"Mr. Wickham," she said. He turned to look at her and his face was as she had never seen it before, contorted into a savage mask of fury.
"It was you! I knew that it must have been you who betrayed us the minute that Darcy turned up."
"Yes,Wickham, I had to! I—"
"Had to? Why? Couldn't you bear anyone else to have some happiness? Your fiance died, so you've been left on the shelf! Have you turned into such a bitter old spinster that you can't stand the idea of my marrying the girl of my choice?"
"No, Mr. Wickham! It was for your sake—yours and Georgiana's."
"For our sakes? Don't make me laugh. And don't think I don't realize why it was Darcy that you made use of. You're hoping to catch him for yourself, aren't you? Well you haven't a chance. That widow Clarke has snared him right enough, and if she hasn't yet, she soon will. And I hope that when you see them together you hurt as much inside as I'm hurting now."
Elizabeth stared at him, too stunned and horrified to speak. He stood looking at her for a moment, his expression filled with hatred and pain. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and left her.
She stood watching him go. Her limbs seemed to have been turned to stone. She wanted to run after him, but somehow she could not work out how to put one foot in front of another. Then, mercifully, she felt behind her the same presence as before, and Darcy was there, his hands on her shoulders.
At once, everything was too much for her and the tears began to run down her face. Quickly but firmly, Darcy drew her away from the crowds and into the shelter of the trees, away from prying eyes. There, in the kindest and gentlest way possible, he pulled her into a comforting embrace, and allowed her to cry on his shoulder. At first, all that she could think of was the way in which Wickham had spoken to her with cruel words, calculated to wound her. Then, as she grew calmer, she suddenly became conscious that she was in Darcy's arms.
Feeling her sobs subside, he held her at arm's length and said, "Feeling better?"
She managed to muster a smile, even though his moving away gave her an acute feeling of loss, and she said in an unsteady voice, “A little.”
"Good girl," he said and, drawing her close again, he kissed her forehead then, after a little hesitation, her cheek. Suddenly, for Elizabeth it was not enough. The pain of Wickham's words, his looks, his rejection, still hovered at the back of her mind, and she needed very badly to drive the pain away. As Darcy's breath was still warm on her cheek, she turned her head so that their lips met, touched and clung briefly.
Her eyes were closed, but she heard Darcy take a ragged breath then felt his kisses brief, even gentle, but increasingly urgent as he kissed both her cheeks, the hollow beneath her ear, and her mouth once more, this time more firmly. He would have released her then. She could feel him drawing away, but that she could not bear.
All thoughts of propriety disappeared as she slid her arms around his neck and pulled his head down towards hers. This time, with a groan, he covered her mouth with his and kissed her long and hard, and she kissed him back until it would have been impossible to say who was kissing whom.
At length they drew apart, but just as Darcy was saying, "Elizabeth, I. . ." they heard the voice of Mrs. Younge saying to Mrs. Clarke, "He came this way I am sure. He must be here somewhere."
Suddenly, Elizabeth remembered that Darcy was as good as promised to Mrs. Clarke, and that she was just an unwanted spinster throwing herself at someone else's man. With a cry, she tore herself free and for the second time that evening ran away from Darcy, this time towards the entrance.
She paid no heed to the curious glances that followed her. Her only concern was to reach the sanctuary of her room and then, if possible, to make arrangements so that she would never have to clap eyes on Darcy, or Mrs. Clarke, or even Mr. Wickham, for the rest of her life.
On her arrival at Lilley Place, Sims admitted her, not looking as surprised as might have been expected. When Elizabeth looked beyond him, standing in the hall was her sister Jane.
"Jane, oh Jane!" she exclaimed running to her sister. She caught her in a warm embrace, but Jane did not seem to have any of her usual exuberance. "Why are you here?" she asked eventually. But when she looked at her sister's serious face, she knew what Jane was going to say before she opened his mouth.
"Mama?" Elizabeth faltered.
