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Chapter 19
March arrived, with both a snowstorm, and James contracting his first fever. Elizabeth received many opinions on both the cause and the cure; Some of which she followed, but most, she did not.
Mrs. Reynolds declared that he had begun teething, and simply soaking his gums with brandy would take care of it. The cook, Mrs. Willoughby, insisted it was from being coddled too much, and that he simply needed to be left alone to build up his immune system.
From every female in the household, Elizabeth was inundated with various home remedies including ointments, drops, poultices, and even an odd-smelling concoction intended for herself, as he was still being nursed.
Her choice of what to actually use came down to whatever seemed most reasonable, but, so no one's feelings should be hurt, she did not divulge which she actually used.
By the second night, she decided to take him into bed with her, partly for convenience sake, as he was waking up three or four times during the night, and partly because she worried of him being warm enough.
The storm had brought with it frigid and persistent winds which permeated the very walls of their bedroom, sending drafts into every corner. Since she, herself, was chilled at times, she had to surmise that James must be so, as well. She also hoped that by keeping him close, her body heat would help in speeding his recovery. Despite her efforts, the fever lasted through several days, with the result of having her sleep interrupted constantly, beginning to take it's toll upon her.
Assuming, since he did not speak, that Fitzwilliam was able to sleep through the crying and fussiness, she was surprised during the third night, to discover otherwise.
After being awakened for the fourth time, she had propped her head and shoulders on several pillows so James, who seemed to breathe easier at that angle, would be slightly elevated as he lay upon her stomach. As a result, she slept little herself, as she was always aware of his somewhat tenuous position, and, the angle of her pillows tended to cause moderate discomfort to her neck.
Her thoughts, because of this, were not centered on anything positive.
The wind outside continued to whistle around the windows, making her feel even more chilled. She was long past being simply weary of winter, and besides the incertitude of having a sick child, she was extremely fatigued from getting little rest.
When her husband spoke, therefore, without warning in the darkness, she was more than a little surprised.
"Elizabeth...how is he?"
"About the same, I think...Why are you awake?"
"The same reason you are."
She felt him moving closer, as she asked, while being careful to keep her voice soft so as not to awaken their son, "Have you been awake all this time?".
"Off and on...you are shivering, are you cold?" he inquired, now very near to her.
"A little," she replied, feeling his right arm sliding behind her shoulders.
"Are you cold now?"
"I am becoming warmer," she answered, smiling.
Resting his left hand lightly upon her stomach and directly below James's feet, he asked, "And now?"
"Even better..." She felt his face very close to hers, so there was little effort in turning her head until their lips met.
"Now?" He repeated again after a wonderfully methodical and thoroughly fulfilling kiss.
"No...I am quite warm now, thank you."
"Elizabeth?"
"Mmmmm..."
"Winter shall be over soon, and James will recover, I promise."
"And until then, I have you to keep me warm."
"Always."
Slowly the temperatures outside moderated, so that spring did seem to be a distinct possibility, and each day, as well, James appeared to be feeling better.
Because of the snowmelt, followed by frequent torrential rains, creeks and rivers rose and flooded their banks, causing problems to farmer and villager alike.
On sunny days, Elizabeth liked nothing better than to bundle up her son and carry him outdoors with her on her walks.
Holding him with one arm while he sat placidly upon her hip, she would walk to her favorite bench nearest the pond, settle him upon her lap and watch nature returning slowly after the long winter.
More days than not, they would be fortunate enough to witness a flock of geese returning from their migration to land in the still partially frozen lake, or a covey of quail run from one patch of cover to the next.
She enjoyed very much, picturing these things as through the new eyes of a baby. Attempting to imagine what must be going through his mind, caused her to view all activity in a completely different light.
So March rolled into April, with the weather remaining mild, already bits of new green clearly visible in the trees and scattered upon the ground.
As Fitzwilliam stood staring out of his window, one thought repeated itself in his mind; He dare not tell her...he could not. He did not believe for a moment that the man was truly dead...it hardly seemed possible, or probable. Yet, when or how would they ever finally be certain?
The constable had just left him in his study, all apologies, "But really, Mr. Darcy, it happened so quickly that they have barely had time to begin searching."
According to his report, two of the constable's men, while escorting Jeffries and another man from the local workhouse on to London, had attempted to cross an overflowing river. The wheels of the box wagon were, through unfortunate mischance, pulled into the current, and, with the horses rapidly losing their footing, the wagon turned over, dispatching the occupants into the raging waters. The strength of the deluge quickly overcame one man, the other prisoner, and apparently, carried Jeffries further downstream. Although, this last was in question, since his body had not been discovered as yet. Still, the likelihood of his surviving both the swiftness of the flow, as well as the freezing water temperature, was slim at best...or so they presumed.
Personally, Fitzwilliam had his doubts. Somehow, Jeffries always managed to turn up, and, as a result, he did not have much faith in this being the final appearance of such a wretch.
No, he thought now, he could not tell her. It would only cause her worry, moreover, there was the slightest possibility that perhaps he really was dead. The fact of their not having recovered his body did not mean anything...after all, he could be trapped under some debris at the river's edge, or caught on a fallen tree downstream.
He must, at least attempt to be optimistic, anyway, for he knew, that if he were concerned, she would sense it, as well. However much he abhorred the idea of keeping it from her, he saw no point in telling her...yet. Perhaps if the search provided no clue as to Jeffries's whereabouts, and his death could not be proven without a doubt, then he would say something to her...but not just yet.
Meanwhile, he alerted the servants, especially the groundskeepers, to be aware of anyone lurking on the property near the buildings. He also assigned two of the under-gardeners to, alternately and discreetly, watch Elizabeth whenever she was outdoors.
The fact that he had no choice but to implement such safeguards, irked him. This was his home, after all. He should not have to adjust their lives because of this sorry excuse of a man, but, until he was either caught or found, there was nothing else to be done, and, it would have to be so.
James was now four months old, able to sit up by himself for brief periods, but only under the cautious guidance of his mother. His eyes were now the colour of walnuts, his hair blonde and curly.
Although, Elizabeth suspected, it would probably darken as he grew older, because of the deepening shade of his eyes. He was very good-natured, seemingly content to be wherever he was, or where his mother took him. She frequently carried him with her as she went about the house, setting him down when she read, wrote letters, or worked on her needlepoint.
So long as he had something in his hand to study or shake, he would remain quiet for up to an hour. He especially appeared to enjoy the pianoforte, and the music, which she and Georgiana played upon it. Looking, for all the world, as though he were listening intently, he would make no sound until the piece was finished, when he would smile or coo happily to show his appreciation.
He was also getting teeth; two new ones in the lower front, which meant he attempted to chew on everything within reach. So, his mother began to give him small, hard biscuits provided by Mrs. Willoughby, which he would gnaw until there was very little left. The unforeseen consequence of this, was, that between the new teeth and the increase in his appetite, she was now more than willing to begin weaning him.
One fairly warm day, when she had carried him outdoors, and headed up to the path by the river, she thought she noticed movement from the corner of her eye, yet, when she turned her head, there was no one there. Still, she could not escape the feeling that she was being watched, and when she finally returned to the house, she recognized one of the groundskeepers leaving the woods behind her, none too skillful at disguising the fact that he was obviously following her.
When she saw Fitzwilliam that evening, she mentioned this strange occurrence to him.
"I thought I noticed one of the gardeners following me while I was out... why do you suppose he would do such an odd thing?"
His response was unlike him. He seemed to dismiss it carelessly, saying, "I am sure it was nothing...perhaps you imagined it."
She looked at him then, curious, thinking that he had been behaving in a most peculiar manner of late.
"Fitzwilliam," she asked him, "What in the world are you keeping from me?"
