Death Comes to Pemberley

by P. D. James

  Colonel Fitzwilliam said, ‘I had not, of course, seen Mrs Younge since the time when we interviewed her as a governess. She charmed me now as she had then. She gave details of her finances. I have told Darcy how I was convinced that what she proposed would be best for the child, and indeed I still believe it would have been best for Mrs Younge to adopt Georgie. After I made it my business to call at Woodland Cottage while we were en route to investigate the shooting, I then thought it right to tell Louisa that her lover was Wickham, that he was married and that he and a friend were missing in the woodland. After that there would never be any hope that Mrs Younge, Wickham’s friend and confidante, would be allowed to have the child.’

  Darcy said, ‘But there was never any question of Louisa being able to make a choice.’ He turned to Wickham. ‘You had it in mind that if necessary you would take the child by force.’

  Wickham said with apparent unconcern, ‘I would have done anything, anything, to give Eleanor possession of Georgie. He was my son, it was his future which mattered to both of us. Since we came together I have never been able to give her anything in return for her support and her love. Now I had something I could give her, something she desperately wanted, and I was not going to let Louisa’s indecision and stupidity stop that.’

  Darcy said, ‘And what life would that child have had, brought up by such a woman?’

  Wickham did not reply. All their eyes were on him and Darcy saw, with a mixture of horror and compassion, that he was struggling to compose himself. The previous confidence, almost insouciance, with which he had told his tale, was gone. He reached out a trembling hand for the coffee, but his eyes were blinded with tears and he succeeded only in knocking it from the table. But no one spoke, no one moved until the colonel bent down and, picking up the coffee pot, replaced it on the table.

  At last, controlling himself, Wickham said, ‘The child would have been loved, more loved than I in my childhood, or you in yours, Darcy. My sister had never borne a child and now there was a chance that she could care for mine. I have no doubt she did ask for money, that was how she lived, but it would have been spent on the child. She had seen him. He is beautiful. My son is beautiful. And now I know I shall never see either of them again.’

  Darcy’s voice was hard. ‘But you could not resist the temptation of confiding in Denny. You had only one old woman and Louisa to face but the last thing you wanted was for Louisa to become hysterical and refuse to hand over the child. It all had to be done quietly if you were not to alert the sick brother. You wanted another man, a friend on whom you could rely, but Denny, once he understood that you would take the child by force if necessary and that you had promised to marry her, would have no part in it, and that is why he left the chaise. It has always been a mystery to us why he was walking away from the path which would have taken him back to the inn, or why he didn’t more reasonably remain in the chaise until it got to Lambton when he could have left without explanation. He died because he was on his way to warn Louisa Bidwell about your intentions. The words that you said over his dead body were true. You killed your friend. You killed him as surely as if you had run him through with a sword. And Will, dying his lonely death, thought he was protecting his sister from a seducer. Instead he killed the one man who had come to help.’

  But Wickham’s thoughts were on another death. He said, ‘When Eleanor heard the word “guilty” her life was over. She knew that within hours I would be dead. She would have stood at the foot of the gallows and witnessed my last struggles if that could have given me comfort at the end, but there are some horrors which even love cannot endure. I have no doubt she planned her death in advance. She had lost both me and my child, but she could at least ensure that, like me, she would lie in an unsanctified grave.’

  Darcy was about to say that surely that last indignity could be prevented, but Wickham silenced him with a look and said, ‘You despised Eleanor in her life, do not patronise her now she is dead. The Reverend Cornbinder is doing what is necessary and requires no help from you. In certain areas of life he has an authority denied even to Mr Darcy of Pemberley.’

  No one spoke. At last, Darcy said, ‘What happened to the child? Where is he now?’

  It was the colonel who answered. ‘I made it my business to find out. The child is back with the Simpkinses and therefore, as everyone believes, with his mother. The murder of Denny caused considerable concern and distress at Pemberley, and Louisa had no difficulty in persuading the Simpkinses to take the child back and remove him from danger. I sent a generous payment to them anonymously and as far as I know there has been no suggestion that he should leave the Simpkinses, although sooner or later there may be problems. I have no wish to be further involved in this matter; it is likely that I shall soon be employed on more pressing concerns. Europe will never be free of Bonaparte until he is thoroughly beaten on land as well as sea, and I hope I shall be among those privileged to take part in that great battle.’