Jane nodded. "I've come to fetch you home," Jane said. “The fever came too quickly—Mama died last night."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Elizabeth sighed. At last, everyone in the family had now been provided with mourning black. It was odd, she reflected to herself, how Longbourn did not appear to be any different.
She had somehow expected that the family's loss would be in some way discernible in the brickwork, but everything looked just the same. Even her role had not changed. Mistress of the house for so long in everything but name, she slipped into that position without difficulty.
She also returned to being her father's steward immediately after the funeral, Her father seemed perceptibly older. He did not indulge in any excesses, but appeared lost and lacking in any vitality and he leaned on her more than ever.
Her younger sisters cried on Elizabeth's shoulder and expected her to make everything better, and she did her best, but there seemed to be no one with whom she could share her own grief, no one's shoulder upon which she could cry. However hard she tried to be sensible, she could not help looking back longingly to the time she had spent in Ramsgate.
It was marvelous to be able to enjoy a life without heavy responsibility: more than anything, it had been lovely to feel that if only for a short time, in Darcy, she had someone upon whom she could lean. It seemed now like a story that she had read of someone else's life.
She had hardly spoke to Darcy that night. He had brought everyone in their party home and had listened gravely to Jane's tidings.
“I am so very sorry," he had said. "More sorry than I can express. You will be wishing to leave Ramsgate as soon as possible."
"First thing in the morning, sir," Jane had replied, feeling very adult, what with the grave nature of her errand, and the fact that Lydia had chosen to weep on Jane's shoulder. Just as soon as I can hire a carriage."
“As to that, ma'am, my carriage is naturally at your disposal," Darcy had said politely, thus increasing Jane's confidence tenfold. He had then turned to Elizabeth. “Is there anything else I may have the honor of doing for you?"
“No, thank you,” she replied. To her shame, she could only think, as she looked at him, of how he had held her in his arms earlier, and wish that it could be possible for him to do the same now.
"Anything you need, you may depend on me," he had said, bowing. “Pray convey to your father my deepest sympathies. I will, of course, be calling on him in person as soon as I have arrived at Netherfield."
Mrs. Clarke had sent a similar message, then the two of them had left together. Elizabeth had watched his retreating back and wished that she had the right to lean upon him.
The following morning, rising betimes after a restless night, Elizabeth had gone to her sister's room and found it empty. Expecting to find her at breakfast, Elizabeth went downstairs herself but found only Mrs. Younge at table.
"Perhaps she needed some fresh air," said her hostess doubtfully.
"Well, I hope she doesn't want too much," answered Elizabeth rather tartly. "We must be off in an hour."
Mrs. Younge laid her hand sympathetically on one of Elizabeth's. "My dear, I am so sorry about your news," she said seriously, "and I am more sorry to lose you than I can say. But perhaps Mr. Darcy may bring you to stay with us again. Perhaps at Pemberley next time. I can promise you that you will be very welcome."
Elizabeth smiled, but in her heart she was sure that she would never return. Now that she had time to think, she was covered with shame at the way in which she had clung to Darcy and invited his kisses. His intention had clearly been only to comfort her; it was she who had brazenly forced herself upon
him. Once he had followed his own inclination and married Mrs. Clarke, there would be no more chances for her to stay with him in Ramsgate or Derbyshire.
Whilst they were still at breakfast, they heard the sound of the front door knocker, the door being opened and closed, and then footsteps running upstairs.
“That must be Lydia," said Elizabeth. "I'll go upstairs and see if she wants any breakfast."
There was a touch of urgency about the footsteps that made her a little uneasy. She went to Lydia's bedroom door and tapped softly.
There was no answer so she tapped again, saying, "Lydia, it's me, Lizzy. Are you all right?"
Suddenly the door flew open, and Lydia stood on the threshold. There was a tension in her expression that Elizabeth did not like. "Lydia, are you alright?" she asked again. "Why did you need to go out? I heard you running up the stairs."
"Can I do nothing without . . ." began Lydia, with an explosion of anger that Elizabeth could not remember hearing from her sister before. Then she broke off and said, "Yes . . . yes, of course, I am all right. I just wanted to tell Miss King that we are leaving."
