Beginning, Section II, Section III

Chapter X

Posted on Tuesday, 29 April 2008

Mama had taken Jane shopping into Lambton. She needed some new gowns, for none of hers were particularly fine. "Mourning or not, there are still men in this world." Mama had said when I reminded her that Jane would have no need for finery. "I do not know what your father was thinking going and dying on us all like that; really I do not. Jane is already eighteen. Next year she'll be nineteen, and then where shall we all be? Huh? Only girls like Charlotte Lucas are not married at nineteen. Your sister is far too beautiful to end her days as an old maid. Why, I was married to your wretched father when I was just seventeen. Of course, why would you care, you are just like your father, only ever thinking of yourself. I suppose it does not matter if your sisters are married or not."

"Mama, you can hardly afford to be spending money of frivolities." I argued.

"I haven't any idea of what you speak. Frivolities indeed. A new dress is for your sister's own good."

"She has no need for a good evening gown though, she shall hardly be going into society. It would be most scandalous."

"What do I care for that?"

"Last time I checked, you cared a great deal." I spoke with immense bitterness.

"Besides," she completely ignored my comment, "there's that fine son of yours. He would be just perfect for my Jane, so tall and handsome; and only think, heir to all this. What a fine thing it would be. And you too, Lizzy, could do with some new gowns. Those are too small, you must have grown two inches since we arrived, not to mention it is about time you had some corsets made; why we could have used you for a table before you married. But really, I cannot see why Jane should not have some pretty gowns for the evening, you are most unfair on us all."

"Mama, I really do not think..."

"You are just jealous of your sister taking over from you after your husband dies. Really Lizzy, you are the most selfish and unfeeling of daughters; not buying a new gown for your sister. He has already seen her at least twice over in what little she does own. How could you be so selfish when you have all of this, not to share your wealth with us."

"Not to..."

"Come along, Jane. Lizzy, I shall be adding to your account." With that parting comment she grabbed Jane's hand and tugged her out of the room. Twittering something about lace or a new bonnet, or maybe it was lace on a new bonnet. I sighed. Honestly, I had never met a woman more determined and stubborn than my mother. From the moment Jane had turned fifteen, she had practically nothing but thoughts of marriage in her head; only occasionally interrupted by the distraction of lace and gowns and some new ailment or another.

Jane turned as she left the room, giving me a pleading glance. Whether in apology or desperation, I could not decide. She would not say anything, for she hated to displease anybody, and was well aware that while I tried to curb Mama and her spending, I did not mind sharing my wealth with my family. Whereas, were Jane to deny Mama, she would never hear the end of it.

I took up a letter that had arrived for me that day from Charlotte Lucas and began perusing it. She retold all the gossip from Meryton, none of which was particularly interesting, and would have been even less so to a person who was unacquainted with the residents of the area who she told me of. Beyond one interesting scrap of information regarding the son of the new Master of Longbourn, William Collins, a young man of twenty, recently returned from Oxford for the summer. She told me of his pretensions of grandeur and how he loved nothing better than to talk of how he ran the estate for his illiterate and idle father.

"...My Dearest Eliza, were you to search all the world over twice, you should certainly find no man like Mr William Collins, so absorbed in his own self worth, so utterly enchanted by himself, and yet with so little so offer the world. He pays me no attention at all. I am, after all, nothing to him, and cannot be worthy of his notice, for he has a certain fondness for pretty girls. We had all expected there to be an announcement before your family left, yet none was forthcoming, and now he has eyes for nobody but the eldest of the Watson girls..."

I put the paper down, bemused. From what she implied, young Mr Collins had taken a fancy to Jane, but nothing had been announced. Perhaps it had been Mary though; what had Mama been playing at? I could only imagine that she had refused to leave her room, and as such, had failed to notice such an apparently eligible suitor was right on her doorstep. He was, after all, the heir to Longbourn. Pemberley was undoubtedly the greatest of consolations to her, for I had seen nothing of despair since her arrival. No indeed, just that morning she had spoken of writing to her sister Philips to invite her for a visit. My husband had glanced up from his newspaper, but said nothing in response to that announcement. I was still wondering if he had expected me to gainsay her.

With a shrug, I turned back to Charlotte's letter. "Lizzy, Lizzy!" Lydia and Georgiana burst into the sitting room both holding firmly onto a doll, Emma Annamaria Fitzwilliam Darcy to be exact. "Lizzy!" Lydia pronounced stoutly, "Tell Georgiana that she has to share her doll with me."

"She is my doll." Georgiana protested loudly. I thought it rather unfair of Georgiana, for truthfully she had little interest in the doll, certainly she had asked for it for her birthday, but eleven was really a little too old for a doll, and mostly she just sat in a chair in the nursery. As to Lydia, well she wanted anything and everything.

"Girls, where is Mrs Robinson? You ought to be at your lessons with her." Lydia stuck out her tongue.

"It is her day off today."

"Then where is your nurse?"

"Anna is so stupid!" Lydia said, "She says that the doll is Georgiana's. I don't see why! Mama says that you have to share everything with us now because we are so poor and you are all so rich. That means that Georgiana should let me play with the doll."

"She is mine." Georgiana protested with a scowl crossing her brow. She was as good as an only child and had never had to share anything in her life before the arrival of my sisters, who knew nothing of the luxuries of her life.

I sighed. "Georgiana, it is very selfish of you not to share your toys with Lydia; she has not as many as you. Why not swap your dolls for a while?"

"Her toys are so boring." Georgiana protested. I thought of the old rag doll with the wooden head that had been mine until I turned ten and it was handed down to Lydia. Polly had lost an eye, only had one other dress, and her stomach was all stitched up after Lydia had hit Kitty with her one evening because Kitty had not wanted to swap dolls with her. I could not help but feel a stirring of resentment that Georgiana thought so little of Polly, who had been my favourite companion for many years.

"Lydia," I turned to my sister. "You should not demand toys, it is not polite, you should wait to be offered."

"See," Georgiana gloated, "I told you Anna was right." I opened my mouth to protest the statement, but Lydia, tired of hearing what she did not like, took matters into her own hands.

"Give her to me!" she insisted with an mighty tug. Georgiana very nearly lost her grip, but was quick to regain her footing, as she was the larger of the two girls.

"No, I will not!"

"Give her!" I watched as Emma was tugged between the pair of them.

"Girls, stop it now." Both of them, as ever, failed to pay any mind to my authority. My sister never listened to anybody if it did not suit her, and my daughter-in-law had no time for anything that I had to say. "If you do not stop, you will go to bed with nothing but bread and water to eat." They continued to ignore me. "Lydia, Georgiana, stop." I cried futilely. I had utterly no experience with childrearing and teaching them obedience.

