Mr. Darcy's Secret

by Jane Odiwe

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  The journey home to Pemberley was tiring and irksome. They made any stopping time as brief as possible but it seemed to Elizabeth that they would never get home. She had not been feeling well all the way; every bone in her body seemed to ache with tiredness and the only respite and pleasure she gained from the journey came from the reassuring quickening that alerted her to the knowledge of the growing life within her. Coupled with that of the delight of her sister's company and that of her aunt and Mrs Butler, Elizabeth endured it all as well as she could. At last they turned onto the road to Lambton and it was with feelings of restrained emotion that she looked out onto all the sights so dear and familiar. What did the future hold for her now? she wondered. And how would it all work out in the end? The idea of being at odds with Fitzwilliam was almost too much to bear.

  Mrs Butler seemed quite overcome by the enormous hug that she received from Mrs Darcy as they parted after setting her down at her home, but she could not have known how much Lizzy derived comfort from that lady's presence. Elizabeth wished she could confide in someone, but she knew that she could not.

  On her return Elizabeth was greeted warmly by Georgiana, but now was not the time to discuss the last few days. Elizabeth spoke to her sister with affection, promising when they parted that she would speak privately to her the next morning after their visitors had gone home. Fitzwilliam stood a little apart, waiting his turn. Elizabeth glanced across at him. He still had that look of concern, as if recent events had taken their toll. His greeting was tender, heartfelt, and full of anxiety for his wife's health. She was amused at the way he fussed over her, insisting that she sit by the fire and attending to some light supper by serving her himself. Elizabeth watched him as he set a tray before her on a side table with hot soup, bread, butter, and cheese, to be washed down with her favourite lemon cordial. Her heart was full of love for him. It was so wonderful to be home. Her meeting with Mrs Younge seemed like some horrible nightmare now that she thought about it. How she wanted it to fade and go away in just the same way. But she knew it would not; Fitzwilliam would have to be told, and however much she dreaded the prospect, the dilemma she faced would have to be confronted. Elizabeth would tell him everything; she would ask the questions and he would provide the answers.

  Lizzy waited until she and Fitzwilliam were alone, making sure that everyone else was safely retired for the night. They were sitting in the saloon together, watching the flames dying in the grate. Elizabeth had been reading a book, to all intents and purposes, though she had not managed to read a single word. Aware that he was observing her closely, Elizabeth felt most uncomfortable. At length, Mr Darcy put down his glass of brandy and spoke.

  "Are you well, Lizzy? You look very tired tonight, and you have hardly spoken a word all evening. I confess I am worried about you; you do look very pale."

  "I have a little headache, that is all," she answered at last, knowing that she spoke the truth. Her head was throbbing with the anxiety of all she contemplated. Several times she started to say something, but could not bring herself to say the words. She was about to ask him why he had not been honest, even accuse him of lying to her, for not making every facet of his past life open to her. How could she do that? she asked herself. This tremendously huge secret, which had ramifications for every aspect of their lives, could remain undisclosed. Elizabeth was at liberty to decide whether it remained buried or whether it was unearthed in all its ghastly and unspeakable detail. Certain that she did not want to have any elements satisfied, she baulked from asking the questions. But they would not go away. There was the other matter of Mrs Younge's stipulations to be considered also. Finally, knowing she had no alternative but to tell him what had happened, Elizabeth embarked on the impossible task.

  "Fitzwilliam, I must talk to you," she began, trying to keep her voice even and steady. "Something has happened, something I hardly know how to begin to tell you about, and it is worrying me so much that I do not know where to start."

  Mr Darcy, who was sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the room, got up as soon as he heard the distress in her voice.

  "Tell me, Lizzy, I cannot bear to see you like this in such anguish. What on earth is the matter?"

  "It is about George Tissington," she began. "I know the truth, Fitzwilliam." She took the portion of the torn letter from her reticule and handed it to him.

  His face was very grave as he read the snippet of paper before he walked over to the grate and threw it into the fire. It caught in a second, bursting into flame. Elizabeth watched the portion of letter disappear, the blackened cinders flying up the chimney.

