Imperative: Volume 1, A Tale of Pride and Prejudice (94 page)

“Yes, sir, several letters, I was not sure where she was settling to conduct her business.  Shall I leave them with you?”

“Yes . . .” He glanced through the stack.  “And until further notice, please always leave her post here.  She is still in the kitchens?”

“I believe so, sir.”  Evans cleared his throat.  “She continues to take Cook by surprise.” 

He frowned.  “Mrs. Johns objects to her presence?” 

“Oh, no, no, sir.”  Evans said quickly.  “No, it is simply having the mistress, any mistress entering the kitchens . . .”

“Of course.”  Darcy relaxed.  “It has been quite some time, and I certainly never visited.” 

“Mrs. Darcy asked Mrs. Johns to join her and Mrs. Reynolds for a cup of tea and a chat about the household.  They do not know what to make of her.”

“I suggest that you write to Lowry and Mrs. Gaston at Darcy House, they can easily fill you in.”  Nodding, Darcy dismissed him, and settling back, he thought over the past week since the family had gone.  He and Elizabeth had spent much of the time wandering the house together.  In some ways he felt like a tour guide, reciting the lessons that had been drummed into his ears by various relatives in his youth as they looked upon certain portraits or pieces of art collected from countless tours of the continent.  He could easily imagine how his voice would have taken on a monotone of indifference and how his wife could have listened politely and interjected a word occasionally to assure him that she was somewhat engaged with his speeches, but that would have been with some other woman.  Not his Elizabeth, whose endless curiosity and sense of humour made what could have been an arduous task into an adventure.  Her questions challenged both his memory and his wit, and as a result, they still had only barely visited a quarter of the house. 

“There is no hurrying this tour along with you, love.”  He smiled while he looked over the countless objects in the study.  “I can well imagine a week spent in this room alone, with all of its trophies and their unique stories.  I want to take you places and bring back our own trophies to bore the future generations.”  Chuckling softly, he sighed and thought of his uncle’s prediction that the heir of Pemberley might be born this new year, and how he and Elizabeth had celebrated the year’s arrival entwined before the fire in his bedchamber. 

“So many new experiences for both of us.”  His head fell against the back of the chair and he closed his eyes, reliving every one of them. 

A maid knocked, starting him from his fantasies and he straightened as she set down a tray with coffee.  When she had gone, he drew forward the pile of correspondence and resigned himself to his duties.  Faintly he could hear Georgiana playing and debated joining her, but at that moment he truly did not know what to say.  Things had remained strained between him and his sister since his angry address.

Elizabeth determined that she should simply make herself at home, go about her duties and let Georgiana become used to her, perhaps then she might eventually accept her.  Truth be told, Darcy was happy for Elizabeth’s practical approach towards Georgiana, it was her quiet strength that was helping him to face this terrible situation. 

Picking up a pen he twirled it in his fingers, watching the feather turn as he thought.  “Georgiana cannot reject Elizabeth forever, but in the meantime, I cannot leave her on her own.  And I know that Aunt must be exhausted from the last months.”  He stared out of the window as a beam of sunshine broke through the clouds and the room gradually filled with light.  “This time must not be wasted, not if our goal is to give her a normal life one day.  She needs a purpose, an occupation, a companion.  Someone to teach her, but . . . we cannot bring more people into this yet, perhaps this autumn, when things are settled, but what to do in the meantime?”  Shaking his head he looked back down at the feather.  “I must speak to Elizabeth about this.” 

Throwing the pen back in its tray, he returned his attention to the letters.  Two immediately caught his eye.  One, a mess of blotches, was so clearly from Bingley that Darcy laughed at the sight of it.  The writing over the oddly coloured paper of the second letter was so faint that he could barely make it out.

“What is this?  Crayon?”  He wondered, examining the nearly illegible smudges of the address that someone had traced over in ink.  He drew back with a frown as the distinct odour of manure reached his nose.  “Curious.”  Setting the two interesting letters aside, he went to work on his business correspondence.  Nearly two hours had passed by the time his work was completed, and his steward had come and gone.  Wearily, he stretched his arms over his head and yawned.  “Enough of that.”  He shook the sleepiness from his head and got up to walk around the room.  It was shaping up to be a pleasant morning, and with the increasing sunshine the snow was melting.  He itched to go riding, but he wanted Elizabeth to come with him to enjoy the gift of this unusually warm day. 

