by P. D. James
This involvement of her housekeeper in the family’s private concerns, and the mixture of untruths and vulgarity with which Lydia passed on her heedless gossip caused Jane to reconsider the wisdom of accepting so readily her sister’s usually unannounced visits, and she resolved to discourage them in future for Bingley’s and her children’s sakes as well as for her own. But one further visit must be endured. She had promised to convey Lydia to Highmarten when, as arranged, she and Bingley left Pemberley on Sunday afternoon, and she knew how greatly Elizabeth’s difficulties would be eased without Lydia’s constant demands for sympathy and attention and her erratic outbursts of noisy grief and querulous complaining. Jane had felt helpless in the face of the tragedy overshadowing Pemberley but this small service was the least she could do for her beloved Elizabeth.
4
Elizabeth slept fitfully with brief periods of blessed unconsciousness broken by nightmares which jolted her into wakefulness and to an awareness of the real horror which lay like a pall over Pemberley. Instinctively she reached out for her husband, only to recall that he was spending the night with Colonel Fitzwilliam in the library. The impulse to get out of bed and pace about the room was almost uncontrollable, but she tried again to settle into sleep. The linen sheets, usually so cool and comforting, had been twisted into a confining rope and the pillows, filled with the softest down feathers, seemed hard and hot, requiring constant shaking and turning to make them comfortable.
Her thoughts turned to Darcy and the colonel. It was absurd that they were sleeping, or attempting to sleep, in what must be some discomfort, especially after such an appalling day. And what had Colonel Fitzwilliam had in mind to propose such a scheme? She knew that it had been his idea. Did he have something important to communicate to Darcy and needed a few uninterrupted hours with him? Could he be providing some explanation of that mysterious ride into the night, or had the confidence something to do with Georgiana? Then it occurred to her that his motive might have been to prevent her and Darcy having some time in private together; since the return of the search party with Denny’s body, she and her husband had hardly had a chance for more than a few minutes’ confidential talk. She thrust the idea aside as ridiculous and tried again to settle herself for sleep.
Although she knew that her body was exhausted, her mind had never been more active. She thought of how much had to be done before the arrival of Sir Selwyn Hardcastle. Fifty households would have to be notified of the cancellation of the ball and it would have been pointless to deliver letters last night when most of the recipients would undoubtedly have been in bed; perhaps she should have stayed up even later and at least made a start on the task. But there was a more immediate responsibility which she knew must be the earliest to be faced. Georgiana had gone early to bed and would know nothing of the night’s tragedy. Since his attempted seduction of her eleven years earlier, Wickham had never been received at Pemberley or his name mentioned. The whole incident was treated as if it had never taken place. She knew that Denny’s death would increase the pain of the present while rekindling the unhappiness of the past. Did Georgiana retain any affection for Wickham? How, especially now with two suitors in the house, would she cope with seeing him again and in such circumstances of suspicion and horror? Elizabeth and Darcy planned to see all members of the household together as soon as the servants’ breakfast was over to break the news of the tragedy, but it would be impossible to keep the arrival of Lydia and Wickham secret from the maids who, from five o’clock onwards, would be busy cleaning and tidying the rooms and lighting fires. She knew that Georgiana woke early and that her maid would draw back the curtains and bring in her morning tea promptly at seven. It was she, Elizabeth, who must speak to Georgiana before someone else inadvertently blurted out the news.
She looked at the small gilt clock on her bedside table and saw that the time was fifteen minutes past six. Now, when it was important not to fall asleep, she felt that sleep could at last come, but she needed to be fully awake before seven and, ten minutes before the hour, she lit her candle and made her way quietly along the passageway to Georgiana’s room. Elizabeth had always woken early to the familiar sounds of the house coming alive, greeting each day with the sanguine expectation of happiness, the hours filled with the duties and pleasures of a community at peace with itself. Now she could hear soft distant noises like the scratching of mice, which meant that the housemaids were already busy. She was unlikely to encounter them on this floor, but if she did, they would smile and flatten themselves against the wall as she passed.
