A Private Performance

by Helen Halstead

  “Do not be harsh upon yourself.”

  Edward moved away from the bed and stood near the door, where Kitty’s whispers did not carry.

  Kitty looked into Mr. Edgeley’s eyes. Why had she wasted the opportunity to know such a man?

  “If only my papa had been like you, I would have been good.”

  “I have many faults. You, like most of us, have done the best you could do.”

  “No. I have never tried to be good.”

  “You exposed yourself to this infection by going amongst the poor, knowing your own health to be delicate.”

  “I did it only to please Edward.”

  “Yet go there you did. Who can know what God’s purpose was?”

  “What will become of my baby?”

  He met her wide gaze.

  “If I thought this material world made sense, I should despair. One day we will understand God’s will.”

  As they talked, the afternoon advanced, and Kitty slept.

  Edward came out to see Mr. Edgeley into the carriage.

  “I can never thank you enough, sir. You have settled all her fear. May I trouble you to send the carriage back in the morning? There will be no moon tonight.”

  “I will send it back at first light.”

  The Darcy carriage rumbled onto the drive.

  “Mr. Turner,” Elizabeth said. “How is Kitty?”

  “She is sleeping. Mr. Edgeley has just been talking with her.”

  “Mr. Edgeley? Then Kitty’s health is as bad as you feared?”

  “I sent for him because Kitty asked to see him. I would not have you think I have abandoned hope.” She could not hold his gaze for the bleakness she saw in his eyes.

  Darcy and Georgiana alighted and they all went into the house. Mr. Turner’s mother had arrived and they took refreshment with her. Shortly afterwards, having been informed that Kitty would not be able to receive them that day, Darcy and Georgiana departed for Pemberley.

  Elizabeth watched as the carriage disappeared. Seemingly, her little family dwindled away from her. She went for a short walk. Returning, she saw Edward, his head lit up by the gold of the setting sun. “Kitty has awoken,” he said. “Will you come in to see her?”

  CHAPTER 34

  CAROLINE SWEPT UP THE AISLE on her husband’s arm. She paused for a moment by Georgiana.

  “He’s mine now,” she said, in the softest whisper. “He preferred me.”

  “You do not love him!” cried Georgiana. There was a gasp from the assembled guests.

  In the softest hiss, the bride replied, “Perhaps not, but how I shall love Rosings! What made you think you could save him, you little mouse! You cannot save him. Nobody can save him now.”

  Georgiana pushed past the horrid girl and rushed from the church, stumbling into the graveyard. She ran so fast that her tears flew in the wind. She ran through the abode of the dead and found herself in the avenue leading back to the gate.

  She heard a voice cry out, “Georgiana!” He was coming through the gate to her, but she gestured to him to wait there. She ran along the avenue and through the gate to him. He pressed her close in a forbidden embrace. She was raising her lips to his.

  “Joseph,” she said.

  At the sound of that name, Georgiana started awake. She stared into the velvety blackness, pressing her hands to her bosom. The sound of her heartbeat thudded in her ears.

  ‘Oh, oh. How dreadful! Such a wrong, wrong dream and at such a time, when poor Mrs. Turner …’

  She lay awake until the morning brought her cousin to Pemberley.

  He was waiting in the saloon, and stood as she entered. He looked just the same as ever. She could hardly believe it.

  “Henry, you are home from Belgium,” she said, offering her hand to him.

  Still she stared. He was absolutely unchanged. He was Henry Fitzwilliam, her cousin, her guardian, her dear, dear friend. He meant a good deal, certainly, but he was nothing more than that.

  “I believe you have fallen in love, Cousin,” he teased. “You used not to be so distant.” He kissed her cheek. Darcy looked at his sister in surprise, as she stood there.

  “Georgiana, in your sister’s absence, have you no duty to perform?”

  “Of course. Forgive me. Pray, will you not sit down, Cousin?” She rang the bell, and ordered tea. She came back, sat with them by the window and looked out onto the lake. Henry was replying to Darcy’s questions about the battle.

