“Is that my daughter?” said another voice, as Mr. Bennet emerged from the library, his walking stick a hard tap against the marble floor. “Which one would this be? I have so many and sometimes they do sound a bit alike.”
“Papa!” Lydia squealed at the appearance her father.
“I came as soon as I heard,” he said, “that you came as soon as you heard. And here we are, full-circle.”
“We’ve only just arrived,” Lydia said.
“No, it must have been a full half an hour ago, for that is precisely how long it takes me to walk from the library to the next room. And I have counted,” he said. “Now, aside from seeing your so-called wayward son, and no doubt intending to join us for Christmas without invitation, knowing full well Mr. Darcy is too proper a gentleman not to allow you to stay, what brings you to Derbyshire?”
Elizabeth made some attempt to hide her smile and Darcy kept his silence.
“To collect George, of course,” Lydia said, “for he must collect his things before his term beings in the spring.”
“Mother,” George swallowed, “you know I’ve been sent down from Oxford.”
A hint of disapproval crept on to her face as she turned back to her son. “What?”
“I told you when we came back from Scotland. I returned to Oxford to try and make amends, but they would not allow me to retake the exams.”
“George! What are you to do! I told you not to interfere, and now do you see what happens – ”
“Lydia,” Elizabeth said quickly and very insistently, to stem the rising tide, “George did what he could and it is done. Perhaps you will have your tea now?”
“Lizzy, this is my business and you’ve interfered enough!” Lydia shouted, continuing before Darcy could defend his wife, “George, you will march right back to Oxford and spend whatever you must to retake those exams. You have more than enough pounds to do it and there must be one bribable Head in the entire university – ”
“I will not,” George said, his voice holding some power despite his earlier weakness. “It goes against my principles to bribe my way back into University.”
“If he had the money, your father would have done – ”
“I am not my father!” he shouted, abandoning his half-siblings and Geoffrey’s helping hand. “My father was tossed from University for destroying a woman’s virtue; I was tossed for saving my sister’s! I may be cursed to look like him, but I am not my father! No matter what happens, I will not stoop to any dishonorable lows, like marrying my sister to some fortune-hunting, gambling scum – ”
“George!” Isabel said, running to his side, but he was not held back. “Mama!” That protest had little effect, either. “Please don’t fight over my mistake!”
Lydia and George both ignored anyone’s attempts to calm them. “Isabel, you had every right to marry a man you loved. And no one had the right to force you to do otherwise.”
“He was marrying her for her trust, Mother! If Uncle Darcy – ”
“Yes, yes, your Uncle Darcy is such a saint for giving you all that money, because he loves you so much!” Lydia said. “You, his beloved nephew, who he harbors against your own mother. Well, perhaps you don’t know this, but if your Uncle Darcy hadn’t forced me to marry Wickham, you would have been a bastard!” she screamed. “So yes, I suppose you are in debt to your dear uncle, for making sure George didn’t make his escape and you could be born in wedlock instead of being just another one of his countless bastard issues!”
All the color – what little there was of it – dropped from George’s face like a curtain being pulled down over a window. Darcy was, on some level, impressed by George’s restraint. While it was certainly beyond any and all propriety to strike one’s own mother, he half expected it, since she had given him some cause. Isabel clung to George’s side, burying her face in his arms, but he said nothing. There was nothing for him to say – all life, including the power of speech – seemed gone from him.
“Mrs. Bradley,” came Darcy’s calm voice, “you will leave this place immediately. Whether you choose to take the rest of your current family, I care not, but you have abused your hospitality to the point where I must ask you to leave Pemberley.”
“Mr. Darcy – ” Mr. Bradley said, trying to play peacemaker.
“My son – ”
“Father!”
“Uncle Darcy – ”
“Lydia.” It was Mr. Bennet’s voice that was finally heard above the clamor. “Mr. Darcy is master here and he can decide who to have in his home. You must take his suggestion and vacate the place immediately. I’m sure you will find Chatton House more welcoming of your misbegotten diatribes.”
“Papa!”
“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Bradley said more quietly as Darcy motioned for the confused servants to begin putting their trunks back in the carriage, “please – ”
“She has done enough damage for today. Perhaps next week I will be more amenable to listening to her accusations, but I will not tolerate this behavior.” He turned to Isabella, realizing the immense pressure she was under. “You may stay if you wish. I think that your brother will have a more speedy recovery and this will all be resolved faster if you do.”
“Darcy, you cannot keep my own children from me!” Lydia said.
“As long as they remain at Pemberley, and are both of age, I can do as I please,” he said.
“Listen to him, Lydia,” Mr. Bennet said, also unrelenting. “We will not have anyone else here in a rage, especially not our host.”
The Bradleys were gone with the same suddenness that they had appeared. Mr. Bradley tried to talk to his stepson, but George’s face was unreadable. He hugged his sister with an extra squeeze as the Bradleys left, and then went back upstairs, shut his door, and locked it behind him. When they pleaded with him to open the door so that he might receive some supper and company, he did not respond. When Darcy retrieved his master keys, he found the keyhole stuffed with a pin, barring his entrance. For three days, George would not see or speak to anyone, and ate only the food that was left for him outside the door.