She knocked quietly on Georgiana’s door and, entering, found that she was already in her dressing gown, standing at the window and looking out into the dark emptiness. Almost immediately her maid arrived; Elizabeth took the tray from her and placed it on the bedroom table. Georgiana seemed to sense that something was wrong. As soon as the maid had left she came quickly across to Elizabeth and said with concern, ‘You look tired, my dear Elizabeth. Are you unwell?’
‘Not unwell but worried. Let us sit down together, Georgiana, there is something I have to tell you.’
‘Not Mr Alveston?’
‘No, not Mr Alveston.’
And then Elizabeth gave a brief account of what had happened the previous night. She described how, when Captain Denny was found, Wickham was kneeling by the body, deeply distressed, but she did not report what Darcy had told her had been his words. Georgiana sat quietly while she spoke, her hands in her lap. Looking at her, Elizabeth saw that two tears were glistening in her eyes and rolled unchecked down her cheeks. She put out her hand and grasped Georgiana’s.
After a moment’s pause, Georgiana dried her eyes and said calmly, ‘It must seem strange to you, my dear Elizabeth, that I should be weeping for a young man I have never even met, but I cannot help remembering how happy we were together in the music room and even as I was playing and singing with Mr Alveston Captain Denny was being brutally done to death less than two miles from us. How will his parents bear this terrible news? What loss, what grief for his friends.’ Then, perhaps seeing surprise on Elizabeth’s face, she said, ‘My dear sister, did you think I was weeping for Mr Wickham? But he is alive and Lydia and he will soon be reunited. I am happy for them both. I don’t wonder that Mr Wickham was so distraught at his friend’s death and being unable to save him but, dearest Elizabeth, please don’t think that I am distressed that he has come back into our lives. The time when I thought I was in love with him has long passed and I know now that it was only the memory of his kindness to me as a child and gratitude for his affection, and perhaps loneliness, but it was never love. And I know too that I would never have gone away with him. Even at the time it seemed more like a childish adventure than reality.’
‘Georgiana, he did intend to marry you. He has never denied it.’
‘Oh yes, he was perfectly serious about that.’ She blushed and added, ‘But he promised that we would live only as brother and sister until the marriage took place.’
‘And you believed him?’
There was a note of sadness in Georgiana’s voice. ‘Oh yes, I believed him. You see, he was never in love, it was the money he wanted, it was always the money. I have no bitterness except for the pain and trouble he caused my brother, but I would prefer not to see him.’
Elizabeth said, ‘It will be much the best, and there is no need.’ She did not add that unless George Wickham were extremely fortunate he would very likely be leaving Pemberley later that morning under police escort.
They drank the tea together almost in silence. Then as Elizabeth rose to leave, Georgiana said, ‘Fitzwilliam will never mention Mr Wickham or what happened all those years ago. It would be easier if he would. Surely it is important that people who love each other should be able to speak openly and truly about matters which touch them.’
Elizabeth said, ‘I think that it is, but sometimes it can be difficult. It depends on finding the right moment.’
‘We shall never find the right moment.
The only bitterness I feel is shame that I disappointed a dearly loved brother, and the certainty that he will never again trust my judgement. But Elizabeth, Mr Wickham is not an evil man.’
Elizabeth said, ‘Only perhaps a dangerous and a very foolish one.’
‘I have spoken about what happened to Mr Alveston and he believes that Mr Wickham could have been in love, although he was always motivated by his need for money. I can talk freely to Mr Alveston so why not to my brother?’
Elizabeth said, ‘So the secret is known to Mr Alveston.’
‘Of course, we are dear friends. But Mr Alveston will understand, as do I, that we cannot be more while this terrible mystery hangs over Pemberley. He has not declared his wishes and there is no secret engagement. I would never keep such a secret from you, dear Elizabeth, or from my brother, but we both know what is in our hearts and we shall be content to wait.’
So there was yet another secret in the family. Elizabeth thought she knew why Henry Alveston would not yet propose to Georgiana or to make his intentions clear. It would seem as if he were taking advantage of any help he might be able to give Darcy, and both Alveston and Georgiana were sensitive enough to know that the great happiness of successful love cannot be celebrated under the shadow of the gallows. She could only kiss Georgiana and murmur how much she liked Mr Alveston and express her good wishes for them both.