Looking to the door, he bit his lip, “I wonder if she would want to go . . .” He thought of her bottom bouncing on a saddle and closed his eyes as his body reacted to the image.  “You are hopeless, Darcy.”  He noticed his face in the window’s reflection, and saw a grinning fool looking back at him.  “Heaven help me, I love being hopeless!”   Catching up Elizabeth’s letters along with the two left from his pile, he made his way to the music room.

ELIZABETH WALKED up from the kitchens and knowing that Darcy had planned to tackle the work he had been neglecting, decided that it was a good opportunity to try and make some inroads with her sister. 

Georgiana watched Elizabeth quietly reading from behind her music.  She wondered again what her brother saw in her when they first met.   Elizabeth was not anything like the girls she had known at school or the women who had paid calls at Darcy House.  Is that what attracted him to her?  He could not seem to sit or stand anywhere without eventually needing to touch her somehow.  He talked so animatedly with her.  He laughed easily, his smile was happy, not the slight lift to his mouth that it once was, but it was his eyes that struck Georgiana.  They followed Elizabeth and the gaze was nothing that she recognized from any person.  Surely Wickham had not stared at her with such intense interest . . .

“That was lovely.”  Elizabeth shattered Georgiana’s thoughts and smiled. 

“Thank you.”  

“Please do not stop, it has been so pleasant listening to you that I was loath to say anything until now, but you seemed to be pausing for a bit.” 

“Oh.”

Darcy arrived at the door but stopped when he heard the sound of their voices.  He leaned on the frame to listen, absentmindedly opening the smudged letter as he did.  Hearing his name, he looked up to watch Elizabeth addressing Georgiana.

 “Fitzwilliam told me how you have always enjoyed your playing, but are there other things that you would like to learn about?  He told me that he employed several masters to work with you.  Was there any subject in particular that you preferred?  Perhaps a different instrument?  He is glad to give you the opportunity to continue your education.”  She laughed, “If it were me, I would be presenting him with a long list of many subjects I would love to learn.”  Georgiana said nothing and Elizabeth tried again.  “Painting?  Fitzwilliam showed me the sketches that you had made.”

“In Papa’s room.” 

“Yes.”  Elizabeth watched her hand rest over her stomach and her eyes close.  She spoke gently, “Do you feel the baby?”  Georgiana’s eyes flew open as Darcy felt a cold hand seemingly grip his heart.  “It is time that you did.  Is this why you have been so quiet this past week?”

“I . . . yes.”

“I have suspected as much.  You are going to have to talk to me sometime, Georgiana.  I thought that we were making a fair beginning before our visitors came and seemingly set us backwards.  I know that you are likely still feeling the sting of your brother’s rebuke, but can you understand his feelings?”

“I suppose.”  She whispered.

Darcy’s eyes turned towards the hidden speaker.
You suppose?

Elizabeth changed the subject again, keeping her off balance.  “Fitzwilliam told you that I know where the portrait is.”

“I am glad that it was saved but I do not understand why I cannot look upon it.  George is my husband.” 

Darcy crumpled the letter in his hand.

Elizabeth spoke strongly, “No.  He is not.”

“How can I have a baby if I am not married?”  She looked up with watery eyes.  Elizabeth crossed the room and sat beside her at the pianoforte.  “Papa loved him like a son, his picture hung next to Fitzwilliam’s, so that must be how he felt about him!  Is it wrong to still have feelings for him?  I . . . I loved him, and I am sure that he loved me.  He seemed so very happy to have me caring for him, and I did!”

“What happened, then?  He did not marry you.”  Elizabeth said quietly.  “Think back to his behaviour, perhaps you only saw what you wished, because you knew that what you were doing was so wrong.”  Georgiana looked up at her and back down to her hands, shaking her head.  “Mr. Wickham has seduced others, Georgiana.”

“But that was his past, cannot a person change?”  She looked at Elizabeth pleadingly.  “How could I have been so wrong?  He was so happy, and so kind.”

