3. Chapter 2: To who much is given

Chapter 2: To whom much is given

The curate's words haunted Darcy's sleep that night. 'Not strong enough to be a Martin. Not strong enough to be a Martin'. His own response to this challenge hardly served him better. He flushed at the memory of storming from the manse without a word to Bradley.

Unable to sleep, he stood at the windows in his nightshirt, gazing out overt the estate. How can it be, a farmer stronger than me? Knowing he would not sleep further, he reached for the bell to ring for his valet. A sudden realization stayed his hand. Anders is asleep right now. He does not sleep until after I do and is usually up before dawn. He little does he sleep? How would I feel in his place, ready to jump day or night at the sound of a bell? Would I be strong enough not to resent it, to serve so patiently? I pay him well for the task, but still.

He decided to dress without assistance. Quietly he moved down the stairs, nodding absently to the footmen he noticed along the hallways. Do they stay at this post every night? When do they sleep? He could not recall what Mrs. Reynolds had told him regarding the house guard. They had discussed it once and he left it to her jurisdiction.

Unconsciously, his feet carried him to the kitchen, a room in which he had found much boyhood comfort. There too he encountered members of his staff already busy at their trades. How many are at work already while I am still abed? Refusing the food his startled kitchen staff offered, he walked out into the still dark hours of the early morning. Automatically he headed for the stables only to find one of his grooms already at his labors.

"Sir! May I help you, sir?" the young man stammered in surprise.

"No." Darcy replied, surprised by the anger he heard in his own tone. Quickly, he saddled his mount and left the stables at a fast clip.

As he rode through the estate he saw it as if for the first time. Tenant farmers and craftsman began their workdays. Days filled with heavy, hard labor, dawn until dusk, only to trudge home wearily for a meal and the opportunity to do it all again the next day. Moreover, most were thankful to live in a place like Pemberley. The question kept ringing over and over in his mind, Could I live such a life myself?

The thought tormented him, drawing him to ride further and further. Finally, he found himself in a familiar copse, a favorite place for repose. He was not quite sure how he had gotten there. Sliding from his tired mount, he tied the stallion near the small stream that ran through the peaceful grove. Still breathing hard from his ride, his feet carried him to the mossy fallen log he often rested upon.

Pausing as though seeing it for the first time, he reached out to touch the soft moss, noting the curious feathery texture under his fingertips. A far cry from the fine leather of my study. How well would I do if this was the best I had? Heavily, he landed on the log, sighing. Closing his eyes, he tipped his head up, breathing deeply of the smells of the morning. His thoughts wandered again.

Richard, my cousin. Colonel Fitzwilliam. How many nights has he spent in a place like this one? Or worse? I know he has seen battle, even though he will not speak of it. All because he is the second son. If I had an elder brother, what would have been my lot?

Dropping his head into his hands, he rubbed hard at his temples, noticing for the first time the emptiness of his belly. How often have I missed a meal? Have I ever even had to prepare one of myself? Would I even be able to? Where would I be without my staff to do such things for me? I know Richard has cooked for himself when on maneuvers. I know he chooses to at times. Is this sense of helplessness why? How little can I actually do for myself? Disgusted, he sprang to his feet to pace.

What use am ?. Aside from what I own, what value am I? How many masters have I studied under? To read, to write, for history, literature and sums. Cambridge told me I was a man of sense and education that those without such preparation could know and understand little. Yet I stand here and wonder could I measure up to any of those I looked upon so meanly? How much sense dos Richard have--to command men in battle! Yet I lack it because I have no elder brother. Could I take over Farmer Martin's role and fill it half so well? Just how much sense am I really in possession of?

The gentler nicker of his horse drew him to the great beast's side. A velvety black nose pressed his hand, seeking attention, affection. I've been called a good horseman, excellent in the hunt. But what good is it if only for sport? Is that all I can do, spend my days like a child at play in the nursery? Is Pemberley my nursery? Another hunger pang rumbled through his stomach, loud enough for his mount's ears to prick in response. Sighing with resignation to his base nature, Darcy mounted and urged his animal back to the manor house.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~With a sigh he handed his reigns to a waiting groom, nodding his silent approval of the man's service. The young man seemed startled by his master's acknowledgment. What am I that my notice should disquiet him so?

