Longbourn's Songbird

by Beau North

  Mrs. Bennet huffed. “Some men don’t have the sense God gave a goose.” She made a noise of sympathy, stroking her daughter’s hair. “Oh, June-Bug. I am sorry. If love came easy, it wouldn’t mean half so much. Your pa could tell you that.”

  Elizabeth felt like a great burden had been lifted off of her. “What do I do, Mama?”

  Mrs. Bennet shook her head. “I can’t tell you that. The only thing I can tell you is that you can’t let it bring you low again. And for heaven’s sake, don’t tell your father any of this.”

  “I can honestly say that the thought never crossed my mind,” Elizabeth said, not knowing that she no longer had a decision to be make.

  Mr. Darcy had already left for Pemberley.

  Richard delivered this news to her with an air of a man giving an apology. Elizabeth only nodded, unsurprised and a little relieved. She wasn’t sure she could have looked at Darcy without thinking of Caroline Bingley and the scene she had interrupted.

  Richard took Elizabeth’s hand tentatively, his thumb rubbing little circles over her skin. She allowed it. After everything she’d been through, her anger towards him felt pointless and destructive. She couldn’t look at him the same as she once had, but she still felt closeness to him. He was the one person who had a part of her no one else would ever have, and in a way, he knew her better than anyone did.

  “I’m not asking for anything you don’t want to give. I can be a friend to you, Slim, if that’s what you need. Just…let me spend some time with you again.”

  “Friends,” she said the word skeptically. It tasted strange on her tongue. She wasn’t sure they’d ever be friends, but she was willing to try.

  Richard kept his word, never asking for more than she was willing to give. He became a frequent visitor at Longbourn, always maintaining a respectful distance between them. They took long walks in silence, trudging through the high summer grass for hours without ever exchanging a single word. He found himself rolling up his sleeves on more than one occasion to help her in the garden or hang laundry.

  It was a peaceful time for both of them, with the exception of the day that Charlotte Lucas married Leland Collins. Richard took her out to the church on his motorcycle. They kept their distance, watching the newlyweds emerge from the church in a hail of rice.

  On the ride back to Longbourn, she wrapped her arms around him tighter than usual. He could feel her tears soaking into his shirt. After that day, he felt the change in her, as if another of the barriers she built up between them had eroded. It still wasn’t what it had been once, but the distrust and regret had been replaced by a closeness built of understanding.

  In the last days of May, they would find themselves sitting on a blanket under the branches of whatever shade tree they could find, the heat making them drowsy.

  Richard leaned back against the trunk of the pecan tree, trying to concentrate on his book. Every few moments his eyes would wander to where Elizabeth lay on the blanket beside him, her nose almost touching the page of her own book. He’d ordered it for her himself, a copy of Brave New World. He wanted to see if her reaction to it would have been in any way similar to his own. Every so often, she’d scowl or flip the page in irritation. He put his own book aside.

  “I hate to say it, but I think Saul Bellow is over my head,” he said, hoping to break the silence. “How are you doing with Huxley?”

  “Mmm,” she replied, still scowling at the page.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “It’s…unsettling.”

  Nodding, he admitted he thought the same. “I found it seductive.”

  “Well, I wasn’t expecting quite so many orgies.”

  “No, not that,” he said, suddenly embarrassed. “I found myself envying their…calm acceptance. They didn’t know pain or anger or jealousy.”

  She closed the book with a snap, sitting up to look at him. He recognized the look she cast his way. It was the same look she’d given him when she’d told him, “I want what I want.”

  “I’m willing to listen to what you have to say now.”

  Richard blinked in surprise. “You want to know—”

  “Everything, Richard.” Her eyes told him she could wait all day if she needed to. “I think I can hear it without wanting to kill you now.”

  Richard took a deep breath and began to talk.

