Doubt and Division

by Kate Barton

  ∞∞∞

  “Oh, Lizzy, do look! You can see the grand house through the trees already.”

  Elizabeth gazed out of the carriage window, her vision following where her Aunt Gardiner pointed. Yes, it was true; through the trees, she could just discern the stately house of Pemberley. She gasped. It was far grander than Rosings.

  She still couldn’t believe that her aunt and uncle had persuaded her to visit it. They had been touring for two days and been enjoying the beautiful weather. Elizabeth had felt her soul expanding from the moment that they had farewelled everyone at the parsonage and they had started their tour. Her aunt and uncle were like a balm applied to a wound; she had delighted in their company.

  She would miss Charlotte, of course. But everyone else – except for Anne, and the Colonel – had been sorely trying her patience. Now, she could breathe and be herself.

  Her uncle had suggested this visit the day before. “We are very near Pemberley,” he had remarked. “It is supposed to be a very great house. What say you, Elizabeth? Should we visit it?”

  She had looked doubtful. “Must we? I know that it is common to visit grand houses when touring, but I prefer other activities.”

  Her aunt had arched her eyebrows. “Really, Lizzy? That is unlike you! And Pemberley is not just another grand house. It is supposed to be the most magnificent in the area.”

  Eventually, she had conceded. And now they were almost there.

  She tried hard not to think of the owner, as they disembarked from the carriage and walked into the house. The housekeeper took them through, telling them of the history and singing the praises of her master. Elizabeth could tell that her aunt and uncle were impressed and stared pointedly at her whenever the woman praised Mr Darcy. They knew her opinion of the man.

  Well, they thought that they knew. As Elizabeth studied the paintings on the walls – his ancestors, she reminded herself – she was forced to admit that her opinion was undergoing some revision. If what he had told her about Wickham was true.

  She still found it hard to believe. He had claimed that Wickham had ran off with his sister, Georgiana. His sister had only been fifteen at the time. If it was true, then the Mr Wickham that she had known and liked in Hertfordshire simply didn’t exist. He was a cad of the highest order. But was Mr Darcy’s word to be trusted?

  As she studied the paintings, she conceded that she could think of no reason he would lie. The charges were severe, and the fact that he had told her things which were highly personal lent credence to the story. Had she completely misjudged him?

  No. There was still Jane and Mr Bingley, not to mention his impending marriage to Anne de Bourgh.

  But why had he written her, at all? Why did he seek her good opinion? It was something that she simply couldn’t shake from her mind.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Elizabeth felt the carriage pull up abruptly. Already, she could see Jane and her father. They weren’t smiling. Kitty and Mary stood behind them. There was no sign of her mother.

  She simply could not believe it. She had received the letter from Jane that night, at the inn they were staying at. Lydia had disappeared from where she was staying with the Forster’s in Brighton. And with Mr Wickham! Elizabeth had travelled to her family as soon as she could, leaving her aunt and uncle, who had been as shocked as she.

  The carriage door opened. She ran to Jane, enveloping her in a tight embrace.

  “Oh, my dear,” she whispered. She stared at her father. Mr Bennet looked older than when she had left; circles ringed his eyes, and his hair was whiter.

  “Have you heard anything more?” she breathed as they walked into Longbourn.

  “I shall be leaving for London tonight,” her father said, wearily. “It is good to have you home, Lizzy. I am just sorry it is not under happier circumstances.”

  “My mother?” Elizabeth untied the ribbons on her bonnet.

  “She has taken to her bed,” Jane answered. “She is crying and moaning. Oh, Lizzy. It has been awful.”

  Elizabeth squeezed Jane’s hand. “I shall go to her as soon as I have taken some refreshment.” She sighed wearily. “It was a long trip.”

  She looked at Kitty who was biting her lip and trying her hardest not to return her sister’s gaze. If anyone had information about Lydia’s whereabouts, it would be Kitty. The two were as thick as thieves. Elizabeth had always thought Kitty had slightly more sense than her younger sister, however. An opinion that seemed to be solidified, in the light of what had just happened.

  Tea was waiting for her in the parlour, and she sank into the chair with gratitude. Jane spoke further as she poured.

  “Lydia left Mrs Forster a note,” Jane said. “She claimed that she was going with Mr Wickham, and that it was a grand lark. She seemed convinced that she was running away to marry him.”

  “And have you heard word if she is?” Elizabeth asked, accepting the cup that Jane passed her.

  “No one knows,” her father answered. He was leaning against the mantelpiece, rubbing his brow. “They have not been sighted. But they cannot have gotten far. As soon as I am in London, I will be able to piece together what has happened further.”

  “Thoughtless Lydia!” Elizabeth gripped the arms of the chair. “To do this to her family…”

  “I blame myself,” muttered Mr Bennet. “I should never have let her go to Brighton. I know how flighty she is…you did try to warn me, Lizzy.” He looked so bereft, it took all of Elizabeth’s willpower to not fly from the chair to comfort him.

