Longbourn's Songbird

by Beau North

  Catherine cut her eyes to Anne before returning to meet Collins’s satisfied smile. “Upstairs.” She spoke to Anne though she did not turn from Collins.

  “Mother, please—”

  “Upstairs now! This is not a conversation for ladies.”

  Anne meekly shuffled out the door. She looked back at Collins once and said, “I hate you!”

  “Anne!”

  Collins shut the door behind her. “Miss Catherine, you see the gravity of the situation and the reason my wife is not with me today.”

  “Collins,” she barked, “normally I would not interfere where you saw fit to discipline your wife, but I simply will not tolerate your encouraging such lies about my daughter.”

  “Ma’am, I promise you these are not lies. My wife herself admitted to an unholy relationship. It took several hours to get the entire story out, but she eventually came around to admit her sinful ways. Surely, you’ve seen—”

  Catherine had indeed seen, though she did not understand it then. She had seen her daughter and Mrs. Collins holding hands in the garden, or walking with their arms around each other’s waists, but she wrote it off to the familiarity that came with female friendship.

  This letter fit all the pieces into place, and she was faced with the bald truth about her daughter. Under any other circumstance, Catherine would have been more willing to address the matter, but she would not abide this doughy man’s presumptions.

  “I have seen nothing. Your wife undoubtedly has been a friend to my Anne, and I marvel that anyone—even someone with your fanatic zeal—could turn such an honest affection into something wicked.”

  “But ask her yourself how she reacted! Call that girl back down here—”

  “You shall not speak of my daughter as if you were her better! She is Miss DeBourgh, you twit, and I’ll not sully her mind with these allegations. And you can’t honestly expect me to believe Charlotte would ever admit to such untruthful atrocities without some sort of provocation.”

  Collins blanched, and Catherine wondered what bruises Charlotte might have to show from his interrogation. She noticed the reverend’s wife had taken to wearing long sleeves in high summer and would wince when sitting down. Catherine didn’t approve, of course, but it was none of her business until Collins had the gall to involve her daughter.

  “Send for your wife.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Send for your wife. I’ll question her myself.”

  “Ma’am, with all due respect, she is my wife, and I am charged by God with authority over her.”

  “Send for your wife, Mr. Collins! And God’s authority be damned! Mine is the only authority that matters where my daughter is concerned!”

  Catherine turned from Collins while he ran from the house to retrieve Charlotte. Likely, Collins was right, and Charlotte’s letter contained nothing but the truth about her relationship with Anne. The only obvious falsehood was Charlotte’s religious conversion and her desire never to see Anne again.

  Catherine had no intention of wringing the truth from Charlotte. She did not want to know the truth. It certainly couldn’t be allowed to continue. Such a scandal would set their family back for generations.

  In her own home, however, Catherine was quite prepared to turn a blind eye to her daughter’s proclivities, especially if it meant misery and mortification for Collins.

  It seems she had finally tired of her pet.

  ***

  Bronx, New York

  The room was silent but for the sound of a match being struck, followed by the bloom of flame. Richard lit a cigarette for himself and one for his companion, handing it to her wordlessly. He settled back against the pillows, the heavy glass ashtray resting on his chest. He inhaled deeply. Just like that, he was hooked again.

  “There are water stains on your ceiling,” he said cheerfully.

  “You’re in Morris Park, honey. Get used to it.”

  Richard grinned up at the watermarked ceiling. It was all a fine joke.

  “I think I’ll pass actually. Do cabs run out here?”

  “You’ll have to take the Number Six at this time of night,” the woman said tiredly.

  He put his cigarette out, moving the ashtray onto the bedside table. He picked his clothes up off the floor, dressing unhurriedly.

  “Will I see you again?” she asked, the edge in her voice all too familiar. All the same, he reminded himself.

  “I doubt it,” he said, buttoning his shirt.

  He suddenly hated the smell of smoke that clung to him and the remnants of her cheap perfume in the room. He wanted nothing more than to be safely ensconced in the Fitzwilliam townhouse, away from this woman and her sad, stale apartment.