  All were now exhausted and no one could find anything more that needed to be said. It was a relief when, sooner than expected, Mr Gardiner opened the door and announced that Mr Cornbinder had arrived.

  5

  With the news of Wickham’s pardon a load of anxiety had been lifted from their shoulders but there was no outbreak of rejoicing. They had endured too much to do more than offer heartfelt thanks for his deliverance and prepare themselves for the joy of returning home. Elizabeth knew that Darcy shared her desperate need to begin the journey to Pemberley and she thought they could set out early the next morning. This, however, proved impossible. Darcy had business with his solicitors in connection with the transfer of money to the Reverend Cornbinder, and through him to Wickham, and a letter had been received the previous day from Lydia stating her intention of coming to London to see her beloved husband at the first opportunity and of obviously making with him a triumphant return to Longbourn. She would be travelling in the family coach accompanied by a manservant, and took it for granted that she would be staying at Gracechurch Street. A bed for John could easily be found at a local inn. Since there was no mention of the probable time of arrival the next day, Mrs Gardiner was immediately occupied in rearranging accommodation and somehow contriving space for a third carriage in the mews. Elizabeth was only aware of an overwhelming tiredness and it took an effort of will to prevent her breaking into sobs of relief. The need to see the children was now foremost in her mind, as she knew it was in Darcy’s, and they planned to set out the day after tomorrow.

  The next day began with sending an express to Pemberley notifying Stoughton when they could be expected home. With the completion of all necessary formalities and the packing, there seemed so much to arrange that Elizabeth saw little of Darcy. Both their hearts seemed too burdened for speech and Elizabeth knew rather than felt that she was happy, or would be as soon as she was home. There had been anxiety that once news of the pardon was mooted abroad a noisy crowd of well-wishers would find their way to Gracechurch Street, but happily no such disturbance occurred. The family with whom the Reverend Cornbinder had arranged accommodation for Wickham were utterly discreet and the location unknown, and such crowds as did gather were clustered round the prison.

  The Bennet coach with Lydia arrived after luncheon the next day, but that too aroused no public interest. To the relief of both the Darcys and the Gardiners, Lydia behaved with more discretion and reason than could be expected. The anxiety of the last months and the knowledge that her husband was on trial for his life had subdued her usual boisterous manner, and she even managed to thank Mrs Gardiner for her hospitality with something approaching genuine gratitude and a realisation of what she owed to their goodness and generosity. With Elizabeth and Darcy she was less assured, and no thanks were forthcoming.

  Before dinner the Reverend Cornbinder called to conduct her to Wickham’s lodgings. She returned some three hours later under shadow of darkness and in excellent spirits. He was again her handsome, gallant, irresistible Wickham, and she s
poke of their future with every confidence that this adventure was the beginning of prosperity and fame for them both. She had always been reckless and it was apparent that she was as anxious as was Wickham to shake off the soil of England for ever. She joined Wickham in his lodgings while her husband recovered his strength, but could only briefly tolerate her host’s early prayer meetings and grace said before every meal, and three days later the Bennet carriage rumbled through the London streets to the welcome sight of the road going north to Hertfordshire and Longbourn.

  6

  The journey to Derbyshire was to take two days since Elizabeth felt very tired and disinclined for long hours on the road. By mid-morning on the Monday after the trial the coach was brought round to the front door and, after expressing thanks for which it was hard to find adequate words, they were on their way home. Both of them dozed for much of the journey but they were awake when the carriage crossed the county boundary into Derbyshire and it was with increasing delight that they passed through familiar villages and were driven down remembered lanes. Yesterday they had only known that they were happy; now they felt joy’s irradiating power in each nerve of their being. The arrival at Pemberley could not have been more different from their departure. All the staff, their uniforms washed and pressed, were lined up to greet them, and Mrs Reynolds had tears in her eyes when she curtseyed and with emotion too deep for words silently welcomed Elizabeth home.

