by Jessie Lewis
“Thank you.”
“What will you do?” she enquired sullenly.
“Go home to my wife.” Though he could not imagine, after all the ways in which he had abused her, that Jane could possibly still love him, it was, as Elizabeth had said, time for him to be a proper husband. What Darcy had said at Pemberley was true also. He had loved Jane once. Perhaps, in time, he might earn back her esteem. He meant to try for her sake and Elizabeth’s.
“Shame she won’t be there,” Amelia scoffed, ruining all his gallant schemes in one breath. “She’s on ‘er way to Pemberley.”
“Good God, why?”
She shrugged again. “To stop you going to Nova Scotia, probably.”
“What the deuce made her think I am going to Nova Scotia?”
“That letter,” she replied, nodding at the offending article.
He did his utmost to speak calmly, though he felt anything but calm. “How did she come to see that letter?”
“I showed it to ’er when she called on me. Came to see I was being provided for. Least that’s what she said.”
He pressed a fist to his mouth and swore against it. Jane knows! His shame was now complete. All this time he had justified his behaviour towards Jane by telling himself she had grown into a woman he could not love, but she was not changed at all! What other person alive would discover her husband’s infidelity and think only to the well-being of those involved? She remained as good-hearted as she had ever been! And mayhap, he dared allow himself to hope, not beyond forgiving his mistakes.
The remainder of his discussions with Amelia were conducted with no less awkwardness than was to be expected in the circumstances, yet all in all, matters were concluded with infelicitous haste. In less time than they had taken embroiling themselves in the situation to begin with, they had agreed to terms and parted ways.
“Make arrangements to travel at first light,” Bingley informed his man upon reaching his rooms. “I must return to Pemberley.”
“Is there something there you have forgotten, sir?”
Yes, he thought. The only person left in the world who might yet love me.
***
Monday, 15 March 1813: Derbyshire
Impatience had become less of an imperfection and more of an affliction for Elizabeth. Husbands, babies, news—all were presently exhibiting a most vexing disdain for celerity. Regardless of the grey clouds on the horizon, she was determined to walk out that morning before she went distracted from inaction.
“This letter has just arrived, Mrs. Darcy,” said Maltravers as she came into the hall. The letter she took, but she waved away his offer of an extra shawl. “The master’s instructions, ma’am,” he said with some embarrassment. She smiled wryly and draped it over her arm.
“Might I enquire where you intend to walk, ma’am?” he said as he opened the front door for her.
She looked slyly at him. “Also the master’s instructions?”
He inclined his head. Grinning at the very great pleasure of being cherished thus, even in Darcy’s absence, she informed Maltravers of her destination and stepped out onto the front steps. Only then did she look at her letter. She was alarmed to see Lady Ashby’s seal, for they had never corresponded. She tore it open, fearing instantly for Darcy’s safety. Alarm turned to shock and shock to fury as she read of Bingley’s intentions to leave the country after all and to take a mistress and natural child with him!
With an angry growl, she whirled about to go back into the house, but the shawl had tangled about her legs. The world tilted. She saw Maltravers’ horrified expression, then the music room window, then the sky. She flung her arms wide, banging her wrist painfully on the balustrade. She grabbed it and cried out at the fire that burst through her shoulder as momentum wrenched her to face the other way. Her grip on the rail held, but her feet were gone from under her, and she slammed down heavily onto a step, knocking all the air from her lungs.
Maltravers appeared in front of her and soon after Mrs. Reynolds, both enquiring urgently whether she was hurt. She was not sure. Upon reflection, her wrist and shoulder both throbbed abominably, yet they were the least of her concerns. She waited, caught her breath and prayed until, with the most profound relief, she felt her baby wriggle its protest at being so violently flung about. What little air remained to her escaped in a shaky laugh. “I am well,” she whispered.
She was led, gingerly, back inside to a chair where Mrs. Sinclair met them. “What is all the commotion? What has happened, Lizzy?”
Satisfied she had done herself no serious harm, Elizabeth’s mind jumped directly beyond her fall to that which pained her most. “Mr. Bingley has been unfaithful to my sister!”