  "What is the truth, Mrs Darcy? Please tell me," he said as he turned, coming to stand majestically before her, his face dangerously flushed with anger.

  "Oh, Fitzwilliam, I know he is your son and that if only things had been different that he would be the rightful heir to Pemberley," she cried, feeling sure that this act of burning the evidence must surely confirm what she already knew. "I think you should know that there has been an attempt to blackmail me. It is the only reason I have decided to speak to you on the matter. Mrs Younge has the rest of the letter."

  "Mrs Younge? What has she to do with anything?"

  "I think you should sit, my love. What I am to tell you will come as a great shock. Mrs Younge is George Wickham's step-sister. She is acting on Viola's behalf and she and Wickham are up to their old tricks."

  Elizabeth filled in the particulars, her knowledge of the Wickhams' history, and of her encounter with Mrs Younge in Kendal.

  "Then his crimes are worse than I feared," Mr Darcy went on, sitting in the nearest seat and holding his head in his hands.

  Elizabeth could only imagine that Fitzwilliam was referring to George Wickham but could not entirely comprehend his meaning.

  "And did you believe Mrs Younge's testimony?" he asked, looking up, his black eyes staring at her from under his dark, finely shaped brows.

  Elizabeth did not speak. More than anything she wanted to believe that there could be another explanation, yet it was impossible. She had seen written proof, not only in Mrs Younge's letter, but also in the ones she had found in the library. How could she say that she did not believe it when the voice in her head told her it was true? She looked down at the trembling hands in her lap, trying to find something to say. Why did he not try to assure her? If it was not true, why then did he not deny it?

  "And is this all the response which I am to have the honour of expecting?"

  "I do not want to believe any of it, Fitzwilliam, but this is not the only letter I have seen."

  "I see, and therefore, without any real explanation, you use your imagination to read what you may into any letter you happen to pick up. You would rather take the word of known scandalous, unscrupulous scoundrels who fill your head with vile and despicable nonsense than to take that of mine, your husband. For to use any other words to describe their infamy, Mrs Darcy, would be a lie." Mr Darcy paused to loosen his neckcloth. Elizabeth could see his agitation developing with every spoken word, a deeper shade of hauteur overspreading his features. "You want to know the truth. The truth you shall hear, though I always hoped I should protect you from it. I daresay my word is not deemed authority enough... it is all I have, however."

  Elizabeth felt the tears prick and tried to blink them away. How foolish she had been. When she thought how he must perceive her words, nay, her accusations, she wished she could take them back. Every apology, everything she could summon up by way of saying she was sorry seemed totally inadequate. Her lips opened yet no sound came from within.

  He continued, "I must confess that as a young man I did fall in love with Viola Wickham. It was a boyish love given in all innocence and never to be returned, although I did not appreciate it at the time. If you care to believe me, not even a kiss was exchanged between us. The letters you found, I thought had been lost long ago. What an unhappy circumstance that you found them. What a pity that you felt it necessary
to read them."

  Elizabeth winced at that remark. How could she explain that she had never meant to read them? How could she reconcile the fact that she had? She could not meet his gaze though she felt his eyes upon her.

  "For a time I wanted to protect the child's mother out of loyalty and my love for her. She told me she was in trouble and I helped her with what money I had. However, in the end, it was the child's welfare that interested me. Poor soul, he could not be blamed for his condition in life. My dear mother's maid agreed to take on the child, to give him a loving home, and Viola was only too happy to give him up. I promised to help provide what I could, though I had not yet come into my money and would not do so for some time. It was all discreetly done, although in such cases as these, however careful one might be, there is bound to be talk. I kept in touch, but after arrangements were made for the child I did not hear from her again. I think as far as she was concerned I had outgrown my usefulness. It was only much later, when Viola Wickham came back into my life briefly, that I found I was duty bound to consider the child's welfare. At my father's funeral she appeared once more, demanding to see me. It was then that I learned the truth, the facts that I still find hard to contain. With my father's death her financial security withered. He did not provide for her in his will and she came to see what I would do for her."