  “I resigned my commission as soon as I decently could.”

  “We are very proud, Cousin. When do you receive your medal?”

  “I did nothing for my men that they would not have done for me. Their loyalty is more that any man could ask.”

  “I doubt not that you have earned it.”

  “It is not enough for our aunt. She demands to know why I am not Brigadier-General Fitzwilliam, ret.” They both laughed, but the girl remained silent.

  Henry shrugged and glanced at Georgiana. Seeing her lost in thought, he said quietly, “I lost a quarter of my men, Darcy, in two days. The officers were brought back to England, but the men—buried in a field. I have written to their families; I cannot leave them to wait, endlessly, for a loved one who simply never returns.”

  “I understand. One of my tenants has asked me to inquire after his son.”

  Georgiana turned her head quickly. “What? Do you mean Bentridge? Has his son neither sent a message nor returned? The army does not inform the families of the fallen? I had no idea of this.”

  “Do not alarm yourself, Georgiana. I imagine they rely upon the officers to do so,” said her brother.

  “Indeed you must not worry. I am culpable for indulging in this gloomy talk in your presence!” said Henry. “I shall turn to a more cheerful theme. I had hoped to be able to present Colonel Kentley to you, but he will be obliged to remain in Paris these many months.”

  “Colonel Kentley?” said Darcy.

  “Yes, his promotion is most timely.”

  “I do not recall the name. Have we met?”

  “No, but I confess I am surprised you have not heard of him. I did not imagine there was any secrecy in the matter.”

  “In what matter, Henry?” urged Georgiana. “Why are you being so mysterious?”

  “Come, come! You will have to tell us now.”

  “My good friend Kentley is engaged to marry Miss Bingley.”

  Georgiana flushed scarlet. Darcy gave a sigh of relief.

  “Of course,” said Georgiana, in a tone of brittle graciousness. “Naturally, we knew she was engaged to be married and we were so delighted.”

  “We have not seen Miss Bingley since she returned from Brussels, and have received no further communication from the Hursts, so …” muttered Darcy.

  Henry looked from one to the other, and smiled.

  “Tell me,” he said. “Did you mistake the identity of Miss Bingley’s intended?”

  Georgiana burst out, “It was told me by Mrs. Hurst, and you did not contradict it in your letters, so we supposed it to be true.”

  “Did I not mention it?”

  “I hope you were not disappointed, Henry.”

  “I was delighted to hear of Kentley’s success. Others may have misunderstood how matters were between us. However, I hazarded a guess at the true direction of Miss Bingley’s inclinations.”

  Georgiana felt an inexpressible calm.

  “It is no brilliant match for Miss Bingley,” said Darcy.

  “Indeed, Kentley has done well. Yet, do you know what he said to me? ‘I am a madman, yet what a splendid creature she is.’” Darcy laughed, but Georgiana was strangely silent.

  “Kentley is of a very respectable family. His promotion is most opportune, for they will not be wealthy. They will live with his mother and older brother for several years at least. He hopes to purchase a small estate at some time, if his wife can be persuaded to part with her fortune. It is tied up in her name for life. He does not see himself being in a position to resign
his commission for many years.”

  “Caroline will want an estate,” declared Georgiana.

  “Will she? Of course you know her so much better than I,” said Henry. “Now you must tell me of the wonders of Deepdene. Father was most gratified at the news you had gone there.”

  “We were not there above three days,” muttered Darcy.

  “I was surprised to hear of your being seen passing through Derby yesterday, for I imagined you would stay much longer with the marchioness. Where is Mrs. Darcy? Taking an early walk, I imagine.”

  “She is at Kympton, Cousin. I am afraid we were in receipt of some worrying news that brought us home early from Deepdene.”

  “Her absence should have been my first concern. Now I understand why you both seem so out of spirits. Tell me what has happened.”

  “Mrs. Turner is gravely ill. It is feared she will not be with us much longer.”

  “Mrs. Darcy will be most grieved if her sister passes. Even you, Darcy, I imagine must have some considerable affection for her, after having her at Pemberley so much.”