“We already knew that.”
“No, he has a mistress! She is with child! He is taking her abroad. He lied! He was to go home to Jane, yet all the while, he was planning to go away with this…this woman!”
Mrs. Sinclair pulled an incredulous face. “The man is incapable of resolving on anything. Two weeks ago, it was you he wished to go away with. Before that, he planned to go alone. At some point, I suppose, he must have wanted your sister. I am beginning to feel quite put out that he has never wanted to go anywhere with me.”
“Poor, poor Jane!”
Mrs. Sinclair looked distinctly sceptical but did not argue and instead enquired how Elizabeth had come to discover this news on the front steps of Pemberley.
“Lady Ashby has written, asking that I prevent him from leaving. They must all think he is still here. I must write to Jane.” She shuffled to the edge of her seat. Mrs. Reynolds, hovering fretfully nearby, stepped forward to offer her assistance. Elizabeth was glad of it, for upon standing, she experienced a most shocking expulsion of fluids that rendered her faint with alarm. “Oh God, what is it?”
“’Tis the baby, ma’am,” Mrs. Reynolds replied, looking disconcertingly troubled.
“Oh no! ’Tis too soon, is it not?”
“You tell us, my dear,” Mrs. Sinclair said with a knowing look.
“Try not to worry, Mrs. Darcy,” Mrs. Reynolds said more helpfully. “It is earlier than expected, but there is no sense in giving yourself any more to be anxious about than necessary.”
Never had Elizabeth wanted Darcy more. The prospect of birthing a child was terrifying enough without fearing that it was not fit to be born. She sat down again. “I am not ready. It will have to wait.” She ignored the look that passed between the two ladies. “My aunt is not yet here,” she said, failing to keep her voice from trembling. “Who will attend me?”
“I shall, if you wish it,” Mrs. Reynolds offered.
“I shall, even if you do not wish it,” said Mrs. Sinclair.
Elizabeth would have continued to object had not a sharp pain frightened her into silence. “I think I would prefer to go back to waiting,” she said quietly once it had passed.
“I fear young Master or Miss Darcy has other ideas, ma’am,” Mrs. Reynolds replied.
Shaking with apprehension, Elizabeth allowed herself to be led upstairs to embark upon a wholly different exercise than she had thought to enjoy that day.
***
Even in the pallid light of late afternoon, Pemberley was magnificent. Jane regretted not having told Elizabeth how very well she liked it on her last visit. It was but one of innumerable things she regretted. She turned away from the window, her palm burning from the memory of striking Elizabeth’s cheek. She had no notion of what she would say to her sister, or indeed if she would even be received given Mr. Darcy’s unequivocal exclusion. Yet, there had been no alternative but to come. There was too much to be said between her and Bingley to stay away.
“Mr. Bingley left Pemberley a little less than two weeks ago, madam,” she was informed upon reaching the house. She stared at the butler in mute dismay, all her carefully
prepared words rendered useless. There was nothing more she could do. He was gone. What would become of her now?
Maltravers cleared his throat.
“Pardon me,” she said quietly. “Would you be kind enough to inform my sister I am here?”
“I am afraid the family are not receiving visitors today, ma’am.”
The sound of scraping furniture, incongruous against the stillness of the rest of the house, drew Jane’s attention to a pair of footmen rolling the great hearthrug out from under the hall chairs. “Is there to be a ball?” she enquired foolishly. It mattered not what Elizabeth was doing. It did not involve her. Maltravers looked excessively conscious. “Ahem…no. There was an incident—that is, Mrs. Darcy was unexpectedly taken to childbed.”
She looked back at him in surprise. “Presently? Why did you not say? Pray take me to her this instant.” He hesitated, and she said, more urgently, “I am her sister; it is quite proper. Please, sir, I must insist!”
She grew steadily more anxious as she was led through the house, but all concerns that her presence might be unwelcome vanished when Elizabeth’s cries first reached her ears. She hastened her steps. The footman paled upon reaching the door, evidently unsure what to do next. She dismissed him and, without a second thought, pushed the door open.
