The Elizabeth Papers

by Jenetta James

  Issyxxx

  By midnight, still sleepless, he had read the lot several times. There was something there. It was almost beyond comprehension, but it was true. Dots linked up with lines in the darkness and dazzled him. He felt the familiar rush of success, the drunkenness of it swelling him. His head was singing with it. After ten years of searching for people’s secrets, the avenues of discovery still amazed him. There was a secret in this Darcy marriage—a real secret—and these letters proved it. Who would have thought that it could come back to haunt the descendants of Elizabeth Darcy two centuries later? Involuntarily, he recalled the sight of Evie Pemberton, dwarfed by her own canvas. He dismissed that vision. It didn’t matter. This was his brief, and as usual, he was on it. He deleted Issy’s email details and message before he forwarded the file to Cressida Carter. The subject read, “We are on to something.”

  Chapter 8

  June 1, 1860

  Pemberley

  Galbraith,

  I write further to my last letter and very much regret the need to do so. Since writing, I have become aware of a piece of servant’s gossip that, it appears, has been commonly known at Pemberley for some time. I shall not bore you with the circuitous manner in which it reached me, but, inevitably, a number of people here are aware of it.

  You may or may not recall Hannah Tavener. There is no reason you should, but she was Elizabeth’s maid throughout our marriage and travelled with Elizabeth everywhere. She was always with us when we went to Town, and you may have seen her at Darcy House when you called. In any event, she was a loyal and trusted servant to Elizabeth, and I am not romantic when I say she was also her friend. Hannah nursed Elizabeth during the fever that killed her, caught the fever herself, and was dead within three days of her mistress. I attended her funeral and, you may recall, made a significant gift to her family for whom her wages were a source of financial security. However, coming as it did so hard upon the unexpected loss of my wife, Hannah’s death seemed simply one of a barrage of sorrows.

  I now learn that, in her last hours, she made a declaration that Elizabeth had asked her to dispose of something and that she had failed to do so. I have no idea what it was that Elizabeth may have wished to destroy or her reason for asking Hannah to do it. I have had each of the servants—whom I know to have gossiped about this—in my study, and I regret that none of them knows anything more. I have interrogated the rector who gave her the last rites. He concurs with the story and recalls that Hannah, who was delirious at the time, pleaded with him to assist in “getting rid of it for Mrs. Darcy.”

  Thus, my enquiries have foundered. I do not need to spell out to you, Galbraith, what my fears are with respect to the Rosschapel business. If there is something abroad that Elizabeth knew of and that may reveal truths known only to us, then I want it to be found. If you have any wisdom as to how I should proceed, then I would be glad to hear it.

  Yours,

  Darcy

  Chapter 9

  June 7, 1820, Pemberley

  Unusually, it is early morning, and I write while Fitzwilliam sleeps. These past mornings, I have woken feeling most poorly and have not been able to stay abed. I have benefited greatly from a cup of tea and a walk around our sitting room. I hear birds outside and the soft tread of maids in the corridor. My husband’s breath and the scrape of my pen are the only sounds within this room, and I find it calming. How little time in life is as peaceful as this? At some point, and soon, he shall roll over, his hand seeking me. The cold sheets against his skin will wake him, and then I shall have to stop. He will want to know how I am feeling and whether I have had enough sleep. He leaves me in no doubt of his concern for me. He could not be more attentive. Even so, he never speaks of whether this, our fourth child, is to be a daughter or a son. When I have been with child previously, he has made a show of assuring me that he did not mind. Now, he says nothing, and I wonder whether he was ever in earnest. I shall not raise this matter with him. I shall not be the one to say it. When he wakes, I shall return his kisses and laugh my best laugh. For it does not do to be downcast, and if I can think this child a boy with happy thoughts, then I shall.

  As it is, there is much to be jolly about. Along the corridor, Jane and Mr. Bingley sleep in their chamber, for they are to stay for two whole weeks on their journey north to see Mr. Bingley’s relations. They bring with them Miss Bingley, still unmarried, but I cannot mind that because the presence of my sister Jane is a tonic, and I shall bear any number of Miss Bingleys to be with her.