With one gigantic tug and the horrifying sound of tearing cloth, Georgiana fell backwards, hitting her head against the edge of a small table, the leg of her doll still held tightly between her fingers. Lydia looked on without remorse, and only seemed disappointed on finding that her hard won prize was no longer intact, a few moments later, she dropped it disinterestedly to the floor. Georgiana did not move from her spot or utter a word. I watched as the blood drained from her face. As I stood to pick her up, she lifted her hand to the back of her head, and upon finding a little blood on her hand, promptly burst into tears. Lydia rolled her eyes at the sight; she and Kitty often fought boisterously, and both had received worse injuries than Georgiana's tiny cut, or at least so she thought.

I knelt down next to the injured child, placing my hand on the back of her head and pressing her hot face into my shoulder, "Sshh Georgiana, it is not so very bad." I tried to tell her, she only cried harder, I was not surprised that she did not believe me, for I sounded none to certain.

"I... wa...want Anna." She sobbed between short breathes.

"Lydia," I called to my sister, who was slinking out of the door quietly. She stopped dead and turned to me, looking like a startled deer. It was not the time to reprimand her for her behaviour however. "run and fetch Anna, please." Lydia scuffed her foot along the carpet, "Now, Lydia."

She certainly took long enough finding Anna, a task that was hardly difficult, given she would only be in the nursery with Mary and Kitty. When I asked her later about it, she simply shrugged and said she forgot because Mary and Kitty had been arguing over some thread and distracted her. It was hardly a very good excuse, but Lydia was so self-centred, it was hardly surprising that she showed no concern for Georgiana.

Anna, when she did arrive, took Georgiana into her capable hands and sat the little girl down on one of the sofas, whispering soothing words to her despite her continuing to bawl. She sent me to retrieve some lotions and bandages from the housekeeper, who upon hearing what had happened, decided that her presence was required too. As she was more experienced than young Anna, who had only been taken on as a result of the sudden influx of little girls in the house. Old Mrs Bird spent too much time dozing in her chair by the fire to manage four rambunctious children. She was only kept on out of loyalty, she had served the family since Miss Eveline (my husband's sister) had been a small child, and she had been elderly when she arrived.

Naturally, the patter of feet, and voices along the corridors, along with Georgiana's heaving sobs were never destined to remain undetected. "What is all the clatter?" boomed my husband as he came out of the study door. I stopped breathing and quickly surveyed the scene of disarray before me, but there was nothing to be done about it. We all stopped, except for Georgiana, who did not appear to notice anything but her current situation. At the threshold of the sitting room, he paused, "What in God's name is going on in here?" He looked to me for an explanation.

Georgiana was quicker though, she struggled out of Anna's lap and shrugged her head away from Mrs Reynolds deft fingers. "Lydia broke my doll, Papa." she laced her hands around his middle and looked up at him with watery eyes, "And Mrs Darcy was mean to me and made me hurt my head."

To parents, their child is the lieutenant of heaven.

Therein lies one of the greatest problems. For if every parent believes this, then every child ought to be beyond reproach.

You can, I imagine, perfectly predict Mama's reaction when she returned from Lambton with Jane to hear that her favourite child had been locked in the nursery bedroom alone for breaking Georgiana's doll. Especially on hearing that Georgiana, who was in some ways at fault too, had escaped with no punishment at all. She did not even receive a sharp word of caution from her father. "And you, Lizzy?" she suddenly turned upon me too, "Why have you not said anything to that spoilt little madam? Oh, I knew from the moment we arrived that she would be trouble. All that clinging to her father and acting like the cat had her tongue. I knew it was all an act. She'll have us thrown out of the house in no time at all, you mark my word."

"Mama," Jane placed a soothing hand on her arm, "I am sure that is not Georgiana's intention. She is just not so used to sharing as Lydia and Kitty. You must admit it would be very new and overwhelming to her."

"No," I agreed despite myself, "she is not at all inclined to it." I thought of her resentment towards me, and I knew that it stemmed from nothing more than her dislike that I had somehow or another stolen away her father's affections from her. I knew for certain that after today's fiasco, she wanted nothing more than to turn him against me. Her every little manipulation in the past had without fail provoked an argument between her father and me, which was undoubtedly followed by days of resentment on my part and disinterestedness on his. Today would no doubt be just such another occasion.

But Mama, she took it to entirely new levels. While I silently stewed, revealing no outward signs of real displeasure, Mama sat sulkily toying with her soup spoon at dinner, letting the liquid trickle off the spoon and into the bowl repeatedly. I could only be grateful that she had thus far chosen to hold her tongue, for I did not know if I could bear another argument that day.

My husband sat in silence, still wearing his gloves. As though he were dining with strangers.

My head ached after the confrontation that had occurred between my husband and me earlier that afternoon. Shakily, I took up my glass of water and sipped at it.

Two pairs of eyes watched me across the table. Jane was the first to break the uncomfortable silence between the five of us. "Lizzy, I was wondering if we might begin the rose water tomorrow?"

"I would imagine so, Jane. I am wanted about some linens first, but I shall come and find you afterwards." Poor Jane found herself aiding me in carrying out a conversation with three completely silent dining companions. Only occasionally did Mama interrupt us, still on her soup with the rest of us almost finished, as she made what she believed to be a subtle dig at my husband. He ignored her, though I could tell from his face that he was becoming angrier and angrier as the meal continued. I have never been so glad to withdraw from the gentlemen as that day; there had never been a meal more intolerably uncomfortable.

This was not how I had imagined it, I thought for the umpteenth time that day as I picked up a book. I flipped it open at the marker I had left the day before, but found it impossible to concentrate even a fraction of my attention on the words before my eyes. When Mama wrote, announcing her intentions of living with us, I could not deny feeling concern at her presumption that my husband would happily provide for her. Along with that though, was a sense of relief to have her and my sisters come to Pemberley for good; five friendly faces, as opposed to two frosty companions and a husband so whimsical in his pleasantries.

I put the book to the side and picked up some embroidery instead.

Today's events proved that it was not a comfort though. The arguments were just a handful of a thousand such disagreements of a similar bent: petty disputes, the sorts that occurred between my sisters and I had frequently occurred at Longbourn, but the frequency was wearing. It was almost as if along with my dresses, I had out grown my family.

The needle pricked sharply into my forefinger.

I looked up guiltily, suddenly struck by the horrendous thought that somebody would be able to read my thoughts. Mama was muttering to herself, likely about my husband or Georgiana. Jane sat quietly at the table, playing with a pack of cards. She yawned absentmindedly. My husband and his son were nowhere to be found.

"That Georgiana is a piece of work." Mama looked up and spoke finally, "Her father spoils her, you know. It is all his fault. Your Father and I never treated you girls in such a useless manner, you know. Just look at how well you have all turned out, such dear sweet creatures, even you, Lizzy."

Had the Darcy Pride, which had revolted me so much, oozed into my own character? How could I be so heartless towards my family, my real family, as to wish them gone, as to wish them to be different to what they were? Why could I not be more welcoming to them all?

