by Head, Gail
She saw her quarry disappearing down a corridor and quickly followed, rehearsing the scathing speech she meant to deliver once she caught up to him. Rounding the corner, she was stopped in her tracks by the astounding sight of Newcomb entering Lord Grissholm's study. She was still trying to comprehend the meaning of it all when the butler re-emerged moments later, empty-handed, and departed in the opposite direction.
Indignation exploded into passionate anger and a devastating sense of betrayal as she stared at the door shielding the viscount from her fury. So this was the reason for his cordiality and improved manners! Elizabeth felt the heat rise in her cheeks. His attempt to distract her from the fact that he was confiscating her letters had failed miserably and she would tell him so! With deliberate steps, she crossed the hallway and heralded her presence with a forceful knock.
“Come,” Grissholm's commanding voice sounded from inside the room.
Elizabeth entered the room and stood trembling with outrage. “I should like to speak with your Lordship, if I may.”
More than a little surprised, Lord Grissholm rose from his seat behind the desk and waved his hand in the direction of the mahogany armchair that sat facing him.
“Of course, Miss Bennet, please have a seat.”
“I thank you, no. This will not take long,” she said icily. “I only came to say that I find your behavior highly offensive and very ungentlemanly. That you would presume to – ”
“Sit down, madam,” he asserted in a tone quite easily more commanding than her own.
Elizabeth dropped into the plush cushion of the armchair, silenced by his stern expression. Silenced, but not intimidated. She met his steady gaze with fierce indignation as he slowly resumed his own seat.
“Before you vilify my character completely, please be so good as to explain the reason for this outburst.”
“Your lordship knows the reason very well! It sits right there before you.” Elizabeth pointed to her letter accusingly. “And to think I believed you to be an honorable man!”
“Your letter? How could your letter be the measure of my honor?”
“A gentleman of honor would respect a lady's privilege to correspondence and not intercept her letters. Instead of being posted, I see that my letters find their way to your desk!”
Grissholm lips curled mockingly. “Yes, Miss Bennet. It is my ungentlemanly custom to frank a letter before it is posted. Perhaps you feel it is a privilege for the recipient to be graced with your letter and therefore require them to pay the postage?”
“Of course not, but that is beside the point. I – ” her words caught in her throat as he offered up her letter for examination. “I beg your pardon.”
“Indeed.”
“It is just that I have sent letters home nearly every week since my arrival. I have been at Everton above two months now and have not received a single reply. When I saw Mr. Newcomb bring my letter in here – well, I naturally assumed...”
“Do not lay the blame at my door. Every letter you have written has been posted, madam. Your family's dilatory response is not my concern. But if I had to offer an opinion, I would say that it is quite possible your parents are happy they have one less daughter to worry about and are too occupied with so many still at home to send a reply.”
The coldness of his words hit Elizabeth with as much force as if he had reached across the desk and struck her. She looked away, desperately trying to prevent the sudden fullness in her eyes from spilling over. Embarrassed by the insolence of her accusation and the tears threatening to betray her, she quickly rose, continuing to avoid the piercing gaze that would have unraveled her completely.
“I am so very sorry, Lord Grissholm. I had thought…I just…I beg your pardon,” she stuttered awkwardly. “Please excuse me; I have something I must do.” Without waiting to hear his response, she turned and fled the room.
Mortified at the thought of encountering anyone in her current state, she instinctively ran to the closest place that would afford any privacy. Struggling to contain the devastation that threatened to burst her lungs, she reached the small sitting room and quickly slipped inside, collapsing against the door as it closed.
The weeks of worry at not receiving any letters from her family, the frustration of not knowing the reason for the silence, and the humiliation of her deplorable outburst in Lord Grissholm's study all came crashing down on her. A great sob escaped as she sank to the floor.
She wept waves of tears that went from misery to mortification to desolation; and when there were no more tears, she huddled in mute misery heaving great sighs that racked her entire body. At length the sighs subsided as well, leaving her utterly exhausted and alone. Yet even in her shattered state, tortured thoughts of failure continued to assault her.
