Pride Prejudice and Prodigy

An Artful Gentleman

Chapter 3 ~ An Artful Gentleman

On a sunny morning, early in March, Elizabeth finally resolved to pay a second visit to Lady Darlington. One could feel the faintest hint of spring in the air, with early crocuses and marguerites bringing a small but welcome dash of colour to the fields. As she neared the cottage, Elizabeth was surprised to find a young man seated on the side of the lane, upon a three legged stool, engrossed in painting the country scene. Upon hearing her step, he turned his head briefly to glance at Elizabeth, but immediately returned to his task without uttering a single word.

Elizabeth was shocked at this gross lack of civility; and fixing her eyes on the road ahead, determined to pass behind the rude stranger – certainly he was no gentleman – ignoring both him and his painting. However, her curiosity got the better of her, and she could not help but peek over his shoulder; and even worse, find herself admiring what she saw. Though she involuntarily slowed her step, to greater appreciate his work, she resolved to continue walking.

She had barely passed him when, without looking up or pausing from his labours, he addressed her, “Miss Bennet, pray tarry a moment; indulge me please for just a minute or two, while I give this fine old oak tree its due. I shall then be delighted to observe all the required formalities, and to introduce myself in the approved manner.”

Elizabeth was quite taken aback to be thus addressed by a stranger… if indeed he was a stranger: for he knew her name. Yet, from the momentary glimpse of his face she had been afforded, he looked like no one to whom she could recall having been introduced; and his voice, too, was unfamiliar. Elizabeth was greatly confused. Had her curiosity about him not been so greatly aroused, she would have ignored his offhand request and carried on upon her way. But inquisitiveness got the better of her, so she stopped; and much as she sought to find fault with his painting, she could not help but greatly admire it.

Eventually the artist laid down his brush, wiped his hands on a cloth before rising to his feet. He removed his oversized floppy artist's hat with an extravagant gesture, and bowing low with a broad smile, addressed her, “James Darlington at your service, Miss Bennet. I am very happy to make your acquaintance.”

Elizabeth curtseyed politely and smiled; unsure whether he was being sincere or mocking her. While she struggled to decide how to reply, he spoke with sudden enthusiasm, “Ah, what extraordinary providence it is that you should arrive at this very moment, Miss Bennet, just as I was lamenting the inauspicious time of year I had chosen for painting a country landscape. Look how dull and colourless my painting is,” he said, waving dismissively at his work.

“On the contrary, sir. Though I am no great critic of art, I think it quite excellent. You have captured the peaceful nascent spirit of the season most admirably.”

“You are too kind, Miss Bennet, but I had wished to create something of beauty and vibrancy; a painting which might lift the spirits and quicken the pulse of the viewer… and most especially, entice a prospective purchaser. What a stroke of luck that you should happen upon me at this very moment,” he said eagerly. “For now I see standing before me the very thing that my dreary scene lacks.”

“I am sorry, but I do not comprehend your meaning, sir.”

“I mean you, Miss Bennet! Your radiant beauty is the very spice to give piquancy to my art, and animate this lifeless picture! If you would but stand over there, beneath the splendid oak, I shall have all the delicate colour and warmth; all the vibrant beauty that any artist could desire.”

Elizabeth blushed at his compliment. She could not decide whether he was a rake attempting to flatter her, or whether he was simply carried away with enthusiasm for his art. He entreated her with such winning charm that she felt herself unable to refuse his request and placed herself beneath the tree, unsure of what was expected of her.

“Please excuse the liberty,” he said, taking her hand and placing it upon the trunk. “And pray turn your head just a little to the right – yes, like that – and fix your gaze upon the church spire yonder. Wonderful, excellent,” he said stepping back a few paces, before suddenly stepping forward and gently placing his hand beneath her chin and turning her head a little until he had the desired aspect.

Elizabeth blushed fiercely; she was quite unused to having a gentleman take such liberties. Was he some kind of libertine, taking advantage of her, she wondered; or simply naïve? Perhaps he was amusing himself at her expense, pretending to be unaware of the inappropriateness of his behaviour. Elizabeth experienced such a mixture of emotions concerning the young man who had now resumed his seat in front of the easel, seemingly quite unconscious of his breach of propriety and her consequent confusion.

“How did you know my name, sir?” she asked, forcing herself to get the better of her embarrassment and seize the initiative.

“My mother has been expecting you for some days now, and I can think of no other young lady who might pay her a visit in her present circumstances. And of course, there is your appearance.”

“I beg your pardon? My appearance? What do you mean, sir?” asked Elizabeth, filled with curiosity at this strange remark.

“Only that my mother was glowing in her praise of your beauty, Miss Bennet. The moment I set eyes upon you I had not the least doubt of your identity. No neighbourhood could boast two such lovely creatures.”