Her sister was propped on a bed of sorts, her hair drenched with perspiration and her countenance contorted in pain.
“Lizzy!”
Elizabeth’s head whipped up, and their eyes met. For a heartbeat, Jane feared she might spurn her coming. Then she burst into tears and held out her hand. “Jane! You are here!”
Jane rushed to take it. “I am, and I shall stay if you will let me.”
She nodded and gripped her hand tightly but seemed unable to speak further. Jane looked around. An older woman, Mrs. Sinclair, if she recalled correctly, glared at her reproachfully from the other side of the bed. The housekeeper was there, a maid—and no one else. “Where is the midwife?” she enquired in alarm.
“There is nobody available,” Mrs. Reynolds said in a low voice. “They are all either engaged with other women or nowhere to be found.”
“There must be somebody!”
“We are trying, Mrs. Bingley. Two weeks hence and the accoucheur and monthly nurse would have been in residence. We have sent a man to fetch one or both, but they are in Sheffield, and that is assuming they can be found and are available to come.”
Elizabeth let out a held breath that stretched into a rasping groan. “It hurts!”
Jane looked in alarm at Mrs. Sinclair. “I do not know what to do.”
“Nothing new there, then,” the old lady mumbled.
“Talk to me!” Elizabeth cried. “Distract me, I beg you. What are you doing here?”
Jane winced in shame, for the answer ought to be that she had come for her. “I came to stop Charles leaving,” she admitted. “But that matters not at the present moment. ’Tis you—”
“Of course it matters, Jane. I am so very sorry for you. You deserve a better man.”
“I know that is not true. I have been awful.”
Elizabeth did not argue. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut and grimaced savagely. A long, tortured groan bubbled through her gritted teeth.
“Good girl,” Mrs. Sinclair croaked, patting her other hand.
Elizabeth’s groan escalated into a strangled scream that went right through Jane.
“Oh, Lizzy!” She leant over her, peering closely, looking for what she knew not. Mrs. Reynolds appeared by her side, proffering a damp cloth. She thanked her, deeply obliged for something to do, and put it to use cooling her sister’s brow.
“Why did you not tell me?” Elizabeth enquired in a gasping, breathy voice.
“I confess I was ashamed my husband did not love me.”
“Perhaps, then, you ought not to have tricked him into marrying you,” Mrs. Sinclair said tartly.
“I did not trick him!” To her sister she said, “You must believe I had no idea we would be discovered. I was only trying to convince him of my esteem. I feared he would leave me again otherwise. Lizzy, I am so sorry. For everything. I have treated you abominably. Can you ever forgive me?”
Elizabeth squeezed her hand and nodded but was breathing too heavily to respond with words. Her countenance twisted into a rictus of agony, and Jane could only observe her in wretched suspense until the spasm passed.
“I forgave you as soon as I learnt his heart was untrue,” Elizabeth gasped at length, collapsing back into her pillows.
“Thank you, dear Lizzy. I do not deserve you.”
But she was already in pain again, her crying out now more of a growl. And though it was muttered through clenched teeth, Jane could hear her keening for her husband.
“Is it supposed to hurt this much?” she enquired, turning to Mrs. Reynolds in alarm.
“I have no children, ma’am. I would not know.” She looked at Mrs. Sinclair.
“I birthed mine over half a century ago. You cannot possibly expect me to remember.”
“Am I dying?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes wide with fear.
“We are all dying,” Mrs. Sinclair replied. “Only some of us are doing it more quietly than others.”
“Miss Baker, run and see if anybody has been found to attend Mrs. Darcy,” Mrs. Reynolds shouted at the maid.
“Jane, I’m frightened!” Elizabeth cried.
As was Jane, more frightened than she had ever been, but it was long past time she acted like the sister Elizabeth deserved, and she was determined not to fail her. “Do not be. If Mama can do this five times then I am quite sure Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley can.” She lifted a lock of drenched hair from Elizabeth’s face and stroked her cheek. “And you are my brave Lizzy. You can do anything.”
