Chapter 21
Elizabeth had not put much thought into her evening gown since arriving at Pemberley.
Darcy’s disappearance had started an informal routine that they did not break when he reappeared.
When his wife tentatively asked if she should dress for dinner he told her to do as she wished; it was her home, and he wanted her to feel comfortable.
Elizabeth compromised by wearing her nicer dresses from home.
After all, there was nobody she wanted to impress.
But now, she thought, there was.
She thought of the clothes that Darcy had insisted she order during their honeymoon. She had thought them far too expensive at the time, not knowing how very grand Pemberley was. Still, she could not imagine wearing them outside of a ball or an elegant gathering.
The dressmakers had advised her as to current fashions and made it clear that money was no object.
Mr. Darcy had been most insistent, and the dressmakers were keen to make his wide-eyed wife spend as much of it as possible.
An endless assortment of silks, velvets, glass beads and golden thread were paraded before her.
The dressmakers thought that the young lady would impulsively spend a fortune.
Instead, to their chagrin, she chose elegant fabrics with no ostentatious trimmings.
The clothes would still be exquisite, they assured her, but…
Elizabeth knew that she had irritated the dressmakers, but she was just as irked by them. She knew they saw her as an easy mark.
Darcy had raised an eyebrow when he was told of the expense.
Elizabeth, who still barely knew him at the time, apologised for spending too much.
He gently explained that most women would have spent twice as much.
He was thinking of Caroline Bingley, of course, whose accounts had made her brother wince.
Lizzie agreed, for she thought of Lydia.
Her little sister would have bought everything she was offered and then go to the next shop and ask for more.
The dresses were not finished before they came home but were sent to Pemberley after they arrived. Elizabeth had not even considered wearing one until now. She could barely remember what they looked like, so she gasped aloud when she unpacked one marvel after another.
In the end she decided on a pastel yellow dress made from simple muslin.
There were a few flowers embroidered onto the neckline, picked out in such delicate pinks and greens that the whole dress gave off the impression of a sweet spring morning.
Her hair was left in simple curls, but she wove in a comb which Jane had given her as a birthday gift a few years before.
It peeked out shyly from her dark hair, shining without shouting.
Finally, she threaded the necklace Darcy had given her around her neck.
It did not match the rest of the outfit, but the dark green stone seemed to glow against her pale skin.
Looking in the mirror, Elizabeth felt more confident than she had for weeks. Never mind her strange husband, never mind the judgemental servants. Tonight, she truly was the mistress of Pemberley.
Darcy’s eyebrows shot up when she came down for dinner an hour later. He was silent until he pulled out her chair. Then he whispered into her ear, “You truly look like an angel tonight.”
She blushed, pleased and anxious, and trembled when he leaned even closer. His breath was warm against her skin.
“But this morning, dearest, you looked like my Elizabeth.”
“Which do you prefer?” she murmured back.
Darcy smiled and ran one finger gently down her neck. “Whichever one makes you happy.”
After that it was a struggle to eat her food. Elizabeth felt clumsy in her own skin. Every time she looked at her husband he gave her the most heated look, which made her tremble all the way to her toes.
Darcy’s mood suddenly changed when they got to dessert.
Watching Elizabeth carefully, he said: “I have agreed to visit my neighbour’s estate.
Our lands border each other, and there are issues with drainage which we need to resolve before the spring.
The snow has proven too much for our farms, and it has become rather urgent. ”
His meaning slowly came to her, and she stared at him, “Do you mean you’re going away?”
Darcy nodded. “Only for a few weeks, I hope. There is much to do. I am leaving before sunrise.”
Elizabeth nodded, looking at her feet in the pretty shoes she had never worn before. “I understand.”
“When I come back, we…” he reached out an took her hand, an awkward apologetic fumble. “We should talk, I think.”
“You have shocking timing.” she whispered, “I was hoping we could talk tonight.”
His hand tightened on hers for a moment, and then he took a deep breath and let go. “When I come back, I promise.”
***
The next morning felt painfully cold. Elizabeth lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. She was too well-brought-up to think of herself as sulking, but that was exactly what she was doing. It was tempting to spend the whole day in her warm room, but then a thought occurred to her.
Georgiana.
With Darcy gone, she could sneak into the music room unnoticed!
Elizabeth leapt to her feet and began dressing at once.
For the first time she was glad of the servants’ disdain for her. Nobody cared where she was or would be looking to her for orders. She could disappear all day, and there was not a single person in Pemberley who would notice.
Disappearing was exactly what she intended to do.
The music room had been shrouded in so much secrecy that she half expected the door to be locked. It was not, but it creaked loudly when she pushed it open. Wincing, Lizzie hurried into the room and shut the door.