  Their first visit was to the nursery where they were greeted by Fitzwilliam and Charles with squeals and jumps of delight and spent some time hearing Mrs Donovan’s news. So much had happened during the week in London that it felt to Elizabeth that she had been absent for months. Then it was time for Mrs Reynolds to make her report. She said, ‘Please be assured, madam, that I have nothing distressing to tell you, but there is a matter of some importance about which I must speak.’

  Elizabeth suggested that they should go as usual to her private sitting room. Mrs Reynolds rang the bell and instructed that tea should be brought for them both, and they sat down in front of a fire which had been built more for comfort than for warmth, and Mrs Reynolds began her story.

  ‘We have, of course, heard of Will’s confession in connection with Captain Denny’s death and there is much sympathy for Mrs Bidwell, although a number of people have been critical of Will for not speaking earlier and saving Mr Darcy and yourself, and Mr Wickham, from so much anguish and suffering. No doubt he was motivated by the need to have time to make his peace with God, but some feel that it was purchased at too high a price. He has been buried in the churchyard; Mr Oliphant spoke most feelingly and Mrs Bidwell was gratified by the large attendance, many people coming from Lambton. The flowers were particularly beautiful and Mr Stoughton and I arranged for a wreath to be at the church from Mr Darcy and yourself. We were confident that that is what you would like. But it is of Louisa that I must speak.

  ‘The day after Captain Denny’s death, Louisa came to me and asked if she could speak to me in the strictest confidence. I took her to my sitting room where she broke down in great distress. When, with much patience and difficulty, I was able to calm her she told me her story. She had no idea until the colonel visited the cottage on the night of the tragedy that the father of her child was Mr Wickham and I am afraid, madam, that she was gravely deceived by the story he had told her. She never wished to see him again and had also taken against the baby. Mr Simpkins and her sister no longer wanted him and Joseph Billings, who knew about the baby, was not prepared to marry Louisa if it meant taking responsibility for another man’s child. She had confided in him about her lover but Mr Wickham’s name has never been divulged or, in my view and that of Louisa, must it ever be in order to spare Bidwell’s shame and distress. Louisa was desperate to find a good and loving home for Georgie, and that was why she had come to me, and I was glad to help. You may remember, madam, my speaking of my brother’s widow, Mrs Goddard, who for some years has kept a successful school in Highbury. One of her parlour boarders, Miss Harriet Smith, married a local farmer, Robert Martin, and is very happily settled. They have three daughters and a son, but the doctor has told her it is unlikely that further children can be expected and she and her husband are anxious to have another son as playmate to their own. Mr and Mrs Knightley of Donwell Abbey are the most important couple in Highbury, and Mrs Knightley is a friend of Mrs Martin and has always taken a keen interest in her children. She was good enough to send a letter to me, in addition to those I received from Mrs Martin, assuring me of her help and continued interest in Georgie if he came to Highbury. It seemed to me that he could not be better placed, and accordingly it was arranged that he should return as soon as possible to Mrs Simpkins so that he could be collected from Birmingham rather than from Pemberley where the coach sent by Mrs Knightley would almost certainly be noticed. All went exactly as arranged; subsequent letters have confirmed the child has settled well, is a most happy and engaging boy and greatly loved by all the family. I have, of course, kept all the correspondence for you to see. Mrs Martin was distressed to learn that Georgie had not been baptised, but this has now been done in Highbury church, and he now has the name of John after Mrs Martin’s father.

  ‘I am sorry I could not tell you earlier, but I promised Louisa that all of this should be in absolute confidence although I made it plain that you, madam, must be told. The truth would have greatly upset Bidwell, and he believes, as does everyone at Pemberley, that baby Georgie is back with his mother, Mrs Simpkins. I hope I have done what is right, madam, but I know how desperate Louisa was that the child should never be found by his father, and that he should be well cared for and loved. She has no wish to see him again or to have regular reports on his progress, and indeed does not know with whom he has been placed. It is sufficient for her to know that her child will be loved and cared for.’

