Darcy's Redemption

by M. A. Sandiford

  ‘You are treading on thin ice, Elizabeth.’

  ‘You fear civilisation collapsing? Satan emerging from the pit? All because we kissed?’

  ‘I fear that I want you so much that I am in danger of blinding myself to the consequences.’

  She nodded. ‘You are right. But I beg you, William …’ She wriggled free so that they could talk face to face. ‘Let us have no regrets.’

  He remained silent for a while, then looked up at the mantel clock. ‘I had better return. But I share your sentiment. I would not undo the most perfect hour of my life.’

  It was well past midnight. The road was deserted. They stood outside the front door in the cool air. He looked at her longingly, as if making a memory, kissed her hand, descended the steps. His boots tapped on the pavement. She watched, shivering a little at the cold, as he turned the corner and was gone.

  18

  After tip-toeing to her bedroom Elizabeth lay awake a long time, reliving her tryst with Darcy. She accepted his warning at the end: they had crossed into dangerous territory. Nevertheless she felt blissful, and deeply fulfilled. It was as if their declared love had given her strength—an illusion, no doubt, but for the time being she acquiesced.

  In a waking dream, fragments of music played in her head. She heard Chopin’s Ballade, Georgiana’s current favourite, with its unbridled passion that traditional critics declared vulgar. Lines from Caroline’s poem chased each other round and round. I do not love thee, do not love thee, do not love thee.

  But sleep came eventually, and when Elizabeth joined the breakfast table, she was greeted in the usual way. She found this incongruous: surely nothing could be the same again? But she received no knowing glances, no awkward questions. The earl planned to visit the King’s Library at the British Museum. Julia was considering whether to go with him. Samuel asked the most elegant way of eating a boiled egg.

  As they finished up, a footman entered with a letter for Elizabeth.

  ‘Just arrived, ma’am. Marked URGENT.’

  As expected, the hand was Fredo’s. Probably another text to correct. She took it to her room, unworried, pulled out the message, and jumped as if she had been stung by a wasp. She re-read it slowly, in disbelief.

  I am informed that once again you have disgraced me and betrayed my trust. Seeing no alternative, I have written to the gentleman in question, to declare my intention of bringing a suit against him for criminal conversation. If you have any regard for my rights as husband, or the welfare of your children, you will cease your visits to this gentleman directly. It goes without saying that there will be no more outings with the children until this matter is resolved to my satisfaction. Shame on you. F.

  Elizabeth paced the room. How had Fredo discovered so quickly? Could he have ordered a servant to hide in the shadows and keep Mountjoy House under observation? If so, the spy would have seen her invite Darcy inside at a late hour. He might even have seen their intimate farewell on the doorstep.

  It was far-fetched, but possible.

  She gritted her teeth. By now Darcy had probably received Fredo’s letter. They had to talk.

  At Darcy House, the family was still at breakfast. As Elizabeth joined them, Darcy greeted her with a relaxed smile and offered coffee.

  ‘No, thank you.’ She apologised to Georgiana and her husband and daughter. ‘I must see William in private.’

  Darcy frowned. ‘It is urgent?’

  ‘Very.’

  As he led her to the study, she asked, ‘Has your post arrived this morning?’

  ‘A letter from my steward. Nothing more.’ He closed the door and took her hands. ‘What is the matter? I hope you are not upset over … last night.’

  She looked around, as if spies might be hiding under the desk and behind the curtains, and kissed him lightly.

  ‘No regrets, dear William, but the most extraordinary message has arrived.’

  She handed him the note, and he stared at it in astonishment.

  ‘This is absurd. I cannot believe we were observed.’

  ‘Then whence the accusation?’

  Darcy pointed to a sentence. ‘He orders you to discontinue your visits. But last night it was I that visited you. If I am the gentleman in question, Sibley must be referring to your visits here. Of last night he can know nothing.’

  Elizabeth relaxed a little. ‘I overlooked that. But why does he claim to have written to you?’

  ‘The letter may be in transit.’ He rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘Do not distress yourself. Write back to say you have no idea what he is talking about. Meanwhile I will let you know if any unpleasant messages arrive here.’