“Then he would have married you in a church, with your brother’s blessing.  You know that.  Stop deluding yourself that it could be any other way.  If he truly loved you, he never should have taken you from your home, or where you belonged.”  Elizabeth met her eye.  “He would have taken care of you with the same feeling that you seem to have held for him.  What happened when he stopped being so happy?  You were not found in a clean and comfortable home.  Fitzwilliam’s description of your rooms was difficult to hear for me, and I know that it was heartbreaking for him to observe.” 

“I do not really recall what it was like; I try not to think about it.  It was only the last week or so when we moved to that place . . . he did not mean to be so cross, we . . . we just had no money at the end.  I did not understand what that meant, he talked on and on for weeks before we moved about money and having to get it, and . . . I tried so hard to please him, but . . . I did not know how.  He sold almost everything that I had, my gowns, my jewellery, except for the necklace Papa gave me for my birthday before he died.  And the wedding ring George gave me.”  She looked down to her bare finger and then to the shining band on Elizabeth’s hand.   “I begged George not to take them away.   He said that everything would have brought a better price in London.  We had to give up our cottage and the servants when we moved.  I . . . I had never cooked or cleaned, I . . . I had no education in how to care for him.  He would return home and look around and be so . . . I do not know, dejected.   I . . . what good is embroidering and making pictures from feathers when you have nothing to eat?  He was so sad, and the only time he seemed happy was when he would . . . hold me in our bed.”  She started sobbing harder and Elizabeth wrapped her in a tight embrace.

Outside in the hallway, Darcy felt as if he had been kicked in the gut, he could not breathe and felt like retching.  Scattered by his feet were the letters he had been carrying, and in his hand was the one he had crushed in his fury.  Unseeing, he stared at it as he tried to regain control, but his mind was still at work, and he focussed on what appeared to be the signature of the man he despised appearing in the palm of his hand. 

“Wickham!”  Darcy spat, unfolding the letter and staring at the faint etchings.  Frustrated that he could not read it, he cried out, “WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT OF ME?”  Crumpling it into a ball, he threw the letter forcefully through the open door to land in a cloud of ash upon the glowing coals in the grate.  A small flame erupted and the letter was consumed in a moment.  “THAT is what I wish to do to you, George Wickham!”  He strode into the room and addressed the last of the paper, and spun to face to his sister.  “You still loved him
then
?  Good God!” 

Georgiana gasped and Elizabeth stood.  “Fitzwilliam!”  She hissed and rushed to the door.  She looked out and seeing that the hallway was blessedly empty, picked up the fallen letters before quickly pulling the door shut.  Darcy was staring at Georgiana, his hands balled into fists as he attempted to calm.  Elizabeth tossed the letters onto the sofa and took his hand, clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white.  “He must have written to you almost immediately after they came to that place.  They were there such a short time.” 

“How very good of him.”  He closed his eyes and drawing a deep breath asked tonelessly, “Why?  Why would she forsake everything for him?  Because she felt it was a great romantic adventure?  You just heard her description of it. 
My
sister, selling her belongings and cooking to support her
husband
.  What sort of a husband was he if he could not care for his wife that he
loved
? 
She
was not educated in the duties of a servant because she was a lady, but
he
had the benefit of the gentleman’s education that our father provided.  He had NO excuse for not obtaining gainful employment.  If he
loved
her, he would have gone to the ends of the earth to care for his wife.”  His voice became cutting and it was not lost on either woman.  “Oh, I forgot, they were not married.  No wonder he was only happy in her . . .”  He choked, he could not speak of his sister in Wickham’s bed.  The image of it was imprinted in his mind already.  “Lord, help me.”  Darcy turned to face the fire. 

“Will . . .”  Elizabeth approached and touched his back.

“Did he beat you?”  Darcy asked quietly.

Georgiana gasped.  “No!”

“Did he . . .”  He turned and looked at her steadily,  “Did he encourage you to earn money by any means?”  The room was dead silent and Darcy’s voice was nearly a whisper.  “Answer me.  Did you have to entertain other men, in any form?”

“Fitzwilliam!”  Elizabeth gasped and turned to Georgiana whose hands were at her mouth and her face was growing steadily redder. 

“I have to know.”