Elizabeth let out a sob. “There you are, Jane! How I have missed you!”
***
Georgiana was delighted to be returning to the serenity of Pemberley. Her stay at Hornscroft had been wonderful, but so many girls together in one place were exhausting. She knew not how Elizabeth had tolerated it, growing up at Longbourn.
Still, she had not expected the house to be quite as quiet as she found it. She had rather hoped Elizabeth would come to meet her, for there was a good view of the driveway from the saloon in which they usually sat. Perchance, she was in a different part of the house and had not seen her approach. That not even Maltravers was there to direct the unloading of luggage, however, was more than passing strange.
Hughes, her lady’s maid and travelling companion, left to make enquiries below stairs. Of a mind to find her sister, Georgiana thought to look first in the orangery, but before she got farther than the foot of the grand staircase, Hughes came dashing back into the hall.
“Mrs. Darcy has been hurt, Miss Darcy!”
“What?”
“She fell down the front steps!”
“Oh my! Is she badly hurt? Where is she?”
The sound of someone coming down the stairs made them both look up. Elizabeth’s maid Baker was galloping down at a pace. Hughes opened her mouth to speak, but Baker pre-empted her.
“Not now, Molly, I must see if they’ve found a physician yet. They need one for Mrs. Darcy this instant.”
“Is the mistress in a bad way, then?”
“I’ll say! They all think she’s dying!”
Georgiana gasped, her hands over her mouth in horror. Elizabeth could not die!
“An apothecary has been found,” Hughes informed her. “Mr. Maltravers and Mr. Barnaby are interviewing him as we speak to make sure he knows his business. But let me fetch him. You had better go back up to Mrs. Darcy.”
“Aye, very well, but hurry!” She disappeared back upstairs.
Hughes looked to Georgiana. “May I—”
>
“Yes, go, go! Make haste!” She herself set off after Baker, her mind blank but for the fear of anything happening to Elizabeth or her baby. Again, she was arrested, however, this time by the most unexpected arrival of Mr. Bingley.
“Miss Darcy! I hope y—”
“I beg your pardon,” she interrupted, “but I must leave you. Lizzy has been injured. I must go to her.”
“What has happened?” he cried, hastening across the hall towards her.
“She fell down the front steps.”
“Good Lord! Is she badly hurt?”
Georgiana tried her utmost, but could not prevent herself from bursting into tears. “The maid said she is dying!”
Mr. Bingley’s countenance drained of colour. “Dear God, I should never have left. Where is she?”
“I do not know, I am only just returned myself. I was on my way to find her.”
“Miss Darcy! And…Mr. Bingley!”
Georgiana started and turned. Mrs. Reynolds was coming down the stairs.
“I did not know you had arrived, Miss Darcy.”
“Only moments ago,” Georgiana assured her. “I heard what happened. I was coming to find Liz—”
“No!” she exclaimed. “You cannot see her, Miss Darcy.”
“But—”
“She is well attended, I assure you, but you are far too young to see such things.”
“Upon my word,” cried Mr. Bingley, “is it that serious?”
“She is near the end, sir,” she replied, looking at him meaningfully. “As you might imagine, she is suffering a great deal.”
“Dear God,” he muttered. Georgiana did not know what to say.
“Pray excuse me,” Mrs. Reynolds said. “I must fetch the apothecary myself. This delay will simply not do.”
She had gone only one step before Baker reappeared at the top of the stairs. “’Tis too late for that, Mrs. Reynolds!”
Georgiana fumbled for a grip on the handrail, thinking she might fall. Baker noticed her then and bent heads with Mrs. Reynolds to whisper the remainder of her dire message. Nonetheless, Georgiana still heard her say, “Not breathing.” And there was no mistaking Mrs. Reynolds’ cry of, “Oh dear Lord, the poor girl!” With a last instruction that Georgiana was not to follow her, the housekeeper disappeared up the stairs with the maid. Georgiana turned to Mr. Bingley, too horrified to speak.