  Elizabeth hesitated. "But why should your father provide for her in his will? Was your father helping her, though you were not aware of it at the time?"

  Mr Darcy nodded. "After his death, I found a letter outlining his intentions to provide for the child. Money was sent to Miss Wickham on a regular basis."

  Darcy abruptly turned away for a moment and his wife heard the momentary distress in his voice.

  The shock of understanding this statement gave rise to feelings of both alarm and relief of a kind. The realisation that her supposition must be correct meant that her husband was entirely innocent of the wrongs she had accorded him.

  "I cannot have understood correctly," Elizabeth began, wishing she really had no comprehension at all.

  Darcy nodded. "Elizabeth, I wish I could tell you differently, but there is no other explanation. George Tissington is no heir to the Pemberley fortune, but he is my brother."

  Chapter 32

  "I still don't quite understand how you managed to retrieve the rest of the letter from Mrs Younge," said Elizabeth a week later as they travelled into Lambton one morning to visit their tenants, "even though I know if anyone could accomplish such a task easily, it would be you."

  "Our brother-in-law has his uses," Darcy explained. "When he came to comprehend that I could make his life very difficult if it was not returned to me immediately, his step-sister saw sense. I do not think we shall be hearing from Mrs Younge again, especially if Wickham wishes me to help him in the future."

  "Do you think Wickham was conspiring with her?"

  "Not a doubt of it, but of course I have no proof. In any case, I should not wish to make Lydia's existence any more miserable than it must be. If I'd had him bound over, it is only your sister who would have truly suffered. He is stupid enough to think that I do not know what he was about, and I daresay he thinks he has got away with it. I have my men keeping an eye on them; do not fear. At least we know that the Wickhams are back in Newcastle and Mrs Younge is returned to her usual haunts in London."

  "I will never forgive myself for doubting you," said Elizabeth, reddening with shame at the recollection of all that had passed.

  "No, it was not your fault. When I now consider how you must have perceived my actions alone, I cannot blame you. I should have told you, but I must admit, it is a part of my history and that of my family's past that I wished to forget and did not want to acknowledge. I still cannot believe the truth of the matter. When I consider the character of the man most dear to me, he who was the most excellent of men, honest and upright..." Darcy paused to collect himself. Elizabeth thought her heart would break as she listened to him pour out his soul. "I have never spoken of this to another living person; it is the most difficult episode of my life."

  "My darling Mr Darcy, speak no more. What is done belongs to the past and cannot be changed. Only know that I am honoured that you have been able to share your thoughts with me. I love you so much, Fitzwilliam."

  Mr Darcy turned to face his beloved wife. At last he could look into her eyes. "I love you too, Elizabeth."

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  Georgiana could hardly contain her excitement. She had never dreamed that this day would arrive when just a few weeks ago she had felt the disgrace of her foolish conduct, but today Mr Thomas Butler was being allowed to visit.

  Mr Darcy had suggested to Elizabeth that she should chaperone the young couple at all times, but after sitting in the drawing room for fifteen minutes, listening to the polite conversation of those who know their every word is being heard, Elizabeth excused herself by saying she had just remembered something important she had to divulge to Mrs Reynolds about the dinner menu.

  In an instant Tom crossed the room. He could not wait a moment longer. Before Georgiana could protest she was in his arms.

  "Oh, do be careful, Tom," chided Georgiana playfully, "Elizabeth may return at any moment.

  "I couldn't care if your brother were to walk in on us this minute," Tom cried, taking her hands in his and drawing them towards him. "How I have missed you."

  "I've missed you too, Tom," cried Georgiana, gazing up at him with adoration.

  Tom drew back to regard the face of the girl he loved and traced his finger down her cheek, tilting her chin to raise her lips within his view. How soft and inviting they looked; her mouth appeared more beautiful to him than in all his dreams of longing. "I have been denied this pleasure for too long, Miss Darcy," he whispered, caressing her lips with his own. "Please don't stop me now, I beg you."

