Jump to new as of December 20, 1999
Jump to new as of December 29, 1999
Jump to new as of January 1, 2000
Author's note: This story was inspired by the "Tempus, Anyone?" episode of "Lois and Clark: The New Adventures of Superman."
Part I Posted on Wednesday, 1 December 1999
Elizabeth Darcy rolled onto her back and flung an arm across the bed.
"Oof," said her husband, opening one sleep-heavy eye. "Is that any way to greet your husband on the morning of your first anniversary?"
She smiled and rolled onto her side facing him. "Probably not," she admitted. "But is a complaint any way to say good morning to your five-months-great-with-child wife?"
"Definitely not," he agreed, and moved forward to kiss her.
"Much better," she said when he drew away, and sweetly: "Happy anniversary, darling."
He laughed. "Happy anniversary."
The Darcys had indeed been married for one year; and in that time, the wedded bliss promised by a union of such diverse strengths had been nearly always perfectly maintained. Not entirely always: with their diverse strengths came equally strong and diverse wills; but the differences were settled amicably, and if the balance of disagreements won lay more heavily on the lady's side, neither the husband nor the wife complained.
One of these arguments, earlier in Elizabeth's pregnancy, had been over her accustomed habit of exercise every morning. He felt it might endanger her and the child; she insisted it would only strengthen them both; and when the doctor dubiously ruled in her favor, she triumphantly resumed her daily walks about the grounds, albeit usually accompanied by her husband or a servant. But on this particular morning, Mr. Darcy was occupied with end-of-year business, Georgiana was practicing a selection from Handel, her maid Ellen was down in the laundry, and the other servants were busy decorating for the upcoming Christmas holiday: thus Elizabeth slipped out of the house alone.
It was a beautiful morning. The grounds sparkled with frost, and the brisk December air nipped at her cloak. Just a brief walk today, she thought, and turned in the direction of the main gardens.
She wandered the silvered pathways, lost in her own thoughts. For all her insistence on the benefits of exercise and her own enjoyment of walking, she inwardly worried about the effect it might have on her child. Jane was in her seventh month and already confined to bed, and she had been both much more docile and much less active. Should Elizabeth take such a great risk? She understood Lady Catherine de Bourgh strongly disapproved of frequent walking, which was enough to make her wish to continue the habit; but she would not trade her baby's safety for her own willfulness. A healthy child. That was all she wanted.
A twig snapped under her foot, and Elizabeth looked up. She was at the mouth of the hedgerow maze.
The maze formed a giant circle at the edge of the formal flower beds, its network of passages stretching a hundred feet to the Pemberley woods. The bushes towered two feet over Elizabeth's head; the resulting privacy made the center garden a favorite trysting place for the newlywed Darcys during the summer. Elizabeth had spent several hours of her free time learning the correct route through the weave of paths, and now, after a moment's hesitation, she turned confidently down the second portal.
She emerged into the center clearing a few minutes later. Here too each leaf and blade of grass gleamed silver, and the fountain was now a magnificent statue of ice. Elizabeth walked closer and peered into its crystal caverns; she saw her face reflected back a thousand times, and was suddenly dizzy -- not just for a moment, but for an agonizingly long breath of time; her head spun, the world tilted, she grasped for a handhold --
She found one: the fountain ledge. She sat down, and almost immediately her vision cleared, but calming her heartbeat required several minutes more. The reflection, her mind insisted. That was what caused the dizziness. The reflection. Not the exercise. But she wasn't sure... She laid a hand on her stomach and closed her eyes. It was a boy, she hoped, a big strong boy, with his father's dark hair and his mother's fine eyes. But a girl would be equally wonderful. Healthy. That was all she asked.
It kicked!
Her eyes flew open, and it did it again!
Elizabeth laughed with joy. "Fitzwilliam!" she called, knowing no one was nearby to hear her public familiarity. "Oh, Fitzwilliam," she said, "I cannot wait to tell you of this," and heedless of her condition, certain of her strength, she took off at a run through the maze.
She could not run far, of course, and soon slowed to a quick walk; but she smiled the whole way back to the house. The child was well! And strong--that had hurt! She laughed again. Where would Fitzwilliam be... probably in the breakfast room or in his study. Oh, what a marvelous anniversary gift!
The servants were instructed to leave a certain side door open for Mrs. Darcy in the mornings, and she reached this door in very little time.
It was locked.
She frowned. This was not the first time it had happened, but it was very inconvenient. She'd have to walk around to the front.
The red velvet ribbons on the front columns -- which Elizabeth herself had tied two days before -- had apparently blown off in the wind. She pulled the doorbell, but no one arrived for several minutes. Finally, a long-faced gentleman in dark tweeds opened the door.
"Yes, madam?" said the butler. "How may I help you?"
"You can let me in, Wilkins," laughed Elizabeth, pushing past him. "And tell me where my husband is." She took off her hat and muff, but the table in the front hall upon which she wanted to lay them had disappeared. Well, no matter. "Fitz -- oh, Mr. Darcy!" she called. "The most amazing thing has happened!" She peeked into the dining room, the breakfast room, the library, and his study, ignoring the butler's outraged cries behind her. Her husband was not to be found. "Mr. Darcy!" she called again. "Where are you?"
"Right here, madam."
She spun around. He stood at the top of the main staircase, looking unaccountably severe.
"Mr. Darcy!" She smiled and held out her hands. "Would you come down here to hear your news? I've had quite a walk -- oh, such a walk!"
He advanced slowly down the steps, one eyebrow raised.
"Yes, it's several miles from Lambton," he said.
Elizabeth disregarded this enigmatic comment and drew him into an alcove off the main hall. "Oh, Fitzwilliam," she said. "The child moved! I felt him move for the first time, and today of all days! Isn't it a perfect anniversary present?" She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him -- but he did not respond as usual, and she pulled back with a shadow over her joy.
"Is something the matter?" she asked.
His other eyebrow quirked up to join the first. "The anniversary of what, madam?" he said smoothly.
"Of our marriage, one year ago today," she replied anxiously.
He stared at her. "Our marriage."
"Yes -- with Jane and Bingley, December 12, 1812. Mr. Darcy, are you all right?" What was this? Did he have some sort of amnesia? Should she call Dr. Chisolm?
"I'm afraid I must ask you that same question."
"Why, Mr. Darcy--"
"Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?"
She took two steps back. "I'm Elizabeth Darcy, your wife!" she cried.
His eyes hardened. "Madam, I assure you, I have never seen you before in my life."
And at his words, Elizabeth fainted.
Part II Posted on Friday, 3 December 1999
Elizabeth Darcy rolled onto her back and flung an arm across the bed, but this time it struck no comforting husband material in its downward trajectory. She opened an eye. Fitzwilliam was not in bed with her, which was odd -- he usually didn't rise until dawn. And she missed him desperately, for she had had the strangest dream...
Elizabeth fumbled for the candle and matches she always kept on the bedside table. Only smooth marble met her hands. But her bedside table was made entirely of cherry! She groped across the brocade comforter (she would have sworn her bedspread was satin) to Fitzwilliam's side of the mattress. It felt disturbingly cold and unwrinkled; had he never come to bed? They slept together every night, even if their only pleasure was the other's presence. Where was he? A nearly hysterical panic gripped her: it had been only a dream, it had!
A light slowly cut its way across the bed. Elizabeth looked up, terrified: and saw her maid, Ellen Ingram, standing nervously in the doorway with a lamp.
"Ellen!" Elizabeth cried. "Thank God! Tell me, have you seen Mr. Darcy this morning?"
The maid swallowed and dropped a curtsy. "Beg pardon, ma'am, but it's now eveningtime."
"Evening?" That explains Fitzwilliam's absence, Elizabeth thought with relief. "Have I slept all day? The mistress of Pemberley, lying about in bed? Ellen, you shouldn't have let me do such a thing!" she teased.
"That may be, ma'am." Ellen smiled uneasily. "But after you fainted in the hall this morning--"
"I did?"
"Yes ma'am, and Mr. Darcy carried you up here, then said you were not to be disturbed. I was only making sure you were still all right, ma'am."
But the fainting was just part of the dream... Elizabeth looked around the room, which she now recognized as one of the west wing guest chambers. "Ellen," she said carefully. "Have you ever seen me before?"
The maid considered the question. "Before this conversation or before this morning, ma'am?"
