Unforgiving Temper (31 page)

Darcy's epiphany was interrupted by the sound
of a carriage coming down the lane. Hobbling to the side to make
way, he looked up to see Bingley's anxious face leaning from the
window.

“There he is! There he is! Stop the coach,
Rochester!”

In a flash, Georgiana's worried face appeared
in the window beside Bingley's, the sight of her brother bringing a
wash of relief.

“Oh, Fitzwilliam, we have found you!”

Georgiana bounded out of the coach as soon as
the footman had the door open, running to Darcy and throwing her
arms around him.

“I have been frightened out of my wits! When
the stable master said your horse had come back without you, I was
so afraid that something had happened. I am so sorry! Please
forgive me. It was all my fault for foolishly interfering this
morning and…”

Darcy held his finger to her lips. “It is all
right, Georgie. I am fine; just a slight sprain and a few
well-deserved scrapes and bruises. And you did nothing wrong. It is
I who am sorry for behaving so badly these past few days.”

“Darcy, you look a mess!” Bingley eyed him
with dismay. “You sit a horse better than anyone I know. What in
heaven's name happened to you?”

“It was a humbling experience, but I believe
that I have had some sense knocked into me today – in more ways
than one.”

He laughed grimly at the confusion on both
their faces. “I have a lot of repenting to do and will begin as
soon as I can get cleaned up. Shall we go?”

Casting the make-shift crutch aside, Bingley
eagerly helped his friend into the carriage and they were soon on
their way.

“What happened to you?” Bingley repeated as
he observed Darcy's impatient gaze.

“What happened? I have come to realize that I
cannot stand by and allow Miss Elizabeth Bennet's reputation
to be ruined. I have a plan.”

Coming to a halt in front of Burnham House,
Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam lit from the carriage and took the few
steps to the door in a single stride. Ignoring his cousin's
inhospitable failure to put out the door knocker, he rapped on the
door with his bare knuckles. Having no immediate answer, he knocked
again more loudly. A tenacious third try was finally rewarded with
a greeting from Jamison. Richard knew that the opening of the door
signified Darcy had finally agreed to see him, and he made a direct
line for the study where he knew his cousin would be
entrenched.

“Richard.” Darcy's greeting was
unquestionably chilly.

“I am obviously intruding,” Richard smiled
placidly, “but I have come at mother's bidding, hence the
motivation for my persistence, you see. She is quite unhappy that
you have not accepted her invitation to dine at Tipton this
afternoon. Of course she was hoping you would attend church with
the family beforehand, as well. She sent the invitation two days
ago.”

“Yes, I know. Please extend my regrets to her
ladyship. I am only in town for a few days on pressing business.
Georgiana is not with me and I have a previous engagement that
prevents me from attending either church or dinner today. Another
time, perhaps.”

Darcy's distracted manner did not go
unnoticed. From their boyhood days, Richard had discovered an
uncanny ability to read his cousin's moods, something that was
always vexing to Darcy, but very useful at times such as this.

“Hmm, I detect a definite note of evasiveness
in you, Darcy. Is there anything you care to tell me?”

“No, there is not.”

“Hmm,” Richard mused again. “Quite unlike you
to turn down one of mother's invitations. This engagement must be
very important, indeed.”

“It is none of your business, Richard. I
thank you for coming, and I am sorry to upset Lady Eleanor's plans,
but it cannot be helped. If you will excuse me, I must be going.
Once again, please give my apologies to my aunt and say that I
shall visit her when I am next in town.”

“Very well, if that is your final word, I
shall convey the message; but be prepared to explain yourself when
next you see her,” he warned.

Richard stood deceptively idle as Darcy
gathered a few papers from his desk, looked them over briefly, and
then tucked them into the pocket of his coat. The action was not
wasted on his cousin, who had caught a discerning glimpse of the
topmost paper and realized it was some sort of communication from
Magdalen House. Richard's astonishment was immediate.
What sort
of business would take him to THAT place? To be charitable is one
thing, particularly after Georgiana's disastrous brush last summer,
but to patronize such a charity in person? What could possess him
to do such a thing?