  “Let us not speak of recrimination,” Jane said solemnly. “It does no good.”

  “On the contrary, Jane,” Mr Bennet continued, “I should and must feel as responsible for this situation as anyone.” He drained his cup and walked to the door. “I must prepare for the trip. Hopefully, he will have done the right thing by her and they will already be man and wife.” He walked out.

  Elizabeth looked at Jane. That was the prayer that they all held.

  ∞∞∞

  “My poor, poor Lydia!” Mrs Bennet clutched the bed sheets in her distress. “Oh, what to do! Lizzy, Jane, my heart is all aflutter!”

  “Please, Mother, you must calm yourself,” said Jane.

  But Mrs Bennet continued to moan and wail, writhing on the bed sheets as if in physical pain. Jane looked at Elizabeth. Kitty was standing at the end of the bed, her eyes wide.

  Elizabeth shook her head at Jane. There was nothing that they could do here. Their mother must suffer as she would.

  In the drawing room, the two sisters sat together, each lost in their own thoughts.

  “I saw Mr Darcy, at Rosings,” Elizabeth ventured.

  Jane looked at her. “That must have been hard for you, Lizzy,” she replied.

  Elizabeth sighed. “He admits that he separated Mr Bingley from you,” she said, slowly. “But, Jane, there is something else…he told me that Mr Wickham ran off with his sister, Georgiana, when she was only fifteen.” She took a deep breath. “I could have prevented this whole situation if I had not been wrong in my assessment of Mr Wickham’s character.”

  Jane’s eyes widened. “This is grievous, indeed,” she whispered. “But, Lizzy, do not blame yourself. We were all fooled by Mr Wickham. The man was charm personified.”

  Elizabeth reflected. Yes, Mr Wickham was charming. But had she trusted him so quickly, and so implicitly, simply because he spoke ill of Mr Darcy? Would she have been misled so utterly by him if he had talked of someone else in the same way? Elizabeth had to concede that she probably wouldn’t have. She had been prejudiced. And that prejudice had led to this situation.

  “And how are you, dear Jane?” she asked, gently. “We have not had a chance to talk of what happened in London.”

  Jane smiled. “It’s alright, Lizzy,” she said. “I wrote to you that I was quite resigned to the situation, and it is true. I am still sad, of course, but there is nothing for it.”

  Elizabeth nodded. Jane spoke the truth, and yet, it s
till grated on her that her dear sister should suffer so.

  “I hear that Mr Darcy is to be married?” Jane continued. “Our mother almost had a fit when she received the invitation! I think that you have impressed all at Rosings Park, sister. There would be little chance our family would be invited to the social event of the season if it were not for you.”

  Elizabeth frowned. “Another unjust situation. Miss Anne de Bourgh has been pressured into marriage by her mother. She loves another.”

  Jane’s eyes filled with tears. “I feel for her, then,” she said.

  There was a knock at the door, and Hill entered. “A letter from your father,” she said, walking to Jane and offering an envelope to her.

  The two sisters sat straighter. Jane took the letter with trembling hands, ripping it open and reading quickly.

  “Well?” said Elizabeth. “Do share, Jane. What does our father say?”

  Jane sat back, a slow smile spreading over her face. She proffered the letter to Elizabeth.

  “Read for yourself, Lizzy,” she said. “But it is good news. Our father has found them! And Lydia and Mr Wickham will already be married.”

  ∞∞∞

  Elizabeth watched her youngest sister and her new husband smile and chat at the luncheon table. She simply could not believe how quickly and thoroughly the tables had turned. From a position of disgrace, Lydia was now the queen of her sisters, the only married one amongst them. And all seemed forgotten.

  “Could you pass the gravy boat, Lizzy?” Lydia asked her now, preening visibly. She wore a new gown, and took every opportunity to display her wedding ring.

  Elizabeth frowned at her, but passed the gravy.

  “You look so droll, Lizzy,” Lydia laughed. “A face almost as solemn as Mr Darcy’s at the wedding.” She stopped abruptly, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh dear, I wasn’t supposed to say that! I promised!”

  Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “Mr Darcy was at your wedding?” she whispered. How could it be? Why on earth would he be there?

  Lydia smiled, pouring gravy over her plate liberally. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Poker faced, as always. It was such a lark.” She raised her head. “You may come and visit us when we are settled, Lizzy. I will try to put you in the way of all the eligible men; my unmarried sisters must have their chance, also.”

  Elizabeth pursed her lips. “I will take my chances, elsewhere,” she said. She stood up. She was weary of this charade. Everyone else in the family may laugh with and simper to the newlyweds, but she was in danger of choking on her food if she stayed a minute longer.

  In the privacy of her bedroom, she reflected on what Lydia had said.

  She could have got it wrong, of course. Or be lying. But what would be her motivation? Lydia was silly, but she wasn’t stupid. To randomly mention Mr Darcy in the context of her wedding could not benefit her. Thus, it was true.

  How was it possible? How had Mr Darcy even known of their troubles, and why would he be at Lydia and Wickham’s wedding? He despised the man, for very good reason. To even be in the same room as him would be anathema to him.