“Are you flattering me, sir for the purpose of having me blush for your painting?” asked Elizabeth archly.

The gentleman smiled. “Certainly, the glow of your cheeks gives a breathtaking lustre to your features, but my compliment was entirely sincere – I am no flatterer, Miss Bennet. An artist rarely comes upon a pair of eyes that sparkle and light up the soul, as do yours… but alas, I fear my talent is not equal to capturing such enchantment on canvas.”

Elizabeth was becoming more and more discomforted at his words, and sought to turn the conversation from herself. “Then you are an artist, sir? But if you intend it as a livelihood, I fear it will not be considered suitable for a gentleman.”

The young man laughed. “You are an acute observer of respectability, I surmise, Miss Bennet; and of course you are perfectly correct. Until my recent impoverishment, painting was an entirely acceptable pastime; and if on occasion, I chose to sell my work, there was nothing un-gentlemanly in that – because I had no need of the money. But now that I am in need of money, to sell my paintings is considered low and mean, and not at all gentlemanly behaviour. Is it not ironical, Miss Bennet?” he asked with a wry grin.

“No, it is entirely rational and understandable,” replied Elizabeth. “A gentleman, by definition, does not need to earn his living. Therefore no significance is attached to his selling anything: be it a painting, a horse, or any other possession. But a man who labours for his living cannot be a gentleman.”

“And is to be despised?”

“I said no such thing, sir. I am not the author of the rules of social propriety and what constitutes respectability. I am merely making an observation about those rules. You must know that if you earn your living as an artist, no matter how great your talent, you will cease to be considered a gentleman.”

“Then you will be greatly relieved, Miss Bennet, to learn that while my present artistic endeavour is undertaken with the intention of relieving some immediate financial distress, I have not the least idea of making a career of it. For one thing, I lack the necessary talent.”

“With that I cannot agree, sir,” replied Elizabeth.

“You are either too kind or too unlearned in art to see that my work lacks the excellence of a true master.”

“I am no expert on the subject, it is true,” replied Elizabeth, “but are there not many skilled artists, who, whilst not arriving at the pinnacle of achievement, may yet produce the kind of pleasing work that one finds gracing many a fine drawing room? I imagine that by far the greater portion of paintings fall into such a category; and that those who produce them, if they do so as a profession, are amply rewarded.”

“You are quite correct, Miss Bennet. I am quite resigned to the necessity of earning a living by my abilities and labours; even though, as you rightly point out, I must thereby relinquish all claim to being considered a gentleman. But what I shall never accept, is to waste my life in the pursuit of mediocrity.” Despite the passion of his speech, the young man continued diligently at his task.

“But, sir, surely there is no need for you to relinquish your position as a gentleman. There are a number of vocations open to one, such as yourself, which are highly respectable, and would require no such demotion in social rank.”

“Such as?” asked, the young man, tersely.

“Certainly, you are as aware as I am of the possibilities,” replied Elizabeth softly, sensing the sadness that had come over him as he continued to work silently at his canvas. This should have been enough to silence Elizabeth on the subject, but she was deeply concerned for the wellbeing of her friend Julia, and for Lady Darlington, whose welfare and future prospects must now be wholly dependent upon the young man sitting before her. Julia's hopes of making a good marriage had almost certainly been materially damaged by her employment in London – and the longer she continued with it, the greater would be the damage. In Elizabeth's mind, the blame for that damage lay entirely at the feet of her brother, James. How shocking, she thought, first to be treated so abominably by one brother, and then with such callous indifference by the other. It was all she could do to stop herself from demanding that he explain how he could allow his own sister to demean herself in such a manner, to wreck all her prospects of happiness.

Though she succeeded in keeping her counsel and resisting the impulse to storm off, she could not leave the subject of his responsibilities alone. Approaching the topic from another avenue, she enquired, “I understand that you have spent the past several years at Cambridge?”

He brightened immediately. “Yes, I was there for seven years – and hoped to remain for at least another seven, if not my whole life. But alas, the recent misfortunes of our family have put an end to all of that.”

“You are a scholar then, I take it, and were not merely gone up for the social round?”

“Indeed I am… or at least I was,” he said with a sigh. “Ironic, is it not, that while many young men idle away their time at our great universities, a keen scholar, such as myself, is forced to leave before encompassing all the fields of knowledge he hungers to master.”

“And what fields are they?” enquired Elizabeth.

“Everything interests me; apart from the law and divinity, but they can hardly be termed knowledge,” he said with an impish smile.

Elizabeth was shocked at such irreverence; but recovering herself, asked him what he had studied.

“Mathematics, music, natural science, and literature are all I managed before my studies came to so abrupt a halt,” he replied ruefully.

