Georgiana shook her head in the negative. “A few bruises which have already turned lighter in their healing and more scrapes than I care to mention. A major dent in my pride.”
“I assure you, Mrs. Fitzwilliam, that your brother has enough pride for the two of you,” Wickham said sarcastically from behind them.
Elizabeth gently returned Georgiana’s foot to the floor. Turning toward where Lieutenant Wickham sat with his back to them, she picked up a torn sheet from the bed and came to stand beside him. Motioning for the man to remove the blanket, she sat about examining a bruised area under his left arm. Enjoying bringing the man a bit of physical pain, she pressed a bit harder than necessary against his injury. Smiling sweetly, she said, “So you believe Mr. Darcy has too much pride?”
Wickham winced as she poked the swollen area below his left nipple. “You once said…the same…of the man,” he countered.
Elizabeth used her thumb to massage the multicolored area. “You speak the truth, Lieutenant Wickham. I once thought Mr. Darcy was eaten up with pride. Yet, now my husband’s pride does not offend me so much as pride often does, because there is an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that so very fine a young man, with family, fortune, everything in his favor, should think highly of himself. If I may so express it, he has a right to be proud. And despite what you may accuse, Mr. Darcy has never been idle. He has nearly doubled Pemberley’s wealth.”
“I could easily forgive Mr. Darcy’s pride if he had not mortified mine,” Wickham said harshly.
“Pride,” Georgiana observed from where she remained on the cot, “is a very common failing. By all that I have ever read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed; that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some quality or other, real or imaginary. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinions of ourselves; vanity to what we would have others think of us. I would pronounce Fitzwilliam as possessing pride.”
Wickham had turned his head to watch her carefully. “I suppose that means that you would pronounce me vain, Mrs. Fitzwilliam,” he said scornfully.
Georgiana raised her chin defiantly. “Those are your words, Lieutenant Wickham.”
Elizabeth bit back her cheer. Georgiana had suffered so after the girl’s botched elopement with the man. Mr. Wickham had recommended himself to Georgiana, whose affectionate heart had retained a strong impression of his kindness to her as a child, so much so that she was persuaded to believe herself in love, and to consent to the elopement. But fifteen and unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she looked up to almost as a father, Georgiana had acknowledged the whole of the matter to Darcy. Elizabeth’s husband had protected his sister without public exposure of Georgiana’s credit and feelings. Yet, even with the girl’s shame hidden from everyone but Darcy and Edward Fitzwilliam, it was many years before Georgiana would willingly meet another’s eyes. Darcy had required Elizabeth’s assistance in handling a romantic-hearted girl straight from the schoolroom. Over the past three years, she and Georgiana had shared every female confidence possible. They were more than sisters in marriage. “Permit me to wrap your ribs, Lieutenant Wickham,” Elizabeth said as she distracted him from his fixed glare on Georgiana’s countenance. She pressed the heel of her hand against an especially tender spot on his chest. Taking the sheet and tearing it into strips, she began to tightly wrap Wickham’s ribcage. “There. That should assist in the healing, but you should seek a surgeon’s opinion as soon as possible.”
Testing his movements, Wickham stood slowly. “I am eternally grateful for your tender care, Mrs. Darcy, but I will take my leave of you lovely ladies.” He reached for his still-damp shirt. “You require private time to reunite, and I cannot imagine that Darcy will approve of my accompanying you and Mrs. Fitzwilliam.”
Elizabeth straightened and began to clear away the mess. She tossed the pieces of cloth into the fire and casually reached for the water pitcher. “We shall take our loss with a saddened heart,” she taunted. Finally, she paused in her tidying. “Might I ask, Lieutenant Wickham, how you planned to escape our company?”
Wickham stirred uncomfortably. He considered carefully before speaking. “Although I respect your and Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s newfound proficiency in weaponry, I am well aware that neither of you has the desire to shoot an unarmed man. It is not within your natures.” He slipped the shirt over his head and began to stuff the ends of it into his breeches. “Besides, I do not believe you would purposely create widowhood for Mrs. Wickham,” he said confidently.
