by Jane Odiwe
Chapter 30
Elizabeth left immediately, before anyone else came down for breakfast but not before telling Mrs Reynolds that she had a few errands to run in Kendal, and that she would be returned by the afternoon to avoid the possibility of a search party being sent out for her. Wrapping herself in a voluminous cloak, Mrs Darcy pulled the hood over her bonnet before settling into the unmarked carriage. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself by sporting the Darcy arms. The day was a dismal one. Rain fell from an indigo sky, which cast deep violet shadows over the fells, turning the mere into a sheet of tarnished silver. Alone with her thoughts, all Elizabeth could hear was the persistent drumming of water on the roof of the carriage as they bowled alongside the lake. Her emotions reflected the greyness of the day outside. She could not remember ever feeling so miserable. The man she loved, she could think of no longer in the same terms. Elizabeth could not reconcile the man she knew with this other person, a stranger secretive and guarded. She did not want to recognise the truth: that he was no longer the open, honest, and comforting presence he once had been to her. She fought hard against it, but every feeling gave way to acceptance that she must face the hurtful truth.
Relieved that she had managed to escape so easily without detection, Elizabeth urged the coachman to make haste. As the carriage jolted down the uneven lanes, she looked through the windows at the landscape flying by, thinking all the while of her beloved Darcy. Haunting images rose before her, pictures she did not want to acknowledge, of her husband as a young man in love for the first time with a girl who was prepared to do whatever she needed to ensnare him. Elizabeth remonstrated with herself for being so self-indulgent. She smoothed her gloves over her fingers, stroking and turning the thick gold wedding ring under the leather, reminding herself that whatever she was about to learn, nothing could alter the fact that she was the woman Darcy had chosen to marry. However distressed she felt, the love she bore for the man she had married was undiminished; that could never change. And then, for the first time, she felt the stirrings of the life inside her. All problems vanished for the time being as she waited with bated breath for assurance, one hand held against her gown until she felt the movement again, a flickering like the wings of butterflies, for another moment. Her child, Mr Darcy's child, was making his or her presence felt. Whatever had happened, whatever was about to happen, Elizabeth knew she would never forget this precious moment and smiled with joy.
They made good time and although Mrs Darcy was still a little early to meet Miss Wickham, she decided she would take the opportunity to sit in a coffee house situated opposite the chandler's in order to witness first sight of the woman she had wondered about for so long. A cup of warming chocolate was just the remedy on a cold and miserable day, although when it was served she knew she would not be able to drink a sip. The place was empty; she sat undisturbed watching the few wagons and carts that rumbled past the window as she waited for a first glimpse of the lady she had come to meet. There were not many people about and there was certainly no sign of anyone she imagined might resemble Miss Wickham.
The bell above the door of the coffee house jingled, breaking the quiet hum of domestic activity. A woman Elizabeth immediately recognised as Mrs Younge came into the shop. She looked steadily across at Elizabeth before walking over to her table.
"May I join you, Mrs Darcy?" Mrs Younge asked in a rather pointed and familiar way and, without waiting for an answer, pulled out a chair and sat down.
"I beg your pardon, Mrs Younge, but I am afraid I must leave in a moment," answered Elizabeth, feeling rather shocked by Mrs Younge's rude intrusion.
"I do not think you need to do that, Mrs Darcy. I believe you are here to see me."
Elizabeth was puzzled and could not help showing just how perplexed she felt.
Mrs Younge took out a folded piece of paper from her reticule and placed it on the table. The handwriting on the front Elizabeth knew to be her husband's; the letter, she could see clearly, was addressed to Viola Wickham.
"I do not understand," began Lizzy.
"I am here to represent my sister, Mrs Darcy."
Elizabeth continued to look baffled. "I am afraid I am no further enlightened, Mrs Younge. Please explain yourself."
