CHAPTER 56 #3
“I think Georgiana has been governed, frightened, watched, persuaded, and instructed. Kitty may sit beside her and draw a bad horse. That may be the better medicine.”
Mrs. Doddridge made no comment, but her expression suggested that Miss Kitty’s horses had been discussed before.
“An improving horse, then,” Elizabeth said. “I do not object to progress when it behaves modestly.”
Fitzwilliam turned from the window to Elizabeth. “And you would send for her tomorrow?”
“I would send Mrs. Doddridge and James to Longbourn in the morning, with a letter to my mother. I will not send only a servant to ask for one of her daughters.”
“It is a long errand for Mrs. Doddridge,” he said.
“I am quite equal to it, sir,” said Mrs. Doddridge.
“And very much to be trusted with Mama,” said Elizabeth.
Mrs. Doddridge inclined her head. “I shall say as little as possible.”
Fitzwilliam’s expression softened, though his eyes were still tired. “Will Mrs. Bennet spare her?”
“She will be offended by the urgency, flattered by the importance, anxious over the secrecy, and uncertain whether to refuse me. I must therefore write before she has time to arrange all four feelings into opposition.”
She returned to the writing table.
This letter required a different species of care. Mr. Darcy Senior had to be warned. Mrs. Bennet had to be soothed into usefulness without being furnished with enough detail to alarm all Hertfordshire before breakfast. Elizabeth considered, rejected three openings, and began again.
The letter ran thus:
My dear Mama,
I find myself in sudden and urgent need of Kitty’s company at Portman Square, and write to ask whether she may be spared to me for several days. I had meant to invite her soon in any case, but circumstances have made the visit desirable sooner than I expected.
Pray do not be uneasy. The matter is not dangerous to Kitty, nor improper for her; but her presence would be of particular service in giving comfort and company to a young lady now under my care.
Mrs. Doddridge and James shall attend her from Longbourn, and she will be received here with every care and comfort.
I would not make the request if it were not of consequence, and I shall be much obliged by your allowing her to come.
Your affectionate daughter,
Elizabeth Darcy
She read it once, then gave it to Fitzwilliam.
He read it more slowly than the length required.
“You have said very little,” he observed.
“I have said everything necessary.”
“You have told her not to be uneasy.”
“Yes. It will not succeed, but it is good manners to attempt the impossible when writing to one’s mother.”
“And ‘a young lady now under my care’?”
“True, dignified, and sufficiently vague.”
He returned the letter. “It is very well done.”
Elizabeth sealed it before she could improve it into uselessness.
Only then did she ring for Mrs. Albright again.
Mrs. Albright returned almost at once.
“Mrs. Albright,” Elizabeth said, “James is to be prepared for a journey tomorrow morning. The carriage should be ready early. Mrs. Doddridge will go with him to Longbourn.”
“Yes, madam.”
“They are to bring back Miss Kitty Bennet, if my mother can spare her.”
“Very good, madam.”
“And if anything is needed for a young lady’s stay here — linen, gloves, ribbons, stockings, drawing paper, anything of that sort — it may be bought tomorrow under Miss Kitty’s name. There is nothing remarkable in preparing for my sister’s visit.”
Mrs. Albright understood at once.
“Very good, madam.”
“No purchases are to suggest Miss Darcy’s presence.”
“No, madam.”
When Mrs. Albright had gone, Mrs. Doddridge took the packet Elizabeth offered her.
“We leave early, madam?”
“As early as may be managed without inconvenience to you.”
“There will be none.”
“And if Mama asks a hundred questions?”
“I shall answer only what is necessary.”
“Excellent.”
Mrs. Doddridge rose. “Then I shall see that James has his instructions.”
When Mrs. Doddridge had gone, Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam remained by the writing table.
The candlelight stood over the sealed packets: one for the north, one for the regiment, one for Uncle Edward, one for Longbourn in the morning.
Four small arrangements of paper and wax, set against Wickham, Mrs. Younge, delay, alarm, and the whole old machinery which had made Georgiana believe that coming through the rain was her safest course.
Below stairs, a door opened and closed. Men’s voices sounded briefly. Mrs. Albright’s voice followed, lower and more decisive. The house was sending one of its own into the night.
Fitzwilliam’s hand rested on the back of a chair. It was closed too tightly.
Elizabeth went to him and put her hand over his.
For a moment he did not speak. Then his hand turned under hers and held it.
“She came here,” he said.
“Yes.”
“To you.”
Elizabeth looked toward the ceiling, where Georgiana had been settled into the blue room with a fire, dry linen, and Mrs. Doddridge’s steady company.
“Then tomorrow,” she said, “we shall give her reasons to be glad she did.”
He bowed his head over her hand.
Outside, the rain continued; within, Portman Square kept its doors shut.