  It was mid-morning when their carriage clattered into the courtyard at Pemberley. Fitzwilliam and I watched as it teetered under the weight of so many trunks and cases loaded on the back and as Jane and Mr. Bingley, smiling, and Miss Bingley, chattering, seemed to fall out. Jane rushed towards me, skirts billowing, face beaming, and I almost burst. What with her confinements and mine—and the distance from their estate in Leicestershire—it had been nearly a year. There were cries of “Oh, Lizzy” and “Oh, Jane.” To hear us exclaiming at each other reminded me of Lydia, and I wondered whether Mr. Darcy was annoyed. It was strange that, when I glanced at him to check, he was looking at me hard, and he was fixed with an almost imperceptible smile playing across his lips.

  “Lizzy, it is no good. You shall have to stop having all of these children. Those of us who live to the South cannot cope without your visits any longer. The sense-deficit in Hertfordshire in particular is now grown so great that it shall soon be considered a country-wide emergency.”

  “Oh, Jane, now I will not have you blaming me thus. You could ask Mr. Bingley to move here. Or, you could stop having babies yourself and visit me more often.”

  We laughed, and Miss Bingley, who was not a lady to be left out, interjected.

  “Mrs. Darcy, how wonderful to see you.” We bobbed curtsies to each other. “I say that you should both stop producing infants, which must be so trying, and end your exile from Town, which must be the most diverting place that any of us have available to us. Do you not agree? I simply cannot imagine missing the season.”

  “Oh, Miss Bingley, I can, and I rather think that Mr. Darcy can as well. He was thrilled the first year that we missed it due to Georgiana’s being married and my being confined. He could hardly suppress his joy.”

  She looked away from me, and her eyes fell upon Fitzwilliam who was well out of earshot and speaking with Mr. Bingley. Caroline, who must be all of thirty years, looked suddenly sad, and I regretted referring to my husband in that way. It had become apparent to me in the earliest days of my marriage that, despite her rudeness, she was much more to be pitied than feared. Her admiration of my husband, who hardly even looked at her in all the years of their acquaintance, was so powerful that, even now, she could not properly hide it. Within a year of becoming Mrs. Darcy, I had resolved to be as kind as possible to her. I reminded myself of that resolution now.

  “But your challenge is taken Miss Bingley. I shall have to make sure that you are as diverted as we can manage on this visit. I will do my best. I hope that we shall hear you play? We may even have to have dancing one evening, although you may have to excuse me. I am currently a punishment to stand up with, I believe!”

  Both Jane and Caroline looked at my belly and laughed.

  Cloaks and bonnets were removed, trunks carried above stairs and unpacked. Servants scurried from room to room. The horses were taken to the stables to be rested and refreshed. As Jane and Mr. Bingley were shown to their room, Caroline close behind, I stood at the bottom of the staircase, feeling rather small. Fitzwilliam’s hand came to the small of my back.

  “Elizabeth, shall we visit the day nursery while our guests are settling in?”

  He was right that we had not been today. I had been so busy with Mrs. Reynolds and anticipating Jane and her family that our usual routines had been thrown asunder. It surprised me that he thought of this as I had come to think that maybe it w
as I who most particularly wished to visit the day nursery each morning. I was surprised, but I was glad.

  “Yes, Fitzwilliam. Let us go up together.”

  He offered his arm, which I took. When we turned the corner and with nobody watching, I quickly kissed his cheek.

  Later, I sought out my sister. Mr. Bingley was out riding with Fitzwilliam, and Caroline was still in her chamber, no doubt considering her various outfits. I knocked gently on Jane’s door.

  “Come.”

  “Only me.” I peeked into the room where I found her sitting on the bed, her maid unpacking gowns and frockcoats. “Can I tempt you with a walk, Mrs. Bingley? It is not too cold, and you will find my pace most unchallenging!”