"Before this morning, please."
"No, I haven't."
Elizabeth took a deep breath. "Then how do I know who you are?"
"You would know that better than I would," Ellen said placidly.
Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, I ought to," she replied, her voice surprisingly steady. "Ellen, would you answer some questions for me?"
"Yes ma'am," the maid answered uneasily. She moved into the room and set the lamp on a table, still keeping a watchful distance from Elizabeth in the bed.
"Where are we?"
Ellen's eyes widened. "Why, Pemberley House in Derbyshire, not far from Lambton, ma'am."
"What is today's date?"
"December 12, 1813."
Still. "How long have you served here?"
"A little over a year, ma'am."
That's right; she was new when I arrived as a bride. "You've never seen me before this morning?"
"No, ma'am."
"Is your master's name Fitzwilliam Darcy?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"He has a sister, Georgiana?"
A short pause. "Yes, ma'am."
"Is Mr. Darcy married?"
"No, ma'am."
"Has he ever been married?"
"No, ma'am."
If these facts are true, and I know Ellen and Wilkins and -- Fitzwilliam, and they don't know me, perhaps my year as Mrs. Darcy was the dream. Yet Elizabeth's shape was testament to her experience as wife, and her ruby wedding ring twisted solid and safe under her fingers. "Has Mr. Darcy been to Hertfordshire recently?"
"He's never been to Hertfordshire that I know of, ma'am."
Elizabeth closed her eyes. "Ellen, do you think I'm mad?"
The maid considered. "Other than that idea of your being the master's wife, you seem well in control of your wits, ma'am."
Elizabeth's eyes opened again. "Does the master think I'm mad?"
"I believe so, ma'am."
"Thank you, Ellen. You may go." Ellen nodded and turned towards the door. "One moment, I'm sorry. What time is it?"
"Just half-past seven, ma'am."
"So late? Thank you." Ellen slid quickly out the door and closed it behind her, leaving Elizabeth alone in the unfamiliar room.
Part III Posted on Tuesday, 7 December 1999
Elizabeth considered her situation. She did not think she was insane, and Ellen in turn seemed perfectly rational; yet somehow, something had happened to remove her presence -- nay, her very existence -- from Pemberley. All was well when she woke this morning, breakfast was normal, her morning walk nothing out of the ordinary... that was, until she entered the maze. She rose from the bed and looked for her shoes, suddenly desperate to return to the gardens.
The clock struck the quarter-hour. She managed to wait another fifteen minutes, until Mr. Darcy should be at dinner and most of the servants in attendance, then stole swiftly down the hall with Ellen's lamp in hand. Down the back staircase, along another deserted corridor, she came to the side door leading to the grounds, unlocked it and pulled it open.
Snow spun at her face and grabbed at her cloak, blinding her with its intensity and freezing her with cold. Elizabeth clutched the door to keep her balance, and tears caused by more than wind pricked her eyes. There was no way she could find the maze in this weather, much less get through it: She was trapped here, where no one knew her and everyone thought her mad. She had been gone nearly twelve hours; her husband would be worried...
"Here now, what's this?"
The voice behind her broke her reverie. It was the steward, Mr. Reynolds. "What're you doing there? Let's shut that door, please." He shut it for her, speaking not ungently, and drew her arm through his to lead her back towards the stairs. "Where did you think you're going, ma'am? That's a terrible storm out there. Cold, wet, and you with nothing more than a cloak and muff -- you wouldn't want to be out in that, would you? Come along now, back to your room..."
He was treating her as he would a madwoman. Elizabeth's tears spilled from her eyes and left warm paths down her frozen cheeks.
"Here, ma'am, don't cry," Reynolds said worriedly. "You needn't worry, Mr. Darcy will send you back to Lambton in the morning. In the carriage, too, I expect. He meant to send you tonight, but the storm ended that plan." This idea did not comfort her, as it was meant to, and her tears came harder. He stopped uncertainly. "Perhaps I ought to take you to the master."
"Oh no, please, Reynolds," said Elizabeth desperately. "I don't think he would want to see me--"
"So you know my name too, eh?" She was silent. "Ellen was saying you knew her at sight, but she'd never seen you before... And now me too. I think you had best go to the master," he decided aloud. "He won't treat you unkind, ma'am, it's all right."
He marched them both quickly up the stairs and through the winding hallways. If there was one thing Elizabeth knew, it was that she didn't want to see Mr. Darcy again; the change would be too painful, the humiliation too complete. But Mr. Reynolds pulled her swiftly along, and soon they stood outside the main dining room. The steward opened the door as Elizabeth hastily wiped her eyes.
"Mr. Darcy? Sorry to disturb your dinner, sir, but I found her trying to go out through the side door." He pulled her inside, and she faced this different Mr. Darcy for a second time, down the long polished dining room table at which he sat alone. He stared at her warily -- as if he were afraid she might attack and kiss him again, Elizabeth thought. The idea amused her, even in her current situation, and she lifted her chin to regard him with equal directness. "She knew our names," Reynolds continued, "Ellen's and mine anyway, and we've neither of us laid eyes on her before today. It's a mystery, sir," was his conclusion. "A real mystery."
His master seemed to regard it more as an annoyance. "Well, madam," he said coolly to Elizabeth. "How do you explain this phenomenon?"
"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth answered composedly, "I cannot explain my circumstances in any way that will appear rational, so please do not ask me to try."
One eyebrow rose. "That is an extraordinary answer."
"These are extraordinary circumstances."
"You avoid the question."
"On the contrary, sir, I asked you to withdraw it."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
"The same end, perhaps, but two very different means."
"I prefer my means to yours."
"And yet you arrive at the same conclusion. I cannot explain my situation reasonably, and so I shall not explain it at all."
There was a pause as he digested this defiance. "You intended to leave." She nodded. "And Mr. Reynolds stopped you?"
"The snow stopped me, sir."
"Where would you have gone?" She did not say anything. "If you can wait until morning, a carriage will take you to Lambton."
"I do not wish to go to Lambton," Elizabeth said quietly.
"Where do you wish to go instead?"
"I must repeat my earlier assertion: I cannot answer you in any way which will appear rational..."
"So you refuse to answer altogether. What is your name?"
Here she hesitated. "Elizabeth -- Bennet, sir."
He picked up on the hesitation. "You did not know your own name?"
"Again, the explanation of my real name would lead to apparent irrationalities."
"I tire of this. I asked you for your name, madam."
She looked him fully in the eye. "My name," she said slowly and with perfect clarity, "is Elizabeth Darcy, and I am married to Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley Estate. That is how I know the servants, and you, sir, even though you are not my husband."
She heard Reynolds draw a sharp breath; otherwise the room was still. "Reynolds," Darcy said, his eyes not leaving Elizabeth's, "please take this woman to her chamber and see that a tray is sent up with her dinner." He transferred his gaze to the steward. "She will leave Pemberley in the morning."
Reynolds moved for the door, but Elizabeth stood her ground. "Mr. Darcy, sir, this is unfair. I did not want to tell you of my circumstances, but you insisted and I answered. The least you could do is hear my complete explanation." His countenance had not changed. "Please," she added. "It will not hurt you to listen."
After a moment, he nodded his head a fraction. "Reynolds, step outside."
Elizabeth waited until the door closed behind the steward, then took a deep breath. "As I said, my name is Elizabeth Darcy, and I have been married to Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley Estate for one year." Today. One year today, her brain completed, but she ignored it and kept her voice steady. "You are not my husband, as you well know, though you are also Fitzwilliam Darcy. Here we come fully to my irrationalities. Somehow, sir, there are two Pemberleys. In one I am Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy; in the other, this one, you have never heard of me. This morning I crossed between the two."
Mr. Darcy was standing, his customary reserve giving way to anger. "You expect me to credit this -- "
"Please, sir, let me finish." Her tone remained calm. "The crossing happened during my daily walk, when I ventured into the maze in the garden. Upon reaching the center circle, I experienced an intense vertigo, as if I were falling; and when I left the maze, I was not in my Pemberley, but yours. I then entered the house, mistook you for my husband, and the rest you know. Tonight I wanted to return to the maze and then hopefully my own home." She held up a hand to still his protest. "I cannot explain it any better than that, and so I ask you not to ask me to try. I thank you for your hospitality this evening, and I promise to leave Pemberley as soon as the storm ends -- just as you told Mr. Reynolds."