  ***

  May 1949

  Pemberley Manor, North Carolina

  As soon as she entered the family wing, Georgiana was greeted by the sound of the piano in the music room. Oh heavens, not Schubert again. She ground her teeth in frustration at the wearying routine she was falling into with her brother. Every day they played out the same drama: her begging him to tell her what was wrong, him giving her the same rueful snort of laughter, and then the same protracted silence. “Don’t worry about me, Georgie,” he’d say as he played one grim piece after another until she was ready to have the piano thrown out the window.

  She took a deep breath to steady her nerves before opening the door.

  When Darcy came home earlier that month, he’d kept up appearances for a day or two before retreating into the music room. The room was littered with piles of dirty clothes, empty plates and bottles, and blankets strewn haphazardly on the sofa.

  And then there was her brother. Every time she saw him, he looked worse. She took in his dirty hair, the untamed beard on his face, and the deep shadows under his eyes. Georgiana felt helpless, especially after Richard replied to her first letter. Richard told her nothing but to “walk on eggshells” if she had to and to leave her brother alone for now.

  “Hey there, Georgie,” Darcy said without looking up.

  Startled, she said, “Good morning, Will.”

  “Is it morning already?” He switched easily from Schubert to Chopin.

  “It’s almost lunchtime actually. I missed you at breakfast again this morning.”

  “Wasn’t hungry.”

  “Will…would you like some help cleaning up in here? I could have Mrs. Reynolds send a maid up.”

  “No, I would not. No maids. I like the room much better this way. It keeps most people out.”

  “William.” She sighed. “Please talk to me. Did something happen at Mr. Bingley’s house? Why hasn’t Richard come back? What’s made you so sad?”

  “Sad?” He seemed surprised by her question. “I don’t think I’m sad. No, this isn’t sadness, it’s…resignation.”

  “William!”

  “I’ll be all right, Georgie. If you keep pestering me, I’ll send you to that finishing school whether you want it or not. And don’t worry about Richard; I’m sure he’s…” Darcy’s hands faltered for a moment, the first missed key she’d heard since she walked in. “I’m sure he’s just fine. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone.”

  Georgiana spun on her heel, slamming the door behind her in her own display of the famous Darcy temper. She was about to storm off to her room when the piano fell abruptly silent. Taking great pains to remain undiscovered, she opened the door a tiny crack, peering in with one eye.

  She held in a gasp at the sight of her brother with his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Is he crying? When he sat up and looked out the window, however, she could see that his eyes were dry. She watched as he walked to the window and rested his head against the pane, his long fingers splayed on the glass. He took a deep shuddering breath and spoke.

  “Oh, Lizzie.”

  His voice was so gentle, so full of tenderness and longing that Georgiana blushed, feeling like an intruder for the first time. She guided the door shut and hurried away, feeling somehow worse than she had when she first came in.

  ***

  Despite the warmth of the day, Elizabeth felt a chill run up her arms as Richard finished his story.

  Some of it she already knew: the wounds he’d taken in Brest. She’d seen the scars with her own eyes many times: the ragged patchwork on his abdomen, the slightly puffy scar beneath his collarbone. The other sc
ars, she’d only suspected: his antagonized relationship with his father and the staggering loss of his brother. She suspected there was more—pieces he held back—but she didn’t press him.

  “And now?” she asked finally.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “After you left, Richard. What did you do then?”

  He shrugged, acutely aware of the danger he was in. “I went back to Annapolis. I threw myself into work, growing the family’s concerns.”

  “And?”

  “And here we are,” he said, knowing it sounded like a flimsy evasion.

  She gave him a calculating look. “So, you’re better now.”

  Richard pursed his lips, trapping the lie before it could escape. It would be so easy to let her think that.

  “No, Slim. I don’t know if I’m ever going to be…well, what Will is. Normal. Whole.”

  Elizabeth felt a bitter sort of amusement at the idea that Will Darcy was normal.

