by Jan Hahn
"And have you heard this latest story about Wickham?"
I nodded.
"It pains me to speak ill of your brother-in-law in your presence, but I sometimes believe my cousin should have called him out last year. It would have spared many from the damage he wreaks wherever he goes."
"I do not have a good opinion of Mr. Wickham, sir. You may feel free to say what you will."
"When I think of how many people he has grieved, it makes me consider actions unworthy. I feel my anger anew each time I am reminded of his lack of character and poor Darcy - I thought surely he might kill him when he found him holed up in that miserable room with your young sister. And no one would have disputed his right to do so, that I can assure you!"
I stood beside a chair when the colonel made that last statement and suddenly I felt the room grow wavy in appearance. What had he said? I sat down immediately and gripped the chair arms with both hands, my knuckles growing white.
"I beg your pardon, sir," I said, my voice quaking slightly, "but did you say it was Mr. Darcy who discovered the whereabouts of my sister and Mr. Wickham?"
"Why, yes, has he never told you how it came about?"
When I shook my head, he said, "Well, he must have forgotten to relate that part of the tale, for he played such an essential part in persuading Wickham to go to the altar, that I suppose his days and nights spent hunting them down through the seedier parts of London did not seem all that important, although I will say he would not rest until he had discovered them. And, once again, it was our old friend, Mrs. Younge, who led him to them."
"Indeed?" I murmured, although Mrs. Younge was the least important part of the conversation to me at the time. I attempted to proceed with my questions in the most innocuous manner possible, for I did not want to hinder the colonel's narrative in any way. In fact, I was so curious I would have resorted to tricks and stratagems to find it out. "You know, Colonel Fitzwilliam, my husband is quite modest in relating his good deeds. Shall you not refresh my memory and tell me what you know of the story, for sometimes I think I have not heard all of it even to this day?"
He smiled slightly and acknowledged that Darcy was, in fact, often too reserved in relaying the details of his good works, but the colonel did not suffer from that affliction, especially when it came to praising the unselfishness of his cousin. Evidently, Mr. Darcy had not felt it necessary to bind the colonel to an oath of secrecy in the manner, for he had no qualms in laying out the entire story of how my husband had not only discovered Wickham and Lydia, he had insisted upon bearing the entire expense of insuring Wickham's compliance by paying off not only his debts, but purchasing him a commission in the regulars, and undoubtedly affording him a handsome bribe as well, all so that he might make an honest woman of my youngest sister.
Before I went to bed that night, I spent no little time moving furniture. I tugged and pushed until I had replaced not one chair, but two - one at the door between my room and that of Mr. Darcy, and the other at the door leading to the hall.
If my malady had caused me to spend last night on the cold, hard floor before Mr. Darcy's portrait, I feared this new revelation might cause me to walk all the way to London!
The next day I wrote to Mrs. Gardiner before breakfast. Now that Colonel Fitzwilliam had revealed some of Mr. Darcy's actions in regard to Lydia and Mr. Wickham, it was impossible not to know every detail, for to live in ignorance of any part of it was out of the question. I explained to my aunt what the colonel had told me and assured her since the secret was now revealed, she would not break any promise by telling me the details as she knew them.
"You may readily comprehend," I wrote, "what my curiosity must be to know how a person unconnected with any of us at that time, and, comparatively speaking, a stranger to our family, should have been amongst you at such a time. Pray write instantly, and let me understand exactly how it all came about."
I had the satisfaction of receiving an answer to my letter within a week. Indeed, my aunt appeared relieved to unburden herself from the secrecy imposed upon her. She wrote me the explicit story of how at Lambton, Mr. Darcy had first learned from her of Lydia's elopement. He had come to call upon the Gardiners at the inn only a short while after they had just read the letter from me, entreating them to come to Longbourn and assist our family in locating the fleeing couple. My uncle had left the inn to secure their passage on the first available coach, and Mr. Darcy had discovered my aunt alone in a moment of emotion; he had been so kind, so solicitous in his sympathy that she revealed the entire tale to him.