  She smiled broadly, donned her bonnet and shawl, and we were gone. Arm in arm, we limited ourselves to the closest path to the house. Jane spoke of their recent visit to Longbourn. Being now resident in Leicestershire, it was rather easier for the Bingleys to visit Meryton than it was for us, and inevitably, they did so more often.

  “Shall your husband be decorated with medals, Jane, for consenting to live within tolerable distance of our family?”

  “Sometimes I think that he should be, Lizzy, although I must say that he never says so. He is such an amiable man, so generous hearted. He speaks not a word of reproach. Not even about Lydia…”

  “Now that is a feat indeed. To have Lydia in his house for three months and not complain. I cannot manage that, and she is my sister!”

  “Well, I could not have coped, Lizzy, if I had not had you to write to. I can manage her, but I need to express myself sometimes, or it is quite unbearable. I was so sure that time would be a healer—that things would improve. But, do you know, I think she has got worse? She sleeps hardly at all. Lydia, who had to be winched out of bed before she was married is always last to retire and first at the breakfast table. Not that she eats a great deal, of course. That is another problem, and Mama frets on it enough for the whole country.”

  “Yes, she was like that when she was here. She kept the most extraordinary hours and had the servants attending her at all hours of the morning. She even managed to wake Fitzwilliam, and he always starts his day before me.”

  “Well, she is just the same. And one would think that she would be tired, but she does not appear to be anything of the sort. She remains…well…odd in company. She either is so quiet and withdrawn that one wonders if it is really her, or she is agitated by the most amazing, nervous energy. It was such a godsend when Maria asked her to stay in Margate. Papa had been dealing with the situation by hiding in his library, and Mama…well, she was at the end of her tether. Everyone agreed that a change of scene would be just the thing.”

  I pondered this for a moment, for I did not want to say wrong. Our dear friend Maria Lucas had been married the previous year to a gentleman of Margate, and she had kept up correspondence with both Lydia and Kitty. She had no doubt also heard of Lydia’s misfortunes from her mama, Lady Lucas, with whom our mama visits weekly. In any event, Maria is well settled and a great evangelist for the benefits of seaside living. She kindly invited Lydia to stay for a few months, and she could hardly have had a more enthusiastic response from either Lydia herself or her family. It is now oft repeated that getting away from home is just what Lydia needs and that the sea air and a change of scene will set her up. But is that really true? Are we not all saying that because we want it to be real? I detected an oddity in Jane’s tone. There was a reservation that had not been there before, and I had a sudden sense that she was holding back.

  “Well, let us hope, Jane. Have you heard anything from Margate?”

  “I have had one letter from Lydia, and I believe that Kitty has heard from Maria.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Well, Lydia’s letter was like every letter she has ever written to me. She wrote of what a splendid time she is having and how she has made a number of new acquaintances. She is pleased to be wearing grey and some mauve, and she has attended some small dinners and assemblies with Maria and her husband. Everyone is charming, and all is perfect. You know how she is. All of her geese are swans.”

  A sudden rush of wind rustled the shrubs to the side of us, and Jane looked down at her pale blue slippers pattering across the gravel.

  “What is it you do not say, Sister?”

  “Oh, Lizzy, it is probably not anything new to worry on…”

  “Jane! I told you about the evening with Lord and Lady Matlock, and that was a confidence indeed. Now you have to tell me what is troubling you.”

  “Well. I have heard from Kitty, and she has had a letter from Maria. It was not a complaint exactly. Maria writes to Kitty regularly, and this was just one of her letters. But…well, she did say that they were finding Lydia rather difficult to control. She was pushing herself forward in company and being very raucous. They attended a local assembly where Lydia, apparently, took herself around the room without an escort, introducing herself to all of the gentlemen and initiating gossip with the ladies.”

  “Is she drinking?”