He would not meet her eyes, which, alone, should immediately have made her suspicious, but it was the tone of his voice which convinced her of his not being forthcoming. Whatever his secret must be, it was apparently nothing pleasant, such as when he found the house for the Bingleys, but something different entirely.
"Fitzwilliam," she repeated, "What is it?"
He sighed, unwilling to answer her, but doubting whether it was worth an argument. She waited expectantly until he finally replied, "It is about Jeffries."
She sat down rather abruptly, a ripple of dread fluttering through her, "Jeffries?" she managed.
"They believe that he has drowned," his voice reflecting his own disbelief, "On the way to the Tower...the wagon fell over into the river, but they have not found his body as yet."
"No?" She was staring into space, her face a combination of fear and wariness.
"Elizabeth, please do not worry," he urged her unhappily, "This is the reason I did not wish to tell you."
"How long have you known?"
"Almost a week." Seeing the betrayed look in her eyes, he hastened to explain," I was waiting until they could tell me something more definite...I was in hopes of their finding him, either way."
She was silent for some minutes, then, "So, now it begins again..." she could not keep the weariness from her voice.
"Elizabeth," his voice was low, "I am sorry I did not tell you...but I thought...I believed, you had earned your peace of mind."
"And you?"
"I?" He thought about it, "If you are but happy, my love, then I would gladly endure such information alone."
She touched his cheek softly. Even though she was not pleased with him keeping it from her, she understood the intent behind it.
"So, now what?" she asked, after taking a deep breath.
"Now...we assume that he is alive unless we hear differently." He seemed almost relieved that she knew, and that he could, at last, discuss it openly with her. His eyes met hers as he spoke, "The servants are aware of the situation, and shall be alert to anyone who does not belong on the grounds."
"And to watch me?" She challenged him.
"Now, Elizabeth, that was for your protection...they were supposed to be discreet." he ended rather ruefully.
She smiled, taking pity on him, "Well, if they have been doing it for a week, I must admit that I suspected nothing until today."
"But," he continued seriously, "I have been considering having you leave Pemberley for a while."
"What, and leave you?" She was incredulous at the suggestion.
"It would only be for a few weeks...perhaps you could go to the Bingley's...Georgiana also."
"Not without you, Fitzwilliam," she insisted stubbornly, adding, "What would be the point of that? You are the one he wished to harm."
"Someone needs to remain here to make certain he doesn't burn the place down...or something worse," and was immediately sorry he had mentioned it, as she cried out in alarm," Burn it!"
She looked at him appalled, her eyes wide, "Burn it...then," her voice took on a desperate tone, "I definitely shall not leave you here alone."
"Elizabeth," he tried to reason with her, "I know that if he is alive, he will attempt some revenge...I just do not know what. I cannot be certain that Pemberley is safe if I must be concerned for you at the same time."
She stared at him uneasily, realizing the sense he made, but hating the idea of being separated from him just the same.
It was therefore arranged that Elizabeth, Georgiana, and James were to remain with the Bingleys' for a fortnight, or so, and would return when it was thought to be safe.
Georgiana had not understood at first, but, when she was finally made acquainted with the whole, rather bizarre story, she quickly agreed. She probably would have anyway, in the belief that whatever her brother suggested, must be for their own best interests, but the premise of danger made it even more interesting yet. As she had only met Mr. Jeffries socially, she was not familiar with his more sinister side, and had to take her sister-in-law's and brother's words as fact.
It was also agreed by all, except Elizabeth, that Fitzwilliam would not visit them at Brindlewood for the entirety of the time in which they were to be there, lest Mr. Jeffries somehow follow him and deduce where she was.
Elizabeth, to the last, did not wish to go, making their leave-taking that much more painful. She knew that she was not helping the situation, but leaving him there alone filled her with such fear and dread, that she seemed to have lost all of her good sense.
He stood by the carriage, when she had finally stepped in, wishing that she would either leave very quickly, or not go at all. Her eyes were filled, and even though she was holding back her tears, her voice shook, "You shall write everyday."
"Yes." He met her gaze soberly, "Elizabeth, please, do not worry."
She managed a watery smile, "I cannot help it...I tend to worry about those I care for."
He touched her lips with his fingers softly, and, stepping back, waved the driver on. Then watching them drive away, he lifted his arm but once when Georgiana waved goodbye from the window.
Georgiana turned to her sister-in-law sympathetically, "Please, don't cry, Elizabeth...this is really for the best. You must see that."
But Elizabeth could not answer, as the repressed tears were now streaming freely down her cheeks.
My Darling Fitzwilliam,We have arrived safely. Jane has taken charge of James, and seems to be totally enthralled by him. Her own Emily has grown quite a bit and crawls around by herself. I think she is keeping them very busy, as now she manages to reach everything which she is not supposed to.
I miss you so, my darling Mr. Darcy.
Georgiana is making herself quite at home at their pianoforte, although it is not nearly so handsome as the one you gave her two summers ago. She has written to Mr. Eastman so he may be aware of where she is. I hope that this is all right. I have always trusted him, and do not think he would say or do anything to jeopardize his fiancée.
Please let me know that you are safe. I shall not sleep at night until I do; not that I have slept very much at all since our arrival. I fear, my bed is quite cold.
I love you, dearly, Fitzwilliam.
Your loving wife,
Elizabeth Cecilia Darcy
My Dearest Elizabeth,It is very quiet here. Even the servants seem to be aware of the change in mood, and are making less noise then usual.
I miss you, as well.
I am certain that Mr. Eastman can be trusted. He is not one to speak openly about his own private business, so I believe he would have no reason to mention Georgiana's temporary change of residence to anyone.
I hope that James does not forget his father while he is away. I am already looking forward to seeing him again, as I am sure that he will be much grown by that time.
I am not used to this sleeping alone anymore, and have spent the past two nights here in my study. It is not very comfortable, but it will do for now.
I cannot seem to write the words which I wish to say to you, my love. My life has revolved around you for so long, that I am finding it difficult to adjust to your absence. But please remember that I love you, that no matter what should happen, this fact shall not change, Elizabeth. You are the center of my life, and I am feeling a bit off-balance with you gone away from me.
Please, kiss James in my stead, and give my regards to Georgiana and the Bingleys.
Yours forever,
Fitzwilliam James Darcy
My Darling Fitzwilliam,I do not know if he was inspired by his cousin, but yesterday James almost crawled, at least he attempted it. He managed to get his legs underneath, but could not seem to get much further. I am sure he shall try again.
He has a new tooth coming through on top. We have been giving him cooked fruits and cereal, and he seems to like it very much, although he usually is a mess by the time he has finished.
Mr. Bingley has been teaching us a dance called a "waltz", which I shall have to demonstrate when we return to Pemberley. It seems to be very romantic. Instead of facing your partner and dancing apart from each other, you are actually in one another's arms. It is a little hard to describe and you must have the correct music to accompany it, but Georgiana has already mastered one or two pieces and is quite enthusiastic. I could only imagine how wonderful it shall be to dance with you, my love.
Oh, now I have started it. I was determined to keep this letter more informational and less emotional, but I am afraid it is a lost cause. My heart is so full of my love for you and just now it is aching most dreadfully. These weeks cannot pass soon enough, I fear, and I must count the days until I am with you again. Please reply quickly as I shall have to rely on your letters to keep you near to me.
Your loving wife,
Elizabeth Cecilia Darcy
My Dearest Elizabeth,I was delighted to hear of James's progress, but I hope he does not change too quickly, some things I should like to witness.
The waltz sounds interesting. I believe I had seen it done while I was in Vienna some years ago, but it did not equal in popularity here in England.