Unbeknownst to the Gardiners, Mr. Darcy left for London the very next day and scouted out the location of Mr. Wickham and Lydia before calling upon my uncle. He insisted upon bearing the entire cost of Lydia's marriage settlement.
'The motive professed was his conviction of its being owing to himself that Wickham's worthlessness had not been so well known as to make it impossible for any young woman of character to love or confide in him. He generously imputed the whole to his mistaken pride, and confessed that he had before thought it beneath him to lay his private actions open to the world. His character was to speak for itself. He called it, therefore, his duty to step forward, and endeavour to remedy an evil which had been brought on by himself. If he had another motive, I am sure it would never disgrace him.
'Mr. Darcy and your uncle battled it together for a long time, but our visitor was very obstinate. I fancy, Lizzy, that obstinacy is the real defect of his character after all.'
"Oh yes, Aunt, fancy that, indeed!" I cried aloud, rolling my eyes.
'Nothing was to be done that he did not do himself, and at last your uncle was forced to yield, and instead of being allowed to be of use to his niece, was forced to put up with only having the probable credit of it. In spite of all this, my dear Lizzy, you may rest perfectly assured that your uncle would never have yielded, if we had not given him credit for another interest in the affair. I thought him very sly; he hardly ever mentioned your name, but slyness seems the fashion.'
Mrs. Gardiner wrote that it also gave my uncle pleasure to no longer keep Mr. Darcy's actions secret from me, but she cautioned me not to tell my family without his permission, as he had been adamant that no one was to know.
The contents of the letter threw me into a flutter of spirits in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the greatest share. I had not yet adjusted to the shock of Mr. Darcy's involvement in Lydia's marriage before I received my aunt's correspondence. Her further revelations only deepened my utter surprise. Not only had Mr. Darcy acted in a noble, selfless manner, but if my aunt and uncle's suspicions were correct, he might possibly have done so not only for my poor sister's sake, but for mine.
Could this be true? And if so, why had he not told me? Why had he not used such fine example of his character to persuade me to marry him?
"Elizabeth," Georgiana said, "will you join Richard and me in our inspection of Pemberley's back hall?"
Her question and presence before me startled my reverie. I had wandered to a small bench set in a copse not far from the path that led from Pemberley's great lawn to the woods. So intent had I been upon my reading and my own thoughts, I had not even heard the couple's approach.
I rose, quickly folded the letter and slipped it into my pocket. I was glad to see that the disagreement between them had at last been resolved and I assumed that Colonel Fitzwilliam had seen to it, for they both appeared in good spirits, a definite change from their terse remarks to each other during the past week.
"I presume this inspection has to do with the harvest ball, am I correct?" I asked.
"You are," Georgiana said. "At the rear of the house is a huge open hall, quite adequate to house our tenants and their families. We have always held the harvest ball there so that our guests will not feel out of place. Years ago, my father said they would be somewhat intimidated by Pemberley's grand ballroom. I have already assigned tasks to many of the servants, as well as planning the deco
rations, but I wish for your approval of my designs, Elizabeth."
"I am sure whatever you choose will be fine, for you know much more about harvest balls than I do. I confess I have never attended one."
"Did not your father host a celebration at Longbourn at the end of the season?"
"My dear, Longbourn does not compare to Pemberley in size or tenants. Our harvest consisted of a great deal less; although as a child, I do recall the workers threw a party outside around a huge bonfire. My father allowed Jane and me to accompany him once or twice, but he only put in an appearance and drank a tankard of mead with them before returning to the house."
"Then you shall have a novel experience, Mrs. Darcy," the colonel said, "for at Pemberley's harvest ball, the master and his family host the entire evening."
"Oh, yes," Georgiana added, "and there is dancing and singing, more food than can be eaten, and greater amusement than any other night of the year!"
