Unforgiving Temper

by Head, Gail

  With a snort of exasperation, he looked around for his horse, hoping it was standing nearby. It was nowhere to be found. Muttering angry words at his own careless stupidity, he searched about for something substantial enough to support him. At last he found a suitable piece of wood and raised himself off the ground. With halting steps, he made his way to the lane and began the long journey back to Netherfield.

  Having nothing but the efforts of his steps to occupy his mind, thoughts of Elizabeth returned. He recalled the words of the two women and how quick they were to believe the worst. His anger flared at the injustice of it. If they knew her, and it seemed they did, how could they judge her so cruelly? To think she would seek out disgrace was outrageous; and as for her leaving herself unprotected, many a young woman could easily be flattered by a man's handsome face and charming manners and be misled into trusting him.

  His thoughts went to his own sister and her candid words earlier that day. Had Wickham succeeded last summer, would he have turned away from her? Would he have stopped loving her? The thought was too painful. No, he would not. He would always love Georgiana, no matter what. He would do anything for her, even if it meant accepting George Wickham into his life.

  The realization of what Georgiana had been trying to tell him struck Darcy with a sudden, violent force, stopping him dead in the middle of the lane. Did he truly love Elizabeth? He caught his breath at the thought of her. Her captivating smile, her deep brown eyes that brightened with the exercise she was so fond of or equally so when she was provoked, the softness that transformed her face when she spoke of her sister, her discerning measure of his character and teasing manner that urged him to be a better man – all this and more cried out to be loved. Yes, he acknowledged that he loved her even as he saw with vivid clarity what a proud, arrogant fool he had been!

  Darcy's epiphany was interrupted by the sound of a carriage coming down the lane. Hobbling to the side to make way, he looked up to see Bingley's anxious face leaning from the window.

  “There he is! There he is! Stop the coach, Rochester!”

  In a flash, Georgiana's worried face appeared in the window beside Bingley's, the sight of her brother bringing a wash of relief.

  “Oh, Fitzwilliam, we have found you!”

  Georgiana bounded out of the coach as soon as the footman had the door open, running to Darcy and throwing her arms around him.

  “I have been frightened out of my wits! When the stable master said your horse had come back without you, I was so afraid that something had happened. I am so sorry! Please forgive me. It was all my fault for foolishly interfering this morning and…”

  Darcy held his finger to her lips. “It is all right, Georgie. I am fine; just a slight sprain and a few well-deserved scrapes and bruises. And you did nothing wrong. It is I who am sorry for behaving so badly these past few days.”

  “Darcy, you look a mess!” Bingley eyed him with dismay. “You sit a horse better than anyone I know. What in heaven's name happened to you?”

  “It was a humbling experience, but I believe that I have had some sense knocked into me today – in more ways than one.”

  He laughed grimly at the confusion on both their faces. “I have a lot of repenting to do and will begin as soon as I can get cleaned up. Shall we go?”

  Casting the make-shift crutch aside, Bingley eagerly helped his friend into the carriage and they were soon on their way.

  “What happened to you?” Bingley repeated as he observed Darcy's impatient gaze.

  “What happened? I have come to realize that I cannot stand by and allow Miss Elizabeth Bennet's reputation to be ruined. I have a plan.”

  Chapter 17

  Coming to a halt in front of Burnham House, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam lit from the carriage and took the few steps to the door in a single stride. Ignoring his cousin's inhospitable failure to put out the door knocker, he rapped on the door with his bare knuckles. Having no immediate answer, he knocked again more loudly. A tenacious third try was finally rewarded with a greeting from Jamison. Richard knew that the opening of the door signified Darcy had finally agreed to see him, and he made a direct line for the study where he knew his cousin would be entrenched.

  “Richard.” Darcy's greeting was unquestionably chilly.

  “I am obviously intruding,” Richard smiled placidly, “but I have come at mother's bidding, hence the motivation for my persistence, you see. She is quite unhappy that you have not accepted her invitation to dine at Tipton this afternoon. Of course she was hoping you would attend church with the family beforehand, as well. She sent the invitation two days ago.”

  “Yes, I know. Please extend my regrets to her ladyship. I am only in town for a few days on pressing business. Georgiana is not with me and I have a previous engagement that prevents me from attending either church or dinner today. Another time, perhaps.”

  Darcy's distracted manner did not go unnoticed. From their boyhood days, Richard had discovered an uncanny ability to read his cousin's moods, something that was always vexing to Darcy, but very useful at times such as this.

  “Hmm, I detect a definite note of evasiveness in you, Darcy. Is there anything you care to tell me?”

  “No, there is not.”

  “Hmm,” Richard mused again. “Quite unlike you to turn down one of mother's invitations. This engagement must be very important, indeed.”

  “It is none of your business, Richard. I thank you for coming, and I am sorry to upset Lady Eleanor's plans, but it cannot be helped. If you will excuse me, I must be going. Once again, please give my apologies to my aunt and say that I shall visit her when I am next in town.”

  “Very well, if that is your final word, I shall convey the message; but be prepared to explain yourself when next you see her,” he warned.