  “The letter did not relate that, but I do not believe Maria would say even if she were. Poor Maria. She has been so generous, but I am at a loss as to what to do. What worries me is that Maria really knows Lydia. They grew up together, and Maria knows how difficult she can be. She knew about the elopement with Wickham; everyone in Meryton did. Maria is no stranger to the facts. And she is reserved. She would never intimate to Kitty that anything was wrong unless it was serious. Lizzy, I am most worried about what she is not saying.”

  The sight of Lydia staggering about my parlour came back to me in a flash, and I felt an ache in my ribs as the baby pushed up against them.

  “I agree. I think we should write to Aunt Gardiner and see what she thinks.”

  “That is a good idea, Lizzy. Let us do that.”

  She squeezed my arm and touched her gentle hand to my belly, and we turned back to the house.

  Later, I was sitting up in bed sipping my tea when Fitzwilliam joined me. He paused slightly in the doorway as he approached, and his eyes were caught by the flame from the fire. His valet had undressed him, and in the dim light, I could see the lines of his body beneath his lawn shirt. I believe that he caught me looking at the lower part of his neck. He smiled lazily as he lay on the bed beside me.

  “You look very pleased with yourself, sir.”

  “I am, for I believe that I have a happy wife. Am I right?”

  In fact, I had been worrying over Maria’s letter about Lydia and wracking my mind for solutions to our dilemma. I could not trouble him with it, and so I kissed his forehead.

  “Yes, you are right. It is lovely to have her here, Fitzwilliam. It has been too long. Do you think that Charles may ever be persuaded to move into Derbyshire?”

  “Well, maybe. But Leicestershire is convenient for him as it is nearer to London. He has a lot of business interests there.”

  “Well, you have interests in Scotland and the West Country—and there is Rosschapel in Ireland—but we do not have to live in any of those places.”

  “No, but I employ men to represent me where necessary, and in fact, when it comes to Rosschapel, there are still problems with the tenant. I rather fear that I may need to visit at some stage.”

  “Oh.” I looked at my mountainous belly and then at him. He had told me of an arduous visit to Rosschapel with his father many years previously, and I knew that, if he were to go there, he would certainly be absent from Pemberley for a month if not more. “Not soon, I hope?”

  His hand reached out for mine.

  “No, Elizabeth, not soon. You must not worry yourself about it. It is for me to deal with, and it is not urgent. If I do need to go there, I will go for the shortest time I can, and you will have plenty of warning. But as for Bingley, he needs to be close to London for b
usiness. In any case, if he ever tries to take Caroline any further distance from the attractions of Town, he will have a fight on his hands, I’ll wager.”

  “It is not for Caroline to decide, surely! It is a kindness that Jane is willing to have her on a permanent basis. For myself, I cannot understand why she does not spend more time with the Hursts. Before we were married, Jane and I fancied Caroline and Louisa were as close as we were, but now it seems that they are not, and poor Jane has to put up with Caroline day in and day out!”

  “Well, that is as may be. I do not know, Elizabeth. But of course, if the Bingleys moved to Derbyshire, they would be even further from Longbourn, and I believe your parents would miss their frequent visits greatly.”

  I ran my fingers through his dark, curled hair and murmured my agreement. The scent of him and the feel of him came over me. He had netted me, and he was pulling me in—through the water and past the rushes to a place I knew well. I would not yield to it immediately.

  “Speaking of Miss Bingley, I hope that you noticed the vividness of her skirts and the volume of bosom on display this evening, Mr. Darcy. I believe it was for your benefit.”

  He looked at my nightgown-clad bosom, much increased by my condition, and smiled a pale smile.

  “Indeed? I am afraid it quite escaped my notice, Elizabeth. Mayhap she should focus her attentions on men who are not married to beautiful women.”

  With that, he pulled back the bedclothes and began to kiss my neck. Our limbs moved against each other in the half-light. The orange of the fire flickered, and the world outside the bedposts was quite forgotten.

  Later, on the verge of slumber, Fitzwilliam pulled me into his warm embrace.