“All?” exclaimed Elizabeth. “That seems a very great deal. And, if I may observe, an unusual combination. Yet none of it, I fear, would offer an acceptable vocation for a gentleman. For that you had needed to study divinity or the law,” she said with a smile.

“But to engage as a clergyman, or at the law, would require qualities that I do not possess,” said he, looking up from his work, and returning her smile.

“Of which qualities do you speak, sir?”

“Hypocrisy for both, conjoined with obsequiousness for the former and callous cynicism and dishonesty for the latter,” he replied.

“I am certain that not all clergymen are obsequious hypocrites,” she said, suppressing her laughter at the thought of Mr Collins and how well the epithet fitted him.

“No,” replied he, “not those amongst them that are simpleminded enough to believe in the fairytales of the church; but alas, I am not such a one.”

Elizabeth had never heard such heretical opinions; she hardly believed it possible. “Then you must either seek a commission in the military – or matrimony with a wealthy lady.”

“Alas, I was not made to kill my fellow man, either for profit or patriotism; and to marry for money, to profess love, where there is none, save for wealth and possessions, would require almost an equal degree of hypocrisy as would be wanted for the church.”

“It would appear, sir, that your disposition denies you every occupation that might be considered suitable for a gentleman. How very unfortunate for you,” said Elizabeth with a note of scorn in her voice. For indeed, she had little sympathy with this spoilt young man, who was evidently used to the freedom of pursuing his manifold interests without the least consideration of others. Not that there was any great evil in it, so long as no one depended upon him. But recent events had changed all of that, and yet he seemed unwilling to sacrifice his precious prejudices and preferences in order to shoulder his responsibilities to his mother and sister.

It was fortunate indeed that he had finished his work, for Elizabeth was beginning to feel such strong disapprobation, that she feared she might end up with a scowl on her face in his painting. Walking behind him to see how it had progressed, she was stunned to see a portrait of herself upon his easel.

“You have deceived me, sir! You said that you wished to add me to your landscape, standing beneath the oak; but instead you have made me the subject of an entirely different work.”

Carefully, he turned back the previous canvas affixed to his easel, holding it away from the portrait that was still drying. “I am rather quick, and perhaps careless at my art – another reason why I shall never be a great master. As you can see, the landscape is complete, including yourself, giving it that wanted dash of vivacity. I am quite satisfied with it.” Then turning it back over, he smiled with pleasure as he regarded the portrait. “Please forgive me, Miss Bennet, but I was unable to pass up the opportunity of painting your beautiful face, so I quickly turned to a new sheet and attempted to commit your enchanting loveliness to canvas. Though I am not a good artist, I must say that the result is most pleasing. You have somehow inspired me to a greater art than I have heretofore attained.”

“Nonsense,” scoffed Elizabeth at what she took to be idle flattery. “I doubt that the portrait will fetch nearly as much as the landscape.”

“Certainly it will not, for I have not the least intention of selling it.”

Elizabeth looked at the portrait critically. She could not help but acknowledge to herself that it was a very fine painting, and there was something in the expression, particularly the eyes, which seemed to reflect her heart – her innermost being. She was shocked that this stranger had seemingly penetrated to her very soul, and succeeded in representing it so faithfully. Confusion overcame her, she knew not what to think of him, and abruptly bid him adieu, continuing briskly on her way to the cottage.

***

Lady Darlington was very happy to see Elizabeth, and after making her visitor comfortable and offering her refreshments, told her how happy she was that her son James was come to stay with her for a time.

Elizabeth, who had been too embarrassed to speak of him before, was now obliged to mention their meeting a little way along the lane, and how he had entreated her to allow him to paint her.

“Oh, so you have met James already,” exclaimed his mother, who was anxious to know how Elizabeth liked him. There could be no mistaking Lady Darlington's extreme fondness for her youngest child, whom clearly, she perceived with all the partiality of a loving and devoted mother. Elizabeth felt extremely awkward as she sorted through all the varied and contradictory reactions and emotions to which her recent encounter with the son had given rise, while endeavouring not to displease her hostess.

“I have never met anyone quite so candid. Some of his ideas border on the heretical,” she said uncomfortably. “Perhaps it is the result of being so long at a university. I suspect that such freethinking is more acceptable at such institutions than it is in society at large.”

“Perhaps,” replied Lady Darlington, “although James has been a freethinker, as you call it, from an early age. He has a prodigious love of knowledge and truth; and has always refused to accept anything, simply on the grounds of convention.”

“Is he a follower of Bonaparte?” asked Elizabeth with alarm.

“No, not at all,” laughed Lady Darlington. “He detests him for the bloodshed he has caused. My son is an original thinker, Elizabeth, and I greatly respect him, and am in awe of his prodigious talents. His late father loved him and was enormously proud of him. He had intended to settle a large sum upon James to make him independent and free to continue his studies, and to devote his life to the pursuit of knowledge. But, alas,” she said with a sad sigh, “he was taken from us before it was all settled.”