  He pressed her to stay for coffee, but Elizabeth felt too jittery for company. She returned to Mountjoy House, where the earl and countess were getting ready for their outing.

  ‘Lizzy!’ Julia ran to meet her. ‘A servant just called with an urgent note for you.’

  The note was no more than a scrap of paper, folded over, and this time the handwriting was not Fredo’s:

  Dear EB, Please come to my office as soon as possible. It is very urgent. John Allsop.

  Elizabeth sighed with relief. Nothing to do with Fredo or Darcy; merely some crisis at The Lady’s Magazine.

  ‘Not bad news, I hope,’ Julia said.

  ‘Only a call to arms from Mr John Allsop. I’m needed in Paternoster Row.’

  ‘Come with us,’ Henry Mountjoy said. ‘Our driver can take you after dropping us off at the library.’

  Elizabeth hesitated. She feared missing Darcy, should he call with further news. But it would not take long to visit the office.

  She joined them in the carriage.

  At the offices of The Lady’s Magazine, Elizabeth ran the gauntlet of the ladies as they edited copy and wrote captions for the fashion engravings. One or two humourists had begun calling her Miss Amelia Meanwell. It would be fun to banter with them, but not today. She was eager to get back to Mayfair, and Allsop was plainly in a flap.

  He jumped up as she entered, waving her to a chair, and ran to close the door, which was normally left open. She watched, amused: for a portly man he was surprisingly nimble. But he seemed agitated as he drew out a letter.

  ‘I suppose you know what this is about?’

  Elizabeth smiled. ‘No doubt you have some urgent assignment for the next issue.’

  ‘Assignment?’ He stared at her. ‘What are you talking about? I am referring, naturally, to this.’

  Elizabeth flinched as she recognised Fredo’s handwriting. She took a deep breath and read the following:

  Dear Mr Allsop

  It has come to my attention that you are holding regular private meetings with my wife. Since she has given me a solemn promise to discontinue her work for your publication, I can only assume that these appointments are of a personal nature. I find myself therefore with no alternative but to bring a suit against you for criminal conversation. If you wish to avoid the ignominy of such a suit, I am willing to settle out of court for £200. It goes without saying that your meetings with my wife will cease forthwith.

  Yours, Frederick Sibley

  Throwing down the letter, Elizabeth could only burst out laughing, partly at its absurdity, but mostly with relief that her supposed lover was not Darcy.

  Allsop glared at her. ‘You will forgive me, madam, if I fail to see the joke. As an editor in the public eye, my reputation matters. I am also not wealthy.’

  Elizabeth managed to compose herself. ‘It is just so ridiculous. My husband publishes in The Church Magazine. He probably sent a footman to Paternoster Row, to deliver a manuscript. You can imagine what happens next. The servant sees me enter your office. Reports back. My husband makes this absurd accusation as a way of punishing me. He cannot seriously intend taking you to court. He wants me to admit that I disobeyed him, and he wants to remind you that my earnings should be his, not mine.’

  Allsop ran his eye over the letter again, as if checking that the wording supported this in
terpretation. ‘If you are correct, all this is marital fun and games that have nothing to do with me. Fight your battles if you must, but do not use an innocent party as a weapon.’

  ‘This is not my doing, Mr Allsop. I am as much a victim as you.’

  ‘You married the man. Don’t expect me to share the ill consequences.’

  Elizabeth nodded, realising how much the letter had scared him. He was right, she said. There was no need for him to reply to the letter. She would explain the situation to Fredo and persuade him to drop his allegations.

  19

  Elizabeth found the negotiation ludicrous as much as distressing. As an opening sally she admitted returning to The Lady’s Magazine. Yes, she had once promised to give up her magazine writing, but that was before he had forced her out of the house, leaving her no income. If he objected, he should provide her with an allowance, or pay for her work copy-editing his tracts. Meanwhile, he should apologise to Mr Allsop for the untrue allegation, and reinstate outings with the children.