“What have I done?” she whispered in agony. “Oh, why can I not hold my temper? Wretched, wretched creature! He shall send me packing, and everything will be ruined. I have destroyed Lydia's reputation, and Jane's hopes along with it!”
* * * *
Lord Grissholm sat staring at the door Elizabeth had just exited in a frantic rush of green and yellow muslin. Forcing himself to remain seated, he realized with a growing consternation that he wanted to follow her. He wanted to ease the tears he had seen pooling in her deep brown eyes; tears that by now had surely found their way down cheeks flushed a soft crimson by his harsh words. He knew he should not have spoken so callously. She was obviously at her wits' end with worry about her family and her situation; but her maddening way of challenging him had once again provoked his anger.
For one brief moment, he thought of sending his own dispatch to Hertfordshire demanding an explanation for her family's neglect. Something that would bring relief to Elizabeth's restless worry. But it could not be done yet. It was too soon. He needed more time with her. A letter from her family could very well end his own plans, and he would not allow that. He had the opportunity to exact his revenge on Fitzwilliam Darcy, and he was going to take it, no matter what the cost. Elizabeth Bennet is a means of repaying Darcy and that is all, he thought bitterly. She is no different from any other woman. In the end, they are all the same!
He closed his eyes and a vision of Catherine Monroe came unbidden to his mind. He should have pushed it away, but it was not possible. His carefully-crafted, impenetrable barrier that had protected him for so long was now gone. Slowly, with great care, he examined the feelings that had been buried deep in his heart for nearly ten years; feelings that Elizabeth had unconsciously exhumed.
He had loved Catherine. She had been charming and witty and spirited – everything that Rebecca was not. Much like Elizabeth Bennet, she had challenged him, teased him, forced him to see himself as others did. She had encouraged him to be accountable to his position in life, even though he had yet to assume his role as master of Everton. In short, she had made him want to be a better man. And then Darcy had come along and destroyed it all!
Grissholm shot from his chair and paced the room madly, seeking to escape the painful memories; but he could not. Instead, he was inexorably drawn to the small, elegantly-carved chest that lay hidden behind a stack of books.
He placed it on the desk and retrieved a small key from its silver case in the depths of a side drawer. A faint click broke the silence of the room as he unlocked the chest. It was some minutes before he took a deep, fortifying breath, then slowly raised the lid. Knowing what the box contained was not sufficient preparation for the rush of melancholy that wrenched an involuntary sigh from him.
Gingerly he lifted out a lock of golden hair, feeling its silky softness as he raised it to his lips and breathed deeply the faint traces of her perfume. He gently fingered the bit of faded blue ribbon, conjuring up memories of that day he had taken the token from her. He smiled at the vision of her sitting by the pond, so intent on her task of painting the violets that had defied the lateness of the season. Her bonnet hung down her back, giving the sun full access to her shimmering locks. The afternoon breeze had
tugged playfully at that very curl and the temptation was too great to resist capturing it for himself.
With a start, he shook his head to clear the now painful memory and exhaled deeply. Setting the golden tress aside with great care, he endeavored to quell the trembling in his hand as he reached again into the chest and drew out a letter which bore the unmistakable signs of having been crushed and then smoothed out again. With a heavy heart, he unfolded the single sheet of paper, now somewhat brittle and yellowed with age. The nearly ten years that had passed since he first received the communication did nothing to lessen the profound grief caused by its contents.
“…The matron of Magdalene House could not tell me the name of the seducer, but said he was rumored to be the young heir of a very wealthy family. I questioned the servants and other intimates of the house, and found that one of the upper floor maids had formed a close acquaintance with Miss Monroe, and had heard more of the story from the lady's own lips.
The maid did not know the specific details, but apparently Mr. Monroe had entangled himself in some financial difficulties sufficient enough to bring general disapprobation and shame upon his family, if they were to become generally known.