Mama did not use me entirely for her own benefits. She had always done what was best for me, or what she thought was best, and for the other girls too. It was only there that our opinions differed. I knew that one of us would have to marry well. I had always selfishly hoped that such a fate would not befall me, but what of my other sisters? When I once told Jane to, ‘take care to fall in love with a man of good fortune,' I had in fact been half-serious, despite the jest in my tone. One of us needed to marry well, for the likelihood of five sisters of neither connections nor fortunes all being settled even moderately comfortably was about as possible as the sun rising in the west.

Her fearsome endorsement of marriage between Mr Darcy and me had secured the future of six otherwise destitute women. Should I not have made that sacrifice willingly? I thought of Alice, who had worked like a slave to care for her younger sisters -- what a humiliation and downfall it must have been for her as a scullery maid, though she had borne it with grace and fortitude... for her sisters.

"Lizzy, are you well?" Jane interrupted my reverie.

"Yes, quite well." It was, after all, only a mere trifle of a headache.

Yet here I was, wishing my family away. Embarrassed by them. Angered by them. Annoyed by them. All when they needed me most of all.

It was impossible to know where I stood amongst all this tension. My new family clearly wanted as little to do with my connections as possible. My husband struggled to maintain his resolution of fortitude. Every day, I could perceive his growing impatience with my mother. He was pleasant to Jane, but paid little attention to the other girls. Georgiana constantly bickered with my sisters and told tales to her father, governess and nursemaid, of them as she did with me. And to the son, well he had observed my mother for a whole half an hour, and now avoided us as assiduously as was possible, and spoke even less frequently than civility allowed.

Because of this, I seemed to feel ashamed of them all in a manner I never had before now. Truthfully, Mama and her exuberance had never sat well with me, but the utter mortification that I felt now was unjust. She behaved no worse than at any other occasion. She was at least politer than their relatives had been when they visited in January. Her excitability had served her well in the past; her liveliness had captured my father's attention once upon a time. Why should it fail her in her quest to see her daughters well settled?

I could not protect one without offending another. The Darcys were ungracious, to be sure, but it terrified me that if I reprimanded them for it, then I would return to being treated as I had in the early days of marriage, viewed as an outsider, an inferior. But Mama and my sisters needed me. They needed me to take care of them. Without me, they would all be in the hedgerows. Could I not be a little more understanding of their plight? Why was I angered at them? It was not their fault, after all. It was nobody's fault that we were all in such disarray. Nobody would have imagined that Papa would catch a chill and die. Nobody could have foreseen twenty years ago that the Master of Longbourn would not father a son.

Why had I not written to him? All those months, and not one word to him? Not one word had passed between us since the eve of my wedding, and they had been the bitterest and most resentful of words.

"Lizzy?" Mama sounded panicked. "Lizzy? Whatever is the matter, girl?" Jane rushed over to my side, followed closely by Mama, "Oh, I'll have somebody fetch my salts. Come now, Lizzy, what is all this about? Do you feel faint?"

Dazedly, I shook my head, lip trembling as I tried to hold in the sobs that had suddenly overcome me.

"There now, Lizzy, do calm yourself down," she flapped her handkerchief in my general direction as Jane pressed my hand, "The servants will hear you carrying on like that. Whatever will they think of you?

"Jane, fetch some wine." Mama took command with a fervour that surprised me into a few moments of silent shock, she held the wine to my lips until the glass was empty. I hiccupped.

"There now, what are you playing at, Elizabeth? You mustn't let Mr Darcy see you like that; your father never came to my room when I was nervous and trembling." She clucked about me in her usual abrasive manner.

She and Jane accompanied me upstairs and dressed me for bed, Jane brushing out my hair as she used to. Mama would not have Sarah called. Before they put me to bed, tucking the covers tightly around me as if I were a swaddled baby, she kissed my forehead and smoothed my curls across my forehead as she had on her infrequent visits to the nursery when I was a child. Jane remained, a concerned look creasing her usually serene brow. She said very little, and only left when I assured her I was well and just wanted to sleep.

"Elizabeth?" I heard his voice tentatively on the other side of my bedroom door. He tapped lightly and then opened the door without being bid entrance. I lay still, carefully regulating my breathing. A more difficult task you cannot imagine, he had never been in my room before. He had once said that he would never enter them; yet here he was. The bed dipped slightly as he sat on the edge. It took all my effort not to shrink back. "Elizabeth?" I was too exhausted to speak to him. After our explosive argument that afternoon I did not want to. "Your mother says you are unwell. I... I just ..." he paused and let out an exasperated sigh, "Are you asleep?" I did not answer, "Elizabeth?"

His hand reached out and rested for just a second on my shoulder before removing it. He was still wearing his gloves. He struggled to stand again; his leg must have been bothering him. I could hear his soft tread retreating along the carpet before the door to my chamber clicked shut as he left.

Chapter XI

Posted on Monday, 12 May 2008

"May I speak with you when you have finished?" My husband asked as he rose from the breakfast table the next morning. His voice was unreadable. Georgiana eyed him carefully, half focusing on her plate, trying to assess his tone. The others paid him little mind at all. Mama was too engrossed in a piece of cervelas to pay any mind, and Jane was never of a suspicious nature. My other sisters were amusing themselves and paid no mind to the adults at all. My son-in-law was gone already. I swallowed some poached egg.

"Very well." I knew I would be unable to avoid him any longer; though it did not stop me from dawdling over my breakfast for as long as possible and taking the girls back to the schoolroom myself, rather than having Anna take them.

My husband was the most impossible of men to judge. When I thought he would do one thing, he would do quite the opposite. When I thought he would never do something, then he would most certainly go and do it. He was more unpredictable than snow in July. So just when I expected him to speak to me of my behaviour yesterday, he turned around and said quite another thing, "Tell me what it is you want."

"I...I," what exactly did I want?

"You are unhappy again, Elizabeth. You had seemed much improved in spirits these past months, and now you are miserable again."

"No," I could not bring myself to look him straight in the face. Nor could I bring myself to speak the truth. That was practically akin to blasphemy.

"Elizabeth..."

"My father has just died. What do you expect of me?" Once again I found myself snapping back at him.

"There is no call for intemperance." His tone remained so calm, so unmoved, that it rankled even further. Why did he call me here, just because he felt it was his duty? "I was concerned, that is all."

"Well, now you know. May I go please?" I stood up. He shrugged his consent, clearly as baffled as ever by me, and went back to the papers he had been reading when I came in.

I rushed outside, stomping angrily through the gardens and into a wooded area, startling a group of gardeners who barely had time to remove their hats or tug on their forelocks before I had whistled by them like an angry north wind. The youngest of them, just a lad, seemed surprised and opened his mouth before receiving a swift clip around the ear from the senior gardener who was in charge of them all. "It ain't your place to talk of ‘em." He muttered in a wheezy voice, pulling out his pipe and stuffing it with tobacco.