There has been no word of Jeffries. He is either dead or hiding somewhere. Hopefully, far away, if that is the case. The constable has agreed to keep me informed if he should turn up, and I remain optimistic of our knowing something very soon. Until then, I am keeping my vigilance in the study, although I have taken to walking about the grounds before I retire, just to see if anything is awry. I am being very careful, Elizabeth.
I spoke to Andrew Covington yesterday. He was unaware of Mr. Jeffries duplicity, which did not surprise me, and has understood the man to be out of the country, while he has actually been in jail. Mr. Covington sends his warmest regards to you, and expressed a desire to have us over again once this matter has been put to rest. Right now that seems an eternity away, but I am still hopeful that all shall be settled in the very near future.
My darling, Elizabeth, I love you so very much. Take care and write again soon.
Yours, as always,,
Fitzwilliam James Darcy
As she read his letters, Elizabeth imagined him as he wrote them. She knew that such expressions of tenderness did not come easily, but he was doing very well, and even though she knew every word by heart, she did not tire of reading them, yet again.
Meanwhile, life at Brindlewood was calm. Jane and Charles never seemed to get upset at one another, and Elizabeth imagined that if they should disagree on anything, it would be a race to see who could apologize first. As a result, the whole household appeared more relaxed, and although the servants did their jobs well enough, it was easy to see that efficiency was not overemphasized.
Emily and James got on well, considering their ages. As she was mobile and he was not, she would bring him her playthings and generously hand them over. Although sometimes, Elizabeth thought she detected a little regret when he did not return the favour.
Apparently, Jane had filled her husband in on the particulars regarding Mr. Jeffries, and even though he did not bring the subject up directly to his sister-in-law, she sensed his concern for Fitzwilliam's safety as well. In fact, when she had not heard from him for several days, she approached Charles Bingley with a request.
Her concern had been increasing with the lack of correspondence from Pemberley, and not wishing to panic, she asked him at dinner, during the second week of their stay, if he would mind riding over that direction just to make certain that all was well. He agreed readily, declaring that he would go the very next day, and, that he would not leave the place until he had spoken to Darcy himself. The next morning, Mr. Bingley left, as promised, to ride to Pemberley, assuring Elizabeth that he would not return until he was certain that all was well.
All that day, she waited, remembering exactly why it was her least favorite way to pass the time.
She attempted to stay busy; Reading to James and Emily, writing letters to anyone she could think of, practicing nearly every piece of music she knew, and still, the hours dragged. Her thoughts would not refrain from worrying, and no matter what she did, the distraction was temporary, at best.
Keeping her imagination in check was proving to be the most difficult. Images of Pemberley in ruins, or Fitzwilliam lying close to death would replay themselves in her head despite her efforts to remain practical and realistic.
After dinner, she decided to walk outside, as it had been a mild springlike day, even though she had not been able to enjoy it, and, she was now hoping to take advantage of the still-warm temperature, and linger for just a few minutes before darkness fell.
She also suspected, although the others' were too polite to say it aloud, that she was becoming a nuisance, and knowing from experience that being in the company of such a restless, nervous, and totally distracted person was not pleasant, she thought that she would do them this favour.
As she strolled around the outside of the manor, she concentrated on not listening for the sounds of a horse's hooves, but inevitably, she would return to the drive to peer down it's length.
It was nearly dark when she at last, thought that she heard something. She was rewarded by the knowledge that it was a horse, galloping quickly, but as she watched until it was near enough to be seen, she realized that it was not one, but two riders.
At first, she was disappointed, thinking that it must not be Mr. Bingley, until she recognized them both. It was Mr. Bingley after all, and with him was Fitzwilliam! This astonishing realization caused her heart to thump wildly, as well as her face to break into a joyful smile.
As they came abreast of her, he, in almost one movement, reined in his horse, slid off onto his feet, and, totally disregarding their lack of privacy, took her into his arms, and kissed her then and there. Mr. Bingley, tactful as always, took hold of the abandoned reins and led both horses off to the stable.
When she could, she asked breathlessly, "Has something happened? Why did you come?"
"I shall tell you all in the house, but, first..." and he kissed her again, the second even more enthralling than the original.
"You are here at last," she said in disbelief as their lips finally parted. "Unless I am dreaming, and I shall soon awaken to find I am not tasting your kisses at all, but only my pillow."
He smiled unsteadily, his eyes reflecting the tears in her own, and held her fast against him, "I am here, and I shall not be away from you again soon...How I have missed you..."
When they finally went into the house, her arm linked through his, they met the others in the dining room, where food and wine had been set out for the two late arrivals. As soon as they had settled themselves, the gentlemen related their story:
"It actually had begun three days ago," began Darcy, with a smile to Elizabeth, "One of the stablehands reported that the horses were behaving oddly...skittish, off their feed...I checked the whole of the stables, but found nothing unusual."
"Might have been nothing." interjected Bingley.
"Might have," agreed his friend, continuing as though he had not been interrupted, "That night, someone left a stall door open, letting one of the mares loose...we found her in the grove, grazing peacefully. All of the stablehands denied being responsible, and I attributed it to human error."
"Which it may have been," Bingley added reasonably.
Yesterday," Darcy went on, "Another stall left open, luckily this one was empty, but still it was curious."
"Then today," Bingley urged him.
"Yes, today...this morning actually, I had just finished checking the grounds when I noticed smoke coming from one of the gardener's sheds. There are no chimneys, they are only used for storage," he explained, appearing to enjoy keeping them in suspense, but Bingley interrupted him again, "Then I happened to arrive..."
"Then Bingley arrived, and assisted me in searching the shed and the surrounding area."
"But what was burning?" his wife asked, concerned.
"Someone had laid a few old rags in a pile and had lit them. Again, luckily, they were damp and soon went out before doing any damage."
"Jeffries?" she was almost afraid to ask, but he did not answer her question, instead continuing, "We made a wider sweep then, searching through the woods in the immediate vicinity."
"And you shall not guess what we found." Bingley could no longer contain his enthusiasm.
"Jeffries?" Elizabeth repeated.
"Jeffries." This time Fitzwilliam answered her, looking satisfied.
"And a more wasted, sickly, shivering piece of humanity I have never seen," Bingley declared, "I could not believe that this was the man who had us all so concerned."
"Wasted?" Elizabeth asked in disbelief.
"Sickly?" This from Jane, the sympathy already entering her voice.
"He had been cold, wet, and hungry for two weeks, apparently contracting pneumonia, and when we found him was very close to death." Darcy replied.
"Oh..." from Elizabeth, at a loss for words.
"So we took him to the constable, sent for a doctor, and that is where we left him."
"But...why was the horse let out?" Elizabeth asked, confused.
""He, apparently, planned to steal it, but was too weak to even mount the beast." Darcy met her eyes as he spoke.
"And the fire?"
"For warmth, I suppose. When it went out of it's own accord, he must have given up and left the shed."
"Why, you could almost feel sorry for him!" Jane cried.
"Almost," responded Elizabeth dryly, "Remember what he has put us through, Jane."
"But..." her sister began, until a look from her husband silenced her.
"Then, he is gone for good?" Elizabeth asked uncertainly.
"If you had seen him this morning, you would not have any doubt," her husband assured her, "He is not the man that he was."
"I almost wish that I would have, then I could be convinced," and then in a soft voice that only he was able to hear, she added, "But if you are here, my love, it must be so."
After the initial welcome news regarding Mr. Jeffries, not one of them felt a need to retire too soon, and stayed up rather late discussing it among them. At a moment when the others were talking between themselves, and Elizabeth had her husband's undivided attention, she asked him quietly, "Why did your letters stop coming, Fitzwilliam?"
He looked slightly surprised, "When did you receive the last?"
"Four, no five days ago," she answered, "That is why I asked Mr. Bingley to go to Pemberley...I was certain that something was terribly wrong."