  As expected, Fredo had no intention of paying an allowance. Elizabeth was not destitute, he argued, since she was staying with friends. If she wanted pin-money and access to the children, she should admit fault, agree to his terms, and return home. But on one point he did relent. Within the week, Allsop received a second letter:

  Dear Mr Allsop,

  I have learned that my wife continued writing for your magazine, after faithfully promising that she would not. As you will appreciate, this has come as a shock. I did not expect that she would so flagrantly dishonour her word. Since your meetings were apparently of a business nature, I have decided not to seek legal redress. I ask in return that you inform me if my wife takes up further employment at your magazine, and remind you that by law any earnings from this activity belong to me. If they are paid instead to my wife, it is your responsibility to make good my loss.

  Yours, Frederick Sibley.

  Elizabeth was in a quandary. She could not accept money from the magazine without embarrassing Allsop, who was legally required to give her earnings to Fredo. But readers had been promised a new series featuring the journal of Miss Amelia Meanwell, an innocent girl inclined to blush. Darcy suggested a subterfuge. In her next letter to Fredo she promised to stop earning pin money from magazine work. At the same time she offered John Allsop her services free of charge. As to income, Darcy assured her that the EB fans under his roof would gladly make up the difference. Elizabeth was embarrassed to exploit his generosity, but saw no alternative.

  Fortunately, Fredo too was inconvenienced by the impasse. A debate over his tract on Prayers for the Dead was still rumbling on, and he urgently needed more help with copy-editing. He proposed a truce. Elizabeth would revise his writings without pay. In return she would see the children once a week.

  It was enough. A new status quo.

  Meanwhile, unknown to Fredo, Elizabeth’s emotional centre of gravity had shifted. She yearned for further intimacy with Darcy, longed for his kisses—and a good deal more. But the episode with Allsop had scared her badly, adding to her guilt. Moreover, she saw how uncomfortable Darcy was at such an illicit relationship. After an agonising discussion they agreed to pull back. Their love was a fact they could not control. It imparted a glow to their lives. But they would not allow it to be tarnished by guilt and fear. Yes, they would meet as before, all the more delightfully now that their feelings were declared. But the passionate hour in Julia’s drawing room would remain the sole physical expression of their love, neither regretted, nor repeated.

  Weeks passed, and miraculously, all ran smoothly. No unpleasant letters accused Darcy of criminal conversation. No thunderbolt from the skies struck them dead as they promenaded by the Serpentine. Julia still suspected her of loving Darcy, but was unaware of their new intimacy. The Molyneuxs likewise saw them as just friends. Outwardly, then, nothing had changed. Caroline Norton would have guessed, Elizabeth thought, with her rich experience of le grand amour. But she had gone back to the Isle of Wight to treat a persistent cough.

  In mid-October, rain frustrated the usual outing with Grace and Robert. Elizabeth stayed indoors finishing a complicated revision for Fredo. Georgiana had left with her husband to visit a fellow-scientist interested in photogenic drawing, while Anne stayed with her uncle. One afternoon the weather turned, and a servant passed with a note from Darcy. He was free to walk in the park, if she had no objection to an expedition à deux. The grey wig was available if needed.

  There was a delicious tingle in being alone with Darcy—excepting of course the staff. He led her to the dressing-up chest from which she selected the usual wig, and a coat and hat suited to late autumn sunshine.

  They had grown tired of discussing their dilemma. As they walked arm in arm through Hyde Park, along paths strewn with silver birch leaves, he spoke of Georgiana’s wedding, their trips to Vienna, Venice, Rome, and his early married life with Arethusa. They compared impressions of Lord Byron. The past had become the only satisfying topic, since they saw no future together except a continuation of their present masquerade.

  Returning to Darcy House, Elizabeth tried to act naturally while keeping an eye open in case Fredo had sent a footman to spy on her. Fashionable couples were out and about in the fine weather, while servants hurried by in the gutters carrying messages or shopping baskets. Opposite Darcy House stood a man with the appearance of a gentleman down at heel. He peered up and down the street, then loped off unsteadily as if he had been drinking. She sighed with relief. Some ne’er-do-well, probably, but not one of Fredo’s footmen, who would be dismissed if they were seen inebriated or shabbily attired.

