by Rose Lorimer
Jane stood up and took my hands. “I know your heart is kind, Lizzy, and you only want to help him. Charles told me Mr Darcy has lost weight and is not eating well, and is behaving in a very unusual way. He believes something is distressing his friend, but Mr Darcy will not confide in him. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps there is a secret.” Jane pulled me to sit beside her. “But you need to be careful, Lizzy. We still have over two weeks ahead. I do not want to see you hurt… I see the way you look at him. You are falling in love with him.”
But Jane was wrong. I was not falling, for I had already fallen, deep and head first. There was nothing I could do about it anymore. I was a brainless, naïve, stupid, and impressionable young lady — and I was in love with Mr Darcy.
I squeezed my sister’s hands, giving her a tender look, secretly envying her happiness at the side of the man she loved. “Thank you, Jane,” I said, kissing her cheek before leaving the room.
As I walked back to my bedroom, I knew there was no other way. I could not allow that feeling — love — to keep growing inside me. I would not allow myself to become a victim of this situation, especially for a man who could not… who could not… I have no idea what he could not! How could I? The man was an impenetrable fortress whose heart was better guarded than the jewels of the Crown!
I opened my window and saw the sea below. Everything was so empty. Could Mr Darcy ever have any feelings for me? He seemed so distant… so annoyed with me. A sharp pang took my heart. Mr Darcy was unlike any other men I had met. Everything about him beamed: his intelligence, his sensibility, his shy way of receiving compliments, blushing every time somebody had something good to say about him. His blue eyes — my favourite of his handsome features — shining as he teased me.
“…To whom do we owe the gratitude for such a delightful upbringing, Miss Elizabeth?”
“…If women’s intellect was like men’s, would you not say we should have many more philosophers, musicians and artists of your sex, Miss Elizabeth? But, alas, that is not the case.”
“…I can just echo my cousin’s words… I bow to your ‘inferiority’.”
How was I supposed to fight my feelings if every one of them were pointing towards him?
But Jane was right. This whole situation could hurt me. Deeply. Since after that conversation about men and women, Mr Darcy had been decided in avoiding me again.
I should stop thinking about him. That was what I could do for now. Tomorrow? Well, tomorrow will be another day. I would not think about it until it arrived.
Chapter 10
Darcy
Dawn revealed a dark day. Heavy clouds moved quickly across the sky; the freezing breeze from the sea, an invitation to stay indoors and enjoy a good book in front of the fireplace.
As I went down to have my breakfast, I realised it had been three days since I decided to keep my distance from Miss Elizabeth. So far, I had succeeded in my attempts.
I found Bingley leaving the room.
“Ah, Darcy. I must apologise. I need to go to Penzance and solve some problems. Something odd is happening with one of my ships. I hope you do not mind. I will see later. Have a nice day.”
When Bingley opened the door, Mrs Nancarrow was about to knock. “Oh, Mrs Nancarrow. Anything wrong?”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, gentlemen. But there’s a letter for yer, Mr Darcy. It’s an express from London. The boy’s expectin’ an answer.”
“Well, Darcy. I will leave you to your letter. I hope it is nothing untoward,” he said, leaving.
My heart beat wildly. My first thought was for Georgiana. Who else would send me an express if not my uncle? I swallowed hard as I received the letter. I looked around and noticed Richard was not yet at the table. It was still early, and he had not returned from his morning ride. I would need to face the letter by myself. “Would you please attend the messenger, Mrs Nancarrow? The poor man must be freezing. I will send an answer as soon as I have one.”
I headed outside to the small wooden bench facing the sea to read the mysterious letter in private. The cold breeze provided a desired freshness to my burning nerves.
But the letter was not from my uncle. It was from the prison where Wickham was.
I sighed, relieved. The letter was dated five days ago and had been sent to my London house. That was why Mrs Hayford had sent it by express now.
As I read it, my eyes caught words my mind was not yet ready to understand.