Richard had never been to the infamous
institution in St. George's Field himself, but he had heard enough
of the dissolute form of genteel entertainment from some of the
other officers to make him wonder at his cousin's purpose. It was
not like Darcy to mix with the coarser elements of the ton who
thought nothing of ogling penitent prostitutes and fallen innocents
of society as they attended Sunday services.

Thoughts of pressing the matter were promptly
abandoned at seeing Darcy's increasingly guarded look. Besides,
Richard smiled to himself, there was a better way to really find
out what his cousin was up to.

* * * *

Tense and anxious, Darcy sat forward in the
modest, nondescript hack and watched his progress through the open
window. He had purposely chosen to hire out in order to remain as
inconspicuous as possible when he arrived at his destination.
Absently, he observed the view as it changed from affluent
neighborhoods and manicured parks into a jumble of crowded shops
and dingy warehouses, and it was not long before the carriage
crossed over the Thames at Blackfriar's Bridge, bringing St.
George's Field into view.

The concern in Darcy's brow deepened as he
recognized the moment they crossed the invisible line dividing the
affluent lifestyle that abounded north of the river from the
squalor and poverty of London's south end. The streets were dirty
and ill-maintained – evidenced by the sudden jolt as a rear wheel
struck a deep rut. The same desperate neglect was reflected in the
faces of the people Darcy saw outside the carriage.

Obvious poverty and hopelessness pressed down
on the people wandering the streets – the unwanted dregs of
society. A fresh pang of acute guilt stabbed at his heart. That his
pride and arrogance had brought Elizabeth to such a place was
intolerable. He silently renewed his vow to make amends – whatever
the cost to himself.

Within minutes, the driver slowed the
carriage in front of the address Darcy had given him. They passed
in front of a line of trees, obviously planted to prevent the
prying eyes of those passing by from observing the activity of the
large, two-story structure behind, and then turned in at the first
of two stone gates. Darcy saw that the building facing the street
was one of four which formed a quadrangle with a spacious center
containing well-kept grounds and a large fountain.

The carriage's progress was reduced to a
crawl when it joined a long line of slow-moving carriages that were
carrying their occupants toward the octangular chapel erected at
one of the back corners of the square. Darcy's stomach tightened in
disgust at the number of supercilious church-goers. It mortified
him that he would be numbered among them.

He waited impatiently as one by one, the
carriages deposited their occupants, then moved on to find a place
along the broad, cobbled drive that circled back to the second gate
before opening again onto the tumult of the street beyond.

When it was his turn, Darcy exited the
carriage with a staid countenance and moved toward the chapel
doors. He had not taken three steps when he heard a familiar voice
beside him.

“I see you prefer the repentant ramblings of
– who is it today?” Richard whispered conspiratorially while
reading the pamphlet placed in his hand by the footman posted at
the door, “Ah, Mr. Roberts – than make her ladyship happy? Rather
hazardous, is it not?”

“What are you doing here?” Darcy hissed.

“I might ask the same of you,” his cousin
retorted. “I did not know you had such an eager interest in charity
work. Perhaps it would be interesting to see what it is you
do.”

“I do not take kindly to being followed,
Richard. You would do better to employ your time elsewhere.”

“On the contrary, my dear cousin! I have
nothing better to do than see what you are about – and it does look
intriguing.”

Darcy gave him a withering look. As usual,
Richard was tenaciously stubborn when he was on the trail of a
mystery, and the timing of his cousin's interference was
disastrously awkward.

“Look, just go away and I will explain
everything tomorrow.”

“I think not, Darcy,” Richard's face turned
uncommonly serious. “An institution for penitent prostitutes and
misguided maidens is not the best place for any respectable
gentleman to be seen. The sight of a uniform by your side may draw
away some of the speculation since a soldier's – experience – in
these matters is something to be expected.”