He had schooled his voice, but barely. "You expect me to credit this -- this -- utter nonsense?" he said. "These double Pemberleys and moving mazes? I was in the maze last week and experienced nothing unusual."
"Perhaps not, sir," she replied. "I've been through the maze a hundred times on my side and never had this happen before. And yet it's true."
"A hundred times," he repeated sarcastically. "You know the route by heart. Left, right, left-left-right -- "
"Three more rights, two lefts, a long right, a left, and a right," Elizabeth completed. He was silent. "I do indeed know it by heart, as I know all of Pemberley by heart. You may test me as you wish." His complexion paled; she recognized this as a sign of his displeasure and said nothing more. The silence grew.
"When," he said at last, "will you ask for money?"
The question startled her. "Money, sir?"
"How much does he expect you to get? Five hundred? A thousand?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Two thousand? What figure did he give you?" He stalked away from the table. "Five thousand, perhaps? Was that it? Hasn't he already taken enough from me?" He swung back, eyes blazing. "I understand it now. He feeds you the information; you claim to be my wife, pregnant with my child, knowing all about Pemberley. You'll keep quiet for a certain price, you say; otherwise you'll disgrace me before the townspeople and my tenants as you already have before my servants. He gets one half the sum, you run away with the other. Isn't that the way it's supposed to go, Mrs. Darcy?"
"No!" Elizabeth stepped forward. "I have no idea what you're talking about, and I have already told you the truth!"
"I'm talking about George Wickham, madam, a man you probably know better than you claim to know me. Hasn't he set this up? How does he wish to torture me this time?"
Elizabeth instantly stilled. She remembered her long talks with Fitzwilliam about Wickham, how her husband had often felt dull and sullen compared to his rival's shiny charm -- how even his own father had seemed to prefer Wickham. Her husband admitted he knew deep down that no such preferment existed, but the wounds were there nonetheless; and she thought she recognized the pain in Fitzwilliam's voice in Mr. Darcy's burning anger.
"Mr. Darcy," she said gently, "I know of Mr. Wickham through his long connection with my husband's family and my own, and I know he is the worst kind of villain -- though it pains me to speak so of my brother-in-law." His countenance smoothed slightly. "I am not involved in any such business as you allege; and if I were, would I trouble to concoct such an apparently mad story, or to learn the way through the Pemberley maze? No, sir, the case is as I told you; and you need only give me a night's lodging until I can return to my Pemberley tomorrow morning. You may accompany me to the maze, if you choose, and see me off your grounds." She managed to smile tentatively at him. "I mean no harm to you or your house, Mr. Darcy, and desire only to return to my own."
He did not answer the smile, but went to the window, drew back the curtain, let it fall. He spoke without turning to her. "All right. I do not accept your earlier story--"
"It is of little importance, as I will be gone tomorrow."
"But I do accept that you intend me no harm, and I apologize for my accusations." He still had not turned around. "Tomorrow morning at seven, Mr. Reynolds and I will escort you to the maze. If you can go through it to your Pemberley" -- and his tone showed what he thought of that possibility -- "my congratulations. If not, you will be taken to Lambton at once. Are we agreed?"
"Agreed," Elizabeth said.
"Good." Now he turned, his face impassive. "Mr. Reynolds will take you to your chamber, and I will see you at seven tomorrow morning. Good night, Mrs.--" He stopped abruptly, and his face spasmed. "Good night."
"Good night, sir."
She did not need Reynolds's guidance to go up the stairs to her room, where she curled up in the bed, and did not sleep.
"But I do accept that you intend me no harm, and I apologize for my accusations." He still had not turned around. "Tomorrow morning at seven, I will escort you to the maze. If you can go through it to your Pemberley" -- and his voice showed what he thought of that possibility -- "my congratulations. If not, you will be taken to Lambton at once. Are we agreed?"
"Agreed," Elizabeth said.
"Good." Now he turned, his face impassive. "Mr. Reynolds will take you to your chamber. Good night, Mrs.--" He stopped abruptly, and his face spasmed. "Good night."
"Good night, sir."
She did not need Reynolds's guidance to go up the stairs to her room, where she curled up in the bed, and did not sleep.
Part IV Posted on Thursday, 9 December 1999
Elizabeth rose earlier than she had intended; the strange bed loomed far too big and empty, and rest had come fitfully, if at all. Consequently, she was dressed by six-thirty and in the Pemberley hall by six-forty-five; and only a nagging politeness kept her waiting for her host when she would rather be hurrying across the grounds to the maze. Mr. Darcy appeared promptly at seven, however, and they made their way into the chill air.
The storm had moved out during the night, leaving behind a brilliant sunrise and six inches of whiteness. Elizabeth's ankle-high kid boots protected her feet, but the hem of her woollen dress dragged in the snow, and she found it hard to progress. A hundred yards from the house, Mr. Darcy noticed her difficulty. "Here," he said curtly, and he moved in front of her, where she could step in his tracks. His strides were so long that she very nearly had to leap from one print to the next, but it was easier going, and soon they were at the mouth of the maze.
"Will you need any further accompaniment?"
"No, thank you," Elizabeth replied. "And thank you for your hospitality last night, sir, particularly considering the circumstances. I will tell your kind behavior to Mr. Darcy, who will be gratified to know he treated me so well." She curtseyed; he bowed, bemused, almost amused, but not a little concerned by her steadfast faith in her fantasy. "Good-bye," she said, and moved into the maze.
He would give her five minutes before pursuing her inside, he decided -- more than enough time for her to find her way to the center and have nothing happen, or more likely, to get lost and require his assistance. Once he had drawn the five-year-old Georgiana into the maze with a trail of candy: she ate the trail on the way to the center, and was found nearly an hour later, crying as she dragged her doll along the paths... He had generally been a good brother; that incident was one of the few exceptions. The smile left his face abruptly. Suddenly he heard a very loud and unladylike "Blast!" issued from within the maze, followed by what sounded like someone attacking the hedge. It wouldn't be long now.
She appeared thirty seconds later, as he expected, but the words out of her mouth were a surprise: "The path has grew over during the night."
"I beg your pardon?"
"The path" -- she listed the turns -- "I can only go as far as the fourth right. The way ends there."
"Of course, madam," he said, quickly setting out to show her the correct trail. Obviously she had made a wrong turn somewhere; he would simply guide her to the center, guide her back out, then up to the house and into the carriage to Lambton... left, right, left...
"What do you mean 'of course'?" Elizabeth retorted as she ran after him. "You expect your maze to come to a dead end?"
Left, right, right, right...
"Watch out!"
Right into a faceful of hedge. Mr. Darcy reeled backwards. Where had that come from?
"I told you," she said quietly.
"This shouldn't be here," he muttered. Obviously he had made a wrong turn someplace, an embarrassing but easily corrected mistake. He went back to the beginning and ran it again, this time avoiding the faceful of hedge, but still confronted with the same overgrown wall. It was the same height and thickness as the rest of the bushes -- no, thicker: no rising sunlight showed through its prickly depths. And this was the right path; it had to be.
He swore, then remembered Elizabeth was standing behind him.
"I apologize for that," he said without turning around, still searching the hedge wall for clues to the mysterious growth. No, these roots were firm and old... he heard a sniffle, then a sob, and spun to face his companion.
"I apologize again, madam," he repeated hesitantly.
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with both tears and fury. "My life and my husband are on the other side of these bushes," she ground out, "and you think I'm upset about your language?"
Mr. Darcy stiffened. "Your insistence on -- that story in the face of the evidence is, I must say, a little incredible. This unexplainable growth proves that you could not have come through the maze to Pemberley, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would tell me the real truth. I will help you as much as I can," he finished, not ungently.
"I insist on my story because it is the truth!" Elizabeth cried passionately. "Can't this 'unexplainable growth' prove what I say by showing that something strange, unusual, equally unexplainable is going on? I would greatly appreciate it if you would accept that and deal with it, rather than planning to pack me off in a carriage as soon as we return to the house!"
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. They glared at each other for several moments. "I shall not 'pack you off,' as you put it," he said finally. "And I do admit that something strange is happening. But I do not want to discuss it here in the cold. Come -- the cook will have breakfast."
She brushed by him without a word and stalked ahead to the house.