“You are likely correct, Sir,” Elizabeth observed. “I doubt if Lydia would relish the idea of wearing black for a year. Although I must admit the idea of enjoying my sister’s company on a regular basis does have its merits. I can hardly extend an invitation to Pemberley to the man who tried to kill my husband,” she said tartly.
Wickham chuckled ironically. He resumed his seat and worked his feet into the water-saturated boots. “I understand your objection, Mrs. Darcy.” He stood again. “I do not suppose there is any chance you rode astride?”
“Astride, Lieutenant Wickham?” Elizabeth said coyly. “Actually, I traveled by gig. I have forsaken equestrian pleasures for the time being.” She glanced over her shoulder at Georgiana. “I have not told Fitzwilliam. I wanted to find you first. I am enceinte again. Bennet will have to share his father’s attention with a younger sibling.”
Georgiana’s face lit with delight. “Oh, Lizzy, that is wonderful. We shall raise our children together.”
Elizabeth was instantly in Georgiana’s arms. “Edward will be beside himself with happiness. The Countess will ask the bishop to celebrate your child’s christening.”
On the other side of the room, Wickham cleared his throat loudly. “I hate to be the damp sponge in this family reunion, but I require a horse or a carriage.”
Elizabeth said with a great deal of enthusiasm, “That may be a problem, Lieutenant Wickham. I sent Mr. Jacks with the gig to find Mr. Darcy. Until my husband and his cousin arrive, we shall have to make the best of our situation. Of course, I suppose you could set off across the moor on foot, but as it shall be dark soon. I would not recommend it.”
Edward’s patience with the situation had worn thin. “Could we not settle this madness? My wife remains on the moor, and I mean to find her,” he said harshly.
“I have instructed Weir to release each of those held below. He has moved them into the smaller bedchambers and has arranged food and clothing,” Darcy said. “Those who fought in Lady Wotherspoon’s behalf are locked away in the cells they once protected.”
“A taste of the horrors they inflicted on others,” Edward said ironically.
Darcy smiled wryly. “A fit ending.” He gestured to where Wotherspoon spoke softly to Lady Margaret. “We cannot hide what has happened here. Too many people possess a knowledge of Lady Wotherspoon’s evil to mask the events.”
Edward said softly. “What do we do with Wotherspoon and the woman? Lady Margaret has, obviously, suffered enough—first with Samuel Vincent’s death and then as Normanna’s prisoner. She is enceinte. Has no husband. Has been embroiled in one scandal after another. I am not certain the lady can withstand another. Not in her condition.”
“Lord Wotherspoon appears to hold Lady Margaret in affection,” Darcy observed.
“Are you suggesting that we permit Wotherspoon to escape?” Edward said suspiciously.
Darcy leaned closer to maintain privacy. “Wotherspoon would be termed completely inept in his handling of his mother’s lunacy, but he attempted to protect those taken against their wills, as well as salvaging his family’s legacy. I cannot fault his heart—just his methods.”
Edward said with disgust, “Inept is too kind of a word for the gentleman’s efforts.”
Darcy spoke with sympathy for
what his cousin had witnessed during the war. “I disagree. Wotherspoon treated the prisoners with kindness.”
“Kindness?” Edward hissed. “I was in one of those cells. Filth. Darkness. Starvation. Chained to the wall!”
Darcy countered, “Under Lady Wotherspoon, it was as you have said, but His Lordship made changes. He permitted the prisoners to reclaim their lives. He did it in small increments to allow those kept below time to resume their dignities. Then he bestowed a settlement on each in order that he might rebuild his life. You know better than I the horrors those held as prisoners suffer. You have seen it first hand. But you have also seen how those men continue to suffer when they return to society. I do not know whether Wotherspoon’s method could prove kinder, but the man considered how those who had experienced the worst of Lady Wotherspoon’s evil would resume their daily lives. His actions were not malicious.”