What he was thinking, no one wanted to contemplate.
When he did open his door, for whatever reason he did, it was just days to Christmas. He was unwashed, unshaven, and pale beyond what he had been when he had been physically ill. He sat unmoving on his bed, and though his sister made various attempts to talk to him, he was not responsive. He remained in this stupor through Darcy’s own visit, and then Geoffrey’s. Word was sent from Chatton House that the Bradleys were being awkwardly received, and Lydia sent long apologies (by way of Mr. Bradley), but nothing was resolved.
Finally, Elizabeth excused the servants, shut the door, and approached her nephew alone.
“George,” Elizabeth said, and seated herself on the bed next to him. He made no acknowledgment of her presence, and kept staring out the window. “What your mother said – ”
“It was true,” he said, now turning, his sunken eyes conveying their own response. “Mother’s not good at keeping secrets, but she’s a bad liar. It was true, wasn’t it? My father seduced my mother with no good intentions, and if Uncle Darcy hadn’t interfered – ”
“Yes, that is true, I suppose, though we will never really know what your father was thinking,” she said in all fairness. “That is not, however, the whole story. Lydia was young and very silly, and my mother only encouraged her to pursue officers, as it was very fashionable at the time. Even Papa refused to heed to my advice about sending Lydia to visit Brighton, away from any real chaperones. And when she ran away, she left a note saying that they were going to elope, and that they were terribly in love with each other. No doubt she thought herself in love with him, and he must have had at least some affection for her to risk the disapprobation of society by ruining an entire family’s good name. She had no inheritance to offer him.” When George looked away uncomfortably again, she braced herself and continued, “I confess that I was in quite the opposite quandary – I had
rejected Darcy’s proposal of marriage because I misjudged his character, and he could not conceive of a way to continue pursuing me that would be within the bounds of his extensive sense of propriety and good manners. He told me that when he heard about Lydia and Wickham, he blamed himself for not properly warning everyone, though in truth it was not his responsibility to tell all of Hertfordshire about your father’s past. Darcy pursued them to London and found them, after all of my father and uncle’s attempts had failed, and yes, he did put up a great sum to encourage your father to marry Lydia and save the family’s reputation. And he paid for the living in Newcastle that would provide for Lydia and any children.
“All of this he did with the knowledge of only my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, and the reason he gave was the same he gave to me – that he felt responsible for Wickham’s deeds, even though he was not, especially since he was not even aware then that Wickham was his half-brother. My aunt told me later she knew from the start not to believe a word of it – Mr. Darcy was buying my good family’s reputation so that he could possibly hope to marry me, should I see fit to judge him differently and accept a new offer. But he said not a word to me of the whole thing. I found out only because Lydia spoke of it after her wedding by mistake.” She laughed sadly. “Your uncle is comfortable with actions and uncomfortable with words to the point of extremity. He was fortunate that Lydia, as you said, cannot keep a secret. My opinion of him had already changed, but this was so important to my understanding of his character. I cannot imagine how things might have gone if he had not saved Lydia’s reputation, and had not been thus encouraged to pursue me further, and had not done so by amending past mistakes by also bringing Mr. Bingley back to my sister Jane. In fact, all three of our marriages came forth because of Lydia’s elopement in Brighton. And with our good fortune restored, Kitty found a good husband and Miss Bingley married Dr. Maddox, and through Dr. Maddox, Mary met Dr. Bertrand – ” She had not set out to make this precise speech, and was quite surprised to hear the ending out of her own lips. “All of this – our entire family – would not have come to be but for your mother and father’s romantic entanglement, scandalous as it was at the time. From that perspective, I can only thank them for their deeds.”
George and Elizabeth sat in silence, as her words were digested by both of them. When she looked up at the pale, stricken form of George Wickham, so often compared to his father in looks, she decided that those who thought so were wrong. On the surface, perhaps if he had a vicious smile on him, he was the spitting image of his father, but he never had that expression. His dark eyes were full of intelligence and thoughtfulness. He was quiet and shy even in the best of circumstances, but not ignorant of other people’s feelings or the subtleties of circumstance. In character, in every way that could be possible with his background and his position in the world, he was firmly not his father. She could not imagine Lydia raising such a son. Despite his mother and his lack of a real father, he had such a firm moral character. Yet he was a troubled child, and his fortune had done nothing except give him opportunities and wealth that Lydia would covet – and he knew it. He had carried around that burden for as long as he had been aware of it.
Elizabeth knew she could assure him that they were proud of him, as Darcy often did. He was a diligent student, a gentleman, a wonderful friend to his cousins, and the best of brothers to his sister. People were lining up to say that. Even Mr. Bradley had probably said it. And yet, the one person he wanted to hear it from told him precisely the opposite.
“George.” She spoke again to bring him back to attention, though it was hard to tell if he had lost it. “My sister is not without her faults, but I do not believe she is without her good qualities, either. However long it takes to remind her of them, we will persist. In the meantime, it would help us all if you stop torturing yourself. No good ever came of it. If you have any questions in that regard, ask Uncle Grégoire sometime, and he will be happy to tell you.”