Halfway to the house, Darcy paused, realizing that once he entered he would have to face his staff. Thinking of Mrs. Reynolds's compassionate green eyes, he knew he could not face them, not yet. So he changed directions, not recognizing until he arrived that he was heading for the church yard.

How does the world seem so different from when I stood here just yesterday? He sighed as he stood beside the quiet graves, the warm morning sun kissing his face. A soft bird call broke the silence of the graveyard, a reminder of life in the somber place.

"So you have returned after all." The familiar, kind voice at his shoulder startled Darcy from his reverie. Immediately he flushed, reminded of his earlier rudeness to the curate. Turning, he saw the gentle smile on the minister's face, assuring him all had been forgiven.

The young man drew a deep sigh of relief. "I can see why my Aunt has chosen her own vicar so carefully." A wry grin crept across his face.

"How is that?" He has found his humor once again. That is a good sign. Laughter is a good balm for so serious a heart.

"It does not look good to commit one's vicar to Bedlam, sir. That is surely where she would have sent you if you had spoken to her as you did me yesterday." Although he smiled, the pain was still clear in Darcy's eyes.

"Ah, yes. You are indeed a patient master to keep such a madman in your manse. I believe your Aunt would tell you that is what one should expect for encouraging lowly curates by supplementing their pay." Bradley winked, laughing himself. "Would you break fast with me?"

At that moment, the young man's stomach grumbled again. Blushing, he chuckled, "I suppose I must now. Thank you." Graciously, he offered the older man his arm, relieved that the tension between then was broke. They walked together to the manse, a welcome peace finally descending upon Darcy.

The meal was simple and shared in companionable silence. The young man's hunger kept him silent while the elder knew the value of discretion. He remained keenly aware of the presence of his own servants. It would not do to tempt them to gossip. I would not place such a stumbling block in their path.

Finally, brining a pot of tea with them, they excused themselves to Bradley's study. Taking their familiar places soothed Darcy's ragged nerves further.

"Thank you Mr. Bradley," he said softly, staring out the window.

"You are always welcome here." You have been wrestling with yourself all night, haven't you? That is to your credit young master.

"You have left me with many questions, sir, but few answers."

Bradley simply nodded, allowing the youthful gentleman to speak freely.

"I find I am in need of answers sir." Darcy turned his eyes to the curate now, the intensity of his gaze revealing the depths of his turmoil." You have challenged all that I have been taught about myself, who I am, what I am."

Yes, I have, I suppose. What have you done with that challenge?

"You are right, I do not know if I am strong enough to be a farmer, sir, although I do not much like the thought. So then, what am I? And how is it that I am to fulfill my father's wishes that I become a great man and a great master?"

The curate paused, sipping his tea thoughtfully before he answered. "Young master, you are asking difficult questions."

"Ones that you fully intended me to ask, no?"

Pressing his lips into a smile, Bradley nodded, pride in his blue eyes. "I must confess that was my purpose."

"So then, sir, have you answers for those questions you are forcing me to ask?"

"It is not my answers you need, sir. I believe our good Lord a better source of wisdom."

"Then it is your job as my vicar to…"

"Your vicar? I do not believe I…"

"My vicar." Darcy firmly insisted, the commanding note in his voice sounding like his own father's. "I find myself in great need of your wisdom, sir."

Bradley said nothing, staring into his teacup.

"If you do not fill the living soon, George Wickham will be at my door demanding it as the legacy my father promised him." A dark cloud descended over Darcy's face.

"Surely he would install a curate to carry out the duties of the parish. He is not inclined to the pulpit himself." Bradley's heavy brow lifted in question. "I cannot see him looking far to find one, especially a cheap one."

"The young gentleman scowled. "You know George Wickham as well as I. He is not the man his father was. Would you see him given a place in the church, even on he does not choose to fill?"

"No, but he has not taken orders yet either…" The curate looked away. Carefully he placed his teacup on the small table and rose. Slowly he made his way to the window. Thoughtfully he looked out over the landscape, sighing.