I carried on, not caring that as soon as they were gone they would be talking amongst themselves as though the King had just gone by. It would be in the kitchens within the hour, another sign of discord amongst the master and mistress. Servants' halls thrived on discord. I supposed I ought to be pleased that the argument between Mr Darcy and me would give them something to talk of for days. The maids all found a certain thrill at whispering about such goings on behind Mrs Reynolds' back. It was something like sneaking a forbidden treat to your room and eating it in the dead of night. You found twice the pleasure in it.

I continued to mutter to myself of him as I walked. Well, of them all really. But eventually my conscience intervened, berating me firmly for my behaviour. Once again, I had caused an unnecessary argument. He was only trying to keep the peace and keep my happy -- though he ought to have realised by now that it was an impossible feat. I was not intended for such joy.

Again I had childishly walked away because fate was not destined to be on my side. They would never learn to either accept or respect me if I continued on in such a manner. I could only be grateful that this time, at least, I had not slammed the door shut behind me.

Acting as a married woman when I was all but a child was an incomparably difficult task. Women married all the time without love, but I had always imagined that it was of their choosing and with some degree of affection or awe for their chosen partner. A more unwilling couple than Mr Darcy and me could not be found. That was not an excuse now; not after six months of marriage. We had plenty of practice behind us; we ought to be capable of portraying our roles with more acumen.

I ought to be slower to defend myself. It irked me though, that he might think badly of me. A confession of uncharitably towards my mother and sisters would be just the thing to do that. I hated that he might think badly of me. I had to live with him after all, there was no escaping that. Whatever he may think of my mother, and it was becoming clearer and clearer that he had no particular regard for her, I could not outright say that I wanted her gone. He would never make the proposal either, for he was too generous a man. Anxiously, I twisted my wedding ring around my finger.

If they had to go then, perhaps I could propose I go with them. No, that would never work, the scandal... He would never allow it. Yet I thought it would make no difference if I were here with him and his children or elsewhere with my mother and sisters. The material point was we could not all live, even in contentment, under the same roof.

Exhausted, and some miles from the house now, I sat down on a wall and took my slippers off; it was a warm day. I rolled my quandary over in my mind, desperately seeking a solution. But no matter how long I sat there pondering it; I could not seem to reach a solution. There were locked doors at every turn. If I admitted to wanting them gone, then I would anger Mr Darcy, not to mention Mama would be devastated; it would be nothing short of cold and unfeeling. I could not leave with them for fear of scandal, besides he would never allow it. But we could not all stay under one roof together. What was to be done?

"Mrs Darcy!" a man, some distance away on a horse, called to me. It was my son-in-law. He drew closer and dismounted, "You know you really do need to stop running off like that." Once again he was berating me for my behaviour. I said nothing. He pushed himself up onto the wall next to me with agility and handed me my bonnet and a peach, he pulled out of his pocket. "My father asked me to find you. He was worried."

I lifted my head slightly in recognition, but said nothing. "Eat it, and then you have to come back to the house." Obediently I took a bite of the peach he had handed me. It was not quite ripe, and the crunch echoed loudly through the still air. The sound of me chewing made the impenetrable silence more uncomfortable than ever.

"Do you miss your father?" he suddenly asked.

The gall of him! We had hardly exchanged ten words since his return from town; I had been too angered by his rudeness to Mama and Jane when he arrived. Nor had we ever been on intimate terms. "Did you not miss your mother?" I responded, my tone sweet, with no implication of criticism. He did not seem offended by the question, nor did he answer for some minutes.

"In some ways it was a relief." he answered carefully.

"Had she been ill for long then?" I asked curiously; nobody had even told me much of Lady Anne Darcy.

"No," he let out a little laugh of shock, "no, she was the picture of health. It was a chest cold." he smirked a little, "Though she had the finest pair of lungs of anybody I know."

"Then did you not love her?" It slipped from my mouth before I even thought of the impropriety of it.

"Of course I did," he looked at me sharply, "she was my mother. You love your family because they are your family, it does not matter who or what they are." Funny, this did not seem to extend as far as my mother and sisters.

"So..." I pressed on, trying to make sense of his riddle.

"Has my father ever spoken to you of our mother?" he asked.

"No," I felt a sinking feeling, "it would hardly be proper." Now he would not tell me either. I swung my legs back and forth against the wall. He remained silent for a few moments. Pensive. I suppose he was trying to decide how to start.

"They were... no." He stopped again. He was struggling to explain delicately, yet I appreciated his honesty.

"You need not tell me." I said gently, feeling disappointed that I would not receive the insight that I had hoped for. "I know that Georgiana was very fond of her." I thought of how the little girl had hated me for trying to take her mother's place.

"No. No she never met our mother. Georgiana was all but three when our Mother passed on, and she was still away with her nurse."

"And you?"

"I was fifteen, away at Eton."

"You were not called home to see her then?" I could not help but pry, for he had aroused my curiosity.

"It was, as I said before, most unexpected, there was no time for father to send for me."

"Do you wish you had been able to see her before she died?" I thought, thinking of my own deepest regret.

"She and I were not close; she was not an affectionate mother. I saw her but infrequently as a child." He stopped for a second, "You would have liked to have seen your father, yes?"

For a second I did not answer, my throat was constricted and my eyes blurred with tears, "We parted badly; I had not spoken with him since January. The last thing I said was... was that I hated him." I barely whispered the last part.

"You would be surprised how similar love and hate truly are. They are both extreme opposites of one another, and yet to hate, you must love, otherwise it is nothing more than dislike or even indifference."

I looked away, embarrassed at just how deeply personal the conversation between us had managed to become. I threw away the peach stone and watched it carefully as it arched into the air before dipping and falling aimlessly behind a bush. I cleared my throat in discomfort. "I am glad your mother's illness was of short duration." I reverted back to the previous topic, just to fill the air with something.

"Yes, it was a relief to us all."

"But you said you were not there. That you knew nothing of it." I persisted. "Whatever can you mean by it all?"

"I mean, Mrs Darcy, that my mother and my father had an intense dislike of one another, not a hatred; and their constant arguing made for difficult lives for the rest of us."

I sprung down off the wall and turned to in the direction of Pemberley again, "Where are you going?" He sounded puzzled by my sudden action.

"To speak with your father. I shall see you at dinner, I imagine." And off I ran. Leaving him, I could only imagine looking utterly astonished, watching my retreat, still sitting on the old stone wall.

Clarity was quick to come after that, and by the time I had reached the house, a plan had been formulated in my mind. Suddenly it did not appear anywhere near as terrible to admit that I thought my mother ought not live at Pemberley. We would likely all be a lot happier. Well, Mama may not be initially, but the prospect of her own home would likely become an inducement that she would relish above all the temptations of Pemberley.