“…I am sorry to inform that Mr George Wickham died this morning as the result of the wounds he had suffered in a fight with some other prisoners. Last week, after an ill-fated card game, Mr Wickham was accused of cheating and mercilessly beaten by his companions. Appropriate disciplinary measures were conducted, and all of those involved will be severely punished, some of them facing capital punishment now…”
I trembled and was grateful I was seated. I could hardly contain my weight. Wickham, dead?
“…as per your instructions, to contact you in any important event, I would like to know what you expect us to do with his body. If it is not claimed in two weeks, we will send it to the graveyard of the prison where criminals…”
What have I done? I put the crushed letter in my pocket and closed my eyes. My elbows landed on my thighs as my hands squeezed my head. Wickham had not been a good person, but no one deserved to die like that, beaten to death.
I trembled at the voice in my mind. You are the one who condemned him to this fate. You should have known he would not last in prison!
A paralysing pain spread through my body. A humming noise reached my ears and the world around me disappeared into darkness. I could feel the freezing wind dishevelling my hair. But I could not think. I could not breathe. I could not control my sorrow. “…his body…” In my mind, I knew Wickham — George — did not deserve my sorrow, much less my guilt or suffering, not after all he had done to Georgiana. But I could not help it. The guilt in my heart was growing too strong. Perhaps I had been wrong in separating him from my sister. Perhaps he had really loved her.
Georgiana’s face, bruised and sad, appeared before me along with the recollection of her broken heart. “…he does not love me. He just wanted my money!”
Rage took me again, this time not just against Wickham, but against life. Could it be that everything I held precious in my life would be violated and destroyed? Would some indestructible force always turn every one of my good memories into suffering and pain? What had I done to deserve it?
I opened my eyes, saw my signet ring, and clutched my fist. What was money if I could not buy happiness? What was the worth of jewels, gold or land when my heart was irreparably crushed by deceitfulness and death?
Fat drops of rain reached my face; hard, freezing, falling from the sky as if carrying out my sentence of death. Wickham’s careless face, together with Georgiana’s tearful eyes, appeared before me as the rain hit me with great fury. Images from my nightmares also surfaced; my cruel aunt, and Anne, contrite, hurt…
I shook my head trying to send the images away. But they refused to go. They flooded my mind like the waters of a broken dam devastating everything in its path. The depth of my sorrow was not for any of them alone. It was for all of them, together; the culmination of months of self-control, self-denial and resignation; months of silent suffering. All in vain, because now, of all the circumstances, this was when my self-strength should have served me better.
I tried to take a deep breath, but the icy water choked me. I forced myself to remember where I was, that anyone could find me. It did not work. Even conjuring the image of my haughty uncle, Lord Matlock, and what he would think of me in such a pitiful situation, humiliated like a dog with its tail between its legs was in vain. My gloom was beyond my strength; my sorrow far greater than my shame. There was no relief for my affliction, and I finally surrendered to it.
I slipped from the bench and fell to my knees, the wet soil staining my breeches, water invading my Hessian boots, as I cried out in great despair. “Wh
y God? Why so much suffering in my life? What have I done to deserve it? I, who have always tried to be faithful to what my father taught me? Who always tried to be a good man? Why so many deaths?” I remembered King David’s words, “What is mankind that you are mindful of them, and human beings that you care for them?”
Had God forsaken me?
“WHY?” I roared again, as if my miserable life depended on it. I leaned forward, thrusting my hands in the icy mud, the ground beneath me moving as the rainy waters passed by carrying leaves and pieces of wood. I thought about giving up, following those leaves, plunging myself into the sea, to be free from that pain. I was tired of living in torment. I could not go on anymore.
Then I felt it. A pull on my arm and the muffled sound of someone calling my name. I took my eyes from the wet ground, looking for whomever was there. But I saw nothing, my tears and the rain blinding my eyes.
