Longbourn's Songbird

by Beau North

  They were led into the sitting room, where Catherine was perched rigidly on the end of a high-backed chair as she was every time they visited. Charlotte began to wonder whether she didn’t sit there all day, waiting for callers that would never come. The thought struck her as romantic…and sad. Charlotte wondered what Tennessee Williams would make of Catherine DeBourgh.

  Much to Charlotte’s surprise, Catherine was joined by her daughter that day. Anne stood by the window, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “There you are, finally!” Catherine greeted them with her usual imperious manner. “Mr. Collins, I hope you’ve brought your notes for this Sunday’s sermon. There were several passages in last week’s that were a downright scandal. Have a seat and we’ll get started.”

  Charlotte, completely ignored, stifled a sigh. It would be a long afternoon of bible verses—and mint tea, which she hated.

  “Mrs. Collins.” Charlotte realized that Anne was speaking to her, a sympathetic smile on her face. “How lovely to see you again.”

  Charlotte had only met Catherine’s daughter twice: once at the Carolina Cup and again on her first visit to Rosings House as Mrs. Collins. On both occasions, neither woman had much to say. From what Charlotte understood, Anne frequently suffered from severe headaches and spent a great deal of time in her room. She returned the other woman’s smile.

  “You as well, Miss Anne. But you must call me Charlotte.” If for no other reason than I hate the sound of ‘Mrs. Collins,’ she amended silently.

  “Then you must call me Anne—no Miss.” Charlotte gave her a tentative smile. Anne seemed to consider something for a moment before turning to her mother.

  “Mother, it looks as though you and Mr. Collins have a good deal of work to do. I would hate for Mrs. Collins and me to get in the way of something as important as this.” She cast a sneaky glance at Charlotte, who admired her quick thinking. “Would you mind terribly if the two of us entertained ourselves elsewhere?”

  “Yes, yes, go on.” Catherine waved them off without looking at them. Mr. Collins spared one severe glare for his wife before turning back to his notes. Charlotte’s color rose. It was a look that spoke for itself. It was a look that warned, “Best behavior.”

  Anne led her up the curved staircase, which turned out to be sturdier than it looked. The upstairs portion of the house was far plainer and less gaudily decorated than the formal rooms downstairs. Charlotte followed Anne to a heavy wooden door at the end of a long hallway.

  Charlotte looked around the spacious suite of rooms with interest. It was hotter upstairs, but she considered the heat a fair trade for not having to spend the afternoon with her husband and Catherine DeBourgh. She was immediately drawn to the little table by the window, where a beautiful chessboard was set up.

  “Do you play?”

  Anne nodded towards the chess piece that Charlotte had picked up without even realizing. It was a piece of pale green soapstone, beautifully carved into the shape of a heron. Looking closer, Charlotte could see that the other pieces were similarly carved into bird shapes like owls and peacocks. The pawns were shaped into fat hens. She put the piece back where it belonged.

  “Sorry, no. I just wanted a closer look. It’s beautiful.”

  Anne smiled sadly. “Yes, it belonged to my father. Would you like to learn?”

  Charlotte chuckled. “Lizzie tried to teach me once, but I don’t think she’s got the kind of patience to be a teacher.”

  “Hmm. Why not learn and let it be a surprise for her?”

  To her surprise, Charlotte’s face fell. Anne reached out and took her hand.

  “I’ve upset you! I’m terribly sorry. I’m not used to behaving for company.”

  Anne’s palm was incredibly soft and slightly moist from the heat of the room. Her own pulse seemed to resonate as a throb in the pads of her fingertips, and Charlotte wondered whether Anne felt it. The sensation of another’s skin against her own gave her a little shuddering thrill, but whether it was fear, excitement, or a nebulous combination of the two, she couldn’t say.

  Charlotte pulled her hand away but not before giving Anne’s a little squeeze of thanks.

  “You’re sweet,” Charlotte said, managing a smile.

  “Don’t tell anyone,” Anne said with a laugh. “Our family’s reputation will be ruined forever.”