Part V Posted on Saturday, 18 December 1999
Author's note: The name 'Kenton' is a double homage to Clark Kent of "Lois and Clark" and Emma Thompson in "The Remains of the Day." All other incidental names are drawn from the glorious mystery "Gaudy Night" by Dorothy L. Sayers.
In her frustration, Elizabeth took the same path she always followed back to the house, one that led directly to the - locked -- side door. She knocked twice, not sure if the servants would even admit her without Mr. Darcy's approval, and a moment later her efforts were rewarded, as Mrs. Reynolds pulled open the door. "Yes? May I help you?" But her crisp, polite expression widened into a smile of surprise and pleasure: "Why, Miss Bennet! What brings you back to Pemberley?"
"I beg your pardon?" Elizabeth stammered.
"Oh, dear, you are Miss Elizabeth Bennet, aren't you? And you visited here with your aunt and uncle two summers ago?" Her kindly face contracted with worry and apology. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I do get confused at times, you reminded me--"
"No, no," Elizabeth said, her mind racing as Mrs. Reynolds ushered her inside. "I am -- was -- Elizabeth Bennet. I was only surprised that you recognized me." Which was an understatement if she'd ever spoken one. There was another Elizabeth Bennet? Of course; it made sense, if she had come from her world to this one, and it even followed that the other Elizabeth had visited this other Pemberley with the Gardiners -- the other Gardiners. But obviously this Elizabeth Bennet hadn't encountered Fitzwilliam Darcy... Mrs. Reynolds was speaking.
"I remembered your aunt, my dear. Madeline Colfax, she was, of Lambton?" Elizabeth nodded. "Is she with you today?" Elizabeth shook her head. "You will give her my regards, I hope. And you, Miss Bennet -- or you mustn't be Miss Bennet anymore. You are well? When were you married?"
"One year ago."
"Ah! Your husband is a Derbyshire man?"
"Yes," she could say without lying.
"And you've stopped to see Pemberley in the winter. Well, welcome, ma'am -- though I must say I am surprised you'd take this entrance." She chuckled.
"So am I," Mr. Darcy said from behind them. They had not heard him enter. "You know this woman, Mrs. Reynolds?"
"I do, sir. Her name was Miss Elizabeth Bennet -- I'm sorry," she said to Elizabeth, "I haven't yet asked you your husband's name--" But Elizabeth did not reply. "And she visited here two summers ago, July, with her aunt and uncle."
"She did."
"Yes sir. I took her about the house, and Mr. Padgett about the grounds."
Mr. Darcy's countenance was dark and suspicion growing steadily in his eyes, which were fastened on Elizabeth. "You did not introduce me to Ellen or Mr. Reynolds, did you?" Elizabeth said quickly.
"Why, no, have you met--oh!" The housekeeper looked from one to the other and back to Elizabeth, connecting her at last with the rumored madwoman-in-residence. She answered the question nonetheless. "No ma'am, Ellen didn't come here till that December."
"How long was her visit?"
"Just the afternoon, sir."
"And you have not seen her since?"
"Never, sir."
"Thank you," he said. "Madam?"
"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth replied, and with a small smile for Mrs. Reynolds, she followed him down the hall to the stairs.
Neither spoke as they proceeded into the main hall, down another corridor, past the dining room -- both had forgotten about breakfast -- straight into Mr. Darcy's public study, where he contracted his estate business and received tenants. Books lined the walls, a heavy ledger lay open upon the desk, and uncomfortable chairs with red velvet upholstery awaited occupants as important as themselves. The room's dark and serious atmosphere made it one of Elizabeth's least favorite in the house, and she did not think whatever was about to happen would be likely to alter that opinion.
Darcy wheeled to face her, but his first words were merciful. "Please sit down."
Elizabeth chose the most padded of the uncomfortable chairs and sank into it with a sigh. He paced quickly up and down, also her husband's favorite attitude when thinking, and it granted her time to think as well, to consider the strangeness of her situation. Somewhere there lived another Elizabeth Bennet, her double in age, appearance and personal history -- except this Elizabeth Bennet had never met Fitzwilliam Darcy and undergone all the painful and yet wonderful transformations her association with him had wrought. Elizabeth wondered what she was like, if she was happy, if she had married... who? Surely not Mr. Collins or Mr. Wickham. The thought of him reminded her of Lydia and in turn of Jane, and she spoke abruptly into the silence. "Your friend Charles Bingley. He is married?"
"Yes." He stopped pacing.
"To a woman from Hertfordshire?"
"Jane something, I believe."
"Thank God," she said softly.
He raised an eyebrow. "You are familiar with Bingley as well?"
"Indeed," she said. "I am his sister."
"You are nothing like--"
"By marriage, sir," she assured him. "Jane's maiden name was Bennet, as was mine. She met Mr. Bingley, and I met my husband, not long after the former gentleman took Netherfield Park."
"I have not yet been to Netherfield."
"And hence you have never met Elizabeth Bennet, and now harbor the suspicion that I am in fact she, come to harass you for reasons unexplainable and somehow knowing your maze."
She had read his thoughts -- an easy enough task for a woman who was familiar with how her husband's mind worked; but it discomfited him, she saw, and made his words that much colder. "How else can you explain Mrs. Reynolds' recognizance of the woman you say you are not?"
"I came to the Pemberley in my world in the summer of 1812 with my aunt and uncle. The Elizabeth Bennet in this world apparently did the same."
"And to prove you are not the same person?"
She was prepared for this. "What I know about Pemberley could not have been learnt in four hours two summers ago. I have lived here for one year, sir. I know its people, its customs, its lands and its history -- and its master," she added quietly. "You may ask me what you will."
"Its master," he repeated. "All right. Where did I -- your husband -- meet Charles Bingley?"
"You became friends at Eton."
"Where did we attend university?"
"Cambridge -- you, Charles, and George Wickham."
His eyes narrowed. "What do you know of Mr. Wickham?"
Elizabeth took a deep breath. "He is the son of your father's late steward and was promised a living in Mr. Darcy's will. After leaving Cambridge, he chose not to take orders and accepted three thousand pounds in lieu of the position. Later he requested the living and you quite rightly refused."
"And then?" He had not moved during her recitation.
"Your sister Georgiana was in the care of a Mrs. Younge at Ramsgate in the summer of 1811," she said slowly. "When the establishment was arranged, you were not aware that a prior connection existed between Wickham and the lady. He convinced Georgiana to believe herself in love--"
"That is enough," Mr. Darcy cut her off. He began to pace again. "My sister. How old is she?"
"She will be eighteen on December 30."
"Where does she live?"
"Why, at Pemberley," Elizabeth said. He muttered something. "Mr. Darcy, I believe you would feel better if you were seated."
He sat in another of the uncomfortable chairs. "What were my parents' names?"
"George Darcy and Anne Fitzwilliam."
He started to ask a question, then hesitated; when he did speak, his voice belied the sardonicism of his words. "Where you claim to come from, are they yet living?"
"Your father died in 1807, and your mother four years before that."
"April 1803," he murmured. "How long has my family held these lands?"
"Queen Elizabeth granted them to Philip Darcy in 1589 for distinguished service against the Spanish."
The inquisition continued. They covered the architecture of the house, the arrangement of the gardens, the tenants and their children, the village of Lambton, his house in London, his house by the shore. Several servants were brought in for her identification, and Elizabeth was able to name all the members of Ellen's family, her age and birthday, her favorite food and color -- information the maid insisted she had not shared with the visitor.
"This is impossible," Mr. Darcy said fiercely after Ellen left the room. He sprang up from the chair and began to walk again. "You have nothing to identify you beyond your own testimony, no papers, no jewelry--" She started, glanced down and up again, and opened her mouth to speak. He spun around abruptly. "And you have said nothing of me, to whom you were presumably married. A year of wedded bliss -- you ought to know something that no other woman -- person -- on earth could know." He glared at her. "Have you any answer?"
She looked straight at him and spoke with equal control. "You have a scar two inches long on your inner left thigh."
He stood perfectly still.
"And here." Elizabeth pulled off her wedding ring to reveal the Darcy family motto engraved inside. Liberalis Veneratio Veritas: generosity, honor, truth. She kept her voice steady over the sudden lump of tears in her throat. "Given by Philip Darcy to Mary Osborne in 1584; Nicholas Darcy to Lucy Maysfield in 1609; George Darcy to Anne Fitzwilliam in 1783 ... and Fitzwilliam Darcy to Elizabeth Bennet, December 12, 1812."