"I have been faithful, Elizabeth." he insisted, "One should have arrived almost daily...perhaps they were held up somewhere."
"Yes...perhaps." She was still puzzled by it, but her thoughts lit on a new topic, "Did you really sleep in the study every night?"
"Yes," he admitted, "And I have the stiff neck to prove it." As his eyes met hers, he added ruefully, "The next time I suggest that you go away, remind me of these past two weeks...will you, please?"
"Did you truly suffer so?" She had to ask, if only to hear it from him.
"You know that I did...I cannot remember ever being so miserable, so lonely, and so bored."
"Bored?" She did not know whether to laugh or feel indignant.
"Yes, Mrs. Darcy, completely and utterly bored...you do not realize what a diversion you are for me."
"A diversion?" She wished him to explain himself, but at the same time, she could not keep from laughing.
He had settled back in his seat so that his face was near hers, "You can, at any given time, be at your most maddening, when I am not at all sure what to expect from you, and yet, at a moment's notice, turn around and be the most loving, open and generous woman that I have ever known."
"And which do you prefer?" She asked, smiling.
"Both, of course." He glanced around the room to be sure that they were not overheard, "I would not change anything, but, because of all this, I find it extremely difficult to be apart from you for very long,...my love." This last was spoken close to her ear, so that she felt a tightening in her stomach, as well as a catch in her throat. If they had not been where they were, she knew that he would have kissed her, and by the sudden longing that passed through her, she also knew that she would have welcomed it. Instead, she had to be content with squeezing his hand, which she had held in hers since his arrival.
Sometime later, as they lay together in bed, she asked him, as if she needed to be certain, "Did he truly look bad, Fitzwilliam? Mr. Jeffries, I mean."
She had her head upon his shoulder, his arms were around her, and her face was very close to his, making it more convenient to receive his kisses. He was just beginning to feel drowsy, but he seemed to wake up a bit as he reassured her, "He did, Elizabeth...you would not have been fearful of him anymore."
"I am glad we no longer have to worry about him, and that it is over at last," she said slowly, adding, "And...I am especially glad that you are here, with me...I missed you."
He turned his face so that their lips met yet again, before he replied, "I have to admit that this is much more preferable to spending another night in that study." she heard the smile in his voice as he spoke.
She shook her head, "You did not have to do that, you know...after all, you managed to survive for twenty-eight years before you even knew me."
"A lifetime ago, at least," he answered, "I could not return to that now."
"And, why not?"
"Because in a mere year and five months, Elizabeth Darcy," somehow moving so that he was directly above her, "You have destroyed all of my former complacency, and have convinced me of the dire necessity of your company."
"How, pray tell, did I do that?"
"By being you," and he neatly put an end to the conversation once and for all by covering her lips with his.
One other incident occurred before the Darcys were to leave Brindlewood and return to Pemberley. Miss Benedict, Emily's nanny, who had impressed Elizabeth with her gentility and quiet manners only two weeks earlier, reacted quite differently to Fitzwilliam. When introduced to him, her eyes opened wide, she almost visibly started, and thereafter, she spoke solely to him, excluding Elizabeth completely from their conversation.
Elizabeth, taking her husband aside at one point, asked, "Do you know her, perhaps? Had you met before?" But he seemed to be at a loss, unable to account for such odd behavior. Elizabeth, of all people, could understand, in part, Miss Benedict's attraction to him, but her response was overstated, almost like someone had been longing to make his acquaintance for some time.
Jane, when asked, informed her sister of Miss Benedict's tragic past, how she had been brought up in a well-to-do household, but when her father's fortune was somehow lost, she had been forced to take her present position. It still did not answer Elizabeth's question, however, but as she watched the woman's attentions becoming more obvious, and his, more uncomfortable, she found it pitiable rather then intimidating, and had to pretend a coughing spell to cover her amusement.
It was at this moment in which he glared at his wife, excused himself, and quit the room hurriedly, looking exactly like a fox at the hunt, she thought to herself with a smile. She almost expected Miss Benedict to follow him, as no doubt she would have if she had possessed the temerity, but as soon as he departed, she resumed her usual reserved manner, acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
Jane did not mention the incident, and, when Elizabeth made some reference to it later, professed to not have even noticed. Of course, Elizabeth thought, if it would have been Mr. Bingley, she might have, but then again maybe not, since Jane would not recognize duplicity in anyone, and especially in someone whom she had already befriended.
Putting it out of her mind then, as another example of human frailty, she was determined to concentrate on the preparations for their return to Pemberley that very afternoon.
As Fitzwilliam had ridden his horse to Brindlewood, he would also ride it back, escorting his wife, son, and sister in the carriage. They thanked the Bingleys profusely for their generous assistance over the past two weeks, and, at last, set off.
As they pulled away from the house, Elizabeth thought she saw Miss Benedict at one of the front windows watching them, but even the realization of that did not dampen her spirits. She held James upon her lap and when she would see something of interest outside: a flock of sheep. a dog, or even someone walking, she would point it out to him, enjoying his fascination in whatever it was. He fell asleep eventually, leaving her to contemplate the unexpected change in her attitude towards their destination.
For the first time in her marriage, she felt as if she were, indeed, coming home...that Pemberley was truly and finally, hers, as well as her husband's. This surprising realization gave her a feeling of deep contentment, making her aware that much of the credit belonged to himself. He had, from the beginning, encouraged her to think of it in just that way, but at the same time, had understood when she did not immediately embrace it as such.
After all, she mused, it is only the bride who must pack up her life and move at the time of her marriage...no one would expect the husband to do so. This was simply the way it was, but that was not to say, it was always a pleasant or gratifying move. If there were no love involved, or the husband should be cruel or uncaring, what, then, would the advantage to his wife be? None at all, she answered herself decidedly, except to be able to say that she was married, and in such a case this would not necessarily, be a satisfying status to own. So, Elizabeth considered herself very fortunate, as she watched the scenery from the window, to have such a husband and such a home. To know that she was exactly where she belonged, and had no wish to be anywhere else, or to be married to anyone other than he.
She was so involved in her thoughts, that she was surprised at how quickly the time passed before they were turning into Pemberley's drive.
Upon their arrival, she and Georgiana went directly up to their rooms intending to rest a while and freshen up before dinner, but once in their bedroom, Elizabeth stood at the window looking out at the hills which she had missed more than she had realized. She had laid James down in his bed, where he slept undisturbed, not even stirring when Fitzwilliam entered. As she turned to meet his eyes he said simply, "Welcome home, Mrs. Darcy."
She smiled, her happiness now complete, and answered him, "I am very glad to be home, Mr. Darcy."
Chapter 20
It was apparent James was rapidly outgrowing the bassinette, forcing them to decide they were going to have to set up a proper nursery for him. So, Fitzwilliam arranged for a Mr. Petrie to come and discuss the various alternatives with Elizabeth and himself. As it turned out, she had already decided exactly what it was, she wanted, and upon realizing this, her husband wisely bowed out of the process. Mr. Petrie, not familiar with the lady, or her will, believed that he would still have some say in the matter, however, it took little time for him to understand it fully.
They began on the wrong foot immediately, when he questioned her decision to have it in the room directly next door to their own.
"Mrs. Darcy," he said in a patronizing tone, "You do not really want your child so near, do you?"
"Certainly," she answered, "Why would I not? I would not be able to hear him if he were any further from us."
"That is what a nursery maid is for."
She fixed an icy stare on him, answering, "We are not hiring a nursery maid, Mr. Petrie. We are hiring you, and your task is to make this room into a nursery."
Another dispute involved the colours chosen.
"Yellow?" he had sputtered after she had informed him of her choice, "You wish a child's room to be yellow? It shall show every speck of dirt, and you will require it cleaned constantly."