It was dark and silent. Was it empty? Elizabeth waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim red light. She knew better than to open the curtains. Someone might see, and then she would be discovered before she had even begun.
The shadows eased up a little. Rubbing her eyes, Elizabeth started to explore Miss Darcy’s ‘awful room’.
Most of the side by the door was filled with musical instruments, as one might expect from a music room.
They were dusty and gave off a scent of unwaxed wood and old paper.
Elizabeth squeezed between a fine pianoforte and an upright harp, running her hands along the sheet music which littered the piano lid.
It had been dumped there with no thought to the beautiful paintings beneath.
Why was this corner so dirty? It looked as if somebody wanted everything in it to rot away. The rest of the room was clean and tidy, but the instruments looked dreadful. It was obviously intentional.
Elizabeth knew that her husband came into this room every day to visit his sister.
Clearly, he was content to have half of it looking like a storeroom.
He called it an awful room, but she did not think that he meant the dust. His aversion was much more profound.
He could have sent for servants to clean it, but he had not.
Squinting, Elizabeth could make out a series of delicate paintings, bordered by vines and columns in a Greek style.
They all depicted a graceful young lady surrounded by beauty.
In the images where the daytime sky shone with colour, she was laughing and singing.
When the sky turned into night, she drank wine and danced with equally handsome partners.
It should have been a beautiful tableaux, but it had been spoiled. All of the girl’s faces had been scratched, turning her sweet features into a featureless mask. Elizabeth felt a chill run down her spine. This was no accident; the deep cuts into the wood were all very deliberate.
There was a dim fire in the hearth on the far side of the room.
Lizzie headed to it at once, telling herself that she was chilled by the cold room and not by a few trivial paintings.
There were barely more than a few embers glowing there, struggling to stay alight with nothing left to sustain them.
Elizabeth threw a log onto the pitiful flame, then reached for another to find out the scuttle was empty.
She drew her hand back slowly, frowning.
She had never seen an empty scuttle in this house before.
Even the ones in the servants’ halls were well stocked.
Mrs. Reynolds firmly believed that a cold servant was likely to get sick, and then they would be useless.
(For the same reason, the Pemberley staff were well fed.
They should have been the happiest servants in the county, but they all had a scowl to spare for their mistress).
Why was this scuttle empty? Surely the master’s sister should be treated better than her servants?
Perhaps the room was empty, and Elizabeth was getting indignant for no reason. Breathing steadily, forcing herself not to leap into action, the woman stood up and looked around. There was only one part of the room she had not explored: the bay alcove beside the huge windows.
There was a single chair there. Its back was facing her, and she could not make out an occupant.
As Lizzie cautiously ventured closer, the sickly blue light that oozed between a crack in the curtains illuminated the edges of a slight silhouette.
Black and featureless, it faced the window with unbroken fixation.
“Miss Darcy?” Elizabeth whispered shakily, “Are you asleep?”
There was no answer. The silhouette did not move or even react to Lizzie’s voice.
Fearing that something awful had happened, Elizabeth hurried to her side, tripped and caught herself on the back of the chair.
She could not make her hand reach around to touch the shadow.
She could see just enough to be terrified: Georgiana sat in the chair like a rag doll, still and silent.
The log on the fire finally caught. It sent a sudden flare of bright orange light into the room.
For a split second it illuminated Georgiana’s face.
Elizabeth cried out in shock and stumbled back, desperate to get away and finally knocking into the harp.
It let out a low, dull boom which took an age to end.
Long enough for Elizabeth to venture forwards once more.
Georgiana was as still as death, but her eyes had been open. Open, but empty. Even when the fire settled and the room brightened, she did not focus on anything. She was frightfully gaunt and her hands looked like claws. All of that was terrible enough, but her face…
Elizabeth had to look away. She caught sight of the pianoforte and felt her breath hitch sickeningly in her throat. Beautiful paintings defaced by vicious scratches were to her left. To her right, their mirror image stared unseeingly out of a blinded window.
She wants to die. Mr. Darcy had said, but he was wrong. This went far beyond death. This was the urge to be erased, one piece at a time, one desperate wound after another, until Georgiana Darcy could disappear forever.
Elizabeth could taste the pain in the air. The girl before her was as still as death but locked inside of that shell she was screaming.
“Miss Darcy?” Elizabeth murmured, kneeling down beside the chair.
She caught Georgiana’s unresisting hand and pressed it to her cheek.
The fingers were icy against her warm skin, but she did not give in to her shiver.
The silent girl breathed in a little harder at the touch, but every other part of her remained frozen in place. Elizabeth kissed her hand.
“Miss Darcy, I am your sister. My name is Elizabeth. I am here to help you.” she felt no response from the limp fingers but squeezed them tighter. “I am here to love you, Georgiana.”