“I am well able to take care of my own
reputation; but I will not draw any further attention by arguing
the point. Just stay out of the way.”

The two men filed into the spacious chapel
with the flow of the crowd. Taking their place, they found
themselves seated but three rows back from the low railing that
separated the curious onlookers from the fair residents of Magdalen
House. The pews in which the visitors sat were not set to face the
pulpit, which rose to a lofty height above the congregation, but
instead put them in direct view of the unfortunate young women
placed on display. Darcy's jaw clenched with renewed disgust as he
noted the blatant appeal for sympathy – and financial support.

“Good heavens!” Richard blurted in a low
tone, “that young girl on the end there is Lord Marlborough's
niece! She cannot be more than fourteen years! I met her at a
Christmas dinner last year. Quite pretty, but very shy, as I
remember. I could not get her to speak more than two words to
me.”

Darcy raised his eyes briefly to the girl.
Even with her golden-brown hair pulled back into a simple knot at
the nape of her neck, she was indeed very pretty – and young. A
fleeting frown crossed Darcy's brow at the sudden thought of how
close in age she was to Georgiana. Clothed in the dull,
grayish-brown gown worn by all the girls, she seemed quite small
and pale. The ordeal of the public display was obviously, and quite
naturally, overwhelming to her. She did not look at anyone, but
kept her eyes fixed upon the low railing that divided the room,
trying her best to ignore the unrestrained, gaping stares of the
visitors.

Turning to look at the rest of the girls
assembled, Darcy quickly searched their faces. He did not want to
see Elizabeth's face among them, yet he could not stop himself from
looking. That she was not there did not ease his pain. Those
assembled for the afternoon's sermon were only a representation of
the more than 200 girls living there. It was almost too much to
contemplate the combined misery Magdalen House represented. He
pulled his mind away from what Elizabeth must be suffering and
tried to concentrate on what Richard was saying.

“She was visiting from the country – Norfolk,
as I recall. Her family must have given her up. She was under
Marlborough's protection. He should have done better by her, but
then he never has been one to show much understanding beyond his
own interests. Tragic for the poor girl.”

Darcy's mouth hardened bitterly. “Innocents
thrown in with practiced prostitutes – what hope have they of ever
overcoming their error when they are forced into such company?”

“Actually,” Richard whispered, “they are
divided by classes of sorts. I doubt the niece would be exposed to
the, um, more experienced ones.” He caught Darcy's questioning look
out of the corner of his eye. “I do not have it first hand. Some of
the officers have talked on the subject from time to time.”

The commencement of Mr. Roberts' discourse
prevented further conversation and Darcy spent the duration of the
sermon with eyes focused on the back side of the bench in front of
him. The petition for the penitent souls to turn from their sinful
state and be redeemed pulled at his heart.
Yes, a soul as
precious as Elizabeth's deserves to be rescued from the hell to
which Wickham has consigned it.

Adding a generous sum to the collection as it
passed in front of him, Darcy glanced once again at the girls now
singing hymns, and shuddered to think how close Georgiana had come
to sharing that same fate. Not that she would have been consigned
to such a place; but she would have shared the same fallen state
all the same.

As Mr. Roberts came to an end of the
services, Darcy breathed a slow, deep breath. The assault his
senses had just experienced would be nothing compared to the
interview that was about to follow. For all the time he had had in
the three days since leaving Hertfordshire, he still did not know
exactly what he would say to Elizabeth when he faced her. He could
only hope his willingness and good intentions would be enough to
overcome her previous objections to him.

Quitting the chapel and its atmosphere of
entertainment, Darcy made his way to the administration offices in
the main building, Richard following silently beside him. After a
quick inquiry of an elderly man at the door, they found the offices
of the governors with little difficulty. As they entered the
anteroom, a nervous young clerk with spectacles perched atop his
long, narrow nose rose from an equally narrow desk and greeted
them. After introductions were made, Darcy stated his business and
then waited as the clerk announced his arrival at the door of a Mr.
Charles Wray.