"Indeed!" I remained baffled by the image of Mr. Darcy eating and dancing with his farm workers and their families. Did he not find country society somewhat 'confined and unvarying?' And these people would not even qualify as society!
"This is where I learned to dance," Georgiana announced.
"Now, Georgie," the colonel said, "I happen to know you were instructed in the art by the finest dancing master in London."
"Yes, but that was much later. I had already learned how to dance from the children of our tenants. When I was a child, my father allowed me full reign at the Harvest Balls to mingle and play and dance with the other children. They were some of the happiest nights of my youth."
The colonel and I exchanged smiles before he spoke. "Your youth is hardly spent."
"Do wait until you come out this spring," I added. "You will dance at many a ball and enjoy numerous happy nights, I trust."
Georgiana shrugged. "Perhaps, but I doubt any of them shall compare with the freedom and pleasure of Harvest Balls."
I began to anticipate this ball just from listening to my sister-in-law. "But has your brother never forbidden your dancing, now that you are a young woman?"
She laughed. "Wills shall be at peace. There are no eligible young men for me at such a gathering, Elizabeth. In truth, I rarely remember standing up with boy or man, but rather, I joined the throng of children who danced together at the back of the great hall. None of us truly had partners. As I said, it was more play than real dancing."
"Well, now I take offense because I happen to remember dancing with you, myself," Colonel Fitzwilliam said, "at the last Harvest Ball."
Georgiana stopped and looked up at him with a frown. "We did not dance together, Richard, for I did not attend last year's ball. In fact, Wills put in an appearance and then left, himself. It was not a time for dancing."
A shadow covered the colonel's eyes; he took her hand and tucked it inside his arm, patting it as they continued on their way. "Yes, now I remember. Forgive me for even mentioning it, my dear."
I followed them inside the house, saddened that our conversation had turned to an unhappy memory for Georgiana. I had yet to visit this part of the mansion, for it was vast, indeed, and Mrs. Reynolds had not included it in my original tour, possibly because of the sheer time it took to walk back there. I listened as Georgiana began to tell me of its history, glad to see her mood lighten as she talked.
"This was the original Pemberley, built almost one hundred years before the portion in which we now reside."
Although grand enough in appearance, its age was apparent, being much more rustic, indicative of a far earlier time. I could see it would be perfect for a harvest celebration. Indeed, my young sister had already ordered decorations made from stalks of hay, bits of dried corn, and deep, red berries; servants now stood on ladders, hanging them on the walls and placing them in the cut-out alcoves high above. Enormous long tables lined the perimeter of the room, already covered with pristine white cloths. Several maids fashioned garlands of autumnal grasses and dried flowers intertwined with ribbons, while others looped them along the outside of the tables.
"Ah, it looks quite festive already," I declared.
"Yes, it quite puts me in the mood. Shall we dance now, Georgiana?" the colonel said with a laugh.
"Oh, Richard, without music? No, you shall just have to wait until Friday night." She then left us standing in the middle of the hall while she joined the maids and corrected the height of the loops.
"It is good to see her happy," the colonel said.
I wished I knew what had transpired between them to restore their good humour, but I did not ask, for I felt it would be intrusive. "Well, I find myself looking forward to this ball, and I shall enjoy seeing you dance with Georgiana again."
He looked at me closely. "Again?"
"I saw you dance together at Eden Park."
"Indeed? And all this time I thought we had been successful in our indiscretion."
"As far as I know, you were, for I saw none other observe you and I have not told anyone."
"Meaning your husband, I assume. Ah, Mrs. Darcy, keeping secrets from your lord and master already?"
I made a conscious effort not to roll my eyes at that statement. The colonel had no idea! I chose to change the subject. "Colonel Fitzwilliam, since we are now cousins, I would prefer that you address me by my Christian name. Mrs. Darcy sounds quite formal and distant. Will you not call me Elizabeth?"
"I shall be honoured, Elizabeth, if you, in turn, acknowledge that I am Richard. Shall we shake hands on it?"
