4
Elizabeth slept fitfully with brief periods of blessed unconsciousness broken by nightmares which jolted her into wakefulness and to an awareness of the real horror which lay like a pall over Pemberley. Instinctively she reached out for her husband, only to recall that he was spending the night with Colonel Fitzwilliam in the library. The impulse to get out of bed and pace about the room was almost uncontrollable, but she tried again to settle into sleep. The linen sheets, usually so cool and comforting, had been twisted into a confining rope and the pillows, filled with the softest down feathers, seemed hard and hot, requiring constant shaking and turning to make them comfortable.
Her thoughts turned to Darcy and the colonel. It was absurd that they were sleeping, or attempting to sleep, in what must be some discomfort, especially after such an appalling day. And what had Colonel Fitzwilliam had in mind to propose such a scheme? She knew that it had been his idea. Did he have something important to communicate to Darcy and needed a few uninterrupted hours with him? Could he be providing some explanation of that mysterious ride into the night, or had the confidence something to do with Georgiana? Then it occurred to her that his motive might have been to prevent her and Darcy having some time in private together; since the return of the search party with Denny’s body, she and her husband had hardly had a chance for more than a few minutes’ confidential talk. She thrust the idea aside as ridiculous and tried again to settle herself for sleep.
Although she knew that her body was exhausted, her mind had never been more active. She thought of how much had to be done before the arrival of Sir Selwyn Hardcastle. Fifty households would have to be notified of the cancellation of the ball and it would have been pointless to deliver letters last night when most of the recipients would undoubtedly have been in bed; perhaps she should have stayed up even later and at least made a start on the task. But there was a more immediate responsibility which she knew must be the earliest to be faced. Georgiana had gone early to bed and would know nothing of the night’s tragedy. Since his attempted seduction of her eleven years earlier, Wickham had never been received at Pemberley or his name mentioned. The whole incident was treated as if it had never taken place. She knew that Denny’s death would increase the pain of the present while rekindling the unhappiness of the past. Did Georgiana retain any affection for Wickham? How, especially now with two suitors in the house, would she cope with seeing him again and in such circumstances of suspicion and horror? Elizabeth and Darcy planned to see all members of the household together as soon as the servants’ breakfast was over to break the news of the tragedy, but it would be impossible to keep the arrival of Lydia and Wickham secret from the maids who, from five o’clock onwards, would be busy cleaning and tidying the rooms and lighting fires. She knew that Georgiana woke early and that her maid would draw back the curtains and bring in her morning tea promptly at seven. It was she, Elizabeth, who must speak to Georgiana before someone else inadvertently blurted out the news.
She looked at the small gilt clock on her bedside table and saw that the time was fifteen minutes past six. Now, when it was important not to fall asleep, she felt that sleep could at last come, but she needed to be fully awake before seven and, ten minutes before the hour, she lit her candle and made her way quietly along the passageway to Georgiana’s room. Elizabeth had always woken early to the familiar sounds of the house coming alive, greeting each day with the sanguine expectation of happiness, the hours filled with the duties and pleasures of a community at peace with itself. Now she could hear soft distant noises like the scratching of mice, which meant that the housemaids were already busy. She was unlikely to encounter them on this floor, but if she did, they would smile and flatten themselves against the wall as she passed.
She knocked quietly on Georgiana’s door and, entering, found that she was already in her dressing gown, standing at the window and looking out into the dark emptiness. Almost immediately her maid arrived; Elizabeth took the tray from her and placed it on the bedroom table. Georgiana seemed to sense that something was wrong. As soon as the maid had left she came quickly across to Elizabeth and said with concern, “You look tired, my dear Elizabeth. Are you unwell?”
“Not unwell but worried. Let us sit down together, Georgiana, there is something I have to tell you.”
“Not Mr Alveston?”
“No, not Mr Alveston.”
And then Elizabeth gave a brief account of what had happened the previous night. She described how, when Captain Denny was found, Wickham was kneeling by the body, deeply distressed, but she did not report what Darcy had told her had been his words. Georgiana sat quietly while she spoke, her hands in her lap. Looking at her, Elizabeth saw that two tears were glistening in her eyes and rolled unchecked down her cheeks. She put out her hand and grasped Georgiana’s.
After a moment’s pause, Georgiana dried her eyes and said calmly, “It must seem strange to you, my dear Elizabeth, that I should be weeping for a young man I have never even met, but I cannot help remembering how happy we were together in the music room and even as I was playing and singing with Mr Alveston Captain Denny was being brutally done to death less than two miles from us. How will his parents bear this terrible news? What loss, what grief for his friends.” Then, perhaps seeing surprise on Elizabeth’s face, she said, “My dear sister, did you think I was weeping for Mr Wickham? But he is alive and Lydia and he will soon be reunited. I am happy for them both. I don’t wonder that Mr Wickham was so distraught at his friend’s death and being unable to save him but, dearest Elizabeth, please don’t think that I am distressed that he has come back into our lives. The time when I thought I was in love with him has long passed and I know now that it was only the memory of his kindness to me as a child and gratitude for his affection, and perhaps loneliness, but it was never love. And I know too that I would never have gone away with him. Even at the time it seemed more like a childish adventure than reality.”
“Georgiana, he did intend to marry you. He has never denied it.”
“Oh yes, he was perfectly serious about that.” She blushed and added, “But he promised that we would live only as brother and sister until the marriage took place.”
“And you believed him?”
There was a note of sadness in Georgiana’s voice. “Oh yes, I believed him. You see, he was never in love, it was the money he wanted, it was always the money. I have no bitterness except for the pain and trouble he caused my brother, but I would prefer not to see him.”
Elizabeth said, “It will be much the best, and there is no need.” She did not add that unless George Wickham were extremely fortunate he would very likely be leaving Pemberley later that morning under police escort.
They drank the tea together almost in silence. Then as Elizabeth rose to leave, Georgiana said, “Fitzwilliam will never mention Mr Wickham or what happened all those years ago. It would be easier if he would. Surely it is important that people who love each other should be able to speak openly and truly about matters which touch them.”
Elizabeth said, “I think that it is, but sometimes it can be difficult. It depends on finding the right moment.”
“We shall never find the right moment. The only bitterness I feel is shame that I disappointed a dearly loved brother, and the certainty that he will never again trust my judgement. But Elizabeth, Mr Wickham is not an evil man.”
Elizabeth said, “Only perhaps a dangerous and a very foolish one.”
“I have spoken about what happened to Mr Alveston and he believes that Mr Wickham could have been in love, although he was always motivated by his need for money. I can talk freely to Mr Alveston so why not to my brother?”
Elizabeth said, “So the secret is known to Mr Alveston.”
“Of course, we are dear friends. But Mr Alveston will understand, as do I, that we cannot be more while this terrible mystery hangs over Pemberley. He has not declared his wishes and there is no secret engagement. I would never keep such a secret from you, dear Elizabeth, or from my brother, but we both know what is in our hearts and we shall be content to wait.”
So there was yet another secret in the family. Elizabeth thought she knew why Henry Alveston would not yet propose to Georgiana or to make his intentions clear. It would seem as if he were taking advantage of any help he might be able to give Darcy, and both Alveston and Georgiana were sensitive enough to know that the great happiness of successful love cannot be celebrated under the shadow of the gallows. She could only kiss Georgiana