  “Do this often, do you?” She sat up and lay back against the pillows. He gave her an apologetic smile, brushing her bleached blonde hair out of her eyes.

  “Often enough.”

  ***

  Forgiveness was all too easy, Elizabeth decided. It was the forgetting part that came hard.

  Her own bitterness over Darcy’s tryst with Caroline Bingley bothered her, especially considering how willing she’d been to take her own measure of escape in Richard’s arms.

  “There’s something here,” he had said. “I know you feel it too.” She felt a flush of heat, a pull in her belly at the way he said it. He was right of course. She felt him like a stone in her heart and wondered whether she planted him there a year ago, allowing her flesh to grow around him the way the bark of a tree would grow around a nail.

  She got up to answer a knock on the door of her room. She and Aunt Maddie had set up camp at Uncle Jack’s house until the band pushed on to their last show in Greenville. Then it was home to Meryton and Jane’s wedding. The Burchette house was well-loved and well-worn, and it reminded her of Longbourn in a way that made her ache for home.

  Maddie peeked in the door. “Are you decent, Lizzie? You have a visitor.”

  She thought she could guess who her visitor was. Elizabeth glanced down at her soft ivory shirt, tucked into her trim-waisted, wide-legged trousers.

  “As I’ll ever be,” she said. Maddie hesitated in the doorway.

  “Was there something else?”

  “You got a letter this morning. From Jane.” Elizabeth’s eyes lit up as her aunt handed her the robins-egg blue envelope. The stationery had been an engagement gift to Jane from Louisa Hurst, who said the color matched Jane’s eyes.

  “Can you keep him busy for a second while I read this,” she said pleading. “I haven’t had news from home in weeks.”

  “Of course,” Maddie said with a smile. “Besides, it never hurts to keep a gentleman waiting.”

  Elizabeth laughed and tore the envelope open. “I think this particular gentleman might disagree with you there.”

  “Fair enough.” Maddie chuckled as she shut the door, letting Elizabeth read her letter in privacy.

  ***

  Darcy was getting ready to storm up the narrow stairs and bring Elizabeth down himself when she walked into the room, her face white with shock. She held a crumpled letter in one fist. Darcy was on his feet and at her side in an instant, ready to steady her should she falter.

  “Lizzie!” Maddie exclaimed. “What’s the matter?” Elizabeth handed her aunt the paper.

  “I—I need a minute alone with Mr. Darcy, please.”

  “Lizzie, I hardly think—”

  “Come on, Maddie,” Jack said, leading his sister away. “I don’t think they’ll be getting into any trouble with us standing right outside the door.”

  “Elizabeth, what’s wrong?” Darcy asked the moment the door closed behind them.

  “I hardly know how to make the words,” Elizabeth said, stricken. He put his hands on her arms, gently guiding her down into a chair. He knelt in front of her, warming her hands in his.

  She swallowed. “My…my sister Lydia has run away from home.”

  Darcy frowned. He thought Lydia might be one of the younger girls, the rowdy ones who
laughed a bit too much.

  “Can I help you in any way?” he asked. “I’ll do whatever I can for you.” Elizabeth’s eyes widened into something like horror at the suggestion.

  “No. That’s not possible. She’s run away with George Wickham, you see. I could never ask—”

  “Wickham!” Darcy bit the name off like a curse.

  He knew he had gone far too easy on the cad in their last tussle. Now he bitterly regretted not breaking his leg. A hip would have been better. He turned to Elizabeth, her misery softening him while in his mind he was already forming a plan.

  “Do you know where they went? Is anyone looking for them?”

  She blinked at him, as if trying to clear her vision. “Yes. My father is looking now. Kitty seems to think that they might have gone to New Orleans.” She buried her head in her hands. “Oh God, they can just disappear there, can’t they?”