Elizabeth felt it was time now to get dressed and start the day. She was oppressed by the thought of how much had to be done before the arrival of Sir Selwyn Hardcastle at nine o’clock. The most important was to send the letters to the invited guests explaining, but not in detail, why the ball had to be cancelled. Georgiana said that she had ordered breakfast in her room but would join the rest of the party in the breakfast room for coffee and would very much like to help. Breakfast for Lydia had been served in her room with Jane to keep her company, and once both ladies were dressed and the room put to rights, Bingley, anxious as always to be with his wife, would join them.
As soon as Elizabeth had dressed and Belton had left her to see if any help was needed by Jane, Elizabeth sought Darcy and together they went to the nursery. Usually this daily visit took place after breakfast, but both were gripped by an almost superstitious fear that the evil which overshadowed Pemberley might even infect the nursery, and they needed to reassure themselves that all was well. But nothing had changed in that secure, self-contained little world. The boys were delighted to see their parents so unexpectedly early and, after their hugs, Mrs Donovan drew Elizabeth to one side and said quietly, ‘Mrs Reynolds was good enough to see me at first light to give me the news of Captain Denny’s death. It is a great shock to us all but be assured that it will be kept from Master Fitzwilliam until Mr Darcy feels it right to talk to him and tell him as much as a child needs to know. Have no fear, madam; there will be no housemaids carrying gossip into the nursery.’
As they left, Darcy expressed his relief and gratitude that Elizabeth had broken the news to Georgiana and that his sister had received it with no more distress than was natural, but Elizabeth sensed that his old doubts and worries had resurfaced, and that he would have been happier if Georgiana could have been spared any news which would recall her to the past.
A little before eight Elizabeth and Darcy entered the breakfast room to find that the only guest at the largely untasted meal was Henry Alveston, and although a great deal of coffee was drunk, little of the usual breakfast of eggs, home cured bacon, sausages and kidneys left on the sideboard beneath their silver domes was touched.
It was an awkward meal and the air of constraint, so unusual when they were all together, was not helped by the arrival of the colonel and, minutes later, of Georgiana. She took her seat between Alveston and the colonel, and as Alveston was helping her to coffee, said, ‘Perhaps after breakfast, Elizabeth, we could get started on the letters. If you would decide on the wording I can begin the copies. All the guests can have the same letter and surely it need only be brief.’
There was a silence which all felt to be uncomfortable, and then the colonel spoke to Darcy. ‘Surely Miss Darcy should leave Pemberley, and soon. It is inappropriate that she should have any part in this affair, or in any way be submitted to Sir Selwyn’s or the constables’ presumptive questioning.’
Georgiana was very pale but her voice was firm. ‘I would like to help.’ She turned to Elizabeth. ‘You will be needed later in the morning in so many ways but if you will give me the wording I can write for you and you would only need to sign the letters.’
Alveston broke in. ‘An excellent plan. Only the briefest note will be necessary.’ He turned to Darcy. ‘Permit me to be of service, sir. If I could have a fast horse and a spare I could help deliver the letters. As a stranger to most of the guests I should better be able to avoid explanations which would delay a member of the family. If Miss Darcy and I could together consider a local map, we could work out the quickest and most rational route. Some houses with close neighbours who have also been invited might take responsibility for spreading the news.’
Elizabeth reflected that a number of them would undoubtedly take pleasure in the task. If anything could compensate for the loss of the ball it would be the drama that was unfolding at Pemberley. Some of their friends would certainly grieve at the anxiety everyone at Pemberley must be feeling and would hasten to write letters of condolence and assurances of support, and she told herself firmly that many of these would arise from a genuine affection and concern. She must not allow cynicism to disparage the impulses of compassion and love.
But Darcy was speaking, his voice cold. ‘My sister will have no part in this. She is not concerned in any of it and it is totally inappropriate that she should be.’
Georgiana’s voice was gentle but equally firm. ‘But Fitzwilliam, I am concerned. All of us are.’