  “I have some urgent business,” mumbled Darcy. “Will you excuse me for half an hour?”

  “Of course,’ said Henry. “Let us walk down to the lake, Georgiana.”

  They stood at the lake’s edge, looking out at the grey expanse of the water. Georgiana broke the silence.

  “Fitzwilliam and I are all alone just now. We stopped at Kympton for an hour, but Mrs. Turner was not well enough to receive us. My brother felt we would be relieving Mr. Turner of a burden by going home.” She turned and put her hand on his arm. “Oh, Henry, I fear this will be her final illness. She has seemed so happy since her marriage. How unfair life can be.”

  “Her death would go hard with Mr. Turner, certainly. For myself, there was a time when I would rather have had a few months of happiness, than none.”

  “Dear Henry, are you very unhappy still?”

  He turned to her.

  “Sweetest girl, no. I am long recovered from what seems now a foolish infatuation.”

  She smiled and turned to look over the cold ripples of water.

  “Georgiana—’ He took her hand. “I cannot tell you what your affection and kindness meant to me in those first months after your brother’s marriage. Truly, I think God could not give a man a greater gift than your love.”

  He smiled at her with infinite tenderness. She looked back at him, smiling, but feeling a nervousness too much like fear. Had she not always loved him, better than all the world? Yet she would do anything to put him off. Still he held her hand, enclosed in both of his, as though he would never let it go. If he asked her, she would accept—naturally, she would. She could not deny him anything.

  He went on. “I have learned from you a lesson more precious than gold. Do not look so modest, Georgiana. You do not hold yourself in a fraction of the esteem that others do.” She blushed to the roots of her hair, but said nothing.

  “Dearest Georgiana, you have taught me how much more important is a true and steadfast love than all the wit, beauty and wealth in the world. I would seek a partner whom I love with all my heart and soul, and who values that love. This is what I wish for you and for me.”

  She trembled from head to foot.

  “What have you to say, dear?”

  She looked at him, full of the most unaccountable feeling.

  She thought of the heroine of her favourite novel, who was unable to say nay to her lover when he wished them both to drown themselves in a lake. Georgiana could no longer admire her willingness to embrace that watery death. Still, she must answer Henry, and tried to think of the words.

  In the silence, he turned and looked out over the lake.

  “I wonder where they are, Georgiana.”

  “Who, Henry?”

  “Why, these perfect loves awaiting us. I imagine that we have not met them yet. I am sure I have not met the lady. Until I do, you are the queen of my heart, my child and my dearest friend.”

  She began to laugh and laugh and could not stop.

  He blushed. “You must think me a complete idiot.”

  “No, Henry, not you. Not you.”

  CHAPTER 35

  KITTY DRIFTED INTO SLEEP, barely waking when she coughed.

  At midnight, she awoke.

  “Lizzy,” she whispered.

  “Dearest Kitty.”

  “It was always my secret desire to be like you, Lizzy—” Then came the noisy battle for the indrawn breath. “Am I not a foolish girl?”

  Elizabeth felt an exquisite tenderness then, tenderness like a bruise.

  “I always loved you, Kitty, though I scarcely told you so,” she whispered.

  Kitty smiled. “Do you wuv me, Wizzie?” she gasped. There was a horrible rasping sound from her throat. Elizabeth looked at her in consternation, not unmingled with fear. “You cannot … have forgotten?” Kitty said.

  Only then Elizabeth realised Kitty was laughing at the family joke of a three-year-old Kitty trailing after the sister she adored. Now her eyes, enormous in her thin face, asked for the familiar response.

  “Oh, very well then, I love you,” said Elizabeth, in a poor imitation of the snapped response of old. ‘How I have wasted my opportunities to love!’ she thought.

  Kitty smiled again and her eyes closed.

  Her struggle for breath continued through the night. The physician dozed off at times, but Elizabeth was beyond fatigue. Edward sat in dumb wakefulness on the other side of the bed.

  Towards morning Kitty’s eyes flew open. Elizabeth searched frantically for understanding in their vacancy. Kitty seemingly struggled to see clearly the face before her.