He took the ring from her fingers and stared blindly at its words, then dropped it back in her hand and turned away. "This is impossible..." he breathed again. She heard the defeat in his voice, but did not rejoice at it.
"Nothing that happens is impossible," she said gently. "And for whatever reason, this has happened."
Mr. Darcy walked to the window and gazed across the grounds. Neither moved or spoke for some moments. "You will want to stay here, of course," he said. "The maze -- I expect Padgett will resolve the problem shortly. In the meantime, I ask you to return to your chamber and to remain there as much as possible. I will send Ellen to attend you, as I wish to minimize your contact with the staff. A married lady without a husband staying at Pemberley--" He broke off. "Is this acceptable?"
"Yes, Mr. Darcy."
"I am finding this very difficult, madam," he said, looking at her at last. "I have never had a wife before."
"You do not have one now." The words came out more sharply than Elizabeth had intended.
He stiffened. "No, I do not. And is there another name by which I may address you? 'Mrs. Darcy' is -- inappropriate, and 'Miss Bennet' even more so..."
She considered. "Mrs. -- Kenton, please. I had a childhood friend named Julia Kenton, who was always imagining magical places or fantastic situations." She smiled slightly. "The maze would have pleased her very much."
"Very well." He bowed. "Good morning, Mrs. Kenton."
"One question in return for your many," she said as she pushed herself out of the chair. "What will you tell Georgiana?"
"She is in London. You need not concern yourself with her," he answered coldly.
"I see," Elizabeth said, inwardly surprised at his sister's absence this close to the holiday -- but no doubt she was with friends, and would join him soon. "Good morning, Mr. Darcy," she said, and left the study for her room.
Part VI
Exhausted by the night's restlessness and the morning's events, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. When she woke at two, Ellen brought her a late luncheon, cards and a book from the library. Elizabeth played Patience and read, ate dinner and watched the half moon rise over the glistening gardens, slept through the night and woke, read and played Patience, ate luncheon and looked longingly outside... and at last her ennui overcame her obedience to this unfamiliar Mr. Darcy, and she decided to go out for a walk.
It was not hard to choose a destination.
The maze looked perfectly placid and ordinary, and she welcomed the shade of its hedges on the brightly glittering snow. She walked the turns, right and left and left again, the first, second, third ... fourth right. But there had only been three consecutive rights yesterday morning, she was sure of it - yes, Mr. Darcy had walked face-first into the bushes blocking the fourth. And yet here the whole path opened by the fourth right stretched before her, all the way down to the place where the next turn, a left, proved closed.
It puzzled her exceedingly: if the path were man-made, why had the cutter not continued? And if it were magical (for lack of a better word), like the remaining interpolating hedge, why only one path? But either way, she was one step closer to her own home; and as Elizabeth left the maze to return to the house, her smile was as wide and certain as the new opening which prompted it.
After regaining her chamber, she sent Ellen to Mr. Darcy to request an audience. He replied with an invitation to dinner. She left her room at the stroke of eight, just as she had two nights before, and descended to the dining room. Wilkins announced her, her host greeted her, and she sat down in her accustomed place at the table, upon which the first course was already spread.
The man across from her looked tired, she noticed - unwonted slumped shoulders, circles under his eyes. "You asked to see me?" he said, and the voice too was fatigued.
"I have come to report that the maze has opened a path."
"I'm sorry?"
"A right, sir, the last of the four rights. The whole corridor is there, down to the next left."
"But that is impossible," said Darcy, his voice no longer tired. "I spoke with Padgett yesterday, just after our interview, and he swore the maze was completely solid - he had used a ladder to look at it. There were no paths whatsoever, beyond the ones already present. He could not even find the center."
"Could he have cut this new path, then?"
"I asked him to leave it alone for the time being. The circumstances seemed strange enough that I thought he - thought everyone -- should stay as far from the maze as possible." He looked at her sharply. "Speaking of which..."
"Yes, I went outside," said Elizabeth calmly. "After twenty-four hours my room grew tedious, and I chose to violate your instructions by leaving it. I apologize."
"Thank you for the apology."
"But I must say, I see little reason for me to stay there at all. I do not know how you explained my presence to Mrs. Reynolds, but she must have added her information about Elizabeth Bennet's visit to the rest of the interesting rumors circulating about me..." Two servants entered with the second course, and she was quiet until they left. "Including, now, that I am taking dinner with the master. We cannot stop the rumors, Mr. Darcy, but we might best control them with normal behavior."
"'Normal,' madam?" His mouth quirked upward at the absurdity of the idea.
"Yes, 'normal' under our current circumstances is an unfortunate word. Regular, perhaps - as if I were any other guest who had come to Pemberley."
"A 'regular' guest would not remain in her room throughout her stay," he said thoughtfully.
"She could visit the library and the music room and the grounds," Elizabeth supplied.
"But she would not know the staff or her way about the house," he added.
"I will do my best to look ignorant and not frighten the servants," she assured him.
That made him smile again. "All right, we shall act - regularly," he said. They ate in silence for a few minutes. "But returning to the maze, madam. If Padgett is not responsible for this latest development - who?"
"I surmise it is the same strange forces that brought me here in the first place, sir."
"You said that your arrival here was accompanied by a feeling of intense vertigo. Perhaps if that feeling were re-induced, you would be returned to your world."
Elizabeth shook her head. "I thought of that as well, but I have been dizzy before at home without being taken here... I think the maze is the key, somehow. Besides, I have already fainted once; I do not wish to repeat the experience."
"Yes, I wanted to ask, the other morning-" Mr. Darcy spoke almost shyly. "You were coming to tell your husband the child had moved. I presume, then, it is all right?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you for asking." They smiled at each other, a little tremulously, but genuine smiles; and both looked hastily away as a servant came in with dessert.
"Tell me about Bingley and Jane," she said, some time after they had each studiously consumed a piece of warm pie. "When were they married?"
"Two Aprils ago, I believe."
Which was just about right, Elizabeth thought, if Darcy had not interfered in her course of events. "Have they had any children?"
"A boy, named for his father."
She nodded. "And has he purchased an estate?"
"Yes, Kirk Hall in Leicestershire. He now divides his time among Kirk, Netherfield and town, though I do not know how much longer he intends to keep Netherfield."
"You said you had never been there?" said Elizabeth doubtfully. "Not even for Charles's wedding?"
His face tightened. "Business of the most serious kind kept me away from the wedding, madam, and there has never been an opportune time for a visit."
"I see," she said, though she did not, and cast about for a better topic of conversation. "How is Caroline Bingley?"
"Miss Bingley is engaged to be married to Sir Thomas Babbington."
"Really," she said. A grin grew slowly across her face. "Sir Thomas Babbington, of Barclay House."
"The same."
"That is excellent." Sir Thomas Babbington was the only man Elizabeth knew who rivaled William Collins for loquacity, Lady Catherine de Bourgh for snobbery, and Fitzwilliam Darcy for money. She laughed out loud, then seeing his look of confusion, "I'm sorry, sir. Miss Bingley has not yet been affianced in my world, but this match is so perfect that I cannot possibly let her remain single. I shall set to work as soon as I return."
He looked at her, his eyes warm. "You said yesterday that you met your husband not long after Bingley let Netherfield, but you later added that you had lived at Pemberley for one year." She nodded. "You and - Mr. Darcy certainly had a lengthy betrothal."
"You assume, then, that we fell in love quickly?" Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow.
"I cannot imagine what impediment there would have been to the relationship."
She thought about that long, tumultuous year and slowly smiled. "No, you probably could not -- but suffice it to say that Mr. Darcy and I were not engaged until October of 1812."
"I see." He hesitated. "I would be interested, madam, if it would not be too much of an imposition, in hearing the story of your engagement -- especially of the considerable delay between the establishment of your acquaintance and your formal relationship."
"I would be pleased to oblige, sir, but it is a long tale and already a late night. Another time?"
"Tomorrow?"
"Of course. Thank you." She rose. "Good night, Mr. Darcy."
"Good night, Mrs. Kenton."
She stopped at the door. "Oh -- one thing more. Are you celebrating Christmas in Town with Georgiana?" He shook his head. "Here, then?"
"I am celebrating Christmas at Pemberley. Why do you ask?"