With a light step, I sprung up the stairs to the entrance of the house. I did not linger, quickly rushing to my husband's study, not even pausing to knock or contemplate the consequences of our earlier conversation. He and old Mr Wickham were deep in discussion over some boundary disputes between a pair of tenants. "Can it wait until Mr Wickham and I are done, Elizabeth." It was not a question, or even a request. It was an order. I felt my cheeks flush with colour, but what ought I expect other than a reprimand? I nodded slowly and went to wait in my sitting room until my presence was acceptable to him.

I was left in my sitting room for hours waiting for him. I supposed he had his day planned and was unlikely to drop everything now just because I was suddenly willing to speak with him. Doubt once again began to seep into my mind. For all my son-in-law had said to me, he had not been talking about our current situation. To distract myself, I walked over to my desk and unlocked it. Taking out my account book and some paper, I began looking over my accounts, wondering where I would be able to institute what could perhaps be called economy within my own spending. Mama's extravagances would far exceed my own few frivolities.

So engrossed was I in my figures, that I failed to hear either my husband knock or enter the room. Not until he spoke from behind me, did I notice his presence, "My, it seems you have been busy." He spoke as an indulgent father would his child, praise for a simple task. He picked up one of the papers that were now strewn across my little desk. "Now then, what is all this, may I ask?"

I took a breath, "Well sir, may I first apologise for my behaviour this morning, it was inexcusably rude of me, and you were only making a pleasant gesture, I ought not have reacted as I did." I paused, but he said absolutely nothing; he was going to make this harder for me than I would have thought of him. It was a shame he was not so skilled at disciplining his own daughter. "You were quite right, I have been out of spirits of late. I am sure it has not made for pleasant living. You have been very good to put up with us all these last few weeks, and I am certain that Mama is grateful for your hospitality too. I can see though, that it has done nothing but try your patience, and if I am entirely truthful, although I do not like to confess to being such a terrible daughter, I am exhausted by the chaos that has resulted in them coming." I looked up at him, attempting to gauge his reaction. Once again he said nothing, his expression remaining blank.

"You must not think that I am not thankful to you for allowing them to visit, nor that I have not enjoyed having them all here." Again I felt nervous. "But I think that it is time that we were separated."

"What do you mean? You cannot just leave, Elizabeth." he sounded stern.

"You misunderstand, our party here at Pemberley, we are not the most compatible of companions. I just think that it would be best if Mama and my sisters were given a home of their own. I have looked at my accounts, and I think that I can set aside an annuity, or whatever it is called, for them. Mama has her five thousand pounds too, which will give her about two hundred pounds a year. But that is hardly enough for five to live off, you must agree, sir." He looked surprised.

I continued to lay out my plans. I would establish Mama in a cottage, not so far from Pemberley, that would be suitable to all their needs, or at least as many as a cottage could provide. Along with that, they would be provided with the use of carriages and horses from Pemberley, a footman and two maids. I would not allow them to live in abject poverty, which they would, were I to provide no assistance at all. I would pay for their accommodation and servants. He remained silent throughout. I handed him the figures to look over. His brow knitted in intense concentration.

He paused and cleared his throat. "You have been most thorough, I see." He sounded neither pleased nor annoyed, "I only wish, Elizabeth, that you had seen fit to tell me all this when I inquired this morning. I have no time to be chasing you all over the country just because your mother and I have displeased you. Why must you always make things so difficult?"

"I have apologised for my behaviour already, sir. What more do you want of me?"

"I want for you to behave with a degree more maturity than you currently exhibit. I want for you to tell me when there is a difficulty, and not to mope about sulking for days on end and then insist that there is nothing the matter. It is not right; the servants all talk of it, as though it is their business, because you make it so. They should not be made aware of any discord between you and me." Within me, I battled with the urge to point out his hypocrisy. He did not mind playing out discord with his first wife; what made our marriage so different? But I knew better, at least, than to bring that up. Why add yet further fodder for the fire. I would take his advice, and not cause more debate between the pair of us.

"I understand that perfectly, sir." I replied between gritted teeth. I had, after all, been told repeatedly enough about my appearance towards the servants and my duty as a member of the Darcy family. I would always have to adhere to it if I were to ever be accepted, if not welcomed, into the folds of the family.

"Then why do you insist on acting like a child? Had you only spoken to me this morning, then you would have known that Fitzwilliam came to speak with me last night offering the very same proposal of using your jointure for your mother. I only wished to be assured that this was what you truly desired before I broached the subject with you."

"He what?" My surprise came not merely from being made aware of my settlement, to which I had previously paid no mind. How dare my son-in-law meddle and scheme in such a heartless manner. How dare he be so rude as to suggest, no, to tell his father, that my family was not welcome in the house. He was not master yet. It was worse to hear that it was what my son-in-law had planned than what my husband had planned; for it was really none of his business.

He had all the cunning of a wild cat! To think I had thought that he had been concerned when he came to find me, asking about my father and telling me all about his mother. That was no more concern than my current mood was joy. Telling me it was better that people who did not get on with one another did not live together. I supposed he only told me that so that he did not look proud and arrogant. He did not want to discredit the precious Darcy name most likely.

It was just as Mr Wickham had told me. He was meddlesome and manipulative; removing from his circles anybody who threatened him or he considered beneath his notice. All that scheming, and the discreetly clever whispering, to achieve his means, without appearing to do anything wrong at all. It was akin to suggesting the prime minister looked tired to end his term in office. Truly, he ought to have been a woman!

I barely heard anything that he said to me after that. I somehow managed to nod and murmur my assent in the appropriate places; but he may as well have been talking to himself. I do not think he even noticed I was not paying any attention. By the time he had left, I realised that I had no idea what was happening anymore. All I managed to hear was the statement: "I trust I can leave it to you to inform your mother." As though I were nothing more than a messenger!

Of course, breaking the news would naturally be the most difficult part of it all. Just how was I going to broach the subject with her? She would be absolutely hysterical. She would not give up Pemberley lightly; she viewed herself quite the equal of Queen Charlotte. I think Pemberley suited her better than it did me. Nor would she have been at fault if she were to say that I was throwing her out of the house; after all, that was basically what I was doing. Again feelings of guilt tugged at my conscience.

After dinner, in the drawing room, as I handed him a cup of coffee, my son-in-law turned and commented innocently, "I hope your conversation with my father went well."

"Yes," I could not help but hiss, "I do hope you are happy now."

He looked so taken aback, that for a minute or two, he could not move. Did he honestly think I lacked any sort of intelligence? After a moment, he turned away and moved to a seat on the opposite side of the room.

At breakfast the following morning, I was still contemplating my predicament, when a servant delivered a letter to me. It was from Lady St Vincent, inquiring after my health and news. A firm friendship had developed between the pair of us. Our characters had little in common; and I did not doubt that were it not for our circumstances, the pair of us would not likely have been friends were we acquainted. It would have been hard to get through her apparently vapid surface. But as it was, she was the person I now had the firmest reliance on, as I was to her. Though we could not see one another due to my mourning, we could write, and so we did, every few days.