  Elizabeth said, ‘You could not have acted better and I shall of course respect your confidence. I would be grateful if I could make one exception; Mr Darcy must be told. I know that the secret will go no further. Has Louisa now resumed her engagement with Joseph Billings?’

  ‘She has, madam, and Mr Stoughton has lightened his duties somewhat so that he can spend more time with her. I think Mr Wickham did unsettle her, but whatever she felt for him has turned to hatred and she now appears content to look forward to the life that she and Joseph will have together at Highmarten.’

  Wickham, whatever his faults, was a clever, handsome and engaging man, and Elizabeth wondered whether, during their time together, Louisa, a girl whom the Reverend Oliphant considered highly intelligent, had been given a glimpse of a different and more exciting life, but undoubtedly the best had been done for her child and probably also for her. Her future would lie as a parlourmaid at Highmarten, wife of the butler, and in time Wickham would be no more than a fading memory. It seemed irrational to Elizabeth, and rather strange, that she should feel a twinge of regret.

  Epilogue

  On a morning in early June, Elizabeth and Darcy took their breakfast together on the terrace. The day was bright with the prospect of friendship and shared enjoyment. Henry Alveston had been able to take a short break from his London responsibilities and had arrived the previous evening, and the Bingleys were expected for luncheon and dinner.

  Darcy said, ‘I would be grateful, Elizabeth, if you would take a walk with me by the river. There are things I need to say, matters which have long been on my mind and which should have been spoken of earlier between us.’

  Elizabeth acquiesced and, five minutes later, they walked together over the greensward to the riverside path. Both were silent, until they crossed the bridge where the stream narrowed leading to the bench put up when Lady Anne was expecting her first child to afford her a convenient resting place. It gave a view across the water to Pemberley House, an aspect which Darcy and Elizabeth both loved and to which their feet always instinctively turned. The day had begun with an early mist which the head gardener invariably prophesied presaged a hot day, and
the trees, which had lost the first tender sprouts of the lime-green leaves of spring, were now in full luxurious leaf, while the banks of summer flowers and the sparkling river combined in a living celebration of beauty and fulfilment.

  It was a relief that the longed-for letter from America had arrived at Longbourn and a copy sent by Kitty to Elizabeth had been delivered that morning. Wickham had written only a brief account, to which Lydia had added a few scribbled lines. Their response to the New World had been ecstatic. Wickham wrote chiefly about the magnificent horses and the plans of Mr Cornbinder and himself to breed chasers, while Lydia wrote that Williamsburg was in every way an improvement on boring Meryton, and that she had already made friends with some of the officers and their wives stationed in an army garrison near the city. It seemed probable that Wickham had at last found an occupation which he was likely to keep; whether he was able to keep his wife was a question from which the Darcys were grateful to be separated by three thousand miles of ocean.

  Darcy said, ‘I have been thinking of Wickham and of the journey he and our sister have faced, and for the first time, and with sincerity, I can wish him well. I trust that the great ordeal he has survived may indeed lead to the reformation of which the Reverend Cornbinder is so confident, and that the New World will continue to fulfil all his hopes, but the past is too much part of what I am and my only wish now is that I never see him again. His attempt to seduce Georgiana was so abominable that I can never think of him without repugnance. I have attempted to thrust the whole experience out of my mind as if it had never happened, an expedient which I thought would be the easier if it were never spoken of between Georgiana and myself.’

  For a moment Elizabeth was silent. Wickham was not a shadow on their happiness, nor could he damage the perfect confidence, spoken or unspoken, that existed between them. If this was not a happy marriage the words were meaningless. Wickham’s previous friendship with Elizabeth was never mentioned out of a delicacy which they both felt, but they were united in their opinion of his character and mode of life, and Elizabeth had shared her husband’s determination that he could never be received at Pemberley. Respecting the same delicacy she had never spoken to Darcy about Georgiana’s proposed elopement, which he saw as Wickham’s plan to get his hands on Georgiana’s fortune and avenge himself for past imagined slights. Her heart was so full of love for her husband and trust in his judgement that there could be no room for criticism; she could not believe that he had acted towards Georgiana without thought or care, but perhaps the time had come when the past, however painful, had to be confronted and spoken of between brother and sister.