  “They call it battle fatigue, but my father called it shell shock. One name is just as good as another. We have to learn how to live with the things we’ve seen—the blood on our hands. My father did it by being a hard man, but I never had that in me. You helped, Slim, you really did, but you didn’t cure me. Nothing can.” He stopped, looking down at his hands where they rested in his lap. “It took a long time for me just to want to live long enough to see the sun come up again. Now it’s…manageable.”

  “What helped you?”

  “Time, mostly. And my blockhead cousin,” he said. “Or rather, said blockhead’s baby sister.”

  “Georgiana?”

  Richard was taken aback. Darcy really did care for her if he’d told her about Georgie.

  “The very same. She’s very young, but in a way she’s older than Will or myself. Even Anne,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Two years ago, Darcy had me named as her legal guardian should anything happen to him. I’d never even thought about it before. Will seems as tough as the Rock of Gibraltar, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. The only other option is dear Aunt Catherine.”

  “Oh God,” Elizabeth said, truly horrified at the idea.

  “My thoughts exactly. I figured if the worst did happen and Georgie found herself in my care, it was time I made damn sure I’d be someone who could take care of her.”

  Elizabeth wished, perhaps meanly, that his reasoning hadn’t been so rational—so admirable. She forced herself to admit that at least two things hadn’t changed: part of her still felt drawn to him like a bee to honey, and his timing was as rotten as ever.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, not looking at him. Instead, she watched a pair of mockingbirds swooping and diving at each other just over the tall grass. “About your father, I mean.”

  He dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand. “My father and I lost each other a long time ago. He just happened to still be alive for most of it. Losing him didn’t hurt nearly as much as losing you.”

  She looked at him, startled. After a moment, her surprise melted to anger. “Don’t say things like that!”

  “I thought you wanted me to be honest with you.”

  She stood, angrily snapping leaves off the tree, her fingers tearing them into little pieces. “You can’t just say things like that. It isn’t right!”

  Richard was on his feet in an instant. “None of this is right! You think I don’t know that?” She blinked in surprise, but he wasn’t done. “Do you really think this is how I imagined it would be if I ever saw you again? With you hating me and lovesick over my own cousin?”

  “I don’t hate you!” She couldn’t help the rise of her voice. “But you didn’t lose me. You threw me away!”

  “I never meant to hurt you!” He shouted over her.

  “Well you did hurt me! When are you going to get it through that thick, stupid head of yours?”

  She wiped the tears that fell freely down her face. “Do you even know what I went through? What it was like to find you gone without a word?”

  She stood outside in the sweltering midday heat, knocking on the door to his room and trying to quiet the little voice that had gotten progressively louder all morning. Something was wrong. Turn around, the voice told her. Don’t try the door.

  But she did try the door. It opened easily. For a second, it was if she’d just left and everything was the same as it had been.

  But that was exactly the problem. Everything was the same. The covers still kicked off the bed the way they’d left them the day before. A glass on the bedside table still bore the mark of her lipstick.

  “No, no, no, no,” she whispered over and over as she opened the small closet and searched the tiny bathroom, trying to fight the panic clawing its way through her like a hungry animal and devouring her. Everything of his had been packed up and taken away. Nothing remained in this room but what she’d left behind: a magazine she’d been reading one afternoon, a red ribbon from her braid, and the little row of shells she’d collected on their walks that still sat on the windowsill. Those small scraps were the only proof of the happy months she passed here. That and the locket she wore. She needed to sit but couldn’t bring herself to go near the bed. The thought of it sickened her. She caught her reflection in the window; her shocked eyes were huge in her pale face.

  “What would Jane do?” she asked her reflection, but she knew it was a silly question. Jane would never have let herself get in this situation.

  “Oh God, you idiot,” she said as she put her back to the wall and slid to the floor. She cried until she fell into an exhausted sleep. When she woke, she found that her courses had come, and she would bear the further humiliation of walking back to her aunt and uncle’s house in her soiled shorts, wiping angry tears and repeating the same word over and over. Vanished. Vanished. Vanished.