"Yellow," she replied calmly, "Is cheerful. I wish my son to grow up in a cheerful room. So that he, with any luck, shall be so himself...you, apparently did not have a yellow room, Mr. Petrie."
After a week of this, he had learned to accept with stoic silence whatever opinion she might have to put forth, and, if he disagreed, which he often did, he kept it to himself...except for the shelves.
Elizabeth had it in her head that she wanted one entire wall of the room to be covered with shelves. He had never heard of such a thing for a child...a den, or a library, certainly, but for a nursery?
He actually balked when she described it, "Why would a child need so many shelves?" he asked her in amazement.
"I intend to fill them, Mr. Petrie," speaking as she would to an imbecile, "The upper ones with books, so that he shall grow up with the love of reading now so important to his parents, and the lower ones with his own possessions, so that he can keep them within reach and yet organized. Not," she added coldly, "That I need to give you my reasons."
And so, in the end, one wall was covered with shelves, the room radiated a sunny yellow, and the nursery remained in it's place next to the master bedroom, all much to the bewilderment and chagrin of Mr. Petrie. The room was large enough, that besides plenty of space for James to play in, there were to be furnished, a bed, a crib, a bureau, a rocking chair, and even a child-size table and chair.
The furniture took almost three weeks to arrive, which completed the nursery to within a month of when they had begun, and making it nearly the end of May when James, finally, was moved out of their bedroom.
That first night, Elizabeth's thoughts were on this major change in their lives...and on something else, as well.
They had been in bed for almost an hour when Fitzwilliam spoke, "Elizabeth?"
"Yes, my love."
"It is very quiet, isn't it?"
"Yes...it is."
"But, it is good to have our room to ourselves again."
She took a breath, "I am afraid it shall not be so, for long."
Silence met her statement, but she said nothing more, waiting for him to speak.
"When?"
She chewed her lip, a trifle nervously, "Perhaps January?"
More silence, then, amused, "We could not have the next in the summer?"
She smiled, both because of his words, and her relief at the manner in which they were spoken, and answered him, "Some things, even I cannot control."
After he had kissed her properly, she asked, "You do not mind?"
"No, Elizabeth." His lips were still very close to hers, "I do not mind."
As Miss Darcy had received, through the post, three waltz arrangements for the piano, Mrs. Darcy invited her husband to try the dance with her after dinner one evening. The gentleman was willing, so they took their places, standing opposite of each other at a much closer proximity than any they had danced together before this. He knew enough about it to discern where to place his hands, she, to instruct him on how to move his feet with hers, and between the two of them managed to make it through the first piece without stepping upon each other's toes. Although, once they matched one another in rhythm and motion, it almost became natural, and she wondered why it had not caught on with English society as it had, the other Europeans.
The exercise proved to be quite enjoyable, but they did have to stop and rest between pieces, what with being breathless from the exertion as well as their own laughter. By the time they were on the last, both were making silly mistakes until they finally gave up the effort, yet with every intention of resuming the exercise on another day. Still, for just a few moments, with his eyes looking into hers, as they moved perfectly in time, she felt as if she were floating.
It was a lovely, although all-too-brief sensation, interrupted by one of them getting off count, and setting them both into merriment, once again.
As Georgiana put her music away, Elizabeth promised in a whisper, "I shall return the favour when Mr. Eastman is next visiting. " A promise which caused her sister-in-law to blush profusely. Kitty was expected to arrive the last week of June, and even while she anticipated her visit, Elizabeth was thankful that this pregnancy was not causing the same amount of discomfort as the last. Although she was yet squeamish upon awakening, it did not last too long, nor seem as severe. Her moods, as well, were less extreme, and she did not always feel quite so weary. Perhaps it was because she knew better what to expect, or, maybe it was just that she, herself, was more at ease.
She did not know for certain, but she was hoping it would continue to be so for the remainder of her confinement. Meanwhile, she was enjoying decorating the nursery, even bringing in some of the items out of the toy closet from the unused wing of the house; the former treasures of the "lost" Darcy children.
As she set the little music box upon the bureau, listening to the tune it played, she felt as though she were inserting them firmly back into the family history where they belonged.
She covered the walls with colourful paintings of animals and outdoor scenes,, and, as she had vowed, filled the shelves with books. The space allowed James more room to move about in, and as he began crawling and pulling himself up, she was very glad of him gaining this benefit from it.
Continuing to be a contented child, he happily imitating noises made to him by any adults who might happen to be present, and not becoming "spoiled" by all the attention paid him, as she had once feared. She hoped that the next might be so even tempered, while wondering if she could be so fortunate twice.
Arriving on schedule, by way of hired chaise, she and Georgiana happily began making plans for the wedding, long before it would be needed. Elizabeth noticed a change in Kitty on this visit. Somehow, she was different...as if she might be in love, or at least, believe herself to be so. It could be possible, she supposed, but as the two sisters had not, in the past, shared an intimacy whereupon Kitty should confide in her, she would probably learn of it only through Georgiana.
While Kitty was with them, she and Georgiana offered to watch James each afternoon for a time, allowing Elizabeth time to herself and to venture outdoors. It was with much gratitude, subsequently, that she took advantage of their consideration by doing so daily, during her son's afternoon naps.
Often she would use this time to read in privacy, letters from Charlotte, her Aunt Gardiner, or Mr. Bennet. His, especially, were filled with inconsequential, yet entertaining bits of news , although he mentioned nothing of any romantic tidings concerning Kitty.
One day, after reading one of her father's lengthy commentaries as regards a recent letter received from Mr. Collins, she was surprised, as she neared the house, to see a phaeton hitched to a single horse waiting by the front steps. As she entered the foyer, she glanced around to see if there were any apparent evidence as to whom the visitor might be.
Some business acquaintance of Fitzwilliam's, perhaps?
Hearing voices coming from beyond the closed doors of the drawing room, she recognized one of them as that of her husband's, but the other, a woman's, she did not.
She paused to straighten her hair before the hall mirror, intending to enter immediately, but, instead, was stopped by the conversation inadvertently overheard.
The woman was speaking in a confident voice, "It is the only fair way...I am sure you agree."
Although Fitzwilliam replied, his words were muffled, sounding further away than the lady's.
"It cannot be helped, I am afraid, she apparently replied, "These things always have some casualties...perhaps she shall understand after all."
When next she spoke, following another unintelligible comment from him, she sounded a trifle irritated, "Tell her, don't tell her, I really do not care...but I shall not be deterred."
At that moment, Elizabeth realized with a start what she was doing, and quickly knocked upon the door, before anything more might be disclosed.
Upon sliding the doors apart, she saw her husband standing by the window, while, seated in a chair near him, was Miss Benedict, leaning back with the confidence of someone who is in full control of her situation...someone who believed she would obtain easily, that which she desired.
Elizabeth, hoping she was smiling with some intelligence, said, "I thought I heard voices and wondered who might be calling."
Then, with a glance at the lady, added in a much cooler tone, "Hello, Miss Benedict."
Miss Benedict had risen upon her entrance, but only gave a slight nod of acknowledgement to Elizabeth's greeting, as she said to Fitzwilliam, "Please think about all that we have...discussed." Then, turning, she went out, brushing past Elizabeth without another word. They heard the front door open and shut, and finally, silence.
She met her husband's eyes, forcing herself to remain serene as she waited for him to speak, to explain what was going on. He definitely looked uncomfortable, but she could not tell from what, exactly.
Was it caused by Miss Benedict or herself?
Wait, Elizabeth, she warned herself, do not jump to any hasty conclusions here...it could all be perfectly innocent. As the silence grew, she finally declared brightly, "I am sorry I was so late, I did not realize she was coming to call."