"If he sees the living as available, he will find a way to take orders quickly or force me to keep it open for him until he does. You know he has many friends who do not see him for what he is. I cannot take the chance that he would choose to keep you as curate. He knows you have had a long relationship with our family and that alone would tempt him to put you out. He harbors neither of us good will. Who might he put in your place? Can you risk being separated from your parish?"

Slowly Bradley shook his head, his back to his guest. "Now you have touched my heart, young Darcy." He paused for another long moment. "I have not desired wealth or position, now you are putting me in a position where I must accept it."

"Perhaps, sir, it is so that you may teach me what I am to do with my own."

Bradley turned to stare wide-eyed at the serious young man, a hint of mischief glittering in his dark eyes. A moment later, the curate began to chuckle, then laugh. The laughter overtook him until tears rolled down his cheeks and returned to his seat beside Darcy. "Touché', young master, I cannot argue with such reasoning." Wiping his face with his handkerchief, he added, "I will take the living."

Darcy breathed a deep sigh of relief, sinking back into the deep chair. "Thank you, old friend. I cannot tell you how much that means to me."

A few more quiet moments passed before it was broken by the as yet unanswered question.

"You still have not told me, sir, how then do I see myself and become the man my father wished me to be?"

Bradley shook his head, raking his hair with his hand. "The answer to that is both very simple and quite complex at the same time. I do now know if you will like it."

"I am listening." Darcy leaned forward, elbows on knees, chin in hands, earnestly waiting what the curate offered.

"You sir, are one to whom much has been given and much entrusted. With that blessing comes much responsibility for much will be required of you as well. * Far too few of your rank understand that."

The young gentleman considered these words for a few moments. "My father often said that Pemberley was given to him with the charge to keep it and increase it to pass on to his son, but I do not think this is the responsibility that you are speaking of."

"I suppose, that could be a part of the whole, but by no means is it the greatest part. Your legacy, Fitzwilliam, is important and worth caring for, but there is more here. How many lives are dependent on Pemberley? How many families, children grow up in the shadow of the decisions you make? "

Darcy brows knit in consideration of this new perspective.

"It is indeed a precious trust to be given people under your care, young master. If you wish to be the man your heavenly Father wishes you to be, you will care for His people. Our precious savior taught that the two greatest commandments were to love God and to love his people ** and to love our brothers is in fact to love God. ***"

"I have been taught," Darcy sighed heavily, "to love my family and to protect them and our reputation with everything that I have. Father and my Uncles have long schooled me to protect our name and our legacy, to love that above all else. Now you tell me what I must love are those very people the Ton would declare insignificant." He rubbed hard at his temples.

"Yes, I am afraid I am, sir." Bradley shrugged his shoulders. "It is no easy thing."

"What does it look like, sir? I do not even know where to begin? What will you do with your new-found wealth to obey this very directive?" Although the words were challenging, the young man's tone was seeking.

"A fair and right question, Mr. Darcy, well put and deserving of an answer." Bradley paused, leaning back to think a moment. "In truth, I do not fully know it all yet. But I have considered and these are my thoughts. Though I would like to, simply giving it all away in charity is not good. There are cases of benevolence, but those instances aside, the good book teaches that if a man does not work, neither should he eat.+ I must honor that. So I shall seek to hire those who need work, to give them meaningful labor and references for the future. I do not need many servants, young sir, but there are those who need the employ, so I will keep servants. I want to find a way to provide some education to those who want it, hire a teacher, find a place for classes. Maybe find a small cottage to establish as a place for refuge for young women in trouble. Hire a housekeeper to maintain it. There are so many needs, I will have to pray and seek our good Lord's wisdom to know which of them are given to me to meet."

Darcy smiled at the unconscious excitement in curate-come-vicar's voice. "Your passion is clear in your tone, old friend. We will do well with you as vicar. You will be a very different kind of master. I can see that now. "

"The good book says the greatest will be servant of all. I believe that is how you will be a great man, young Darcy."

Darcy's dark eyes misted. "You think I will be?"

"Yes, sir, I do."

The young man's head fell back against his chair, soaking in the affirmation his mentor so freely offered.

* Luke 12:48** MT 22:37***1JN 4:19+2 Thes 3:10