  ‘A mug of cocoa?’ Darcy suggested.

  Elizabeth accepted with a wry smile. A warm beverage would be nice, but again her self-control would be tested.

  The man who had loitered opposite Darcy House swore between his teeth as he turned towards Piccadilly. Mayfair was a long way from his lodgings in Edward Street unless he took a horse bus. He wondered again about the couple approaching from Hyde Park. The gentleman was almost certainly Darcy. The woman he had not recognised, but given her silver hair and middling height she could hardly be Georgiana. Which was a pity, since the former Miss Darcy had a generous heart.

  He fingered a purse containing sufficient for the horse bus or a jug of ale, but not both. The ale would dull his disappointment, but he was unsure he could manage the trek back. Added to which, he was two weeks behind in the rent. If he arrived tipsy, Mrs Younge might order the servant to throw him out. Which would mean no supper, no bed, and no bawdy chat with Rosie, the widow in the upstairs room.

  If only he had militia friends that he could touch for a tenner. He would join a card game and earn some decent cash. But those days were over. Years scraping an existence in Paris and Brussels had stripped him of the elegant clothes and good health needed to impress the gentlemen and charm the ladies. He had been forced to mix with men and women of lower rank, who would steal his purse in the blink of an eye. For old time’s sake Mrs Younge had taken him in, but she was losing patience.

  He reached Piccadilly and waited for the horse bus. Rosie was a good sort. In funds too. Perhaps she would share a bottle with him.

  20

  November 1838, a month later

  The truce held. Elizabeth remained welcome at Mountjoy House, continuing her old role as Julia’s companion but accepting only board and lodging. Every week she met up with Grace and Robert, taking them for tea at the luxurious Mivart’s Hotel when the weather was too stormy for a walk in the park. Fredo sent further work as he began a tract. Georgiana was back at Darcy House with her husband and daughter. Caroline Norton had returned from her holiday and was lobbying for a second presentation of the Custody of Infants Act in the new year.

  Elizabeth’s life centred on Darcy. They tried to ration private meetings so that their intimacy was not too obvious. But Georgiana invited her to dinner most weeks, often including the earl and countess too—and Julia returned the compli
ment. In company, Darcy tried hard to treat Elizabeth as simply another dinner guest, but their eloquent glances must have been noticed.

  The equilibrium did not endure. One morning a message arrived from the Gardiners comprising three words that would transform Elizabeth’s world.

  She is here.

  Elizabeth’s first reaction was to call at Grosvenor Street. Darcy expressed his relief and offered use of his fashionable cabriolet carriage. For once Elizabeth did not argue. She accepted a five-pound note for emergencies, and set off in high excitement.

  At Gracechurch Street the company was in the dining room for early lunch. Entering, Elizabeth found a woman she hardly recognised, seated beside a boy slurping soup. The dress at least was familiar: it had once belonged to a Gardiner daughter. But the complexion was leathery, with knotted brow, steely eyes, and a scar running from cheek to forehead. They froze, until with a cry Elizabeth ran forward holding out her hands.

  ‘Dearest Lydia. At last.’

  ‘Hallo Lizzy.’ The accent was shockingly new, and the hands so calloused they scraped her skin. ‘You haven’t changed. Much.’

  Elizabeth studied Lydia’s features. Yes, she recalled the button nose, narrow eyes, full lips. The hair was pale grey, and sparser. But expression and posture were unrecognisable. Lydia stood tall and lean, and her hands gripped powerfully.

  ‘I last saw you in court.’ Elizabeth blinked back tears. ‘Nearly 25 years ago.’

  Lydia grimaced. ‘Stupid troll, wasn’t I?’

  Elizabeth laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, removing it when he spun round suspiciously. ‘You must introduce me to this young man.’

  ‘Pete, this is your Aunt Lizzy,’ Lydia said, in a matter-of-fact tone that sounded reproving to Elizabeth.