  Richard stood deceptively idle as Darcy gathered a few papers from his desk, looked them over briefly, and then tucked them into the pocket of his coat. The action was not wasted on his cousin, who had caught a discerning glimpse of the topmost paper and realized it was some sort of communication from Magdalen House. Richard's astonishment was immediate. What sort of business would take him to THAT place? To be charitable is one thing, particularly after Georgiana's disastrous brush last summer, but to patronize such a charity in person? What could possess him to do such a thing?

  Richard had never been to the infamous institution in St. George's Field himself, but he had heard enough of the dissolute form of genteel entertainment from some of the other officers to make him wonder at his cousin's purpose. It was not like Darcy to mix with the coarser elements of the ton who thought nothing of ogling penitent prostitutes and fallen innocents of society as they attended Sunday services.

  Thoughts of pressing the matter were promptly abandoned at seeing Darcy's increasingly guarded look. Besides, Richard smiled to himself, there was a better way to really find out what his cousin was up to.

  * * * *

  Tense and anxious, Darcy sat forward in the modest, nondescript hack and watched his progress through the open window. He had purposely chosen to hire out in order to remain as inconspicuous as possible when he arrived at his destination. Absently, he observed the view as it changed from affluent neighborhoods and manicured parks into a jumble of crowded shops and dingy warehouses, and it was not long before the carriage crossed over the Thames at Blackfriar's Bridge, bringing St. George's Field into view.

  The concern in Darcy's brow deepened as he recognized the moment they crossed the invisible line dividing the affluent lifestyle that abounded north of the river from the squalor and poverty of London's south end. The streets were dirty and ill-maintained – evidenced by the sudden jolt as a rear wheel struck a deep rut. The same desperate neglect was reflected in the faces of the people Darcy saw outside the carriage.

  Obvious poverty and hopelessness pressed down on the people wandering the streets – the unwanted dregs of society. A fresh pang of acute guilt stabbed at his heart. That his pride and arrogance had br
ought Elizabeth to such a place was intolerable. He silently renewed his vow to make amends – whatever the cost to himself.

  Within minutes, the driver slowed the carriage in front of the address Darcy had given him. They passed in front of a line of trees, obviously planted to prevent the prying eyes of those passing by from observing the activity of the large, two-story structure behind, and then turned in at the first of two stone gates. Darcy saw that the building facing the street was one of four which formed a quadrangle with a spacious center containing well-kept grounds and a large fountain.

  The carriage's progress was reduced to a crawl when it joined a long line of slow-moving carriages that were carrying their occupants toward the octangular chapel erected at one of the back corners of the square. Darcy's stomach tightened in disgust at the number of supercilious church-goers. It mortified him that he would be numbered among them.

  He waited impatiently as one by one, the carriages deposited their occupants, then moved on to find a place along the broad, cobbled drive that circled back to the second gate before opening again onto the tumult of the street beyond.

  When it was his turn, Darcy exited the carriage with a staid countenance and moved toward the chapel doors. He had not taken three steps when he heard a familiar voice beside him.

  “I see you prefer the repentant ramblings of – who is it today?” Richard whispered conspiratorially while reading the pamphlet placed in his hand by the footman posted at the door, “Ah, Mr. Roberts – than make her ladyship happy? Rather hazardous, is it not?”

  “What are you doing here?” Darcy hissed.

  “I might ask the same of you,” his cousin retorted. “I did not know you had such an eager interest in charity work. Perhaps it would be interesting to see what it is you do.”

  “I do not take kindly to being followed, Richard. You would do better to employ your time elsewhere.”

  “On the contrary, my dear cousin! I have nothing better to do than see what you are about – and it does look intriguing.”

  Darcy gave him a withering look. As usual, Richard was tenaciously stubborn when he was on the trail of a mystery, and the timing of his cousin's interference was disastrously awkward.

  “Look, just go away and I will explain everything tomorrow.”

  “I think not, Darcy,” Richard's face turned uncommonly serious. “An institution for penitent prostitutes and misguided maidens is not the best place for any respectable gentleman to be seen. The sight of a uniform by your side may draw away some of the speculation since a soldier's – experience – in these matters is something to be expected.”

  “I am well able to take care of my own reputation; but I will not draw any further attention by arguing the point. Just stay out of the way.”

  The two men filed into the spacious chapel with the flow of the crowd. Taking their place, they found themselves seated but three rows back from the low railing that separated the curious onlookers from the fair residents of Magdalen House. The pews in which the visitors sat were not set to face the pulpit, which rose to a lofty height above the congregation, but instead put them in direct view of the unfortunate young women placed on display. Darcy's jaw clenched with renewed disgust as he noted the blatant appeal for sympathy – and financial support.

  “Good heavens!” Richard blurted in a low tone, “that young girl on the end there is Lord Marlborough's niece! She cannot be more than fourteen years! I met her at a Christmas dinner last year. Quite pretty, but very shy, as I remember. I could not get her to speak more than two words to me.”

