Consequences (19 page)

Elizabeth nodded, feeling so exhausted herself she could not speak. She wanted to cry, but the grief was so deep and shocking, the tears would not come. Jane’s hand seemed to be cooling already, but at least her ordeal was over. In fact, despite how gaunt Jane’s face had become during the last hours, it was now peaceful and composed, with a small smile appearing to radiate contentment.

She is now in a much, much better place than this vale of tears, Elizabeth thought drearily.
What am I to do now? My heart is so cold, and I want to cry, but I cannot. And I am so empty, so very empty. How can I go on without her? She was my dearest sister and friend and the only person left to me from those years of my youth before The Nightmare Time came upon us.

In the days following the burial service, Elizabeth sank into the deepest melancholy of her life. At thirty-three, it appeared she might be the last of the Bennet sisters other than Lydia, and who knew where Lydia was or even if she was alive? The thought was both disheartening and frightening. Her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner were also getting older, especially her uncle, and it was clear, within not too many years, she would be the last of her immediate family left on earth. There were her cousins, of course, but she had seen little of them in the past years, and now they were more strangers than family.

It was another week before her natural spirits began to assert themselves. She spent most of that time simply sitting in a chair by the window in her room. She occasionally descended to take her meals, but her usually excellent appetite was absent. She grew thinner during that week, and Mrs. Peters repeatedly told her she should take as much time as needed to recover from her devastating loss since her employer was well aware how close the two sisters had been and had also loved Jane dearly herself. Finally, on a morning more than a week and a half after Jane’s death, Elizabeth awakened at the dawn and found the grief no longer held a death-grip on her heart. It was still present and likely, she thought, never to go away completely, but it no longer threatened to fill her very soul. The growing light promised a beautiful day, and that, plus the singing of the birds, brought the first cheer to her heart since the awful day of Jane’s passing. She dressed with something approaching her normal disposition and went downstairs to breakfast with a renewed appetite and a readiness to continue the children’s lessons.

Mrs. Peters was pleased to see her downstairs, especially with what looked to be her normal, pleasant manner, but she did not want the woman who was more her friend than her employee to act too precipitately.

“Elizabeth, you need not rush yourself,” she said sympathetically, putting her hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Mrs. Peters, but I really do feel much better,” Elizabeth replied with a smile. “And I am sure I need the children’s high spirits even more than they need me. I have often said, probably too many times, that I am not disposed to melancholy, and their dear, sweet nature will do me good.”

“Even Tommy?” asked Mrs. Peters with a smile. Thomas was her eldest and was often inclined to mischief.

“Even Tommy,” laughed Elizabeth. “He is a thorough scamp, you understand, but he has a good heart. He just needs a firm hand until he learns to discipline himself.”

“I do not know what we would do without you, Elizabeth,” said her friend and employer. “You would have made a wonderful mother. I am dreadfully sorry you never found the right man.”

Elizabeth managed to give Mrs. Peters what she hoped was a composed smile before she excused herself to attend the children’s lessons.

I do not believe I could tell even you that I once did find the right man
, she thought with a moroseness that did not match her smile,
but I did not even know it when I found him, and I foolishly sent him away in anger. Ah, vanity, vanity. The source of so many disasters!

Still, the peaceful, contented smile on Jane’s face after she died continued to plague Elizabeth. She simply could not account for it, given the desperate struggle her sister exerted to draw every breath.

Chapter 11

“Absence diminishes mediocre passions
and increases great ones, as the wind
extinguishes candles and fans fires.”

—Francois de La Rochefoucauld,
French author

Monday, August 12, 1844

Fitzwilliam Darcy looked at the house as his coach turned in at the gate. It appeared typical of the country houses he observed during the past ten-odd miles of their journey, a home for the property owner surrounded by the tenant farms forming the basis of his income.

“Tell me again; whom are we visiting today and why?” he asked his sister, Mrs. Georgiana Hartecourt. “I could be more comfortable sitting back at the inn and sleeping by the fire.”

Georgiana laughed at the tone of his voice. Her brother seemed to enjoy grousing about everything these days, especially since he turned sixty, but underneath he was the same warm, caring brother she had known her whole life.

“It is Mrs. Judith Fleming, as I told you when we started out, silly. And you need to get out into the open air. It will be good for you.”

“Hmmphh! You did not tell me why, though.”

“Simply to be visiting. Mrs. Fleming is married to the oldest son of one of my friends from school, Sarah Fleming. I remember Henry from the yearly visits Sarah made to London, though I have not yet met his wife.”

“Seems quite tenuous to me. You must be bored to tears in Plymouth,” grumbled Darcy, but he was so clearly enjoying doing so, his sister laughed again.

“Well, it
is
somewhat uneventful here in Plymouth, William, which is why I am glad you came down to visit. You know how Adrian is, though. When he is in the midst of working through problems with one of his ships, he tends to be quite forgetful, so I need to be there to take care of him. But the days are sometimes rather lacking in entertainment.”

“Hmmphh,” Darcy said again. “Your life would be simpler if Adrian just settled down and managed his lands.” He suppressed a grimace as the never-ceasing ache suddenly increased, sending a fiery hot flash of pure agony through his abdomen. He fumbled in his pocket, removing the small silver flask that Georgiana believed contained brandy. She grimaced in disapproval as he lifted it to his lips, but the sip he took was small, so she let it pass. Darcy settled back as he felt the soothing release of the laudanum spread through his body. At least his physician was able to give him something to ease the pain; he refused to believe the rest of what the man told him, even though the pains had grown worse over the past several months.

“Times change, William,” Georgiana continued complacently. “Times change. And it is not as though we live at Plymouth all the time. But Adrian could not stay in London while the engines are being installed in the
Antares
. London is much too far from the building yards for him—he absolutely has to be in the yard during the last stages before one of his designs is launched. You know that.”