I felt it again, the pull, now stronger. I looked down at my arm and saw a delicate hand squeezing me and pulling me up. The muffled sound was there again. “Mr Darcy! Please, stand up! You cannot stay in this rain!” The hands left my arm and cupped my face, forcing me to see her. “Please, Mr Darcy. We need to go inside!”
Compelled by her desperate tone, I stood up, but I could not walk and stumbled, almost taking her with me.
More shouts and, suddenly, a much stronger hand steadied my feet, a louder voice reaching my senses. “Come on, Darcy!”
Weeks without eating and sleeping well took their toll. I felt numb, a weak shell ready to break. The sound of the rain penetrated my mind and I surrendered to the cold enveloping me, closing my eyes.
From afar, I could hear voices trying to reach me.
“Miss Bennet, what happened?”
“I have no idea. I found him like this!”
“Do you think you can help me take him to the house?”
The feeling of my feet scraping the ground brought me back. I raised my eyes. I had one arm over Miss Elizabeth’s shoulder. The other one was on Richard’s. They were dragging me back to the house. I did not feel ashamed. I had passed that point long ago. But I put my weight on my feet and began to walk, leaning on them.
“Darcy. Come on, old lad, talk to me. What happened?”
As we entered the house by the servants’ door, I looked at him. If I could trust anyone, it was Richard. I leaned against the wall, and reached for the crushed letter inside my pocket, giving it to him as the incoherent words slipped from my mouth. “Messenger waiting… write an answer… I want his body sent to Pemberley… It is the least I can do for him…” I did not have the strength to explain further.
Richard scowled, took the letter and read it. Understanding appeared in his eyes as he gazed back at me. He pulled me into an embrace and spoke in my ear. “I shall write to them. Do not worry, Darcy. I will ask Mrs Reynolds to prepare the funeral and do whatever is necessary. But we are not attending it. Do you hear me? We are not leaving now.”
His voice had a firm tone, worthy of his position as a colonel. Richard would not brook any contradiction.
I just nodded, content he could ease at least this burden from my shoulders.
“I will fetch some dry towels. Miss Bennet, would you mind staying with him? I will not be long.”
Another shout told me Richard was summoning the servants to bring towels and fetch hot water.
I looked down to see Elizabeth still holding me. She raised her face and I was not sure if her wet face was due to the rain or her tears. I could not help it. I tightened my arms around her, resting my cheek on her damp hair, and took the comfort she was offering me. “Thank you,” was all I could say.
Maids and footmen appeared. Miss Elizabeth and I were wrapped in dry towels and ushered to our bedrooms.
Richard also summoned the local doctor, who after a thorough examination, said, “You just need to eat better and get some rest. A neglected health can always increase the impact of bad news.”
How I wish those things could solve my problems.
Later that night, after dinner was finished, and the ladies had already retired, I gathered enough courage to go downstairs. I found Richard in the small study reading a book and taking a glass of Port. Fortunately, Bingley was too besotted to abandon his wife and had also excused himself for the night.
Richard put his glass down. “Do you care to join me?” I nodded. “Would you like something stronger than Port? I can see where Bingley hides his brandy—”
“No need. Port is fine.” Feeling awkward, I sat in the opposite chair, and in seconds a glass was in my hands.
Richard wasted no time. “Are you feeling better? Darcy, you scared the hell out of me. What happened this morning? I never saw you so desperate in my entire life.”
Feeling all the embarrassment I should have felt that morning, I swallowed the whole contents of my glass in two big gulps, telling him the cause behind my collapse. Then I added, “I am a coward, Richard. A bloody coward. That would summarise the whole thing. I felt so sad, so hopeless. I could not control it. I even thought about… taking my own life.”
“God, no! Darcy, you were not a coward! You are one of the bravest men I know.”
I scoffed. “Yes, quite brave indeed.”