Before he could reply, the colonel broke in. He said, ‘It is important, Miss Georgiana, that you should not remain at Pemberley until this matter has been fully investigated. I shall be writing by express to Lady Catherine this evening and I have no doubt she will speedily invite you to Rosings. I know that you do not particularly like the house and that the invitation will to some extent be unwelcome, but it is your brother’s wish that you go where you will be safe and where neither Mr nor Mrs Darcy need have any anxiety about your safety and welfare. I am sure that with your good sense you will see the wisdom – indeed the propriety – of what is proposed.’
Ignoring him, Georgiana turned to Darcy. ‘You need have no anxiety. Please do not ask me to leave. I only wish to be of use to Elizabeth and I hope I can be. I cannot see that there is any impropriety in that.’
It was then that Alveston intervened. ‘Forgive me, sir, but I feel I must speak. You discuss what Miss Darcy should do as if she were a child. We have entered the nineteenth century; we do not need to be a disciple of Mrs Wollstonecraft to feel that women should not be denied a voice in matters that concern them. It is some centuries since we accepted that a woman has a soul. Is it not time that we accepted that she also has a mind?’
The colonel took a moment to control himself. He said, ‘I suggest, sir, that you save your diatribe for the Old Bailey.’
Darcy turned to Georgiana. ‘I was thinking only of your welfare and happiness. Of course, if you wish, you must stay; Elizabeth will, I know, be glad of your help.’
Elizabeth had been sitting quietly wondering whether she could speak without making matters worse. Now she said, ‘Very glad indeed. I must be available for Sir Selwyn Hardcastle when he arrives and I do not see how the necessary letters can be delivered in time unless I have help. So shall we make a start?’
Thrusting back his chair with some force, the colonel made a stiff bow to Elizabeth and Georgiana, then left the room.
Alveston stood up and spoke to Darcy. ‘I must apologise, sir, for intervening in a family matter which is not my concern. I spoke inadvisably and with more force than was either courteous or wise.’
Darcy said
, ‘The apology is due to the colonel rather than to me. Your comments may have been inappropriate and presumptuous but that does not mean that they were not true.’ He turned to Elizabeth. ‘If you could settle the question of the letters now, my love, I think it is time for us to speak to the staff, both the indoor servants and those who may be working in the house. Mrs Reynolds and Stoughton will have told them only that there has been an accident and the ball has been cancelled, and there will be considerable alarm and anxiety. I will ring for Mrs Reynolds now and say that we will come down to speak to them in the servants’ hall as soon as you have drafted the letter for Georgiana to copy.’
5
Thirty minutes later Darcy and Elizabeth entered the servants’ hall to the sound of sixteen chairs being scraped back and a muttered ‘Good morning sir’ in reply to Darcy’s greeting, spoken in a concerted murmur so low that it could hardly be heard. Elizabeth was struck by the expanse of newly starched and very white afternoon aprons and goffered caps before remembering that, under Mrs Reynolds’s directions, all the staff were impeccably dressed on the morning of Lady Anne’s ball. The air smelled of baking and a pervading savoury aroma; in the absence of orders to the contrary, some of the tarts and savouries must already be in the ovens. Passing an open door leading to the conservatory, Elizabeth had been almost overwhelmed by the sickly scent of the cut flowers; unwanted now, how many, she wondered, would be alive by Monday. She found herself thinking of what could best be done with the many birds plucked for roasting, the huge meat joints, the fruits from the greenhouses, the white soup and the syllabubs. Most would not yet be prepared but with no counter-instructions there would inevitably be a surplus which somehow must not be allowed to go to waste. It seemed an unreasonable anxiety at such a time, but it crowded in with a multitude of other concerns. Why did Colonel Fitzwilliam not mention his ride into the night and where he had been? He could hardly have taken merely a windblown ride by the river. And if Wickham were arrested and taken away, a possibility which no one had mentioned but each must know was almost certain, what would happen to Lydia? She was unlikely to want to stay at Pemberley, but it was necessary that she should be offered hospitality somewhere close to her husband. Perhaps the best plan and certainly the most convenient would be for her to be taken by Jane and Bingley to Highmarten, but would that be fair to Jane?