She gestured to the hall beyond. "You lack decorations. At home we have holly twined about the banister and pine branches in the corners."
"I shall not require greenery to make my holiday complete." His tone brooked no further argument.
"Still--"
"Good night, madam."
"Good night."
Part VII
As soon as she awoke the next day, Elizabeth rose from the bed and hurried to dress. If the maze had opened one turn the day before, it might have opened one more - or four more - that morning. But when she reached the labyrinth, no new path had appeared, and she returned in disappointment to the house for breakfast.
It was another quiet day, filled with many of the same activities as the day previous; but as the time passed in the library and the north saloon instead of a confined bedroom, Elizabeth found it infinitely more pleasant. When she visited Mrs. Reynolds to request materials for needlework, the housekeeper told her Mr. Darcy had gone to Lambton for a conference with the vicar. She also presented Elizabeth with several gowns of the late Mrs. Darcy's -- at the master's instructions, she said -- from which Elizabeth chose a rich cranberry velvet for immediate alterations. She planned to wear her new dress that evening; it was not every day she was called upon as a storyteller.
"Mrs. Kenton," Mr. Darcy said upon her entrance into the dining room. "You look very well this evening."
"Thank you." She curtseyed. He waved the footman away and pulled out her chair himself.
"I take it there have been no new developments with the maze?"
"None, Mr. Darcy."
"You will inform me immediately if anything else happens."
"Naturally, sir. We cannot have the shrubbery wandering about unchecked." He laughed at this, as Elizabeth intended, and she felt the pull of the familiar: a winter's evening, the gold-and-green banquet room, dinner with Mr. Darcy, smiling, teasing, discussing the events of their respective days...
"I trust your visit with the vicar went smoothly?"
"You are familiar with Mr. Goodacre?"
"Of course. He is a kind and decent man who does much good among the people of Lambton."
"I quite agree. The Reverend reports that Christmas donations for the poor have decreased this year."
"No doubt the result of the low harvest."
He looked surprised. "You follow such things?"
The spell snapped. Elizabeth did not only follow the agricultural reports: she had gone out with Fitzwilliam to look over the crops and organized rations for the tenants who suffered most. Her husband would have known that -- and of course, this man was not her husband. "Pemberley House alone is not my home, Mr. Darcy; its fields and people are also my responsibilities. I would hardly think myself a good mistress if I were not aware of their conditions."
He raised an eyebrow. "You feel strongly about Pemberley, madam."
"I have been happier here than I have been anywhere else," she said softly.
"Yes." They ate in silence. "Have you seen much that is different between your Pemberley and mine?"
She thought for a moment. "I must base the comparison of the house on what it was when I arrived--"
"Have you instituted changes then?" His manner was warm, and Elizabeth answered with enthusiasm. The house, the grounds and the orchards occupied the remainder of their dinner conversation: he discovered her pleasure for the outdoors; she saw anew Mr. Darcy's passion for his estate; and each found that while much was different about their two worlds, the most important things in each were the same.
The clock struck ten; they both started, then laughed. Their dessert plates had not yet been cleared away. "There must have been some point of deviation at which my world became yours," he said.
"I beg your pardon -- at which my world became yours." She grinned at him.
"Perhaps in the telling of your story, the point shall become clear. If you are not too fatigued?"
"Not at all."
"Let us adjourn to the library, then."
The fire leaped merrily in the grate; two armchairs faced each other in a cozy arrangement nearby. He helped her into one of them and settled into the other himself. A servant brought in the tea cart, and Elizabeth naturally poured out, added milk and two lumps of sugar to one cup, and handed it to Mr. Darcy.
He looked amused. "Thank you."
She dropped a spoonful of sugar in her own tea and stirred it thoughtfully. "This may not be an easy story to tell considering our present circumstances, but I shall make the attempt as best I can." She took a sip and smiled. "Once upon a time--"
"You are making this a fairy story?" he said doubtfully.
"Sir, I beg you not to interrupt the storyteller," she replied seriously, then ruined it by laughing. "Yes, I'm making it a fairy tale. Ahem. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess named Elizabeth Bennet, who lived in the equally beautiful kingdom of Hertfordshire at Castle Longbourn. Elizabeth had one elder sister, Jane, and three younger sisters, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia. She also had a father, whose estate was unfortunately entailed, and a mother, whose chief goal in life was to see her five daughters married, and married well.
"You may imagine the mother's delight, then, when a young prince named Charles Bingley came into the neighborhood, bearing a reputation of five thousand a year. And he brought with him a greater prince -- greater by virtue of five thousand a year more -- one Fitzwilliam Darcy, of Derbyshire. But while the manners of our first prince, Mr. Bingley, could only please, the second prince, Mr. Darcy, said little and was liked less. I am afraid our princess especially despised him, for a certain overheard remark about her not being handsome enough to tempt one of such highbred blood."
"Did I really say such a thing?" He looked half-horrified, half vastly entertained.
"The prince did, certainly. But don't worry, he redeems himself later. Now, a certain toad--"
"Please wait a moment. This is in the autumn of 1811?"
"October and November."
"And Mr. Darcy remained in Hertfordshire the entire period?"
"I am sure if he left I would have heard of it."
"Odd." He leaned back in his seat. "Pray, madam, continue."
"I mentioned a toad, didn't I? We are not there yet. While Prince Darcy slighted the Princess Elizabeth, his friend formed a considerably more cordial acquaintance with her sister Jane; and after several evenings in company together, the latter lady was invited to dinner at Netherfield." Elizabeth sketched the events of that interesting week. She managed to refrain from casting Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst as evil stepsisters, but she couldn't resist another introduction.
"And now we come to the toad, a talking one, who goes by the name of the Reverend William Collins." Mr. Darcy looked alarmed. "I see you know the man," she said with a sinking feeling. Had she gone too far?
"I could not help knowing him. He presented himself to me repeatedly upon my last visit to Rosings." He smiled slowly. "Your characterization is not badly drawn."
She breathed a sigh of relief. "This is the story of how he was not transformed into a prince." She described his letter, his arrival, and his disastrous proposal, and coaxed a full-fledged laugh from Mr. Darcy by the end of the recital.
"More tea?"
"Thank you."
As Elizabeth poured, she suddenly remembered an event she had forgotten -- one that would figure largely into her later narrative. She set the teapot down heavily. "I ask your pardon, Mr. Darcy. A good storyteller should not fail to introduce her characters at the appointed time, and I have made a rather serious omission."
"You are forgiven, madam." He was still smiling.
"Soon after the arrival of the toad who was not transformed into a prince, the princess met a prince who would eventually be revealed as a toad." She endeavored to keep her voice light. "His name was George Wickham."
"Mr. Wickham." His countenance, once warm, seemed to be cut from stone; his tone echoed its flat coldness. "In Hertfordshire." She nodded. "When was this again?"
"He arrived in the second week of November 1811, and stayed through the next April, excepting a leave at Christmas."
"November to April. Yes." He rose restlessly and stared into the fire. "Pray go on with your story, Mrs. Kenton."
"My sisters and I met him on a walk through town. He had just joined the regulars--"
"A steady position? I find that difficult to believe."
"--and was soon a favorite among both the men of the regiment and the ladies of Meryton, being all that was familiar, charming and insincere." Mr. Darcy whipped around at 'the ladies of Meryton,' but said nothing, only watched her with burning eyes. Elizabeth found it difficult to continue. "The princess--" Somehow her fairy-tale conceit no longer seemed amusing. "I must number myself among his admirers then, not the less for his frequent complaints -- I believed them then exposures -- of his ill-treatment at the hands of Mr. Darcy."
"I would not have thought you were that kind of woman." His voice was low and furious, and the words stung.
"I did not know--"
"How could you not know?" he flung at her. "Did he have no prior acquaintances who could have enlightened you about his situation? Surely I said something--" He broke off and paced the room. "Really, Mrs. Kenton, a woman of your perception and intelligence, to stoop to such a level--"
"Mr. Darcy!" she cried.
"Wasn't he wearing a ring? Did no one know of his wife? Had he not once mentioned Georgiana?"
Elizabeth's heart stopped. "What did you say?"
He glared at her. "His wife, Georgiana. Was she forgotten as soon as he entered the county?"
"Your sister." Her heart resumed; but it now seemed to pump horror instead of blood, filling her veins, paralyzing her movement. "Georgiana Darcy."