“I see,” said Elizabeth. "Did you manage to give your message?"
"My message?" said Lydia a little wildly. "Oh . . . yes, yes, I saw her. She is very sorry. Lizzy, I have not yet finished packing. May I. . .?"
"Oh . . . oh yes, of course," said Elizabeth quickly. She stepped back, and Lydia closed the door.
Not so long ago, they had helped each other to pack in order to come here; today, Elizabeth definitely felt that Lydia preferred her absence to her presence. She wondered whether in fact her sister had hoped to see Denny, but had not managed to do so. Certainly, she had not acted like a girl who had just seen the man she loved, albeit before an absence that could well be prolonged.
Since arriving home, Lydia had gone about her duties efficiently enough, but she looked rather pale and gave the impression that a large part of her mind was elsewhere. Elizabeth had never challenged her sister about the embrace that she had witnessed during the fireworks. The moment was past, and no one else had seen what had taken place. Lydia was clearly suffering enough, without any intervention from her older sister.
Two days after their arrival from Ramsgate, Mr. Bingley visited Longbourn with Mr. Darcy. Darcy's manner towards Elizabeth was reserved, but the shock of Mrs. Bennet's death and the need to deal with everything involved with it took precedence over what had taken place between them.
There had been no change in Lydia's mood since Darcy's arrival, so obviously he had brought her no message from Denny. Clearly he had deserted her, Wickham would surely have told him about their mother's death: and what faithful lover would have stayed away at such a time?
In accordance with accepted custom, only the men of the household attended the funeral. Darcy and other local gentlemen went in order to pay their respects and returned to the house afterwards for refreshments.
As Elizabeth watched him talking quietly with her father, she almost wondered whether she had imagined the passionate kiss they had shared, so widely removed did it seem from the present. The lurch that her heart gave when she saw Darcy told her that whatever else she might have imagined, there was no doubt that her love for him was real. Before he left, he came over to speak to her. The black coat he wore set off his broad shoulders superbly, and she scolded herself inwardly for noticing such a thing even while she was in mourning.
“I have had letters from Pemberley and there is business that demands my immediate attention."
The news that he was going away filled her with such dismay that for a moment, as she looked up at him, her feelings were written clearly on her face. He took a step closer and began to speak rapidly and with more urgency. "My dear, there are things I want so much to say to you, but just now I . . ."
At that moment, Dr. Allen, who had attended Mrs. Bennet in her last illness, came to join them and the moment was lost. Before he left the house, Darcy found time to say, “I only expect to be gone a week. If it is to be longer, I shall write to you."
A week later, a letter came for Mr. Bennet from Denny. It arrived whilst they were all at the breakfast-table and, although he looked a little pale as he took it, he did not open it.
“I'll read it later," he said. Elizabeth noticed that Lydia's eyes were fixed on the letter with a kind of pitiful intensity, and her heart sank. Obviously her sister was still obsessed with the handsome young lieutenant.
Once breakfast was over, the family went their separate ways. Lydia looked very reluctant, sitting alone in the drawing room. There was some water in a pitcher on a cupboard near the window. Elizabeth poured some into a glass then dampened a handkerchief in the pitcher and used it to wipe Lydia's face. The young woman soon began to come round and, after she had sat up and taken a few sips of water, she was starting to look more like her normal self, although still rather pale.
“I'm sorry, Lizzy,” she said, with a weak attempt at a smile. “I hope I didn't worry you too much."
"You did give me rather a scare," admitted Elizabeth. "You're not looking well, Lydia."
Her sister looked away and said nothing, so Elizabeth went on gently, “Is it Mama's death, or is it something else that has distressed you and is making you starve yourself? You really need to take more nourishment, or you will never get back to normal."
"Normal?" said Lydia with a humorless laugh. "Don't you understand, Lizzy, that nothing will ever be normal again?"
"Lydia?" said Elizabeth uncomprehendingly. "What do you mean?"
