Chapter Twenty Six
A few days after his uncle and the rest of the family left Pemberley, Darcy sat with Elizabeth in the drawing room in the evening. He was reading from a novel to the family, while Emily sat half on him, and half on Elizabeth, and George sprawled on the floor, stacking blocks into a very high tower.
Darcy always had a special warm glow when he sat next to Elizabeth. Somehow, day by day and week by week, he was falling more deeply in love with her.
He wished to touch and hold her constantly. There were so many little facets to her character that he was discovering, and he could talk to her forever.
After he finished the chapter, and the children were taken up to the nursery by Sally, Georgiana said, before they retired to bed, “Can I—might I speak with you both for a little?”
“Of course,” Darcy said with a warm smile. He and Elizabeth returned to the sofa.
When Georgiana did not immediately begin, Elizabeth gave her an encouraging smile, and said, “I am sure it is a very good idea.”
“Well, I do not know…you remember that I spoke about how I wish to do something useful. I have been thinking about this, about what I am good at.”
“You are skilled at a great many things,” Elizabeth said to her.
Georgiana flushed. “Yes, well, but you know, the accomplishments that they teach us, they are really mostly, I think, about preparation for marriage—music, and drawings, and painting screens, and knowing languages, I do not say they are useless, but I did not know—my playing is very good, but I could not imagine performing in any public place.”
“No, Jove.” Darcy cringed at the thought. He could imagine it. And he could imagine what everyone would say. “My sister in front of a crowd, in such a situation? No.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Darcy pride. I would think it a very admirable thing if you gave public concerts. And it would not be half so scandalous as the child or the duel. But you would not enjoy it, I think.”
“It would be half as scandalous,” Darcy replied. Then he began to feel rather foolish. “It is easy to forget, when new matters are brought forward, that I have determined to care nothing for appearances.”
Georgiana giggled. “I would be too terrified. It would not be pleasant. I only wish to play for those whom I love and know.”
“Well then,” Darcy said, “What is the thought that you had for being useful, since I guess you have some idea.”
“I, well—I do not deserve to be so fortunate. Even when I thought that I ought to be sent into exile, or made to marry an old widower, it was...not so bad.”
“Not so bad?” Darcy said with surprise. While he did not wish to have Georgiana constantly cringe in gratitude, he hoped that she was aware that they were undertaking difficulties for her because it would in fact be quite bad for her if any of those solutions were used instead.
“If this is about how uncomfortable you often are in company, I think that shall become better eventually.”
Elizabeth grinned at Darcy. “My dear, I do not think Georgiana at all was thinking about the benefits of living in an isolated house in the Scottish Highlands, with only a few hermits living in caves and the wolves around for twenty miles.”
“No, no,” Georgiana giggled. “I meant, I only mean that those whose families wholly cut them off, or who are poor suffer far more.”
“Not even if the winds shriek over the moors, there is a blizzard that never ends, not even in July, and there is an old caretaker whose hand had all the flesh scalded from the bones in a mysterious accident and who only speaks in inarticulate grunts? And we must not forget what is hidden behind the curtain.”
After laughing, Georgiana said, “At least I would not need to worry about food.”
“Which is superior to the situation of most ‘unfortunate mothers’.” Elizabeth agreed.
Darcy took Elizabeth’s hand and gripped it. He knew that while she had never been close to starvation, she had often worried about the material requirements, clothes and shelter and food, for her children. He was so happy that he had saved her from that situation.
“As an heiress I will never need to worry about such things,” Georgiana said. “I’ve realized how fortunate I am while I talked with Mrs. Reynolds about what I might do.”
“Ah,” Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “I had noticed that you have occupied much of her time of late.”
“Mrs. Reynolds said that I was not keeping her from any important duties!” Georgiana exclaimed.
Elizabeth smiled at Georgiana, “And you were not. But what is your idea?”
“Mrs. Reynolds told me about the Foundling’s Hospital in London; it is a place that takes young babies in, so that their mothers can go back into service.
Even though it is very sad, and very terrible for the mothers that they must send their children away, it is often the best for the children.