  Elizabeth looked out the window. Lydia and her new husband were strolling the grounds like they were a royal couple, the family trailing in their wake.

  She had suspected before the newlyweds had arrived that someone else had been involved in procuring the marriage. Her father did not have the money; she had assumed her Uncle Gardiner had been involved. But now, she wasn’t so sure. Had it been Mr Darcy?

  Elizabeth leant her face against the window pane. The glass felt cool against her skin, which had suddenly flushed so much she felt fevered.

  A slow realisation was dawning on her. She had been wrong in her assessment of Mr Darcy. So very wrong. He had helped her family, at great personal cost to himself. But why?

  And then his words to her at Rosings floated into her mind, once again. She saw his impassioned face staring at her.

  Even By You.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Anne de Bourgh paced the floor of her bedroom, clutching the letter in her hand. She had not been able to sit still since she had finished reading it.

  It was from Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Anne paused in her pacing, reading the letter anew. It was a perfectly proper letter. Miss Bennet did not reiterate the words she had uttered just before she had left Rosings. She did not implore Anne to talk to her mother and end the engagement. She didn’t mention Colonel Fitzwilliam, nor Mr Darcy. No, this letter was merely a token of friendship.

  I hope that when you are settled at Pemberley, Elizabeth wrote, that you find a good life there. I have heard very positive things about Miss Georgiana Darcy, and had the pleasure of touring the house when I was in the Lake District with my aunt and uncle. It is indeed a wonderful home. I hope and pray, dear Anne, that you find peace and happiness in the new life on which you are about to embark.

  Anne suddenly let the letter go. It floated to the floor like a leaf from an autumn tree. She walked over to the window, staring out at the garden. She was picturing that summer night when the moon had hung in the sky like a lantern, and she and Colonel Fitzwilliam had declared their love.

  A love that was destined to wither and die on the vine. A love that had never stood a chance.

  A single tear fell down her face. She wiped it away, quickly.

  Enough. She would not stand here, weeping, lamenting her loss. Passively accepting her fate. This was her one and only life, and she must live it according to the dictates of her own conscience. She had played the role of the invalid, the dutiful daughter, the quiet and shy young lady. So many roles that had been assigned to her. But where was she, in all of them?

  Her mother would be angry, of course. She would be furious. She would grow tall and fearsome in her anger, expecting Anne to cower before the ferocity of it. But, suddenly, Anne knew that she could withstand it. She could withstand anything, if she were only able to be with her love. With Richard.

  They would be cast out, of course. Lady Catherine would not tolerate them; she would cut them off. But, strangely, this did not unduly worry Anne. She would rather live as a pauper than a rich invalid, married to a man she did not love, in a grand house that would slowly smother her as the years sped by.

  Enough. It stopped, now. She looked out the window again. Richard was there, wandering the grounds, deep in contemplation. He was due to leave today, for London. He had told her that he could not sit by at Rosings, watching the wedding preparations unfold. He could not stand it a moment longer. He had said that he accepted that all was lost, but he would not be a witness to it anymore.

  He suddenly looked up, seeing her face at the window. She smiled at him – a smile so broad and full of love, he stepped back a bit confused.

  Then he smiled back, broadly. His eyes shined with love.

  Anne took a deep breath. Then she put her hand to her mouth and blew him a kiss. His eyes widened in shock.

  She started laughing, then. So much laughter, bubbling over, releasing her. It felt so good, she continued it, until tears were rolling down her face with the emotion. Then she stopped, abruptly.

  Now. She would do it, now. Not one more minute of their lives would be sacrificed to this.

  A knock sounded at her door. She turned, puzzled, and walked over to it. Opening it, she gasped in surprise.

  Mr Darcy was standing there. She had thought him still in London; he had gone there for a few days, on urgent business, he had said. He didn’t look happy.

  “Anne,” he said. “There is something that I must discuss with you, urgently. Could you meet me in the drawing room in twenty minutes?”

  “Of course,” she replied, her voice wavering only slightly. He bowed, then walked off down the hall.

  What could it mean? Mr Darcy had never requested to speak to her alone, not in the whole course of their engagement. Anne squared her shoulders. Whatever it was, she could endure it. She had steeled her resolve; she had wanted to confront her mother, first, but it was just
as well that Darcy knew prior. After all, this affected him, as well.

  ∞∞∞

  He was waiting for her in the drawing room at the appointed time. He seemed agitated. He was pacing the floor in front of the fireplace, a deep frown on his face.

  “I am here,” she said loudly.

  He spun around, looking at her as if he didn’t recognise her. As if she had somehow interrupted him and he wasn’t pleased. Which was ridiculous, of course. He had requested that she meet him.

  “Oh, Anne,” he said, gathering himself. “Please sit down.”

  She did so, wondering for the thousandth time what this was about. To say that it was uncharacteristic for Darcy to do this was an understatement. Eventually, he sat opposite her, still frowning.