“I mean it. I feel frustrated because I can only imagine what you are going through. What I would not give to unsheathe my sword and shred your enemies into pieces. Fighting against a physical opponent is much easier than fighting an invisible one. You might believe you have lost another battle, but what really matters is winning the war. Keep your faith, Darcy. Do not give up. You have so much to fight for.” He leaned forward. “And I will be here for you. Always.”
Richard’s words were like a balm to my sore heart. And, as usual, he was right. I had Georgiana, and I had Pemberley and hundreds of tenants depending on me. Elizabeth was the only thing I could not have, and I needed to accept it.
That night, when I put my head on the pillow and minutes turned into another sleepless night, I made a very honest prayer. I was tired of feeling guilty and hiding from people who loved me and were trying to help me. I was tired of feeling that bottomless hole in my soul, dragging away all and every hope of happiness. I was tired of being forced to bear things I abhorred; fearful of losing anything I could come to love. But mostly, I was tired of being always tired. Despite my wealth — expensive clothes, elegant carriages, the best horses in the country, a breathtaking property, not to mention social position as an illustrious member of an ancient and respectable family — I was a miserable man. Miserable and lonely. All things dear to me were collapsing at my side, one by one, slipping from between my fingers as someone who tries to hold water.
Only a miracle could save me.
Chapter 11
Darcy
I opened my eyes but it was still dark. Through my window I saw the horizon, red and inviting, and the change of colours in the landscape. I put my robe on and went to the window. There was not a single cloud. As the sun rose, small crystals of ice melted and the brownish grass turned into a festival of tiny lights flickering as the wind blew on them. It was beautiful.
I thought of Elizabeth and wondered if she was admiring the same view. By then, I knew how much she appreciated the raw beauty of this place. I smiled, releasing a long sigh, clouding the panes in front of me. Despite the cold rain, I still had that tingling sensation of her hand touching my face when she forced me to look at her the day before. I was still embarrassed about what had happened, but there was nothing I could do about it. I needed to face the world again.
To my surprise, I found Richard waiting for me outside my door. “How are you, Darcy?” he asked me, putting his hand on my shoulder.
I felt like a young boy. “I am much better, thank you.” He did not press me to elaborate and together we went downstairs.
There we found all the occupants of the house gathering for the meal. Elizabeth’s concerned gaze was immediately on me. I bowed to her, forcing a smile. Her face softened,
and she nodded back, smiling.
As the others shared their impressions about the beautiful morning, Bingley suggested we should explore the area of Sennen Cove and, finally, Land’s End. The journey there would take less than an hour and we could have a picnic. The story of the pirate Captain Samuel Bellamy was shared and the rumours of that being a haunted area just added to the general excitement — except for Miss Wiley. She did not voice her displeasure, but it was very clear in her face.
Once or twice I lifted my gaze just to find Elizabeth’s concerned eyes on me again. Eventually, I would need to give her an explanation. I owed her that much.
Considering the size of our party, we decided to travel in two carriages: Richard, Elizabeth, Miss Wiley and I would go in my carriage, while Bingley and his wife would go on his, accompanied by a maid and two other footmen to take the hampers of food, more carpets, and some chairs.
During our journey, I fell into a deep reflexion while observing the passing fields. The feeling of Elizabeth’s embrace was still too raw on my skin to venture into conversation. Eventually, I looked at her. Her back was turned to me, observing the passing landscape through the opposite window.
“She prefers you…” Richard had said.
“T-This is a mistake. Land’s End is a haunted place. We should not be going there,” Miss Wiley whispered to no one.
I startled. The silent lady had finally spoken — and if I am not mistaken, for the first time in a carriage trip since we left London.
“M-My father knows a man from this region,” she continued to my complete astonishment. “And he said that the ghost of this Captain Bellamy c-c-cursed this place. The nearby villagers say they can hear h-human screams and moans of p-pain coming from the sea at night. I-I just came today because I know the day is bright and sunny, and g-ghosts dislike sunlight. But I know this is a h-huge mistake. Something t-terrible might happen.”