  “Edward,” she whispered.

  “I am here, darling Kitty,” he said.

  “Edward, I made you promise …”

  “I will always hold your memory sacred.”

  “No, Edward.” She looked at him in a moment of clearest focus.

  “I release you.” He saw, in the girl’s eyes, a glimpse of the woman he would never know.

  He sank to his knees, clutching her hands. “Do not leave me, Kitty, I beg you.”

  She put one thin hand upon his face.

  “Thank you, Edward.” His lips framed the question, but he could not speak.

  “You, only you … made me feel … of significance … in the world.”

  Elizabeth covered her eyes with her hand.

  Kitty slept. The silences between gasping breaths seemed interminable.

  Her eyes opened once more. Elizabeth dared not look at Edward, for her sister seemed to stare into another realm. Kitty closed her eyes. There was a sound from her throat, then silence.

  Elizabeth and Edward sat there for a long time in the silence, until Wilkins came and led Elizabeth away, undressed her and unpinned her hair. She put her hands over her ears at the horrible sound of Edward’s cry. She lay on the bed, thinking she might never sleep again, and fell asleep at once.

  Before dawn she awoke and waited for Wilkins. She was numb with weariness, but knew she could sleep no more. She breakfasted with Edward, who seemed not to have slept at all. Elizabeth found her throat so tight that she could not eat. She took a few sips of tea.

  “I hate to leave you, Edward.”

  “Truly, do not concern yourself on that account. Mother is here and I expect the Bingleys this afternoon. I have had a letter from Rushly.”

  “There is none better than my sister to assist you. Has Mr. Darcy sent a carriage for me?”

  “Your coachman says he left Pemberley at first light. The horses will be rested sufficiently to leave before luncheon, if you wish.”

  “Good-bye for now.” For the first and last time, she kissed her brother-in-law’s cheek.

  Wilkins sat with her in the carriage, longing to be of assistance, but her mistress seemed unaware of her existence.

  Elizabeth had not wept since her first knowledge of her sister’s illness. She looked from the window at field and farm-house, sweep
and fell. Nowhere could she see the familiar. ‘Everything is become strange,’ she thought. They reached the gates of her home. ‘No. I am the stranger,’ she thought. ‘Pemberley will never again be so dear to me. This is not truly my home as I am no longer loved and honoured by its master.’

  From the top of the hill, where the drive curved down to the house, she could see right across the lake. On the far side, she made out the distant figures of Georgiana and her cousin. They looked up, and waved. She raised her hand and turned away her head.

  She climbed the steps and went in. Mrs. Reynolds came to meet her. Elizabeth barely took in her words of condolence.

  “The master is with the steward, madam. Shall I send for him?”

  Unhearing, Elizabeth passed her and mounted the stairs to her dressing room. As she went up, the window shades were silently lowered, one by one.

  Once in her night-gown, she said: “Leave my clothes just as they are, Wilkins. You need rest yourself.”

  Alone, she opened the door of her bedroom. In the light coming in at the edges of the curtains, the cold emptiness of the room was revealed, and the undisturbed cover of the bed. She gave a little cry. He was not there, of course. There would be no comfort in the cold silk of those sheets. She went across to the door to his room. He would have slept there, she knew. She would lie in his bed with the scent of him in the sheets. She decided that, if the door were locked, she would give up hope. She reached out, her hand shook, the knob turned, and the door swung open.

  She heard his footsteps cross the room behind her.

  “You wish me to go.” She turned, leaned against the door frame for an instant, took a step towards her own bed and was falling.

  She sighed as his arms caught her. She leant against him.

  “Why did you labour so to steal my heart, only to reject me?” she whispered. “I have loved you from my soul … and you …”

  She moaned as he lifted her into his arms. She felt the warmth of him, of his shoulder against her cheek.

  He said, “My beautiful Elizabeth, why did you not tell me?”

  She wanted to say, ‘I did, I did tell you,’ but it would not have been true. Always she had let him believe that she loved him less than she did.