She inquired after my mother and sisters and how we were all getting along together. I wasted little time in relaying everything that had occurred over the past few days, knowing that she would keep my confidence just as I kept hers.

Not three hours later, another servant handed a note to me. Inside it simply read, "You must tell her this evening. I shall call on you tomorrow. Sophie."

Sophie had therefore left it entirely up to me to initially broach the conversation. That evening after dinner seemed the perfect opportunity. I knew that my husband would not join us, and Jane, at the request of the younger girls, was in the nursery. I shall only say that my proposal was greeted as anticipated. Just the smallest suggestion of a house of her own, and I was an unfeeling, selfish girl, just like those Collinses. Her nerves, how could I think of such a thing! Oh, but she could not live alone. And how could I think to remove Jane from my son-in-law when they were getting along so well? (Only Mama could possibly believe this!) She went to her room in high dudgeon, calling for a maid to attend her.

I congratulated myself for handling the situation with such a degree of éclat. Perhaps if I left her long enough, she would at least become resigned to it. That was, after all, how Papa would have handled her. Perhaps there was a more effective way, but I had yet to see another succeed.

On Friday morning, Sophie arrived, dressed in her finest morning gown and looking every part the respectable wife of a rich man. I could hear her in the corridors as she battled with the servants to allow her entry. "Mrs Darcy is not accepting callers." He repeated for what must have been the hundredth time.

"Yes, yes," I could imagine her waving her hands around nonchalantly, "just think what people would say." It was a favourite phrase of hers. "I am sure they would be delighted to actually have something to talk of. Now, she is expecting me, so let me past." The next thing I knew, she had arrived in my sitting room, the outraged servant trailing behind her, looking as though he were headed for the gallows.

She was introduced to Mama and Jane before turning to me with a smile, "Elizabeth, my dear, goodness you do look tired."

"Why thank you, Sophie," I rolled my eyes; I had long since learnt that she was bluntest when concerned, and never intended insult. She then changed her attention to Mama. "Mrs Bennet, how do you find Pemberley?" Mama responded with an inventory of its perfections and wealth spoken in the most glowing terms, stating that she would be more than content to live here forever. I sent Lady St Vincent a concerned glance, but she took it all in her stride. "But you must miss having your own house?"

"Oh goodness no, not with my nerves. I suffer something terrible with them, you know, Lady St Vincent. Such trembling and fluttering in my heart! And since my late husband Mr Bennet was so thoughtless as to go and die on us without leaving us a penny, it has been all the worse. Oh, like you would never imagine! What a worry it was when Mr Collins and his son arrived and turned us out the house. But how thankful we were to have our Lizzy. It was such a good thing that she married Mr Darcy. Eh Lizzy? I bet you are glad you listened to me now?" I could see poor Sophie's eyes begin to glaze over as Mama twittered away like an excitable canary bird.

"Then you will not be moving to your cottage?"

"Oh goodness, no! Whatever can you all be thinking? No, a cottage would be just the very worst thing for somebody in my condition; all cramped and so much work."

"Elizabeth, this cannot be correct?" She turned to me with assumed criticism. She was nothing short of destined for the stage; sounding inflection for inflection as she had the day she blew in and told me my gowns were just appalling. Only then, I am sure she half meant what she was saying.

"Certainly it is so, Lady St Vincent," Mama answered for me, "send me to a cottage indeed; what can you all be thinking? Just imagine what people would say. A cottage! No indeed!"

"Oh, but Mrs Bennet," she continued, "do you not know that it is quite the done thing amongst those in the first circles of society? My own husband established a little house for my mother and sisters, Mrs Bennet; and Mama says that there is nothing in the world like it."

"No dear, I am quite content to remain here at my leisure, let me assure you."

"You know, Mrs Bennet, that is precisely what my Mama said to me. She had run a house and raised three daughters, and now she deserved nothing more than a good rest. But you know the pressures of society; you simply do not live with your married daughter. It makes people talk. Mama was saying to me just the other day in a letter that she was so glad to have a house of her own; it gave her something to do. Not that it requires a lot of effort, mind you, just a couple of servants."

"Everybody does it, you say?"

"Oh yes, Mrs Bennet. Lady Cecilia Bertrand's mother lived in a little cottage on their estate for nearly twenty years. Have you met Lady Cecilia and her husband Mr Bertrand yet? She is quite the finest lady."

"Lizzy, I do believe I want a house of my own!" Mama turned on me, having been reeled in like a fish by Sophie, who frankly scared me a little with her inventiveness.

"I thought," I said with a smile, "that you were set against such a notion?"

"Nonsense, we can't let people think that you and Mr Darcy are penniless now, can we? Oh, but I will not have you putting me just anywhere. Oh! I could go back to Hertfordshire, or perhaps to London. Oh, how splendid. Lizzy you are too kind; a house of my own. How charming!"

It took a further two months before the cottage was ready to a standard Mama found acceptable for her to live in. She was, as she reminded me frequently, the mother of the Mistress of Pemberley. Thus only the very best of everything was suitable for her; new furniture and every room redecorated to the exacting standards of her taste. I did, however, manage to persuade her to take the bed from the room she had been staying in, since she claimed that it gave her the best night's sleep she had ever had. The state of my own accounts once the venture was completed was pitiful, but it made her happy along with the rest of us. As she said, "There is nothing quite like having a home to yourself."

I had the added pleasure of seeing them settled but a few miles from Pemberley, it was an easy journey for frequent visits. The younger girls came every day to have their lessons from Mrs Robinson, and they were invited to dine with us at least twice a week. I wish I could say that in settling in an establishment of her own, she became less exuberant and silly. However, that was not to be the case. My husband still found it trying at times to maintain his patience with her, but on the whole, all were less irritable, and I found that my family coming to Derbyshire could indeed be the greatest of comforts.

Chapter XII

Posted on July 15, 2008

There were to be neither balls nor parties. No merry making. No company. I was sixteen, and already my life was that of an ancient matron. Never again would I dance the night away with a dozen young men. A girl of my age, I have heard said, is ready for her first love. Instead, I was destined to live with an elderly man and his children -- when the mood took them at least; deserted half the time and treated as a part of the furniture the rest.

It was the end of August when Mama retired to Primrose Lodge; and once again an unnatural quiet descended upon Pemberley. It was fortunate that Mama and Jane were now just a short walk away, for once they were gone from the house, I missed their presence dearly. I was more perverse, it seemed, than a cat; first, wishing them gone and then, wishing them back. As if that were not bad enough, my husband was soon to desert me.

In amongst all the furor Mama had created over furnishing her house, my husband decided to impart his own news. He was to be going away for all of September, and perhaps some of October too, for a shooting party. It was something of a tradition, which had been instated the year after Lady Anne's death. The other men were unwed, two widowers and two confirmed bachelors, plus my husband. "How odd, sir that you should think to go then." I had commented lightly, attempting desperately to seem unhurt by his desertion.