"Yes, my sister. Who else could make Wickham your brother-in-law?" he said acidly.
"My sister." Her voice was soft as she fitted the pieces together. "What will you tell Georgiana?" "You need not concern yourself with her." "What do you know of Mr. Wickham?" "Hasn't he already taken enough from me? How does he wish to torture me this time?"
Darcy did not hear her answer. "You told me the prologue to your story the other day. Georgiana Darcy goes to Ramsgate in the care of a Mrs. Younge and is persuaded to believe herself in love. She marries him, he claims her thirty thousand pounds, gets her with child and disappears." He swung around. "You say to Meryton, where he charmed you and everyone else. How long did it take you to find out? Or did you ever? Surely when you married me I told you everything!"
"Is Georgiana all right?"
The question stopped his tirade. "She is well," he said finally. "She lost the baby that first April... I attended her lying-in instead of Bingley's wedding. She was not meant to be a mother so young. She has since had another who lived, a daughter." His face hardened again. "This is no fairy tale, Mrs. Kenton."
"I believe we have found the point of divergence between our two worlds," Elizabeth said steadily. "August 1811, when your sister was deceived into an elopement, and my husband's sister was narrowly saved from the same fate."
His expression did not change.
"Mr. Darcy went into Kent a day early; he was not expected, and Georgiana revealed her infatuation to him in complete innocence. Mrs. Younge was dismissed, Mr. Wickham left to his own devices -- nothing was exposed out of concern for Miss Darcy. Several months later Wickham came into Hertfordshire and made my acquaintance. He was not then married."
He leaned against a bookshelf. "How came he then to be your brother-in-law?"
"The next August, he eloped with my youngest sister Lydia." He put his hand over his eyes. "He had no intention of marrying her; her name and ours would have been ruined forever -- but for a Mr. Darcy, who paid Wickham's debts, arranged my sister's living, and in general saved our family."
Except for the crackle of the fire, the room was silent. "I was with Bingley in town before I went to Ramsgate; he spoke of taking a house in Hertfordshire, and I enjoyed enumerating the deficiencies of the idea. I stayed two days longer than my appointed visit, in order to continue the discussion." His voice was soft with sadness. "I had him nearly convinced when I left; he later changed his mind... but I could not bear to go into the county, when, if I had only left the argument against it earlier, so much might have been avoided."
"It was not your fault."
"Your Mr. Darcy arrived in time -- your hero rescued the princess. I was late." She could make no reply. "I am glad to know one Georgiana is safe."
The clock struck in the hall, twelve round crystal notes. His face twisted.
"It is midnight, Cinderella. You had better run along."
Elizabeth stood too quickly and staggered. He held out an arm: she clutched it, and suddenly she was leaning against his chest, against him, their faces inches apart, his eyes dark, cold, sad. She pushed away.
"Good night, Mr. Darcy," she gasped, and fled up the stairs to her room.
Part VIII
Left.
Elizabeth stared wearily at the hedge that blocked her way. She was not sure if she had actually turned one more corner or if it was a waking dream, a vicious combination of little sleep, haunting nightmares, and blowing snow... Her face stung with the wind. She returned to the beginning of the maze and walked the route again.
Right. Right. Left. Definitely. One path closer to the other side of the maze.
The measure of Elizabeth's exhaustion may be taken in the fact that she neither ran in her delight nor laughed with her joy. She only laid a hand on the remaining hedge, nodded, and trudged slowly back to the house.
In the front hall, she hesitated for a moment, then turned and knocked firmly on the door to the breakfast room.
"Come in."
She pushed the door open just enough to see the room's occupant. "It has opened another path, Mr. Darcy."
Darcy looked up; the dark circles under his eyes bespoke a similarly sleepless night. "The maze?"
"Yes, a left. You asked to be kept informed..."
"It is good to hear." She nodded and made to shut the door. "Mrs. Kenton," he called. The door paused. "I -- apologize for my misunderstanding of you last night."
Slowly, the space between door and frame widened. "I apologize for forcing you to speak of the matter," she said.
"It is all right. Please," he gestured, "would you join me for breakfast?"
"Thank you." She seated herself at the table. A maid brought in porridge, scones and tea. Neither she nor he spoke, but ate and watched the swirling snow outside.
"Do you see any pattern to the openings?"
Elizabeth startled. She had been thinking about a snowfall in Hertfordshire a year and six days previous, the night before her wedding. "Perhaps. I arrived here on the twelfth; it closed on the thirteenth, opened again on the fourteenth, closed yesterday, opened today."
"A new path every other day," he said.
"I hope so -- I would be home in time for Christmas." She smiled a little bitterly. "A trifling point, if I could get home at all."
"Even if it does not open, you would still have Christmas at Pemberley."
"Places matter less than people," she said simply. "Could you celebrate the holiday without your family?"
He made no reply, but went and stood at the window. Elizabeth realized what she had said. "Forgive me, Mr. Darcy, I spoke without think--"
"I have." His voice was low and tight. "I would."
"You would willingly?" She cursed her ever-running mouth and tried to modulate her astonishment. "To avoid Mr. Wickham, I suppose."
Darcy snorted and turned around. "Of all the indignities I may one day suffer, God spare me a family Christmas with Wickham!" He spoke in a calmer tone. "I have passed two holiday seasons without Georgiana now, and a third is probable. More than probable -- a certainty. I can bear it well, Mrs. Kenton."
"And Georgiana? How does she take it?"
"I do not know. I have not seen her for a year, nor have we corresponded since April."
Elizabeth did not need to put her shock into words, as her face and eyes spoke all she felt. Mr. Darcy sighed. "Apparently it is my turn to tell a story. Will you listen?" She nodded. His familiar pacing began at the same time as his tale.
"I told you, last night, of the circumstances of Georgiana's marriage and of the loss of her first child, but not in any great detail. Now I must begin not long after their elopement. I saw Mrs. Wickham for the first time in a house they had taken just outside London. It was not what she had been accustomed to, but surprisingly within their means, and my sister seemed happy enough. Most of her friends now ignored her, of course, but she still believed in the essential goodness of her husband. Thus I did not confess Wickham's previous dealings with me, but only tried to encourage her felicity, and avoid him, as much as possible. In October she was discovered to be with child. In November the scoundrel left her alone while he went to the baths; that the extreme heat would be bad for the baby was his excuse for her abandonment. But his absence permitted me to be with her more often, and I hired a companion, a gentlewoman named Mrs. Annesley" -- Elizabeth started -- "for those periods I must be here at Pemberley.
"I would have liked to have brought Georgiana here as well, but it was not an easy expectancy. Her morning illness lasted an unusually long time; she was barely allowed to move, and the doctor had to bleed her frequently. Mr. Wickham returned for Christmas, which I then spent with Bingley in town. He spoke much of a young lady in Hertfordshire, a beauty by the name of Jane." Elizabeth allowed a small smile, which he returned. "I cannot recall if he mentioned her sisters."
"In January of 1812 Wickham left again, ostensibly to study the law -- I did not know where. He was, I felt sure, spending ill-gotten Darcy funds, but as long as my sister did not mind his absence, I myself was too satisfied with it to trouble much about its cause.
"In April, Georgiana delivered the baby, a boy, stillborn. Wickham had to have had contacts in town, for he showed up the next night drunk over the birth of his son. He had not heard of the child's death, nor did he immediately inquire after Georgiana. This was only the third time I had seen him since her marriage. I asked how his study of the law went; he said excellently well, that he intended now to work with an acquaintance in London and take the bar some time after Michaelmas. He could not give me the name of the acquaintance, nor a proper accounting of his previous whereabouts. I restrained my temper and left the house."
Darcy paused for a drink of water. Elizabeth sipped cold tea. Neither said anything until he resumed his story.
"Wickham was in residence through early July; I divided my time during that period between town and Pemberley. Georgiana's spirits were in a state of depression that her husband's presence did nothing to alleviate. I could do little more than listen to her concerns and send food, cloth and music -- I feared to send money or jewelry, since I suspected they would not long remain with their intended recipient. I also planned a visit to Pemberley for her in August, by which time I hoped her health and spirits would be sufficiently recovered.
"Then in late July a letter arrived with both welcome and disastrous news. The former was that Wickham had gone to Scotland for fishing; he did not know when he meant to be back, and he did not appear to care. And the latter -- Georgiana was with child again."