After a long, sad silence, Elizabeth gave way to the thoughts which were uppermost in her mind. “It is a great misfortune indeed, your ladyship, that Mr Darlington is unable to devote his life to study and the pursuit of knowledge; but we are all of us victims of fate and the limitations of our lives in some way or other. Luckily, for a young man of good birth and education, such as your son, those limitations are not so severe. There are possibilities for making one's way in the world – and respectably so.”

Lady Darlington smiled indulgently. “Yes, I recall you mentioning it on your previous visit. But now that you have met James, can you not see how unsuited he is to the professions to which you allude? He could never be happy as a clergyman, or an officer of the militia or navy, or at the law.”

“But surely, your ladyship, you will concur that we cannot always do that which makes us happy. I cannot believe that Julia can be happy in her present circumstances. Sometimes we must act from necessity. If James is as intelligent and well-informed as you give him credit for, then surely he must see this.”

Lady Darlington made no reply, and Elizabeth felt she had said too much, and spoken too heatedly. “Pray, pardon me for speaking out of turn, your ladyship, it was most ill-mannered of me. It is on account of my sadness and concern at Julia's situation; but I should not have spoken so.”

“Elizabeth, my dear, no apology is due; there is nothing to forgive. I understand your affection and feelings for my darling Julia, but you must not blame James for her present situation; he is in no way responsible. He did not wish for Julia to go up to London, and argued vigorously against it; offering to go in her stead. But Julia would not have it – she is every bit as independent and determined as her brother, James, and though he is now the effective head of the family, Julia would never give way to him over a matter in which she feels so strongly.”

“Why does she feel so strongly that she should be the one to demean herself by employment while James does nothing?”

“James do nothing? Did he not tell you? No I suppose not, for it is all supposed to be a great secret.”

Elizabeth looked surprised. “He said nothing on the subject of earning an income other than that he intended to sell the landscape he was painting – and that he has no intention of making a career as an artist; although I must say, I was most impressed with his work, and am convinced that his prospects are excellent if he persists with it.”

“I agree, my dear, he might do very well as an artist. He is certainly gifted, but he only paints sporadically, when there are bills to be paid. His true love is literature. A number of his sonnets have been published in the quarterlies, and he has also had several prose pieces appear in various periodicals.”

“Goodness, I had not the slightest idea,” said Elizabeth. “These are splendid pastimes for a gentleman with literary talents; but I do not imagine they would ever provide much in the way of an income.”

“Indeed not, my dear. However, James has a particular project upon which he has been working very hard for the past several months; ever since Edwin made his reprehensible intentions known. I am sworn to secrecy and can tell you no more than that; only that it occupies almost all of his waking hours, and that if he is successful, it should provide a substantial income – more than enough to support us all.”

“Whatever can it be?” asked Elizabeth, filled with curiosity.

Lady Darlington deliberately looked away, and Elizabeth was too polite to press her on the subject.

“You will appreciate that I am unable to respond,” she said, after a brief silence. “All I can tell you is that it will require several months of intensive work before James can hope to realise anything from it. That is the reason Julia insisted upon going to London and shouldering the burden of providing for our immediate needs. If James had sought employment, it would have greatly impeded his work on the project.”

Before ending her visit, Elizabeth gave Lady Darlington a dinner invitation from her mother, taking the liberty of extending it to include her son, whom she felt certain, her mother would wish her to invite, also. Elizabeth's expectation, when her mother had proposed the scheme, was that Lady Darlington would almost certainly decline such an invitation, since it was in no way possible for her to return the hospitality. But to her surprise, Lady Darlington accepted the invitation with pleasure. Elizabeth felt sure that her ready assent was entirely on account of the son – be it maternal pride and the wish to show him off, or simply the desire to afford James a pleasant meal and good company, which most likely had become rare pleasures for them in recent months.

Elizabeth was relieved to find that Lady Darlington's son had packed up his artist's paraphernalia and departed when she stepped out into the lane. As he had not joined them indoors, she had feared another encounter, and felt herself quite unequal to a further tête-à-tête with that gentleman, who had excited such confusion in her. Elizabeth, who prided herself on her ready capacity to judge character, found James Darlington a perplexing enigma. Though he was well-favoured in looks and figure, he made little attempt at pleasing, and seemed almost contemptuous of the accepted social conventions and behaviour. That his mother spoke so warmly of him was natural, and to the credit of her maternal heart, but Elizabeth clearly saw the blind partiality of a mother's love in her generous words. She wondered how he would behave in company when he came to dine, and was most curious to know what her father would make of the enigmatic young man. She could not help finding him fascinating, and struggled to put him out of her mind as she made her way home.