"Yes, Papa," Georgiana piped up. For a second, I considered it strange that she was agreeing with me, "why should you go? You always have the shooting party here."

"Well I can hardly host anything given Elizabeth's circumstances." I looked at him across the table, Georgiana screwed up her face at me. Clearly, she felt, this disaster was entirely my fault. Her father would be further away from her than ever now.

"What of Mr Wickham? I thought he was to return here?" I could not help but ask after the young man.

My son-in-law, I noticed, shot me a very sharp look before turning his attention, with greater interest to his father's reply. "I received a letter from him last week, it quite slipped my mind. His friend is still rather unwell, and George thought to take him to Bath, to take the waters. He is such a thoughtful young man. I have secured lodgings for them."

"That was generous of you." I commented.

"Yes, very." added the younger Darcy. I could not tell if he was agreeing with me or not. Ignoring him, I opened a letter from Charlotte and directed all my attention to that instead.

With my husband gone to the Earl of Harrington's estate to shoot at coveys, there was very little left to occupy me.

I would take a hostile breakfast with my daughter and son-in-law, before Georgiana was joined by my sisters for her lessons and my son-in-law busied himself in the study. I was then left to see to my usual duties, of which there was once again little to do. I could not go out to make calls, nor was I receiving visitors. Once my duties were completed for the day, I often made my way over to Primrose Lodge to help Jane.

It was the strangest thing; Mama, once settled in her cottage, suddenly decided that she had no desire for society at all. In fact, she was quite content to sit bundled in her nightgown and thousands of shawls every day, having their poor maids running about after her as though she was an invalid. It lent such elegance and distinction to her recent widowhood. Puzzled, though I was, by what may be called a sudden timidity, I doubted that it was anything more than a temporary whim of hers and soon enough it would all be forgot.

Once Mama was settled in her bed for the evening, Jane would accompany me back over to Pemberley to dine. It saved both her and I from an otherwise lonely vigil in the drawing room. Most nights we would have the girls and Mrs Robinson down with us to play parlour games. Lydia even persuaded us to put on a play, having tired of the toy theatre; it ended quite disastrously. Other nights, we would sit more quietly with filigree work or embroidery. We even taught them all how to serve tea properly. My son-in-law, though present, joined us but rarely, deciding to keep to his own company in the library.

With my husband absent for six weeks, my time passed fairly pleasantly, though I had predicted otherwise. It was, not the life most girls of sixteen would have wished for. To be sure, I am certain that I would much rather have attended balls and parties, but here I was. Those other things would never be.

Under tragic circumstances, I had begun visiting tenants. It had occurred one day, while I had wandered away from the gardens, walking out. Not for the first time, I had ended up by some of the tenants' homes. There was something quaint and charming about that little road, and I had often found myself drawn back there. But there was nothing of any of this on that day. The birds singing up in the trees were interrupted by a scream from a woman who had just walked into her cottage door. Instantly, the other neighbours stopped. Heads poked out of windows, women rushed out their doors, wiping their hands on their aprons, and one lady dropped her clean washing into a muddy puddle. I joined them as they all hurried towards the house the woman had entered.

They were huddled around the doorway. Nobody had gone inside to attend the wailing woman. At the back, behind a cluster of women, I could not see what was going on. A few of the women muttered to one another. One eventually stepped inside, and the others began to move away, sadly shaking their heads, though none of them seemed to be overly surprised or shocked. "Excuse me?" I asked two of the women as they moved past me.

"Yes?" They stopped.

"Could you tell me what is going on?"

"And who may you be?" The plumper of the two women asked me, hands on her hips. She looked me up and down. She had flour across her front of her dress.

"Elizabeth Darcy."

"Well I'll be." said the shorter one to the first woman. She made a little bob at me.

"Can you be the master's wife?" the other one asked. Clearly she was bolder than most would have been.

"Certainly."

"Never." She replied.

I raised my eyebrow at her and drew myself up a little taller. Her companion nudged her in the side. "Nellie." was all she said, half outraged half affectionate.

"Oh Jessie, you're too serious. Now go on who are you really? One of Mr Darcy's nieces, perhaps?"

"I think she is telling the truth, Nell." her friend Jessie intercepted mildly.

Nellie looked me up and down as if I were a horse at the market. "She is but a scrap of a girl, Jess. It cannot be true."

"We heard she was not that old though."

"She's not fourteen, if she's a day." I thought this was a bit of an exaggeration.

"Excuse me, but if you find it so unbelievable, do you think that I would be foolish enough as to even attempt to claim it was so?" I interrupted their good natured dispute with a smile.

"Next you will be telling us all you're the Empress Josephine." she watched me closely.

I giggled, "Goodness no. My French is appalling." Despite their scepticism, I found myself liking these two women for all their frankness. "Now, since we have established that, shall you tell me what happened in the cottage?"

The two women looked at one another, still slightly distrustful of me. "Tell her, it can do no harm." Jessie said after a few seconds of silent communication between them.

Nellie inclined her head slightly. "That's the Chandlers' cottage, miss. Mary Chandler's baby boy... well he fell in the fire."¹

I blinked. Suddenly remembering the smell I had thought was roasting meat, I felt sick. "And the baby?" I asked almost breathless.

"Alive." She stated. I felt a degree of relief, but only for a second.

"Let me see." I walked past them back towards the cottage. They trailed behind after me.

"You must not, miss." They both protested, but I had already stepped through the door to the cottage. A woman looked up, while the other continued to sob huddled over her child. It was not until I touched her shoulder that she even noticed I was there. "She says that she is Mrs Darcy." Nellie explained, attempting to sound as if she believed her statement herself.

"Has the doctor been sent for?" I asked, over the child's whimpers. Nobody replied; their gazes slipped away from me. Turning to Jessie, I asked her to send for one.

The baby had fallen, just as his mother walked through the door. Fortunately, he had only been there for a few seconds before his mother pulled him from the flames. It was long enough though, and his leg was badly burnt. The doctor wrapped the baby's leg in wax paper, along with a dose of laudanum for the pain. He had settled within the first half an hour. The doctor gave his mother and her friend further instructions before leaving them. He only said that he might survive, but it was evident that he did not hold out much hope.

I left, promising a visit the following day. On my return to Pemberley, I went in search of Mrs Reynolds and asked her to send food over to the Chandler household. I think she may have objected but for my son-in-law knocking on her door at just that second. He gave me a curious glance, taking in my sooty dress, saying that he would come back later. On my objection, he stayed and I left, since the housekeeper and I had finished our business.

I visited the Chandler family regularly over the following weeks. It was not long though before I began to visit the other tenant houses. They were not the only ones who had a sick child or relative. In amongst all my other duties, I now found myself visiting the tenants of Pemberley as well.

The little boy, David, survived, but his leg was left lame. I saw to it that he received a good education, for he would never be fit for manual labour. Instead, he took up the job of schoolmaster at the little Dame school that the Darcy family had established in the area some centuries before.