“If it is as you say,” Edward conceded half-heartedly, “then what do you advise?”
“We suggest that Wotherspoon and Lady Margaret retreat to the Continent. The man has evidently proposed previously,” Darcy reasoned.
“I concede to your insights,” Edward said grudgingly. “I will oversee what happens below stairs. You should speak to the couple.”
“How did you manage to reach this cottage?” Elizabeth asked Georgiana. She ignored Lieutenant Wickham’s grumblings and mutterings as she tended to Darcy’s sister. She had unbraided Georgiana’s hair and had combed it with her fingers.
“Everything is a blur. When I ran from the truth of the Countess’s letter, I meant to seek the ruins of a medieval castle I knew in the area. I had visited it several times since coming to Kirkconnel. It is a place I knew I could be alone with my thoughts.” As she had always done with Georgiana, Elizabeth simply listened. She did not judge or put her own interpretation on the tale. She allowed Georgiana to explore her own feelings. “When Bracken stumbled, I felt I was in a race with a terror I could not see, but one that existed nevertheless. Does that sound odd?”
Georgiana turned her eyes to Elizabeth as if she expected censure, but Elizabeth busied herself with smoothing the tangles from the girl’s hair. “The moors hold many dangers. Who is to say what is real and what is not. If you believed someone or something pursued you, then so do I. You have never told me an untruth.”
Georgiana’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you, Elizabeth,” she murmured. “Even after Bracken galloped away, I ran, but my foot caught in a rabbit hole, and I went down. When I first woke in this cabin, I could not recall how I had come upon it, but over the days since, I have remembered bits and pieces of how it happened. There was a woman. Pretty and fair. She found me on the moor and assisted me to this place.”
“The same woman of whom you spoke earlier?” Elizabeth asked.
Georgiana noted that Lieutenant Wickham had abandoned his plan to leave and now listened to her tale. “At first, I believed so, but my rescuer left me to find assistance. She never returned. The woman who saw me through those early days spoke of Fitzwilliam and Edward, and even of you, Lizzy; and she ordered me not to forsake hope. She told me I was resourceful and strong. The lady taught me how to find food and how to protect my ankle.”
Elizabeth slid her arms around Georgiana from behind. She nuzzled the girl’s cheek. “Your mother,” Fitzwilliam’s wife whispered into Georgiana’s ear. “Your guardian angel.”
“What is that you are saying?” Wickham demanded. “What is it you are talking of? What are you telling Mrs. Fitzwilliam? Let me hear what it is.”
Elizabeth released her, but the feeling of love remained. Georgiana raised her eyes to the man she once had allowed to define her self-confidence. With Fitzwilliam and Edward and Elizabeth, she had discovered a woman she so much preferred to that foolish girl. Mimicking Elizabeth’s earlier tone, she said teasingly, “We speak of angels and of the Devil, Lieutenant Wickham, and whether we would recognize either if he appeared before us.”
Darcy approached Normanna’s master and Lady Margaret. “We must speak honestly.”
Wotherspoon stiffened. “Of course, Mr. Darcy. It be time to summon the magistrate.”
Darcy gestured to a private alcove. They had bound Lady Wotherspoon, but he had noted how the woman had quieted when Lady Margaret told her tale. Darcy would not have the house’s mistress know of what he would suggest. “Keep your voices low,” he cautioned the couple as they settled where he still could observe what occurred in the main hall. “As you say, Wotherspoon, we must inform the authorities.”
The man glanced to where his mother fought against her ropes. “It is to be expected,” he said with resignation.
Darcy cleared his throat. “I had another thought.”
Wotherspoon’s brows met in a deep frown. “I fear I do not understand, Mr. Darcy. Will you or will you not announce Normanna’s shame to the world?”