This knowledge fell into the hands of a student at nearby Cambridge University, who thereby made ungentlemanly demands upon Miss Monroe's virtue, threatening to expose her father and destroy her family if she denied him. The maid did not know the name of this blackmailer, but remembered being told that his family possessed an estate near to Chatsworth.
When it was discovered Miss Monroe was with child, Magdalene House expelled the unfortunate young lady. After some weeks, I was able to trace her to a nearby charitable hospital. Unfortunately, she had died in the act of giving birth to the child. I attempted to locate her grave marker; but as she died a fallen woman, and in penury besides, it can be no surprise that she was buried with few rites, and no headstone.
Having no additional information to present, this completes the investigation you requested and I enclose a summary of expenses...”
Grissholm stared at the letter for some time as a new plan formed in his head. He had at first thought to mete out to Elizabeth the same fate Darcy had inflicted upon Catherine; but now he had a much better idea. He could not help the smirk of anticipation that was growing on his face. He would deliver a greater disappointment to Darcy that would be an exquisitely painful reminder of his loss every day for the rest of his miserable life!
* * * *
Elizabeth hesitated outside the breakfast room and shot a brief smile to the doorman, trying to contain the tinge of pink that rose in her cheeks. She could not dismiss the memory of yesterday's outburst in Lord Grissholm's study, and knew what awaited her on the other side of the door. She had avoided his lordship at dinner with the excuse of a headache, but there was no point in avoiding the inevitable any longer. She would have to face him and the dismissal that was certain to come. Now was as good a time as any. Straightening her shoulders, she entered the room as the clock on the sideboard sounded its seventh chime.
“Good morning, Miss Bennet,” Rebecca smiled warmly. “I hope you are feeling better this morning.”
“I am, very much. Thank you.” A quick look to the head of the table brought both relief and concern at the same time. Lord Grissholm's chair was empty! Was he angry? Did he refuse to sit at table with her after her disgraceful behavior? Rebecca was obviously not informed of the incident and for that Elizabeth was grateful. Trying to keep her voice from betraying her thoughts, she asked, “Is his lordship ill this morning?”
“No, not at all! He said had some kind of important business to attend, and left early.” Rebecca's eyes held a hint of mischief. “If the cat's away, I think the mice should play! It is too beautiful a day to stay indoors. Shall we go on a picnic?”
“And what if his lordship should return and find us out on a lark? You know he dislikes it when we go out alone.”
“Oh, he will not be home until this evening. He is always late when he is away on business. He will never even know we were gone. Please? I know how you love to walk and it has been days since we have spent any time away from the house.”
Elizabeth paused to consider how much her charge had blossomed in the past few months. The extreme shyness was now replaced with a quiet assurance that put a gentle glow in the girl's face – that is, when Lord Grissholm was not around. With a slight sigh, Elizabeth consented to the plan. She could not resist Rebecca's pleading look nor her own desire to be out in the fresh air. The weather was pleasant, much cooler than August weather in Hertfordshire, and it was sure to be her last opportunity to enjoy it before leaving.
“Very well. I shall ask Mrs. Moore to fix us a lunch basket. We can leave after breakfast and be home before dinner.”
Rebecca clapped her hands in anticipation and eagerly turned her attention to finishing her breakfast. Elizabeth ate her own breakfast with a determination to enjoy the day ahead. She was sure she would not have many more days with Rebecca, if any.
It did not take long for the arrangements to be made and very soon the two women set out from Everton, a small picnic hamper on Elizabeth's arm.
For three quarters of an hour they followed the path leading eastward, away from Everton and through the stretch of forest visible from Elizabeth's bedroom window. Gradually, the trees gave way to open fields that rolled into the gentle foothills of Grey's Fell. They continued on for another hour, taking the path leading to the top of the fell before Rebecca finally cried out in good-natured protest. Elizabeth halted abruptly, embarrassed by the tortuous pace she had unconsciously set in her eagerness to be away from Everton and the unhappy future it now represented.