  He nodded, remembering Adam Carter’s card in the lockbox in his office. Richard’s detective friend had more than proven himself in finding Wickham once already.

  “We’re finished.” She groaned from behind her hands. “We’ll have to leave Meryton to survive the scandal.” When she dropped her hands, her eyes were tired but dry.

  He saw an idea cross her face; she reached out and put her hand over his heart, the way she had the night she snuck out with him. Just as he had then, he covered it with his own, holding it there.

  “Will…I know scandals like these can’t be hidden for long, but could you just…not tell your sister for the time being? That poor girl has been through enough already.”

  “Elizabeth, please,” he said softly.

  “Please, William. If you’ve ever cared about me—” Darcy’s jaw clenched in frustration. That was a dirty trick. He ran a hand through his hair.

  “I won’t say anything to Georgie unless absolutely necessary,” he said, hoping that was vague enough.

  She nodded absently and stood, moving for the door. “I need to speak to my aunt. My mother needs me. Her nerves can’t handle this kind of strain, and it’s not fair of me to leave it all on Jane and Mary. I hope to be on the next bus home.”

  He briefly considered giving her a ride back to Meryton himself but quickly dismissed the notion. He had work to do, and Wickham had a considerable head start on him as it was. She turned back to him just before opening the door. “I’m sorry, Mr. Darcy. I didn’t get a chance to ask: Was there something you needed?”

  He looked down into those dark eyes he loved so well, now troubled and lacking her usual edge of wit. He vowed he would see them bright and full of laughter again.

  “It can wait,” he told her.

  ***

  Georgiana darted into her brother’s office, narrowly avoiding getting knocked over by the round little man who came barreling out of the room. She recognized him as the family attorney. Ellis Page, Darcy’s business manager, was leaning over the side of the desk speaking furtively.

  “…it’s just unheard of, Mr. Darcy. We’ll do it, of course, but if it goes that way, you’d take a substantial hit financially.”

  “I know what’s at stake, Ellis.” Georgiana recognized the stubborn set of her brother’s shoulders. He would have his way. “Just get it done. Thank you.”

  “Right away, Mr. Darcy,” Ellis said, nodding at Georgiana in his haste to leave the room.

  “Did you bring it?” her brother asked her, rising from behind his desk and stretching. She nodded and handed him the small box he asked for.

  “What on earth is going on, Will? Why is everyone running around like their pants are on fire?”

  “Because I lit the match,” he said, distracted.

  Darcy grabbed his leather Samsonite from out of the chair opposite his desk and motioned for her to sit. He opened the suitcase and stuffed the small box she brought him inside, along with a thick envelope.

  “Georgie, I’m afraid I have to leave you alone again for a while. Something’s come up that I can’t avoid. I’ve sent word to Richard to see if he can come back and stay with you, but rumor is he’s been an infrequent visitor in his own house…both of them.”

  “I don’t need a sitter.” Georgiana sniffed. “What about Elizabeth? I thought you wanted to…see her off?”

  Darcy sighed heavily as he resumed his seat. He leaned forward on his elbows, looking at her seriously.

  “I told her I wouldn’t tell you this unless it was absolutely necessary. I think it is necessary or I wouldn’t grieve you by repeating it.”

  “Will—” Georgiana was becoming increasingly alarmed. “Spit it out already.”

  He smirked at her turn of phrase. “Elizabeth left Lambton this morning. She’s on a bus back home as we speak.”

  Georgiana tried to swallow her disappointment. She truly liked the kind, witty young woman who had clearly stolen her brother’s heart.

  “Her youngest sister has run away,” he explained slowly.

  “Oh, how awful!”

  “I’m not finished. She’s run away with George Wickham.”

  Georgiana’s stomach dropped at the mention of that name. Her overwhelming guilt over what she put her brother through had made her retreat further into herself over the past few years. Guilt wasn’t what she felt now, however—just cold anger.

  “It makes sense, I suppose,” Darcy said, watching her carefully. “The Bennets made a nice bankroll off the sale of Longbourn and retain a five percent holding. They’re in a position to pay him off if they need to.”