"My sister, Miss Wickham, could not be here, unfortunately. She is an invalid and is far too weak to make the journey to meet you, however much she would wish to be here. I see you are surprised to find not only myself, but to also hear that I am related to the person you expected to meet this afternoon."
"I confess I am extremely mystified, Mrs Younge, to find that Miss Wickham is your sister, but I do not know if my being cognisant to such particulars is at all relevant. I trust that you also know that I expect to have this matter resolved discreetly and swiftly. I wish to know exactly what it is that you want, for I am certain that if you had only a desire to return this letter you could have accomplished that most easily by post. In short, Mrs Younge, let us have it out. Why did you wish to see me?"
"You will hear me out, Mrs Darcy, I will assure you of that. I shall tell you exactly what sort of man you have married and then we shall see how you defend his actions."
"Mrs Younge, I do not think I wish to stay to hear you out if you are going to address me in such a manner."
"You will stay, Mrs Darcy, because if you do not, I shall make certain that your husband's name and reputation are ruined irrevocably." Mrs Younge put out her hand to pick up the remains of the letter. "In the wrong hands, ma'am, this letter could do untold damage."
Elizabeth sat still, waiting for Mrs Younge to continue. Leaving now would not resolve anything quickly, she knew, and she must keep her wits if she were to come out on top.
"You would not know what it is to suffer, would you, Mrs Darcy?" resumed Mrs Younge. "You have no idea what it is to be abandoned by your mother and brought up in a strange family that does not want you. I hardly remember my father. When he died my mother very quickly found a new husband in the steward at Pemberley House. We took the name of Wickham, and were all set to live there, but my mother felt we would be in the way so we were sent to live in London with her sister. My aunt treated me no better than a servant. Can you imagine, having to skivvy from the age of four?"
Elizabeth hardly knew how to answer. She could not speak.
Mrs Younge's eyes flickered over Elizabeth's countenance. Her expression was contemptuous. "No, I daresay you have no idea of the horrors of my existence. Later, when my mother died, old Mr Wickham invited us to Pemberley. I was not allowed to go but my sister Viola made her fateful trip the year she also met your husband. As a consequence, George made the trip to town in order to find me and has proved to be the kindest of step-brothers ever since."
"But I do not understand, Mrs Younge. I know you were engaged as Miss Darcy's governess. Was the family unaware of the connection?"
"I had been married by then, Mrs Darcy, and I was a widow living from hand to mouth, forced to earn my money as only a woman in penury can in London. Whatever people say, George has always been a loyal step-brother to me. No one at Pemberley knew who I was or my connection to him. Mr Darcy still does not know who I am to this day. George persuaded me to come when the position of governess came up. I'd had little education in my youth, but I was smart enough to muddle through, and in my line of occupation it was easy to obtain references from willing clients. I am sure you are aware of what happened next. George and Miss Darcy were to have been married. Well, Miss Darcy was willing, but her brother soon put paid to it."
Even as she said the words Elizabeth realised the truth. George Wickham and Mrs Younge had been involved together in the conspiracy to extort money by persuading Georgiana that she was in love with Wickham.
"How dare you speak to me of such a travesty of the events that took place. It was a despicable act, to prey on a young and inexperienced woman for her fortune. You are lucky that you were not dealt with for good and for all by my husband."
"You m
ay look at me from your position of superiority with utter contempt; you can have no idea how I was driven to act. But what would you have done, Mrs Darcy, in my position? I may be many things, but I am a survivor."
Elizabeth felt sickened. To be in company with this woman any longer might taint her in some way, she felt. She wished to leave but knew very well there was nothing to be done but see it through.
"But this is all rather irrelevant. I expect you wish to hear about the past, of the time that Viola was invited to Pemberley."
Elizabeth made no comment. She wanted to hear no more but could neither move nor speak.
"Your husband and Viola were lovers," pronounced Mrs Younge with triumph. "George Tissington is the product of their union. She was sent away immediately. Fortunately, she returned to me and so she has had me to thank for finding her a livelihood and keeping a roof over her head. But you cannot know what she suffered when they came to take her child away."