Taking a blanket from the hamper, she laid it on the ground and the two sat down, admiring the view spread out below them. All they could see of Everton was its two topmost chimneys rising above the edge of the forest, but the Irish Sea was clearly visible on the horizon.
“I am sorry to drag you along so rudely. It has been a long time since I have had an opportunity to take a walk such as this. It is breathtaking, is it not?” Elizabeth's eyes sparkled with excitement. “There is a place in Hertfordshire – Oakham Mount – that is very much like this. Excepting, of course, we have no view of the coastline.”
“Do you miss it terribly?” Rebecca leaned back and stared at the sky. “Home, I mean.”
Elizabeth raised her face to the breeze and gazed into the distance for a few minutes before answering.
“At times,” she admitted. “I do miss my family; but I miss my sister Jane the most. The two of us are very close and not having any news from her has been difficult.”
“No news at all?” Rebecca turned to her in amazement. “But why?”
“The situation is…a little difficult.” Elizabeth hesitated, unsure as to how much she should tell Rebecca. “There was a great deal happening when I left home and I suppose there has been little time for letter writing. At least that is what I am hoping. There is a gentleman involved, you see.”
“Oh. A gentleman! How wonderful for your sister. Or is it?” Rebecca was suddenly alarmed that she may have said the wrong thing.
“Yes, it is a wonderful thing,” Elizabeth laughed. “I am very hopeful. When I left Hertfordshire, it was not entirely settled, but I believe they were very much in love and well on their way to becoming engaged.”
A comfortable silence descended as thoughts of love and marriage drifted through both their minds in very different ways.
“Miss Bennet?” Rebecca murmured at last. “I should like it if you would call me Rebecca. Do you mind?”
“No, not at all! In fact, I would like it very much. And will you call me Elizabeth?”
“Oh, yes! That would be wonderful. It is almost like I have a sister again!”
Rebecca's wistful tone brought Elizabeth a twinge of guilt that she had enjoyed the company of so many sisters when others like Rebecca had none. “Do you remember your sister?”
“Only a little. She was much older than I, and always coming and going. But I remember she was very beautiful. Sometimes she would read to me at night. I do remember that. And I believe she would take me on walks – to the park, I think. Sometimes I cannot tell if the memories are real or something I have dreamed. I was so young and it was a long time ago.”
“Does Lord Grissholm ever mention anything about your family?”
“His lordship? Most definitely not!” Rebecca grimaced. “Until you arrived, he hardly ever acknowledged I even existed – which is just fine with me. He frightens me so.”
“Try not to judge him too harshly. Many times people are affected by circumstances we know nothing of. They carry a great burden that makes them appear much worse than they are. Trust me, I know. If you judge a person too quickly, you may live to regret it.”
“Do you have regrets, Elizabeth?”
“Everyone has regrets of one kind or another,” Elizabeth replied playfully. “And this conversation is getting far too serious! We have come on a picnic to enjoy ourselves. Shall we see what Mrs. Moore has put in the basket?”
“Oh yes!” Rebecca sat up and peered into the basket, the conversation instantly forgotten. “I find I am quite famished after our walk.”
They enjoyed a leisurely meal of fruits and cheeses and cold pies while Rebecca related what she knew of the neighborhood, pointing out landmarks visible from their elevation. The landscape was much more severe than the verdant countryside of Hertfordshire, but Elizabeth willingly conceded Cumberland held a peculiar beauty of its own.
After lunch, Rebecca took up pencil and paper that had been packed as well, eager to sketch the scene before her. Elizabeth explored their surroundings a little more before settling down on the blanket with a book of poetry. Before long, the warm sun and gentle breezes lulled her into a pleasant slumber.
The sun was sitting low in the sky when Elizabeth woke with a start. Shaking her head to clear the wispy, tangled thoughts of Jane and Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy and Lord Grissholm, she saw Rebecca, still absorbed in her sketching.