  “Are you as formidable as your cousin Will Darcy, then?”

  “No one is as formidable as Will. Not even Will.”

  Charlotte nodded. “I think I understand you. Still waters run deep.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  Anne eyed Charlotte, considering. When in Elizabeth Bennet’s vivacious company, everyone else had been easily overlooked. But from the generous curve of Charlotte’s hips to the deep, lake-blue color of her eyes, there was rather a lot that Anne found to her liking. Mostly it was the quiet strength with which she carried herself that Anne appreciated.

  Charlotte took a deep breath and gave Anne a bright, beautiful smile.

  “You know, I think I would like to learn how to play.”

  ***

  Nothing looked the same on the ride back to Pemberley as it had when Richard left, when all he’d been anticipating was a party and time spent with friends. He never would have imagined how drastically his life would have changed in the course of a few days. When he crossed the state line into North Carolina, the finality of it really hit him for the first time. The sliver of hope he’d been holding onto for the last three years was gone—the hope that he might one day be the kind of man that could deserve her. He felt a piece of him break, and he let out the wounded howl he’d been holding inside from the moment she sent him away.

  He almost turned around and went back at that moment, but it wouldn’t have done any good. She was already gone.

  After waking up that morning in a panic, he dressed as quickly as he could and bolted out the door, running down Netherfield’s drive. He got to the road just in time to see the Gardiner’s car drive past. It stopped suddenly, and Elizabeth emerged, tired and red-eyed, her hair in two long braids instead of one.

  She sprinted towards him, throwing herself into his arms. He returned her embrace, and after a moment, she stepped away, standing up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

  “Good-bye, Richard.”

  She ran back to the car and climbed in. He stood there in the road until the car was out of sight, carrying her back to Charleston, back where it all began.

  Now as he turned into Pemberley’s entrance, he thought of the next gauntlet he’d have to face. He felt guilty for the grief he caused his cousin, even knowing how badly Darcy mismanaged things.

  Richard slowed as he passed between the great stone lions that guarded the private driveway to Pemberley Manor. The man at the gatehouse nodded at him. As Richard approached the house proper, he veered off to the left, driving into the garage himself. Darcy’s chauffeur, Stevens, was approaching seventy years old, and he was in no shape to handle the motorcycle.

  “Young Richard!” Stevens greeted him as he killed the engine, emerging from under the hood of Darcy’s green Jaguar.

  “Stevens!” Richard couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the usually impeccable chauffeur, now covered in a pair of grease-spattered coveralls, hurriedly wiping oil from his hands.

  “Miss Darcy has told us to let her know as soon as you got home, sir. I think we are all relieved to have you back.”

  Richard stood and stretched his long limbs while Stevens had one of his assistants take his duffel up to the manor house.

  “Thank you. It’s good to be back,” Richard said automatically. He then looked over at the car Stevens had been working on and frowned.

  “Is everything all right with the Jag? Darcy won’t let anyone near it unless they’re wearing gloves.”

  “Mr. Darcy may have driven it through some water.” Stevens looked a little horrified.

  “How much water?”

  Stevens averted his eyes, unsure. “Mr. Fitz
william—”

  “How much water, Stevens?” Richard had to lean down to hear the man’s answer.

  “The…the French Broad River.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Georgiana managed to hold herself in check for weeks, trying to be good for her brother, but when she saw Richard come in through the entrance of Pemberley’s family wing, she burst into tears, launching herself into his arms.

  “This is a fine hello.” He laughed, kissing the top of her head as he patted her back. She was getting to be tall—not a little girl anymore.

  “Thank God you’re back!” She sobbed. “I’ve been trying to give him his space and leave him alone, but he’s been acting so strange! I was so worried and then yesterday…Richard he could have killed himself!”

  “I take it you’re referring to Will sending his car into the river.”

  He was answered by more sobs and a fresh torrent of tears. Richard found it almost funny that he’d gone from one woman crying over Darcy’s idiocy to another.