Elizabeth closed her eyes. Darcy nodded. "Yes; at the very point I might be able to pull her free of him, she carried a child, to bind them more closely than ever. Her condition was too delicate for the planned journey to Pemberley, but she agreed to remove to my townhouse, in a better district of London. I had read of a doctor whose patients seemed to regain their strength more quickly than usual; I contacted him and put Georgiana in his care. Her improvement was immediate. And lastly, with great satisfaction, I cut off Wickham's access to my sister's funds.
"That brought him quickly from Scotland. He attempted to see Georgiana, but was constantly refused admittance to the house, though we twice required a constable's assistance to force him from the premises. So it was until Christmas, or a little before.
"I was at Pemberley attending to estate duties -- you know the responsibilities associated with a large house during the holidays. Georgiana felt well and was quite mobile, and Winthrop seemed to have the Wickham situation in hand. But one day, she passed the front door at the moment Wickham rang the bell. She answered it before Winthrop could, and then would not but invite her husband in. It was December the twelfth, 1812." He looked at Elizabeth. "That is not a happy anniversary for me, madam."
"You don't have to do this, Mr. Darcy."
"I believe I do." His voice was quiet but firm. "I have never before told this story, and I think you are one of the few people able to appreciate it."
He continued before she could say anything.
"By the end of the visit, Mr. Wickham had again convinced my sister of his love and affection, both for her and for the child, and of his sincere desire to celebrate the coming holiday with her. He had procured a better house in a more fashionable district -- he had no intention of leaving again -- and as proof, he produced a paper from a lawyer in town, actual evidence, contracting his services in the study of the law. Having a naturally trusting heart, she believed him, and by the time I returned two days later, all past offenses on his part had been forgiven.
"I, on the other hand, was furious. I pointed out his lack of correspondence; she said that he had been on a far point away from the post. She met my inquiries into the progress of his study of the law with a copy of the letter: I had never heard of Baring, Lydgate and Devine and was forced to take his highly-unreliable word upon it. I insisted that he had only returned for the money, but she had been manipulated into taking such a statement as an insult. And she was irrefutably, irrevocably his wife. She left the house with him, and I spent Christmas at Pemberley alone.
"Mrs. Annesley transferred with her and became my eye into the household. She told me my sister was well and happy, Wickham an attentive and loving husband. At the end of February she delivered a daughter -- Anne Elizabeth, as it happens. Georgiana sent me the news herself; it was our first direct contact in over two months. I replied with my congratulations, and a cordial relationship was established. I even made ready to go to town and see my niece, provided her father would be away for the day. Then I received another letter from Georgiana."
The words seemed to become harder to form.
"That is, it was signed 'Georgiana' and addressed to 'My dear brother,' and it was written in her hand. But the inelegance of phrasing, the false sincerity, and the constant familiar flattery smacked of dictation by Wickham, as did its contents: a request for ten thousand pounds. He had fallen into a little debt at the gaming tables and would appreciate my cooperation. Furthermore, if I did not provide the wished-for amount, they would have to move, and it would be difficult for me to see my new niece. That was the word. 'Difficult.'"
Elizabeth gripped the arms of her chair. Poor Georgiana...
"I sent the money by post the next day -- the money, and nothing more. A week later I judged it safe to write to her requesting a true account of events; she made no reply. I wrote three times more and never received an answer. Wickham left briefly in June, and I hoped to hear from her then, but to no avail. Mrs. Annesley has kept me informed of their progress; both Georgiana and Anne are well, and, I presume, spending Christmas with their husband and father." His voice was raw with use and pain.
Elizabeth waited while he poured a glass of water and drank it. He then sat down and stared fixedly at the leftover porridge. Minutes ticked by, and he said nothing.
"Is that all, Mr. Darcy?"
"Madam, that is the complete truth."
"You have had no contact with your sister since April?"
"By her choice."
"By her choice..." Elizabeth leaned forward in her chair. "Is it possible the letters did not reach her? That they might, in fact, have been taken from the post by her husband?"
"Mrs. Annesley made no mention of them in her reports; it is possible."
"And did you never try to see Georgiana? Particularly in June, when Mr. Wickham was absent?"
"She chose not to confide in me by letter; why would she wish to see me face-to-face?" A slight edge of pain belied the implacability of his tone.
"She has some pride too, Mr. Darcy. She made a mistake, twice--"
"She did not respond to my letters."
"Thrice rejected, you would not lower yourself to write again."
"Why should I, knowing her reaction?"
"Reactions change, people forgive..." Elizabeth stopped and looked at him. "Or can you not forgive yourself for not guarding her again? Or not forgive your sister, for being twice deceived? Is that why you have made no attempt to see her?"
"I have forgiven everyone involved," he said tightly, "except him, whom I have threatened to kill if I see again. He has alienated my friends, taken my money and sister -- he has hurt me in every way possible."
"Then think how much more he must hurt Georgiana!" cried Elizabeth. "This is not about you: this is about her, whom you profess to love. Love forgives ignorance and overcomes shame -- when you made your first proposal to me--" She stopped and began again. "When Mr. Darcy made his first proposal to me, he listed all the objections his love had had to overwhelm -- my family, my lack of fortune, my few connections. He thought it incredibly romantic that his passion for me was that great; I found it insulting, and refused him, though not only on the grounds of his ungentlemanlike behavior... Though his demonstration was incorrect, his motive was right: love, true love, moves beyond considerations of money, society, pride. And if you cannot look past Wickham to see Georgiana, I question how much you love your sister at all."
He was so pale that Elizabeth feared he was ill. But his voice, when he spoke, shook with anger and control. "That is enough, madam."
"I agree -- I cannot take any more of this. Good day, Mr. Darcy." She rose and walked to the door; there she paused and turned around again.
"Christmas," she said, "is a time for families. I can only hope I will be with mine this season. I pray to God you can get past yourself and be with yours."
The door slammed behind her as she ran, shaking, for the stairs.
The room was dark when Elizabeth awoke hours later, ravenously hungry, her face tight with dried tears. She washed it and pushed back her hair; she did not wish to join Mr. Darcy for dinner, but she must find Ellen if she wanted food at all.
The maid sat in a chair outside her door, dozing lightly. Elizabeth touched her arm, and Ellen woke with a start. "Oh, ma'am, I'm sorry, I just closed my eyes-"
"It's all right, Ellen. Why are you sitting here?"
She blushed. "Mr. Darcy asked me to tell you that he does not wish to be disturbed, ma'am--"
"I have no wish to disturb him."
"--And so he would appreciate it if you would keep to your room. I'm to get you anything you need."
"He confines me again?" Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow.
"Perhaps, ma'am - I don't know exactly -- but he's thinking, he said."
"He's thinking," she echoed. "Did he tell you to tell me that?"
"Yes ma'am."
"Well. Please let him be thinking rightly," Elizabeth murmured. To Ellen she said: "Then I will abide by his wishes. Now, could you please bring me some dinner?"
"Yes ma'am." The maid hurried down the hall. Elizabeth watched her go, then withdrew into her chamber.
She missed her walk in the maze both that night and the following morning, and brooded a long while on the same subjects as Mr. Darcy. She had perhaps been too harsh; the Darcy pride was well-established, though Elizabeth had found that it more often worked within the family than without. When her husband had failed to obtain an invitation for his sister to a much-anticipated ball in Town, he did not admit it until she asked him directly; and when Georgiana accidentally fell into the lake (an oddly common mishap at Pemberley) while rowing one afternoon, she chose to tell her brother that a servant had emptied some bath water upon her head from an upper window. They laughed about the situation now, but it was difficult for any Darcy to acknowledge a misjudgment... Georgiana needed to do so more than her brother, if, indeed, she had gotten his letters -- but there was no excuse for his not visiting, to ensure that they were properly received. Elizabeth sighed and gave up.
It was the seventeenth, a Sunday: she spent the morning with a Bible and a book of Donne's sermons and the afternoon with her needlework and in a brief, comfortless sleep. When she woke, the darkness signified her dinnertime; she lit the lamp and prepared to find Ellen. But upon reaching the door, she noticed a slip of paper shoved roughly through the crack. She picked it up and opened it.
On it was scrawled in a rough hand she knew well:
I have sent for Georgiana. F.D.
Elizabeth sagged against the door. "Oh, thank God," she whispered. "Thank God."