“The crimes perpetrated by Lady Wotherspoon will become the business of the Scottish government, but to my knowledge, the head of the Wotherspoon family would have known nothing of what has transpired under Normanna’s roof, as the gentleman in question has taken himself off to the Mediterranean to grieve over his father’s passing.”
Wotherspoon’s countenance held his surprise. “You would permit me to save face?”
“I would,” Darcy said flatly. “I am not certain at this point what tale I will give the authorities, nor can I warrant how much of your name I will be able to salvage. Too many people know what has occurred under your mother’s reign to maintain your family’s honor completely. Yet, I will promise to soften the public’s opinion of your involvement in what has occurred.” He turned to the woman. “Lady Margaret, if you desire to return to the safety of Viscount Penworth’s home, I will have someone to escort you.”
“In my condition, I doubt that I would be welcomed,” she observed. “I shall find my own way. However, if you could send a discreet note to my mother advising her of my continued health, I would appreciate it. The Viscountess deserves to know her youngest daughter lives.”
“As you wish, my Lady, but perhaps I could send her news of a happier nature. A note to explain that her daughter has found a man she esteems and with whom she intends to begin a family.”
Wotherspoon caught Lady Margaret’s hand. “Mr. Darcy is correct. Marry me, Margaret. We will abandon our shame and build a life elsewhere. I will devote my days to making you happy.”
Lady Margaret shot a glance at Darcy, but before giving them their privacy, he warned, “I have instructed my men to wait six hours before they ride for the authorities. Not one second more. Am I understood, Wotherspoon?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Darcy. You will hear no more from me on the matter.”
“I wish you happiness, Wotherspoon. Lady Margaret.”
“So, I am the Devil. Is that how it is, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. I bear the label of the ultimate sinner. You think yourself so far above the rest of us,” Wickham charged. “You and the Darcys and the Matlocks and the Fitzwilliams; and, you are nothing but a spoiled, insecure girl.”
Georgiana felt Elizabeth’s hand slip into hers. Her brother’s wife gave Georgiana permission to exorcise her own demons. She could return to Lieutenant Wickham all those retorts that she had concocted over the years.
“Your insecurity does you no credit, Georgiana. It fools no one into believing you humble,” he persisted. “Your insecurities are pride in disguise.”
Georgiana squared her shoulders. “I admit to my insecurities, Lieutenant Wickham. At times, I have acted quite imprudently, but my mistakes were those of young woman finding her way in the world. How will God judge you, Sir? How will our Maker judge a man who requires the world’s approval? Who cannot accept his lot and would steal another’s identity? Who accounts his failures at another’s hands? Who cannot bear his own reflection in the mirror?”
“And whence comes this expertise on the follies of man, Mrs. Fitzwilliam? What makes you an authority on my life?” he asked caustically.
“What is your point, Georgiana?” he demanded.
“As Gideon found, it is easy to blame others for our failures. When I returned to Pemberley after our aborted elopement, I blamed you for my shattered dreams. For my near ruination. Even for your quick desertion of a young girl who had placed her trust in your words of love. Yet, I found an aberration of my own making. To emerge from my arrogance, I had to face the knowledge that God sees our strengths rather than our weaknesses. The weaknesses are our domain. The faults we see in others are often found within our own souls. When I thought you had betrayed my trust, I was slow to admit that I had accepted your attentions because I could not accept my own insensibility. I had sought my identity in someone else’s eyes. Humility requires us to not place ourselves above others. There are no exemptions in life—only arrogance. We bring judgment upon ourselves. My advice, such as it is, suggests that instead of ignoring one’s critics, it is better to embrace them, for they speak the truth. As the Bible says in Matthew 7, ‘Cast out first the beam out of thine eye, and then thou will see clearly to cast out the mote of thy brother’s eye.’”
“Jasper, what are you doing here?” Darcy asked tersely. “I thought you were guarding the gatehouse?”
“This came for you, Sir. A messenger delivered it from the inn. I thought it important. It is from Mr. Jacks.”
The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery Page 32