think she would agree to oversee Pemberley in our absence?"

Elizabeth blinked. After some time spent in reflexion, she nodded.

"It would certainly distract Anne and give her some freedom and purpose in her life. I will write at once with the offer."

Miss Elliot as soon as it was politely possible; she followed the express containing her acceptance by a couple of hours. Once they were reassured that their friend was adequately settled, the Darcys left, once again, for London.

Final notes:

That's all I have for now, dear reader. I'm afraid that whatever happened in Bath will remain a Mystery for now (there was so much to add there that the idea was to write a subseries about it. I hope I'll manage to do so someday). For now, I'll hope that homeschool and impractical devices won't interfere with writing this year. Crossing fingers!