"You might as well know now," said her youngest sister wearily. "Lizzy, I'm with child."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Elizabeth stared at her sister in horrified silence. It was Lydia who spoke first.
"You're the one we all depend on, Lizzy. You put us all right, do you not? Well, mend that if you can." She spoke in a cynical tone, but there was a tiny fragment of something in her voice which seemed to suggest that she had some small hope that her sister might be able to help her even in this situation.
“Lydia, are you sure?" Elizabeth said at last.
“Yes, quite sure. You know that my courses are never late."
"Does he know?" Lydia shook her head.
"Do you remember that I went out the day we left Ramsgate? I went to find him. Of course. I was not sure then, just . . . just suspicious, but I wanted to see him. To tell him where I was going, and why. I discovered that he had gone to Brighton as a guest of Colonel Forster and his wife. I left a message with Mary King, but I have heard nothing, Lizzy. I don't know where he is. Surely, if he cared for me he would come! Oh, what shall I tell Papa and the rest of them?"
Panic started to rise in her voice and Elizabeth took hold of her hands.
“I know this is difficult for you, Lydia, but we'll find a way through. I promise. We don't need to tell Papa yet. The first thing to do is to tell Mr. Denny. We know he is in Brighton now, so we can have a servant take a letter and be sure that he will receive it. It is only right that he should be told, after all."
"Denny?" said Lydia with a puzzled expression on her face.
"Yes, Denny. The father of your child."
There was a short silence, then Lydia said in a low voice, "Denny is not the father of my child."
“Then who?" asked Elizabeth. She had been so convinced that her sister was enamored of the handsome young officer, that she was unable to imagine who else it might be.
“Wickham."
"Wickham?" whispered Elizabeth, astonished.
Lydia bowed her head. Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment, remembering his dissipated face, his outrageous flirting, his tarnished reputation. His lies! Mr. Darcy was correct in his assessment of Wickham's character. She should have listened to him! She had been so blind, and now her youngest sister was ruined forever.
Sadly enough, it was also very unlikely that such a man would be prepared to make an honorable gesture towards a woman he had wronged. Suddenly a thought occurred to her
.
"But Lydia, you barely know him," she said.
Lydia smiled faintly. "Does it matter? I spent the first three weeks being almost completely ignored in Ramsgate. There were plenty of pretty girls with respectable fortunes to attract suitors, but a penniless girl with no connections has very little chance. Then Wickham came. I can't begin to tell you what a difference he made to me. Then all at once, I felt someone's eyes upon me, and turning my head, I saw him looking at me from across the room. He sketched an outrageously flirtatious bow at me, and of course I looked away at once, but I could not help peeping at him, although I tried hard not to do so. After that evening, he began to seek me out. He was obviously attracted to me and I was lonely and tired of being overlooked, but I soon realized that my life had changed. Wickham's reputation is appalling, but he is seen as being an arbiter of female beauty. My lack of fortune was still a problem, but I began to attract a small group of admirers and I think that at that stage, had I shown myself interested, I might have received an offer. Unfortunately, however, the damage was done. I had fallen in love with Wickham, even though I knew that to him I was just an amusing diversion. I left Ramsgate no suitor, a broken heart, and the knowledge that I had given my affection to a man who did not care a straw for me. Of course, I have not heard from him."
"I wondered why you have been so quiet," said Elizabeth. "I thought that it was simply because you had not come back engaged as everyone had hoped."
“It was partly that, but it was chiefly because I couldn't stop thinking of Wickham," admitted Lydia.
"So that day in the assembly hall, when you felt dizzy, it was not because you saw Denny, but because you had seen Wickham," exclaimed Elizabeth.
“That's right," replied Lydia. "Once we were able to talk to one another, it was as if we were destined to be together. And he seemed different from when we first met him in Meryton; gentler somehow." She looked down at her hands, then back up at her sister again. “I'm sorry to have deceived you, Lizzy, but you made it so easy for me by thinking I was interested in Denny."
The Ramsgate Affair Page 10