But all the advice and support she could give would not let Elizabeth be his mother. Reality brought that idea to an abrupt halt. He was Lydia’s son, and he always would be. She was his mother and she was the one who had to say the words. He would not settle for anything less.
Chapter 6 – Mr. Bradley’s Dilemma
Meanwhile, the Bradleys’ reception at Chatton House had been mixed. The Bingleys were always amiable, though a bit confused at the sudden appearance of the Bradley family. When the full story came out, via correspondences between the two houses of Derbyshire, reactions were even more mixed.
Mr. Bingley was a most gracious host, and whatever had occurred between Lydia and her son, he tried not to let it mar how he received his guests, who were apparently staying for Christmas. The Bradley children were easily amused by the many delights of Chatton House. Bingley had all kinds of strange Oriental items around from his travels and business, and most of them were actually quite hard to break (the ones that were not, he kept on much higher shelves or in locked cabinets). Fortunately, Monkey was practically a trained babysitter, at least until Brandon Bradley pulled on his tail a bit too hard. Then he spat in the boy’s face and made a hasty retreat up into the chandelier.
“She said that?” Georgie asked as she comforted a trembling monkey in her arms. She, Charlie, and Eliza were conspiring with Geoffrey, who was once again playing courier, in the back room where Georgiana kept most of her art supplies.
“I was there,” Geoffrey said, “otherwise I wouldn’t believe it myself.”
“It’s awful,” she said, scratching behind Monkey’s ears as he squawked at her.
“How is George?” Charlie asked.
“He won’t talk to anyone. Even Izzy.”
“That’s so sad,” Eliza Bingley said. “But if George won’t talk to his mother and he leaves in the spring, where will Izzy go?”
“Back to Town, I suppose.”
“But what about getting married?”
“She can’t get married without George’s or my father’s consent,” Geoffrey said, giving Monkey a scratch on the head. “Remember, none of this came from me.”
Georgiana rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
******************************************
With another distressing letter from Darcy about young Master George, still holed up in his room, Bingley finally called Mr. Bradley into his office. Lydia was unapproachable, but Bradley had always seemed like a sensible fellow. The old one-eyed soldier entered Bingley’s study, which was hardly the tidy office of a gentleman. It was filled with treasures of the east, expensive and extraordinary.
“Mr. Bingley.”
“Mr. Bradley. Do come in.” He opened his liquor cabinet and poured two glasses of brandy.
The other man made no effort to appear unawares. “I assume you heard from Pemberley?”
“Yes. They are in quite a quandary over – whatever it was that passed between your wife and your stepson. My nephew.” Mr. Bradley took the offered glass. “This can’t go on. We’re due at Pemberley for Christmas, and this situation is causing undue distress to the whole family.”
“I know.” And he did know, and he did look distressed. Mr. Bradley paced as Bingley sat. “Quite obviously, there has been some discord between Lydia and George in the past few months – or years, I should properly say – but this goes beyond all reason.” He shook his head sadly. “I did not have any idea how the meeting with George would go, though I don’t believe it could have possibly gone worse.” He took a sip and kept pacing. “It is hard for me to be severe with her – you can understand how she can get. And she can be a very loving mother. She does, in fact, love all of her children.”
With all things said and done, Bingley did not hold back, “She does not always show it.”
“No.” He grumbled the grumble of a soldier faced with a strategy unrealized. “She does compare her life to that of her sisters – all of whom seem to have succeeded beyond their wildest dreams. And because of her mistake with Mr. Wickham, she is
doomed to live in poverty.”
“That is obviously at least somewhat an exaggeration of the fact.”
“Of course,” Mr. Bradley said. “She married me knowing full well my finances, and we’ve never starved or suffered for lack of heat or clothing. But she was very young when this all happened. Younger than all of her sisters.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not trying to justify her situation – at least in terms of her relationship with her son. Her son who reminds her so much of her late husband – ”
“ –if she only looks at him. In every other way, he is different. Surely you can see that.”
“George has matured into a gentleman who desires a higher education and a respectable living. How can I not be proud of that, even if I only had a small part of it?”
“Then you have to make her see that,” Bingley said. “I’m sorry to say that, Mr. Bradley, but George is my nephew, and I saw him last week, when he was ill from all his travels and worried sick for his sister. This must be made right. If Mrs. Bradley has issues with George Wickham, she must take it up with his ghost, not the son who resembles him.”
Mr. Bradley just nodded, speechless.
******************************************
He had told Bingley that she could be a good mother. Mr. Bradley wasn’t lying. He found his wife attending to their youngest child, Maria, named after one of her old friends from Hertfordshire, Maria Lucas. The baby was just beginning to stand up in her crib and Lydia was talking nonsense to her. It warmed his heart to see the smile on his daughter’s face with her mother’s attention. “Hello, Maria.” He leaned over and kissed her where her soft brown hair, so like his, was starting to grow.
The Knights of Derbyshire Page 6