Elizabeth shuddered; her natural instinct was to cover her ears. "It's not true, I do not believe you," she cried, tears smarting in her eyes, pricking behind her lids.
"I have the evidence here," Mrs Younge whispered, leaning toward Elizabeth, in a voice low and cruel. "I want ten thousand pounds for this letter, Mrs Darcy, placed in a bank account for my use only."
"Give me the letter and I shall see that you have your money," cried Elizabeth in a last attempt to have done with it all.
"I'm afraid that will not do," snapped the harridan, pushing the letter back into her reticule. "You have by the end of the week to inform me of the new account, and when all is to my satisfaction I will release the letter."
Elizabeth felt completely trapped. There did not seem to be anything she could do. It was not possible to summon help of any kind. She felt utterly alone, defeated, and tired. "I will do as you say," Elizabeth finally managed to say. She did not know how she was going to accomplish such a feat, but there seemed nothing else to be done except agree to her terms.
"Yes, I think you will," said Mrs Younge, pushing back her chair to stand. "Good-day, Mrs Darcy."
Elizabeth could not move. Stunned like a cornered animal, she was only able to watch her adversary walk away. But with a determination to overcome her feelings, she resolved on one thing: Mrs Younge and her accomplices would never prevail, no matter what power they felt they had. There must be something she could do to protect herself and her beloved Fitzwilliam. The rain outside continued unabated. Rivulets of water ran down the panes of the bow window through which Elizabeth stared, turning everything outside into indistinct shapes and patterns, grey and sombre like the weather itself. Yet however contorted were the images she could see, none were more so than the picture she observed of Mrs Younge arm in arm with a gentleman as she walked away. Elizabeth could not make him out distinctly but the twisted, distorted figure of Mr Wickham was all too plain to observe.
Chapter 31
On Elizabeth's return she was relieved to find a letter from Fitzwilliam waiting for her. She could only hope that it contained good news, but nothing would prevent her feelings of unease as she tore it open.
My Dearest Elizabeth,
I hope this letter finds you well. I write with news to restore your spirits--I have found Georgiana! I am relieved to tell you that there is no great harm done; our young lovers were found by myself at five o'clock this morning sitting outside the very church door where I expected to find them, and looking most remorseful and penitent. Accordingly, on reaching their destination, the recklessness and idiocy of their plan had most fortunately struck a chord with them both. They were sitting within the church porch, it seems, not with any immediate plans of waking the rector to ask him to marry them, but with the sole intention of asking forgiveness and for receiving guidance of the incumbent. Georgiana broke down when she saw me, and as for her foolish suitor, I never saw such a frightened young rabbit. I did my utmost to assure them that I would listen to what they had to say, and I think I can state that you would have been proud, my dearest wife, of the way in which I conducted myself. I did not raise my voice or my hand to Mr Thomas Butler; instead, I listened patiently to their profuse lamentations on folly, forgiveness, and freedom from punishment, each of them declaring the other to be entirely innocent of any crime. I did address them in the severest manner in order that they felt the gravity of their offences, but I have given them hope that in time they might fully acquit themselves. Did I not do well? I hardly recognised myself.
I might add, whatever or however stupidly they have behaved, I could not help but feel a certain sympathy for the star-crossed lovers trembling in awe before me. The speed with which they defended the other, and in particular the way Mr Butler conducted himself throughout our interview, leads me to think that I may very well come to like my intended brother-in-law in time. Of course I have not related the fact that I shall allow such an alliance to eventually take place; we have other matters to deal with first. Fortunately, Georgiana's engagement is not generally known, and therefore I see no immediate problem with its dissolution, apart from pecuniary expenses which may naturally arise. I am to meet with Mr Calladine on the morrow in order to see what may be done. Mr Butler is to return to London in the first instance and await further instruction. I have forbidden any means of communication between them for the present; I am sure you will agree that some form of chastisement for their actions needs to be endorsed--a separation for some duration and abstinence from writing should suffice for the present.