"It was not a social visit." He did not sound as if he wished to tell her what exactly it was.
"Oh?" Again a lengthy silence. She studied him, attempting to analyze what he might be thinking.
Finally he explained, albeit reluctantly, "She asked for help with...something."
She had never seen him so unwilling to be explicate, at least not since they had been married, and the disquiet beginning to stir within her was disturbing.
For, she had promised herself long ago, that she would not be suspicious of him. She trusted him to use his own good judgment, to make the right decisions in matters which their marriage was. Recollecting this, although it pained her to do so, she moved over to stand before him, saying, "You do not have to explain, Fitzwilliam. If she came to you for help, she must have had a good reason for it." As his eyes met hers, he pulled her to him, his arms wrapped around her tightly. She was beginning to become concerned by his behavior. He was obviously affected by whatever Miss Benedict had said to him, and he did not seem to want to tell her.
"Fitzwilliam...my love, what is it?"
'It is nothing...she wants money," he voice sounded odd.
"Money? For what...I do not understand."
"For...her father...he is ill."
Even though he had answered her, she felt he was not telling her everything. "Why did she come to you? She does not know you."
"Her father knew mine...I suppose she thought that would mean something."
"Does it?" The question had several implications, any of them vital to her.
"I don't know...I have not decided yet." His voice was now tinged with a disturbing impatience, and she stood back to observe his face quizzically.
"Are you angry about something?"
"No," but his words, as he continued, were abrupt, "I just need some time to think about this. Would you excuse me, Elizabeth?"
Then he left her, and as she stood there in the aftermath of what was one of the most baffling exchanges they had ever shared, she felt uncertain, and very worried.
He said not another word about Miss Benedict the whole rest of the day, and in fact, did not seem to wish to talk at all. Several times she would begin a conversation, but he would not respond, only staring into space moodily, his brow furrowed, his mouth grim. She wanted him to tell her, on his own, what Miss Benedict had meant, and why her visit had left him so out of sorts. Because of this, she had to remind herself frequently not to nag, not to worry, not to make it into something bigger than what it might be. As the day wore on, his mood did not change, indeed he appeared to be worse, even snapping at the servant when she dropped a spoon upon the floor while serving tea.
For her part, Elizabeth could only watch him silently, wishing that he would bear in mind her attachment, as she was more than a little likely to be biased in his favour. Furthermore, he was being a bit unfair not to permit her to share his burden, even if he did not wish her counsel, as she knew, that if he should choose to confide in her, she would be totally amenable and sympathetic.
Georgiana had noticed her brother's black mood at dinner, but, as in the past, she found it best to leave him be until it had lifted. However, after feeling as if she had been walking on eggshells all afternoon, Elizabeth was quite ready for it to be that time sooner, rather than later.
What had Miss Benedict said to worry him so? Did it have something to do with her? She thought repeatedly of the part of the conversation that she had overheard. Something about casualties, and she did not care if Fitzwilliam told her or not...told who? Told her what? The whole thing was baffling, and it was obvious that he was not going to say anything anytime soon...at least not willingly. After everything they had gone through with Mr. Jeffries, she would hope that there would be no secrets between them, that they could be open with each other.
Lying beside him that night, with no more knowledge of what went on between he and Miss Benedict than she had when she had first interrupted them, Elizabeth was torn between frustration and fury.
She could feel a pain beginning around her temples, and knew it was from replaying the same worries over and over through her mind. She must have fallen asleep at last, for she awoke when dawn was only starting to peek through the curtains.
When she realized she was alone in their bed, she sat up, and looked with curiosity around the room. He was not there, and she guessed by the coolness of his pillow, that he had been absent for a while. Swinging her legs over the side, she slipped on a dressing gown and slippers, and looked in the first place that she thought of; The adjourning bedroom, but that room was empty also. Proceeding downstairs then, she listened for a sound to give her some clue as to his whereabouts. He was not in the study, nor the library, and she was deciding where next to search, when she heard a clack of one billiard ball hitting another. The billiard room, she realized, a bit surprised. He did not normally go there when under stress, but then, he was not behaving as he normally would, in any case.
Standing opposite of the door, the cue in his hand , he was studying the table as she entered. He appeared very tired, making her wonder if he had been awake all night. As he looked up, his eyes met hers, but he said nothing, bending over to line up his next shot.
"How long have you been in here?" she finally asked, after he made his play neatly.
"Since about three," was his answer.
"Did you not sleep at all?"
"A little." He shot again, the clatter of the balls doing nothing for her headache, which had returned with a vengeance.
"Fitzwilliam." As she said it, she knew that he would not hear her over his game, so she repeated louder, "Fitzwilliam."
He stood up, waiting for her to finish.
"Fitzwilliam, " she said, trying very hard to remain calm, "Would you please tell me what is wrong?"
"I am fine, Elizabeth...go back to bed, why don't you? You look tired."
"I am tired," she replied, irritated, "from being worried about you, and I now have a headache because of it."
"I am sorry." But he did not sound sorry, in fact, he did not sound as if he even cared.
He had set up a wall, that was certain, and he was not going to let her through, unless...She considered him, thoughtfully. "Fitzwilliam, would you be willing to make a wager with me?"
He lifted his eyebrows in surprise, "A wager? Of what?"
"I challenge you to a game of billiards...if I win, then you must tell me what is bothering you, and you must tell me straightaway...no stalling." She lifted her chin as she said it, daring him.
His face had become thoughtful, "And if I win?"
"What do you want?"
"That you will allow me the privacy in this matter that I am asking for."
Ouch, she thought, that hurt, but, if this was the only way to receive answers, so be it. "Then, shall we?" she invited him coolly.
She chose a cue, and faced him across the table, as he set up the balls.
The prospect was amusing him, she could tell...a good sign. At least, he had not lost his sense of the absurd. For truly, it was. The two of them up at five o'clock in the morning playing this silly game, and all for the privilege of either sharing his tale of woe, or not.
He broke, and several balls slid into their pockets as if propelled. When it was her turn, she shot two in off of his, and lined up a third. He was impressed, she could tell, but she also noticed his jaw tighten as it did when he became determined.
Now, he is out to win, she thought to herself, now he will not make it easy. She knew that he was wondering how she learned to play, and to play so well, but he would not ask, at least not until he had won, which she could tell he considered a sure thing. They actually stayed fairly close, everything that Elizabeth had learned from her father coming back to her. When there was only one ball left, the score being even, and it was her shot, she stood up straight, cue in hand, and met his eyes. "Do we finish this, Mr. Darcy?...Or will you concede that maybe you owe me an explanation, just because I am your wife?"
He studied her silently for a few minutes. At first she did not think that he would agree, but surprisingly, he laid his cue down on the table, walked over to her, took her hand, and led her out of the room. Taking her to the study, he finally released her hand, and, opening the top drawer of his desk, took out a sheet of yellowed paper, which he handed to her silently.
She glanced down at it, and then back at him. It was a document of some kind, hand-written. The edges of the page had begun to crack with age, but the writing was clear and even.
He met her eyes, saying simply, "Read it."
It was headed :
Sixteen, December, 1794Derbyshire County, England
This document shall so attest, that the person known as Mary Alice Benedict, born on Twelve, June, 1794, of Cheshire County, England, by her mother, Alicia Anne Masterson-Benedict, shall by all legal rights and claims, be forthwith recognized as my legal heir.
She shall, therefore, share in whatever benefaction I have to bequeath, including: properties, monies, and any other assets, to be divided equitably among all of my surviving children upon the time of my death.
I swear of this being a legal and binding record in the eyes of Our Lord and the Holy Church of England.
Signed on this day,
James Albert Fitzwilliam Darcy
When she finished, she looked up at him, startled, "Can this be true?"