  “Where is he now?”

  Georgiana shook her head, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “He spends every night in the music room, but during the day…I have no idea. I’ve tried to have some of the staff follow him, but they’re afraid to.”

  “It’s all right, little sister,” Richard said soothingly, patting her back.

  He led Georgiana into one of the family sitting rooms, guiding her into a seat. He handed her his handkerchief and got up to pour her a drink, laughing at her bewildered expression as he handed her a glass of whiskey.

  “Go on. I’d say you’ve earned it,” he said. “Just this once, mind you. And don’t tell Will. He’d have my hide.”

  She sniffed at it warily.

  “Down the hatch, kiddo.” At his command, she downed the glass, immediately.

  “Good lord!” She sputtered. “You actually enjoy that?”

  He grinned. “Give it a second and you will, too.”

  “Oh,” she said, leaning her head back against the sofa. “I see.”

  Richard smiled and took her hand. “Now, little sister, why don’t you tell me everything?”

  ***

  Anne slumped back against the headboard of her bed and took out her favorite object, a 1923 half-dollar coin. She rubbed her thumb over its surface, the word Liberty nearly worn smooth. The coin had been a gift from her father a few months before he’d died in the train accident that also killed ten other people at Dusty Bend.

  Anne had adored her father. When she was a little girl, he would pick her up and put her on his shoulders, laughing as he deemed her “the world’s tallest Anne.” She would squeal with delight and put her hands on his face to steady herself. She could still remember the feel of his beard under her hands, but she’d long forgotten the exact color of his eyes or the tone of his voice. Memory was tricky that way.

  When she was eleven, she had noticed the coin on his desk and been drawn to the image of Lady Liberty’s bold profile. Her father noticed her interest.

  “Come here, Anya. Let me teach you a trick.” He never called her “Anya” in front of her mother. It was their secret.

  Anne had watched, fascinated, as he’d flipped the coin over the back of his knuckles, making it dance. He’d taught her the trick, and told her it would help calm her anytime she felt tense or anxious.

  In the fifteen years since, Anne had become adept at this trick. She now flipped it rapidly—once, twice, three times—before palming it and returning it to the pocket she had sewn in all of her slips. Her mother was known to be hard-fisted enough to knick loose change from her own daughter, and on occasion her servants.

  Today, it wasn’t her mother that bothered her but the nagging feeling that something was missing. She hadn’t seen Charlotte Collins in several days now.

  Anne had been surprised by how much she enjoyed herself the first time Collins had allowed his wife to keep her company. While Charlotte wasn’t as well read as Anne or as witty as her friend Elizabeth Bennet, Anne found her to be thoughtful, observant, and funny in her own way.

  At first, she had just been glad of the company, but the more time she spent with Charlotte, the more Anne liked her.

  Lately thoughts of spending her day with Charlotte Collins had been getting Anne out of bed early, escaping the stifling presence of Rosings and the watchful eyes of her mother. Even when she was at home, Anne found herself thinking about her new friend.

  She thought of the journal she kept stashed in her mattress, stories her cousins James, Richard, and Will had told her after varying degrees of begging, booze, and blackmail. She knew they found her curiosity amusing, but she wondered whether any of them had ever realized just why she’d always wanted the details of their exploits.

  The fantasies had been enough to sustain her for a while. Anne could read her cousins’—particularly Richard’s—exploits and pretend it was her seducing the senators’ wives, the nurses, and the socialites. But something was different now. Ever since she’d met Charlotte, the fantasies didn’t quite fulfill her the way they used to.

  Frankly, the thought of Leland Collins getting his hands anywhere near Charlotte’s soft, lovely figure made Anne see red. The minister was simple and mean, and never in a million years would Anne consider him worthy of his bride.

  With a heavy sigh, Anne took out the coin again, her finger tracing the pattern of Lady Liberty’s gown. I guess it’s just you and me, gorgeous.

  ***

  Crack.