  “I hope you never know what it feels like,” he said miserably, “to disappoint the one person in the world who had any faith in you. I wish I could have been the man you thought I was. Hell, I still do.”

  “You should have told me.” Her voice shook. “You should have trusted me enough to hear the truth.”

  “Lizzie, you were so young. Mature for your age, yes, but still young. I didn’t want to bring you down with me.”

  “But you did bring me down with you! Actions have consequences whether you want them to or not! I may not have had to deal with your troubles, but I spent three damned years of my life thinking that there was something wrong with me, that I didn’t deserve to be loved!”

  He wrapped his arms around her, kissing the crown of her hair, her temples and closed eyelids, the tip of her nose. He tasted the salt of her tears and kissed those, too. He tilted her chin up. “I didn’t know,” he said breathlessly. “I really didn’t know.”

  He leaned down and planted a soft, deep kiss on her parted lips. She opened under him like a flower tasting the sun.

  They put every unsaid thing in that kiss—all their lingering aches and desires—turning it bittersweet. They stood there, locked together, breathing heavily, until at last he was able to ask what he most needed to know.

  “Slim. Darling Lizzie. Can you forgive me?”

  “I do forgive you,” she said. He leaned in to kiss her again, but she stepped away from him.

  “Don’t, Richard. Please don’t.” She put a hand out like a barrier, closing her eyes to the stricken look on his face and the tears swimming in his own eyes.

  “So you forgive me, but it’s still too late?”

  “I forgive you because you were right. I can see that now.”

  He scrubbed a hand across his face. She wouldn’t look at him.

  “Is it Will?” Still she was silent; her thoughts locked away behind guarded eyes. “You’re choosing him?”

  Elizabeth remembered the day at the pier when Richard had so bravely saved her life; three years later, Darcy had done the same the day they almost lost Jane. Both men were so selfless, so immeasurably strong. She wondered whether she had enough o
f her own strength, her own bravery. She realized she couldn’t wait for the next man to come along and save her. She was going to have to learn how to save herself.

  “I’m not choosing anyone. Or if I am, I suppose I’m choosing myself. I’ve spent the last three years hiding here, so afraid of being hurt, I’ve done myself more harm.”

  “Slim—”

  “I haven’t done a damn thing with my life yet and I…I feel like a bird that’s just been set free from her cage! I’ve been hanging on to the past for so long I forgot to think about the future. We’ve got to let each other go, Richard. It’s the only way either one of us is ever going to fly.”

  She turned back to him suddenly, surprising him by winding her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder.

  “I do forgive you, Richard. Truly, I do. I want you to have a full and happy life.”

  “God, Slim.” The words choked him.

  His arms went around her, his fingers winding into her dark curls and breathing in the warm, sweet smell of her skin. The sleeve of his T-shirt rode up, revealing his tattoo. She smiled and brushed her fingertips against it one last time.

  ***

  Rosings House

  Camden, South Carolina

  “Don’t slouch, Charlotte.” As she straightened her shoulders, Charlotte Lucas Collins didn’t bother to glare at her husband, knowing it would do her no good.

  They approached the side entrance to the formerly grand Rosings House, the home of Catherine DeBourgh and her daughter Anne. The house itself spoke of prestige fallen on hard times. Its white exterior was now cracked and peeling and the once-immaculate lawn, now overrun with kudzu and honeysuckle vines.

  As the maid, Mrs. Jenkinson, let them into the house, Charlotte tried to bite back the homesickness she felt so often of late. She hated the way everything in the house felt slightly damp to the touch and the way the plaster walls would sweat moisture on the most humid days. She longed for the clean, quiet sanity of Lucas Lodge. Everything at Rosings had a feel of disrepair and neglect though Mrs. Jenkinson kept the dust at bay inside the house.