The mother cannot feed themselves or the children without working, and they cannot work while having the children with them. ”
“I know about it,” Darcy said. “We have been subscribed to it at the rate of twenty pounds a year since it was founded. Grandfather’s name was signed on the royal charter establishing it.”
“Oh. I did not know that,” Georgiana replied, a little deflated. “But why then do they not have enough money? Mrs. Reynolds said that far more women apply to have their children taken into the hospital than there are places for children.”
“There are a great many children in England who are born in such circumstances,” Darcy said. “I believe it received a great deal of support from parliament at one time, but that support was removed because of its cost. And the foundling hospital is open to women from anywhere in the country.”
“Yes, yes,” Georgiana said, “but what happens to those children who cannot find a place? I am sure some of them die from hunger. But I thought, perhaps if an institution like it was established in Derbyshire, so that women who live in the county can visit their children more easily. It would still be very sad, but not so sad. And I know that my fortune would not be enough to fund a large institution, and—”
“And I would not allow you to dedicate all of it to such a cause,” Darcy said with a smile, “No matter how meritorious it is.”
“But a small one could be established. And...and...it would be wrong for my life to be easy, simply because I am rich, and I have a brother and sister who love me, while I did nothing to help others. Not all of my fortune, but I must, I must do something with some portion of it. We can make things better, is that not worthwhile? Even if we cannot fix the whole of the problem, even if I can do very little, I can do something to help. Do you not recall the parable of the talents?”
“That one must do what one can with the gifts that one is given?” Darcy smiled at his sister. “I am very proud of you for this notion—Elizabeth, what do you think?”
“It is a good idea,” Elizabeth said. “Though I believe you would only be allowed to alienate substantial portions of your income after you are of age. If one is to set something of this sort up, you must do so in a way that there will be sufficient funds guaranteed for any children who are taken on.”
“Oh, yes, of course,” Georgiana agreed.
His sister still had that girlish face, but she already seemed notably older and more serious than she had when he had first come to Ramsgate. And she looked happy.
Darcy offered, “I will gift land for the construction of a building—done simply and cheaply. Even if most of the mothers who we help are from outside of the parish, it is more healthful for children to grow up further away from the city. I would not establish it in Derby.”
“You mean it!” Georgiana exclaimed. “You do really think this is an idea worth doing?”
“Elizabeth did once tell me to fund an orphanage or a grammar school, and while not precisely either, this would have the virtues of both.”
“You did, as I recall, actually fund such organizations,” Elizabeth said laughing.
“I always listen to my wife.”
“If this is to be an institution educating children as they grow,” Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled as she spoke, “I imagine there will be a requirement for books to be purchased for it.”
“I see what you mean,” Darcy said drily.
“Well, of course,” Georgiana said. “I imagine—oh, you mean it would be an appropriate use of your book money.”
Elizabeth laughed. “And for the purchase of other sundry necessities, I believe that is the terms in the settlement.”
The three of them smiled at each other.
Though it was already an hour past dark, to their surprise, they then heard a carriage coming up the drive.
Darcy felt rather concerned as he stepped to the drawing room window to look out. A carriage was pulling up to the great entryway of the manor house, with four lamps hanging from about the windows.
“I do hope,” he said, “that there is nothing amiss with anyone.”
“Even if someone is dead,” Elizabeth said, “what could anyone mean by coming in a coach and four and arriving two hours after dark?”
“Oh, it’s your papa!” Georgiana exclaimed as the gentleman stepped out of the carriage and waved jauntily at the lit windows of the drawing room.
The older man grinned at them, and that did a great deal to relieve the anxiety Darcy felt.
He still hurried down with his wife out to the grand entrance hall to the estate.
Mr. Bennet already stood inside, being helped out of his coat by the butler.
“Good God, Papa, what are you doing here?” Elizabeth exclaimed as she embraced him and stepped back.
The reply was a wide grin as Mr. Bennet offered a handshake to Darcy and to Georgiana. “I imagine the young ones are long asleep by now? No trouble, no trouble. They’ll be happy enough to see me in the morning when they wake.”
“No, seriously, Papa, what are you doing here? And at nine at night when it is nearly winter.”
He grinned widely, “Do you not recall that I said I would visit often, and when you least expect it?”
Darcy laughed.