  Georgiana stood abruptly, pushing her chair away. She started pacing the room, fidgeting with the bracelet around her wrist.

  “That no account, two-bit fathead! I could just…he…fuck!” Darcy’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

  “Georgiana Elaine Darcy! Where did you even hear that word?”

  “I grew up with you and Richard, William. I know that word and a lot more besides.” Her hand made a fist and she ground it into the palm of her other hand. She turned to see her brother watching with a small smile on his face. “Is something funny, William?”

  He shook his head but the smile remained. “I’m just…glad to see this reaction. I was worried about upsetting you. And you remind me of myself a little just now.”

  “Oh, I’m upset all right.” She sat back down. “What are we going to do about this?”

  “I’m already on it. I tried contacting his CO at Camp Croft, but apparently, Wickham is on furlough, so I can’t bring the military down on him. There was some indication they would be going to New Orleans. I was—well, I was actually hoping you might have some idea as to where he might go.”

  Georgiana nodded reluctantly. She did know a place. “There’s a woman you’ll want to find. She runs the boarding house on Canal Street where you found me, or at least she did two years ago. Her name is Mrs. Young.”

  Her hand flexed into a fist again remembering the dingy boarding house and its proprietor. She’d gotten the impression the lady and Wickham knew each other quite well.

  Darcy wrote it down. “Is there anything else?”

  “Plenty,” she said. She told him everything, feeling the fire of her anger cleansing the wound George Wickham left in her. It had festered far too long.

  ***

  Charlotte nearly cried with relief when her brother John walked through the door at Rosings House; his long face only seemed to get longer when he saw her.

  “Where is everyone?”

  Charlotte licked her lips, the bottom one was split open, making it painful for her to talk. “Mrs. DeBourgh is upstairs with An— with her daughter. Mrs. Jenkinson was kind enough to sit with me.” She nodded at the housekeeper of Rosings, a stout woman with ebony skin and soft eyes. She had brought Charlotte a cool cloth for her face while they waited for her brother.

  John strode to his sister. His fingertips tilted her head one way, then another.

  “And the bastard who gave you that shiner? Where is he?”

  Charlotte huffed. It was as close to
a laugh as she could manage. “He went to go pray and ask God for his guidance.”

  “Ah, good, you’ve come at last,” Catherine said from the parlor door.

  “What happened to her?” her brother said.

  At the same time, Charlotte asked, “Where is Anne?”

  “Mrs. Collins.” Catherine’s tone was firm but not without sympathy. “Your acquaintance with my daughter is over. Surely you can see that’s best for all.”

  John frowned, looking from Catherine to Charlotte. “What’s going on here?”

  “Your sister has had an…entanglement outside of her marriage.”

  “That’s…not possible,” John said. Catherine opened her mouth to argue, but the sudden presence of Anne in the room halted all conversation. Anne’s face was red and swollen from crying. She made a strangled sound and launched herself across the room at Charlotte.

  The women collided, clutching each other so tightly their fingertips turned white from the pressure of it. John’s jaw dropped at the sight while Catherine’s face turned an angry shade of red.

  “Stop that this instant!” She attempted to pry Anne away with little success. She turned to John. “Help me, boy!”

  It was that moment, years later when he met his fate in a South Vietnamese jungle, he would remember as his most shameful. The guilt over prying his weeping, hysterical sister off of her lover would act as the catalyst that would send him into the ministry, later to become an army chaplain.

  He pulled the women apart, dragging Charlotte screaming from the house, not knowing that his life had just begun hurtling towards its final end.

  Chapter Eighteen

  September 1949

  Rue Chartres

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Carter’s information was good. Mrs. Young had moved her establishment from the crumbling Canal Street row house to a three-story walk-up on Chartres. The building was salmon-colored stucco with elaborate ironwork on the upper galleries, and the hurricane shutters were painted a gaudy shade of green that made it easy to find.