It was that very same night that I had first met the Chandlers, as I was lying in my bed unable to sleep, that I heard a tapping outside in the hallway. At first I thought it was my imagination. Then, after a pause of several minutes, I heard it again. And again, this time accompanied by a small voice calling out, "Fitzwilliam." timidly. It was Georgiana. She called out twice more, then I heard a door open. After a few more moments, the door shut again; Georgiana still, clearly, in the hallway. She let out a wet sounding sniff.

Throwing off my covers, I walked over to the door and peeked out. The dim light of her candle illuminated the corridor just enough for me to see her, "Georgiana," I called out softly to her. She jumped and looked in my direction, only I could see her, bathed in candlelight, far better than she could see me. "It's me, Elizabeth." I stepped out of the door and towards her, she quivered, "What ever is the matter?" I asked. It was only as I came much nearer to her that her shoulders slumped a little.

"Oh, you." she replied glumly. I should have been more offended by her tone.

"Yes, me."

"Where is Fitzwilliam?"

"I do not know, why?"

She looked at me, eyebrows in a half scowl, suspicion evident, "I want Fitzwilliam."

"Well, I have no idea where he is. So why do you not tell me what the matter is?" I did not have the patience to play at favourites with her.

"I want Fitzwilliam."

"Well then, I shall return to my own room." I turned back and began retracing my steps.

"You cannot leave me," she sounded half panicked.

"I thought you wanted your brother." I sounded detached, unperturbed; but actually I was thrilled that in that moment, at least, she wanted me to be there.

"You must help me find him." She sounded just like her father; autocratic, assured that I was her inferior to be controlled.

"Must I indeed?" I felt too angry. Any sympathy I had felt for her dissipated. I stepped inside my chamber door.

"Wait," She was following after me and reached my door before I had even shut it. "you must not leave me." Once again, her fear returned to her face. She stepped inside my rooms.

"Why ever not?"

"Demons."

"Demons?"

"Lydia said so."

"Did she now? Well, you should not trust everything my sister says." In fact, you probably should not trust anything Lydia said.

"She said they would take me over and live inside me and I would do horrible things. She says she heard about a girl back at your old home that had them in her."

"I thought you two were still fighting." The day before, they had not been speaking with each other, after both blamed the other for a broken vase, the result of a particular energetic game of Deerstalker.

"We are. But, I heard her talking to Kitty about it."

"So Kitty did not know about this girl. Do you not think that odd?"

"No. Kitty is stupid." The words I had heard so often spoken by Lydia popped out of Georgiana's mouth instead; like she was a parrot.

"Georgiana, that is not nice. Kitty is not stupid."

"Lydia says she is."

"You do not even like Lydia." Little girls, I thought with a sigh, they were a most baffling breed. Not friends, then friends, then fallen out again. They changed their minds more often than they changed their stockings.

"I want to stay with Fitzwilliam tonight, he will look after me." She suddenly changed the subject. "Where is he?"

"I am not sure." It was past two in the morning. "Why do you not stay with me instead?" It was just a suggestion, I remember once feeling a similar dread of being snatched by child-catchers in the middle of the night; but I had not slept alone in an empty nursery, there had been four sisters.

"No." She replied staunchly.

"Why not?"

"Because I want Fitzwilliam." She looked at me as if I were a dribbling baby.

"I do not know where you brother has gone. Or when he shall be back." My temper was starting to fray like an old rope, "Why not read a book, to distract yourself?"

"All mine are boring."

"Only boring people get bored." I replied with that oft-repeated phrase. "What about one of mine?" She closely examined the selection I had to offer, an action that frankly shocked me; she never paid me much reverence. Unsurprisingly, she declared them to be "boring," except a gothic novel, which would have done her no good at all. The genre could only spawn ridiculous over imagination, and that was not what Georgiana needed. She demanded that I accompany her downstairs, to the library, to find some suitable reading fodder, only allowing me time to pull a dress on, over my nightgown, before she dragged me off.

In the library, we found her brother, huddled over some papers, still at work. He looked up questioningly, and Georgiana ran to him. To his credit, he was always the best of brothers to her, and not only did he swiftly attempt to allay her fears, not once appearing as if he would laugh at her, then he put aside his work entirely and suggested that he read to her. She was much more content to be left to his care; though she still offered a little objection to his choice of book. There is no eleven year-old that really wants to hear poetry read to them. She far preferred a novel.

To me at least, there had seemed very little reason to remain. The picture the sister and brother made of loving devotion was enough for me to feel displaced. Opposition was raised when I bid the pair of them goodnight. They paused long enough in their affectionate bickering over the choice of book for the brother to turn to me and request that I stay. Under normal circumstances, I would have declined. I felt awkward enough, but when Georgiana added her own petition, I could do nothing but agree. Often I had found myself annoyed by my husband's inability to refuse her anything, but there I was, doing exactly the same thing. It felt rather good to be wanted, despite being fully conscious that she only wanted me to act as jury to their tastes.

Finally, it was settled and the book was opened, "You have read this?" he asked me cautiously. To which I assured him that I had, and there was nothing particularly objectionable of The Heirs of Villeroy². Our little group settled down to the story, passing the book between us in turns. Not fifteen minutes later, as Darcy had finished his section, Georgiana was found to be asleep; the hour was certainly late. Georgiana's night terrors became something of a habit. Nightly, the three of us would be seated in the library, reading aloud until she finally fell asleep in the early hours of the morning.

I was certain that he would return his sister to the nursery then, but instead he turned to me, "Where were you this afternoon?" he asked demandingly. "I needed to speak with you."

It was clear to me that he was angered that I had not been there exactly when he desired it, it irked me; I was not his slave. Neither was I inclined to be particularly forgiving; we had not had a civil conversation since he had tried to manipulate me into removing my mother from Pemberley. "I went out. I was not aware I should have told you."

"Fergus told me you had gone walking, but I could not find you in the gardens."

"I walked down to Green Lane."

"By the tenants' houses? I was not aware that you walked that far."

"Not often. What did you wish to speak with me about?" I changed the subject.

"It is no matter; I settled it with Mrs Reynolds before you got back." Having established that, I stood up to leave, not desiring to linger for a pleasant chat with him. I was thwarted as he spoke again, "Did you speak with any of the tenants?"

"Yes, in fact, I did." I stood still again. "I take it you heard about the Chandlers?" News travelled quickly around the estate; perhaps Dr Lambert had already sent him the bill for his services.

"No, should I have?" I was surprised.

"Their little boy, the youngest, David, was burnt badly this afternoon. I had the doctor called to take care of him."

"You did?" He seemed, I could not help but notice smugly, rather impressed. "How is Mrs Chandler? You ought to have some food and linens sent to her. She shall need help over these next few days."

"I have already, and her friend is to say with her as well." I could not read his expression, and he said nothing further on the matter. He just stood and picked up Georgiana's sleeping form and left the room.