I laughed and readily agreed, waving to Georgiana when she turned to see our exchange. "I must go and help her if we are to get this hall ready for dancing in less than a week."
"Very well, I shall release you, for I do look forward to dancing with you and with Georgiana once again." There was something wistful about the tone of his voice and so I delayed my leave taking, surprised by his next statement. "It shall most likely be the last time that I do so."
"Why, whatever do you mean? There will be plenty of opportunities for the two of you to dance together once she comes out after Easter. Surely, it will be acceptable, for you are not brother and sister."
He frowned. "Brother and sister? No, indeed, we are not, but I shall be far from England by Easter."
"Richard, where are you going?"
"I do not know at present, but I have put in for an assignment abroad. If Bonaparte continues his present actions against us in Spain, I shall most likely join our forces there; if not, I have asked to be sent anywhere my commander chooses as long as I am not required to remain on these shores."
"I confess I am surprised and I am afraid Georgiana will be heartbroken."
"I ask that you do not tell her now, Elizabeth. She will recover well enough once the parties and balls begin."
"Being one of her guardians, do you not deem it essential that you remain in attendance during that time?"
"I did once, but now that Darce has married such a capable woman, I am much assured that the both of you will do all that is necessary to look after her."
I wished that I felt the same assurance. I dreaded Mr. Darcy's reaction when Georgiana began attracting young suitors. "I fear that your genial manner and outlook shall be sorely missed at such a time, sir. As you know, Mr. Darcy comes close to smothering his sister with protectiveness."
I expected Richard to smile at my exaggeration, but he did not; rather, a pensive, brooding cloud seemed to descend upon his countenance. "You overestimate me, Elizabeth. In actuality, Georgiana will enjoy her coming out much more if I am not present."
Just then the young girl called out, entreating me to join her in looking over the proposed menu for the festivity, and the colonel excused himself to check on the condition of his horse that had recently developed a limp. As I walked across the wide floor, I glanced over my shoulder and watched him depart. I had the strangest feeling a greater reason behind Richard's future leave-taking existed, a reason he was not yet ready to reveal.
&n
bsp; ~ * ~
That evening when I went to my chamber to dress for dinner, I saw that the post had come. Mamá had written, as well as Jane, but it was the third envelope that caught my attention. My pulse quickened when I recognized the handwriting of Mr. Darcy.
I sat down and attempted to calm my rapid heartbeat. No need existed for my nerves to inflame; it was only a letter and did not appear more than a page. It probably contained little more than a few sentences. I decided to read my family's correspondence first, beginning with Jane's letter. She seemed unusually happy, but I could not concentrate on her words; I found myself having to re-read the same sentences again and again. Instead, my attention insisted upon wandering to the letter that I had lain beneath Mamá's in an attempt to place it in the least order of importance. A lot of good that did - it may as well have been a great big squawking rooster, calling out for my attention! I could not keep my eyes from it.
At last, I rose, took the letter and placed it inside a drawer in my desk. There! I thought, surely I can forget it long enough to read my family's correspondence. I applied myself with diligence anew and made it through the first missive, losing my way only once or twice. I then attempted to read Mamá's post, but her ramblings made little sense and I soon gave it up. Returning to the desk, I opened the drawer and retrieved the letter from London that attracted me like intoxicating nectar. It angered me that my fingers trembled when I attempted to break the seal.
"Stop it, Lizzy!" I said aloud, as I unfolded the single sheet of fine cream-coloured parchment.
Elizabeth,
Progress continues in the matter causing my delay. Our detective successfully followed the man retrieving the blackmail funds, who turned out to possibly be the same "Johnny" you overheard in the garden. He, in turn, led us along the Thames to a house in the lower parts of London owned by none other than Mrs. Younge. She, apparently, is his aunt and both have been apprehended by the authorities. We are now engaged in determining if any other servant in my service may have aided them in this crime. Please know that your knowledge of Johnny has been of invaluable assistance.