  Georgiana had no intention of stopping him; submitting to his sweet kisses, she felt she had never known such happiness. To have Tom at her side holding her in his arms was heavenly.

  "I never thought this day would ever come," said Tom, reluctantly letting her go at last. "I have so much to tell you, and I cannot think where to begin. Oh, Georgiana, I have been bursting to tell you my news. You will not believe my good fortune."

  "Thomas, tell me quickly before anyone comes. I cannot wait to hear all that you have been doing. Is it about your work?"

  "It is not. Indeed, it has nothing whatsoever to do with work. I might never work again if I did not want to, but then I would become a very lazy fellow, and I am sure that Mrs Butler would not like that one bit. That is, if Mrs Butler should become my wife."

  "Tom, what are you saying?" interrupted Georgiana. "You are running on the like of which I never heard before. What do you mean about not working ever again, and who is Mrs Butler? I am sure you cannot refer to your mother."

  "Georgiana, I am made! Lord Featherstone is the hero of the hour. I have naturally spent a lot of time with him lately, and when I confessed to him my reasons for suddenly quitting the Lake District, he wanted to know all about it. Having never had the good luck to fall in love himself, he has taken our plight to his heart. He believes that we should be allowed our portion of happiness with no further delay. Georgiana, I am to have an estate of my own in Nottinghamshire and a settlement of six thousand pounds a year. In short, he has made it possible for us to marry as soon as we might wish. You are the Mrs Butler I hope will become my wife... that is, if you have not changed your mind. Please, Miss Darcy, perhaps I should have gone to your brother first, but I could not wait to ask. Will you marry me?"

  He knelt before Georgiana, his eyes imploring her to agree to his desires.

  "Thomas Butler, of course I will. I cannot wait to be your Mrs Butler," Georgiana cried, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him once more.

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  The wedding of Miss Georgiana Darcy to Mr Thomas Butler took place the following month in the chapel at Pemberley. The bride looked as beautifu
l and as happy as a young bride should in the company of her new husband, who beamed with pride throughout the proceedings. A small family affair, apart from the presence of Lord Featherstone and Mrs Butler, the only other witnesses present were Mr and Mrs Darcy, which was just as Georgiana had wished it to be.

  Despite the lack of guests, congratulations and felicitations came from all corners of England: from the Bennets, the Bingleys, the Collinses, and even Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself. Every missive contained good wishes for the young couple, who left for a little holiday to the seaside as soon as they left the church door.

  Arriving too late to be read by the Butlers was a letter from Mrs Lydia Wickham. Mrs Darcy opened it one morning as she and Fitzwilliam sat at breakfast. On reading its contents, she found it most troubling and could hardly fathom its meaning. She decided to read it out loud in order to see what Fitzwilliam might think. The letter read:

  Westcott Buildings, Newcastle

  Dearest Elizabeth,

  I hope this letter finds you well. We are always the last to be informed of important events within the family, it seems, or I should have sent my felicitations sooner. Wickie and I wish Mr and Mrs Butler every happiness; some people certainly appear to have all the luck! It is not as if he needed a fortune of his own, but they will be as rich as kings, I daresay.

  Lizzy, I am enclosing a letter I found when I was clearing out some of Wickie's things. I do not know what to make of it. I know you have a clever eye for a puzzle and wonder what you think it can possibly mean. Have you ever heard of Viola Wickham? I am sure I have not! It seems from this intelligence that she is George's sister, but I never heard of her in my life and my own enquiries have come to naught. It is something of a mystery--and I can't make head nor tail of why she should mention Pemberley if she was nothing at all to the Wickhams. There is the curious mention of duping the father and son--can she mean Mr Darcy? I wondered if your husband could throw any light on the matter--I am most anxious to learn what it is all about. George would be so cross that I have been through his things--I didn't mention the letter to him, but I would be most interested to hear what you make of it for it is a complete riddle to me. I didn't know who else to ask. It is an old letter but most intriguing. Write back soon.