It only remains for me to say that I have brought Georgiana home. She is sleeping now after her ordeal--I thank heaven all has turned out well enough in the end. I have written to Charles also, asking that he might bring you back to Derbyshire as soon as possible. Home--what a wonderfully comforting thought that is--Pemberley, our home, Elizabeth, and everything that pertains to our life together.
Till I can see your beloved face once more--
My love, always,
Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Elizabeth was overjoyed on first reading the letter and went in search of the others to relay its contents. She found Mrs Butler first and was able to comfort and assure her that everything would be done to help the young couple resolve the difficulties that separated them at present. Mrs Butler, though delighted to hear that Georgiana and Thomas had been found, was still overcome by feelings of sorrow and shame. As much as Lizzy persuaded her that she could not be held responsible, that lady said she did not think she could ever recover. Mrs Gardiner tried to placate her friend.
"At least they were both suitably shamefaced about their rash behaviour when Mr Darcy found them, and I'm sure regretted their decision to behave so badly almost as soon as they had departed."
"I imagine they must both have spent a miserable time of it, all in all," said Jane. "I am glad they came to see their mistake in time, and I only hope they will not be too long paying for it."
"They have caused both their families a good deal of heartache," interjected Elizabeth a little crossly. Although she felt immense relief that Georgiana had been recovered, she still knew she was a long way from solving the problems she still faced discussing with her husband. Elizabeth felt quite irritated that he had had to go just when she needed to speak to him most. "I think it will not do them any harm to be apart for a short while. If Georgiana had never agreed to marry Mr Calladine in the first instance we should not be enduring such a deal of trouble."
"I am sure she was only trying to please her family. Daughters are expected to do their duty by their betters; perhaps she thought she had no choice in the matter," added Jane. "Besides, it has been difficult for her not having a mother to guide her footsteps."
"You are quite right, of course," agreed Lizzy, "and poor Georgiana has not been brought up to have a single opinion of her own. Anyhow, that is all changing, thank goodness. I think we are all agreed that she is not the shy girl we knew at first, and with a little more improvement, we shall see her grow into a fine young woman."
"You have been an important influence, Lizzy," said Mrs Gardiner. "There is no doubt that Georgiana has blossomed under your care. We have seen her confidence grow as a result of your concern. This last bout of ill-considered behaviour was effected out of hopelessness and had nothing to do with lack of guardianship."
"I thank you, Aunt, for your kind words, but I seem to have failed her also. If only she had told me of her plans or given me cause to think that she might run away, I know I could have prevented it."
"But that was never likely to happen if Georgiana was intent on running away," said her aunt with a smile.
"No, indeed," remarked Elizabeth with a laugh. "It is forgivable too, now they are reconciled to their mischief. And perhaps it is not so unexpected at her age to behave quite so irrationally and without due consideration. One of the sweet taxes of youth is to act in a hurry and make bad bargains."
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They were to leave Bellingham Hall first thing in the morning. Elizabeth was pleased to be leaving. Her stay in the Lakes had encompassed a whole spectrum of feelings and experiences, from her delight in the landscape and the precious moments with Fitzwilliam to the depths of mortification and horror she felt at the recollection of not only her sister Lydia's behaviour, but also that of Mrs Younge's conduct, whose despicable ways had left her reeling. Soon she would have to face the challenge of confronting her husband. Elizabeth needed to know the truth. She remembered him once saying that disguise of every sort was his abhorrence, yet she could not help believing that there must be a side to her husband's character that she knew nothing about. There was certainly a part of his life that he withheld from her when he visited with the boy. George Tissington was the proof that he had sanctioned the masquerade, and if he had nothing to hide, then why had he not informed her about the boy's true background or his frequent calls upon him?