  Darcy raised his eyes briefly to the girl. Even with her golden-brown hair pulled back into a simple knot at the nape of her neck, she was indeed very pretty – and young. A fleeting frown crossed Darcy's brow at the sudden thought of how close in age she was to Georgiana. Clothed in the dull, grayish-brown gown worn by all the girls, she seemed quite small and pale. The ordeal of the public display was obviously, and quite naturally, overwhelming to her. She did not look at anyone, but kept her eyes fixed upon the low railing that divided the room, trying her best to ignore the unrestrained, gaping stares of the visitors.

  Turning to look at the rest of the girls assembled, Darcy quickly searched their faces. He did not want to see Elizabeth's face among them, yet he could not stop himself from looking. That she was not there did not ease his pain. Those assembled for the afternoon's sermon were only a representation of the more than 200 girls living there. It was almost too much to contemplate the combined misery Magdalen House represented. He pulled his mind away from what Elizabeth must be suffering and tried to concentrate on what Richard was saying.

  “She was visiting from the country – Norfolk, as I recall. Her family must have given her up. She was under Marlborough's protection. He should have done better by her, but then he never has been one to show much understanding beyond his own interests. Tragic for the poor girl.”

  Darcy's mouth hardened bitterly. “Innocents thrown in with practiced prostitutes – what hope have they of ever overcoming their error when they are forced into such company?”

  “Actually,” Richard whispered, “they are divided by classes of sorts. I doubt the niece would be exposed to the, um, more experienced ones.” He caught Darcy's questioning look out of the corner of his eye. “I do not have it first hand. Some of the officers have talked on the subject from time to time.”

  The commencement of Mr. Roberts' discourse prevented further conversation and Darcy spent the duration of the sermon with eyes focused on the back side of the bench in front of him. The petition for the penitent souls to turn from their sinful state and be redeemed pulled at his heart. Yes, a soul as precious as Elizabeth's deserves to be rescued from the hell to which Wickham has consigned it.

  Adding a generous sum to the collection as it passed in front of him, Darcy glanced once again at the girls now singing hymns, and shuddered to think how close Georgiana had come to sharing that same fate. Not that she would have been consigned to such a place; but she would have shared the same fallen state all the same.

  As Mr. Roberts came to an end of the services, Darcy breathed a slow, deep breath. The assault his senses had just experienced would be nothing compared to the interview that was about to follow. For all the time he had had in the three days since leaving Hertfordshire, he still did not know exactly what he would say to Elizabeth when he faced her. He could only hope his willingness and good intentions would be enough to overcome her previous objections to him.

  Quitting the chapel and its atmosphere of entertainment, Darcy made his way to the administration offices in the main building, Richard following silently beside him. After a quick inquiry of an elderly man at the door, they found the offices of the governors with little difficulty. As they entered the anteroom, a nervous young clerk with spectacles perched atop his long, narrow nose rose from an equally narrow desk and greeted them. After introductions were made, Darcy stated his business and then waited as the clerk announced his arrival at the door of a Mr. Charles Wray.

  Ignoring Richard's entreating look, Darcy left his unwelcome companion standing in the anteroom and entered Mr. Wray's office. The governor, a man of some years, with graying hair and a rotund figure, rose from his desk and came forward a little too eagerly to meet Darcy.

  “Mr. Darcy, please come in. I am pleased to meet you. Pleased, indeed! It is an honor to have a man of your position and place in society show an interest in our humble endeavors. May I introduce you to Mrs. Gilman, our head matron?”

  “How do you do, madam.”

  “Very well, thank you, Mr. Darcy,” the tall, thin woman replied crisply in spite of the governor's meaningful look. “Mr. Wray tells me you are here to inquire after one of our girls.”

  “Yes, I am,” Darcy began. “I would like – ”

  “Before you go any further, I must tell you there is a strict policy of no contact or communication between the girls and anyone outside her ward – not even servants or apprentices – without a
leave first had and signed by either the president or two members of the committee of governors.”

  Darcy shifted impatiently at the woman's evident sense of self-importance. “Very well, what needs to be done?”

  “Under normal circumstances, it could be accomplished in very little time, once you have established your connection to the lady in question. However, those circumstances would be at our regular meeting of the committee, which is the first Thursday of every month. That is when they review the petitions for new girls. Unfortunately for you, Mr. Darcy, that was Thursday last and the president, as well as most of the governors – except for Mr. Wray here – has already left. They will not reconvene until next month.”

  Darcy was stunned. Next month! He could not wait that long. He worked to contain the exasperation at having endured public speculation and a very contrived sermon only to be disappointed now. Bitter frustration drove him to his feet, but common sense kept his voice calm and even.

  “Look, I understand the need to protect these young ladies from the outside world, but it is very important that I speak with someone in particular. I am sent by her family who wish for her return.” He looked from one to the other with a meaningful pause that would not be mistaken. “Surely there is something that can be done; an exception under the circumstances?”

  Darcy had not been mistaken in his appraisal of the situation. The portly governor and head matron exchanged a significant look.

  “Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Wray gave him a toothy grin. “You seem to be a man accustomed to action. We do not wish to disappoint you. I believe there may be a way in which we can help.”