"She says it is. I am taking it to my attorney, Mr. Fitch, this morning to corroborate it...if he can." Though he appeared calm, she sensed his conflict.
She read the paper again, "Who is this Alicia Masterson-Benedict?"
"Besides being Miss Mary Benedict's mother," he answered dryly, "Her husband and my father were partners in some ventures."
He was looking out of the window as he spoke, his voice impassive, "Miss Alicia Goring, engaged to Mr. Benedict, nevertheless enjoyed the attention of my father...which, according to Miss Benedict, resulted in herself as the outcome of their liaison."
"But..." Elizabeth was searching for words, as questions flooded her mind, "But, if she married Mr. Benedict, how did Miss Goring know who the father was?"
"That much we cannot prove one way or the other. Obviously, she convinced my father of the truth of it...or perhaps he used this as a bribe to buy her silence."
"You do not believe her?"
"I don't know if I do or not. As you might well imagine, it was a bit of a shock..." He did not turn his head nor meet her eyes.
"Are you certain that this is his handwriting?"
"It appears to be, but it could be easily forged. In any case. I am hoping that Mr. Fitch can either authenticate it, or help me to disprove it."
This is why he had been so upset, she thought to herself. If it were true, how awful to make such a discovery, for she knew how he had admired his father. ...And if it were not, how would he go about disaffirming it?
"So you see, Elizabeth," he said in a matter-of-fact voice, "There is nothing you can do."
She rose from her chair and laid the paper on his desk, then, with her hands clasped together, watched him silently.
After several minutes like that, he finally looked over at her, no doubt wondering why she was quiet.
When she, at length, had his full attention, she said, "I am still here, Fitzwilliam...you have told me all, yet I have not left you. You are my husband, and I continue to love you...very much."
As he studied her, he kept his expression unreadable but for his eyes, where he allowed her, to at last, perceive the depth of his distress.
She moved toward him, while at the same time, his arms opened for her to be admitted into the welcoming warmth of his embrace. Then, both were silent, as any words therein, would certainly be deemed unnecessary, as well as very nearly impossible.
Several moments later, her voice a bit shaky, she said, "I suppose we should go up and get dressed, before the household arises."
"I suppose, " but he did not move.
She closed her eyes, sighing. Then, with a smile, "Fitzwilliam ... I do believe my headache is gone."
He departed for his attorney's by nine o'clock that morning, to the village of Hartington, only a few miles from Pemberley. Elizabeth watched from the front door, holding James in her arms, while forcing herself to remain optimistic. It was with some wonder that she considered how this one event could change all of their lives, and that, whatever was discovered today, would very likely affect them always. If Miss Benedict was being honest, which Elizabeth doubted, she would then be Fitzwilliam's and Georgiana's half-sister, a fact that would be difficult to accept, even in the best of circumstances.
Georgiana, wisely or not, had not been informed as yet, her brother seeing no reason to alarm her until more was known. But, from her own viewpoint, Elizabeth, did not believe Miss Benedict would have attempted such a claim, unless she was quite certain of victory. Finding the flaw in her scheme, therefore, could prove to be challenging.
He returned before dinner, Elizabeth meeting him in the front hall anxiously. "What did he say? Does he know anything?" she asked even before he could speak.
Taking her arm, he steered her into the study, closing the door firmly after them, before answering, "Mr. Fitch is investigating the matter. Meanwhile, he has obtained the services of a gentleman named Stephen Radcliff, to discover what he can about Miss Benedict."
"How will he do that?"
"That I couldn't say...but, he is reputed to be the best at what he does. He shall be stopping here tomorrow to meet with me, and I suspect you, also, Elizabeth."
"What could I tell him?" She was a bit surprised, "I am only a Darcy by marriage."
"He wishes your opinion of the lady...I thought that would not be too difficult for you to provide," he was teasing her, but she had become thoughtful, and did not respond.
"Fitzwilliam," she said seriously, as she slid her hand into his, "No matter what he finds, I hope you now know that you do not have to hesitate to tell me, when something is concerning you." She looked at him so earnestly that he smiled, "In other words, you would like to know everything?"
"Well...as much as possible," she conceded, her dimples showing.
He pulled her to him, and when he had his arms wrapped around her, he said, "Elizabeth, you never cease to amaze me. I do not think that there are too many wives who would wish to know their husband's business...Is there nothing that I shall be able to keep from you?"
She smiled at him, replying lightly, "If it affects you, Fitzwilliam, then it certainly shall, me...that much is inevitable. But, if you wish to keep something from me, you had better adapt a less expressive manner."
"You wish me to show a less expressive manner?" He repeated in disbelief.
"I did not say that...I have no complaints regarding your way of expressing yourself. When you will...it is only when you choose not to, that your ability to masks your feelings is less than successful."
"Do you know me so well, then?"
"There are times, my love, when I know you better than I do, myself."
Mr. Radcliff called upon them the next morning. A man of about thirty, short and a bit stout, but not overly so, with a dry sense of humor which appealed to Elizabeth. He interviewed Fitzwilliam first, then invited her to join them.
"What were your first impressions of Miss Benedict?" He asked her, after she was comfortably seated in the chair opposite his.
"I liked her when I met her, but my opinion changed later on," she replied.
"On what occasion?"
"When she was introduced to my husband. She was very different."
"How, exactly?"
"Well," she said thoughtfully, "She behaved as one who wished to impress, and to do so with great determination. After their introduction, she proceeded to pay him every attention. The change in her was immediate and surprising, and gave, to myself at least, the appearance of insincerity. I later asked my husband if he had met her before, but he assured me of her being a total stranger to him."
"And you believed him, of course."
"Of course," she smiled at Fitzwilliam as she answered.
"So, she behaved as if she wished to know him better?"
"Much better."
He studied the notes he had been writing while they were speaking, appeared to be satisfied and rose to leave.
At that moment, Georgiana and Kitty entered, and Elizabeth introduced them to him. She had expected him to be interested in Georgiana as Fitzwilliam's sister, but she had not expected his immediate fascination with Kitty. It seemed that he could not take his eyes off of her, and where he had been prepared to leave only a few minutes earlier, he now acted quite willing to stay for a while longer.
Elizabeth eyed her sister a little critically, and attempted to see her through the eyes of a stranger. She did admit that Kitty had become prettier since Lydia's marriage, but whether this was due to the fact that Lydia's looks and personality had always overshadowed Kitty's, or that she had now been away from the influence of her younger sister for two years, Elizabeth could not ascertain.
However, although Mr. Radcliff was obviously attracted to Kitty, she was definitely not to him. As Elizabeth had earlier suspected, Kitty was in love with a young man in Hertfordshire, the son of a Meryton merchant, by the name of Mr. Martin.
Whether Mr. Martin returned this affection was unknown, as Elizabeth had never met him, but by the way that Kitty spoke of her beloved, she hoped it was so, or Kitty was in a fair way to be brokenhearted.
Mr. Radcliff ended up staying for lunch, leaving soon after, with the promise that he would return with some sort of news, within a week.
It is strange, Elizabeth was to think later, how very long a week could be.
Ten days passed with no word from Mr. Radcliff. Fitzwilliam began going out for long rides to release some of his nervous energy, while Elizabeth concentrated on teaching James how to walk. He was crawling at a great rate now, and was able to stand-alone for very short periods of time, but her goal was to have him as independent as possible before her second child should arrive in January. Nearly two weeks after his departure, Mr. Radcliff sent an express stating that he was making progress, and fully expected to be back at Pemberley in two days time.
He did return, at last, on August third, arriving when both Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth happened to be in the library. She was holding James upon her lap, reading a story aloud to him, while her husband glanced distractedly through a newspaper which was newly arrived from London.