  Richard’s eyes opened at the sound. After a moment, he rolled over, trying to find sleep again.

  Crack.

  He sat up fully, waiting in the dark until he heard it again.

  Crack.

  “Damn it all to hell.”

  He got up, pulling the curtains back from the window. Darcy’s car was parked on the south lawn with the headlights on. Richard sighed, running his hand through his hair. He dressed hastily, hoping better for this confrontation than the one they had at Netherfield. Richard could swear his face still hurt though the bruises Darcy gave him had long faded. He was still shoving his shoes on his feet when Georgiana’s head peeked in the door to his room.

  “Richard…”

  “I see. I’m going. See Richard go.” He stopped to kiss her forehead. “Go back to bed, Georgie. I’ll talk to him.”

  She sniffed and nodded. “See Georgie go,” she said, patting his shoulder before turning to go back to her room.

  Richard walked across the expanse of lawn to where Darcy stood, barefoot in a pair of dirty jeans and a T-shirt that might have been white once. He held a baseball bat; a hamper full of baseballs sat on the ground beside him.

  Richard watched as Darcy took a ball out of the basket, tossed it straight up, swung the bat, and hit the ball as it descended. Crack. It sailed past their field of vision, disappearing into the dark. Richard whistled. Darcy didn’t turn around.

  “Home run, I’d say. You’ve improved.”

  “If you ever took your head out of your ass, you’d remember that I played All State,” Darcy said, picking up the bottle of beer at his feet.

  Richard smiled, leaning against the car. This was familiar territory. “If I ever took my head out of my ass, I’d have to look at your face. I like my view better.”

  Darcy drained his beer, carelessly tossing the empty bottle aside.

  “What are you doing here, Richard? Come to share your good fortune?”

  “Am I not welcome here?”

  Darcy’s shoulders slumped, and he turned around at last, his face stricken.

  “Of course you are. That’s not what I meant. This is always your home, Richard. I just meant…are you here because you have something you want to tell me?”

  “I have several things I want to tell you. You’re scaring Georgie. You look like shit and smell like a boxcar hobo. You’ll never be as good at baseball as I am. You have that one crooked tooth that always ruins my dinner…should I go on?”

  “Please don’t,
” Darcy said, actually managing to laugh a little.

  “Fine. I’m assuming from this whole Lost Weekend reproduction that you have more beer with you?”

  “Naturally.”

  “Good, because this is going to take a while.”

  ***

  Gardiner Home

  Charleston, South Carolina

  Madeline Gardiner sat at her vanity as she did every night, slowly brushing her auburn hair away from her face and winding it into a neat braid. Her husband, Edward, lay back on the bed and watched her as he did every night. They’d been married for twenty-one years, and though there were threads of gray showing in her red hair, she was still just as beautiful to him as the day he’d married her. Tonight it was not her beauty that held his attention but the far-off, unfocused look in her eyes and the crease that appeared on her forehead when something was bothering her.

  “What’s wrong, Maddie?” Of course, he had a good idea what the answer would be.

  “I’m worried about her, Ed.” In their twenty-plus years in Charleston, her voice had not lost the ring of Appalachia.

  Edward sighed, putting aside the book he’d been pretending to read. His wife was close to all of his nieces. She saw the Bennet girls as her own daughters in a way, especially the two oldest.

  He too had noticed Elizabeth’s despondent silence. She laughed little and joked none at all, a rather strange development for her.

  “We can’t force her to tell us what’s wrong, and this isn’t her first visit to Charleston that’s gone badly. She didn’t say a peep about it then. I doubt she will now.”

  He frowned, remembering the good-looking young man with the troubled eyes he’d seen so often three years ago. Fitz-something. Once his visits ended abruptly, Elizabeth immediately begged to return to Longbourn.

  “Do you think it’s a man this time as well?”

  Maddie laughed and climbed into bed with her husband. “Of course, I do. What trials a woman suffers aren’t brought on by men?”

  ***

  Darcy sat in stunned disbelief at what he just heard. He shook his head.