Darcy did indeed, and he also knew he was speaking just to be doing something, so he said nothing as the coach pulled to a halt before the house. As always, one of his footmen was already down to open the coach door and pull down the step. He moved cautiously down to the ground and then assisted his sister, ignoring the pain in his bad knee. He held himself very tall as his sister preceded him up to the front door, ignoring the pain in his belly that made him want to hunch over. He was still as tall and as slim-waisted as he had been at thirty, and his hair remained as thick as ever, though the colour had now completely changed from black to iron-grey. His expression had the grimness of self-control, which enabled him to ignore the pains. It was the same self-control that enabled him finally to turn his back on the bottle before it destroyed him.

Judith Fleming was expecting them since she and Georgiana had exchanged notes several days previously, and Darcy nodded internal approval of her manners and bearing.

She appears a fit wife for a gentleman,
he thought to himself
. I know I am getting old and times change, but I do think something peculiarly English will die out of the world if we lose those modes of politeness and composure allowing the gently born to maintain a fitting deportment.

Some fifteen minutes later, Darcy’s own deportment was challenged in the most strenuous way possible. His sister and Mrs. Fleming were exchanging pleasantries, Georgiana talking of the years she had known Mr. Fleming’s mother while they compared notes on how many friends they had in common. Their conversation reached the point where the children were usually brought out to be admired, and Darcy was barely able to control his sudden start as Mrs. Fleming rang for a servant and said, “Mary, please ask Miss Bennet to bring the children to the parlour.”

Darcy felt as if his throat was being squeezed, and his heart was pounding in his chest most worryingly. He knew his sister was looking at him in alarm, but he could not help himself.

Could it be?
he thought in a frenzy.
No, it might not be her—it could be any Bennet—or it might be one of her sisters. But even so, she would surely know where Elizabeth is!

Darcy was already standing when the children bounced into the room, and his first sight of the slim, handsome woman who escorted them made him reel as if he would fall. By this time, Georgiana was at his side, feeling real alarm now, and she caught his arm, steadying him so he stayed on his feet. Even Mrs. Fleming had her hand to her mouth as she realized something quite unexpected was happening.

It is her!
thought Darcy, his heart no longer pounding but singing in exultation.
And as beautiful—no, more beautiful!—than ever!

The figure he had once disparaged was the same slender one he remembered, her step was still light, and her brown hair showed only a few strands of grey. There were wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, but he was inwardly certain they were due more to laughter than to sadness. About her whole person was a certain air, an air of serenity more than of either joy or sadness.

Elizabeth came to a halt as the sudden motion caught her attention. She looked over at the tall, grey-haired man in black, formal dress who appeared almost to have fallen as he was supported by a younger woman. Then her eyes opened in sudden recognition. Her hand came unbidden to her throat as a mixture of emotions surged through her being.

She saw Darcy swallow several times before he could speak. She wondered whether the tall, full-figured woman with him was his wife; she obviously was some kind of relation since she held him as if she alone was the only reason he was still standing.

Finally, Darcy was able to say, hoarsely, “Good afternoon, Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth was hardly more able to speak than Darcy, though she finally managed, in a voice barely above a whisper, “Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy.”

Elizabeth saw the tall woman’s head jerk around at her words, and sudden recognition bloomed in the other woman’s eyes. Elizabeth realized now she must be Darcy’s sister and not his wife; the resemblance was distinct, once she had a chance to think on it. That was likely also the reason for the woman’s recognition; she could believe it possible Darcy might have talked of her to his sister but it would have been most unlikely he would have ever mentioned her to a wife. Just what all of this might mean was too confusing to think on at the moment, especially with a mind as unsettled as hers.

Darcy finally seemed to realize his greeting was not complete, at least for the time period in which he had been raised, and he gently removed his sister’s hands so that he could give Elizabeth a deep bow. Elizabeth was somewhat startled at the formality, but she automatically responded to his courtesy with a graceful curtsey.

In a more composed manner, Darcy turned partly toward his sister. “Miss Bennet, may I present my sister, Mrs. Georgiana Hartecourt. Georgiana, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, a . . . friend . . . I knew in Hertfordshire.”

Elizabeth could not be but surprised to see the sudden hostility in Georgiana Hartecourt’s face as she gave only a cold nod to Elizabeth’s greeting.

Darcy did not even notice. His eyes had only one target, and he had no attention to spare from her. His mind raced. What should he do? What should he say? A thousand possibilities demanded his consideration, but he resolved on the shortest possible path—the straight line. No subterfuges, no manoeuvres.

Making up his mind so quickly that an observer would hardly notice his hesitation, he turned to their host. “Mrs. Fleming, I hesitate to ask, since we have only just been introduced and Miss Bennet is obviously in your employ, but she and I know each other from long ago. It has been nearly thirty-two years since I last saw her, and I would be most grateful if I might borrow her for a walk in the garden I saw when we arrived.”

Mrs. Judith Fleming was quite surprised at what transpired before her, but she could not name a woman in the world she loved more than she loved Elizabeth Bennet, her own governess when she was a child and who graciously consented to join the Fleming household when she married. She could see Elizabeth also greatly desired conversation with Mr. Darcy, and she wondered if there was some long ago romance between the two of them. If there was, it presumably came to an unfortunate end. She knew Elizabeth kept a letter in a locked box on her writing desk, as she had seen her reading it several times with a look of the utmost melancholy on her face. She knew the letter was very old, for Elizabeth handled it with extreme care. Thus, even though she saw Mrs. Hartecourt was not agreeable, she was willing to consent to Mr. Darcy’s request.