They both rose expectantly at the announcement of his arrival, and soon he was seated comfortably in the softest chair, a cup of tea at his side, eager to begin his narrative.
"I have good news," he began, as James was set upon the floor with a toy to keep him occupied, "At least I hope you shall find it good," he added obscurely.
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Fitzwilliam at this, while Mr. Radcliff took some papers from his waistcoat pocket and consulted them, before continuing, "I began in the east end of Cheshire County, since that is where the Benedict estate was located. You probably already knew of Mr. Benedict's unfortunate reversal of fortune of late...all of his properties had to be sold to help pay his debts. After some enquiries, I found the gentleman in question lodged at the inn, The Lion and Boar, in the village of Wilmslow. He was alone except for a valet, and, is in very poor health. I did manage to speak with him briefly, long enough to verify that he believes Mary Benedict to be his natural child, and is unaware of her dealings with you, Mr. Darcy." He took a sip of his tea, and went on, "His wife, the late Mrs. Benedict, passed away only a year ago, after an extended illness, leaving their daughter to fend for herself, and since, accepting the position she currently holds with your sister, Mrs. Darcy." He looked down and read some of his notes, then, "I was able to go to Mrs. Benedict's childhood home of Crewe, in the same county, and learned that in 1793, she met and married Mr. Edward Benedict. After seven months, she produced a daughter, Mary Alice Benedict."
He cleared his throat, "From here on, nothing is documented. Much of what I have to report is hearsay, however, over the years of which I have held this employment, I have learned to discern between idle gossip, and speculation bourne of true knowledge. In other words, make of this information what you will, but I would not have included it here, if it was not mentioned by at least two sources."
He waited for them to acknowledge that they understood, then he said, "It was rumored that the child was not Benedict's, but from the people with which I spoke, no other name was volunteered. That should be welcome news to you, Mr. Darcy."
Fitzwilliam did not outwardly respond, but his wife sensed some relief in him. Mr. Radcliff went on, very businesslike, "Your father did spend much time in the company of Mr. and Mrs. Benedict, presumably regarding business concerns, but it was also thought to be a social relationship stemming from their common interests." He paused before he asked Fitzwilliam, "Mr. Darcy, did your attorney scrutinize the document which was given you by Mary Benedict?"
"Yes, of course he did." was the reply.
"May I ask, sir, what his opinion of it was?" Mr. Radcliff had leaned forward, obviously interested in what Fitzwilliam had to say.
"He had no former knowledge of it. He was not my father's attorney at the time that it was written...but he said that it certainly gave the appearance of being authentic, due to the handwriting, and the wear of the paper, itself."
"Well, Mr. Darcy, he was correct." Noting their consternation, he added quickly, "It has, however, been voided since that time. Your father drew up another will about four years later, after the birth of your sister, and it did not mention Miss Benedict. You see," he explained, "Once a new document is written, it makes any previous null and void. Your attorney has verified this to me. Did he, your father, actually state in Miss Benedict's paper that she was his natural child, and he, her father?"
While her husband tried to recall the exact words on the paper, Elizabeth blurted out, "No, he did not. It only said that she was his heir...it did not give a motive."
"And you did not question her as to why such an important detail should be omitted?"
"No," Fitzwilliam admitted, "I took it at face value. The whole business was such a shock that it did not occur to me to inquire."
"If that is the case, Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy," he nodded at them as he rose to leave, "I have one more visit to make, and then I hope to be able to bring this matter to a close in the very near future."
The return of Mr. Radcliff two days later was greeted with the hope that the whole matter could, at last, be satisfactorily concluded . As soon as they were seated in the drawing room, he said, "I have just come from meeting with Miss Benedict, after having an enlightening conversation with Mr. Fitch yesterday. You shall be pleased to know, Mr. Darcy. that I have ascertained Miss Benedict is not your sister...she is not a Darcy." He sat back while Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth absorbed his words. "In her defense," he continued after a moment, "She believed the document to be binding and legal."
"I am sure that she did, or she would not have presented it to my husband." Elizabeth replied somewhat coolly.
Mr. Radcliff considered his next words, before he spoke again, "After investigating this matter as thoroughly as I believe it can be, being as the two principle parties are no longer here, I would hazard to state that your father, Mr. Darcy, should be commended on his benevolence. By including the daughter of his friend in his will, he appeared to have been looking out for her interests. I must suppose that, somehow, he had foreseen the eventual ruin of Mr. Benedict, and attempted to provide some insurance for his child."
Elizabeth asked, as if she were sorting it out in her own mind, "So he was acting as a benefactor?"
"But, why then," Fitzwilliam inquired logically, "Was she not included in the later will as well?"
"I could not say for certain...perhaps they had a falling out, or maybe he was convinced that Edward Benedict's fortune was not in such dire straits as once believed. In any case, Miss Benedict has no legal claim to your sister's, or to your inheritance."
"And, you say that you spoke to her?" Fitzwilliam asked curiously, "Did she accept your findings?"
"She did not at first, but I remained with her until I had convinced her of the futility of pursuing the matter any further. I think she was setting much store in the belief that the document would help in easing her father of his current unhappy circumstance." He had allowed a bit of sympathy to creep into his voice as he spoke.
"If she had come to me with less of a confrontational attitude, I might agree with your feelings just now, Mr. Radcliff." Fitzwilliam admonished him coolly.
They were all silent for several moments, and then, with a sigh, he conceded, "Perhaps...something can be done for the sake of their friendship."
"Well, " Mr. Radcliff rose, "I shall leave you then. I hope my services have been satisfactory."
"Yes, thank you." Elizabeth answered as she stood also, smiling at him to show her gratitude, "I do not believe this dilemma would have been settled with such expediency without your assistance, Mr. Radcliff. You have been most efficient."
Fitzwilliam shook his hand then, thanking him as well, but his wife could see that his mind was still on Mr. Benedict.
On his way out, Mr. Radcliff stood by the door, a bit awkward, as though he wanted to ask something, but did not know how to begin.
He met Elizabeth's eyes, almost pleadingly, so that she smiled at him, offering in a sympathetic voice, "My sister, Catherine, lives in Hertfordshire, Mr. Radcliff...at Longbourn House. I am sure that she would not mind you calling sometime, if you are in the neighborhood."
His smile lit up his face, and he bowed slightly to her, "I am in your debt, Mrs. Darcy." Then he turned and left, the door reverberating with the force used as he pulled it closed behind him.
Fitzwilliam stared after him, suddenly thoughtful, "Now, there is a man, who, in all of his business dealings, is as cool and efficient as anyone could be, yet he only has to meet a particular woman once, to become tongue-tied and utterly helpless." He shook his head in wonder, "It amazes me every time I see it."
Elizabeth, linking her arm through his as they walked back to the drawing room, was watching his expression, a smile playing about her lips, "But you, of course, are immune to this strange malady?"
"Of course," he replied in a matter-of-fact voice.
"Mr. Darcy," his wife warned, raising her eyebrows, "Be careful of what you claim."
"You doubt me, madam?" But he was quickly losing the battle to remain serious in the face of her skepticism, and when he smiled at last, she had to laugh at him.
"You are a fraud, Fitzwilliam Darcy!" she declared, adding, "I can not attest to the helpless part of it, but I suspect you must have been struck silent several times, judging by how often you would not speak to me."
They were safely in the drawing room, when he turned and took her into his arms, saying smugly, "And yet, my dear Mrs. Darcy, you married me in spite of it."
"Well," she conceded, as her arms slid around his neck, "I will admit that you managed to get your point across...but then you must own that you were not the most talkative of men. I seem to recall having to suppose what you meant, when you would not say it aloud."
"Say what aloud?" he asked her innocently.
She smiled as she looked into his eyes, "I love you."