Chapter 58
They parted ways from Mary beside the library, where she announced her plan to search for copies of her favourite poetry books to read to Miss Darcy.
There was a relaxed, hopeful expression on her face that made Elizabeth’s heart warm.
There was an ache there, too, which she could not quite quash.
This colourful streak in her sister’s soul had been completely hidden in Meryton.
Surely, the Mary she grew up with had been just as kind and helpful, and just as eager to please.
She had considered all of their concerns with secret care, and formed perfect solutions with a dour look, expecting them to ignore her.
How often had Mary’s thoughts been dismissed in the past? How much had her family overlooked?
Elizabeth was thinking guiltily about this as she, Darcy and Fitzwilliam climbed the stairs to the family wing.
They heard raised voices before they reached Georgiana’s room and discovered Mrs. Reynolds in the corridor.
The woman, usually so correct, ignored her master and mistress entirely.
Her entire attention was on a middle-aged maid who stood, arms hanging limply, by the door.
Mrs. Reynold’s face looked hot and dry with anger; the maid’s shone with tears.
“I know something happened!” Mrs. Reynolds was demanding in a shrill voice, “I am not accusing you of doing anything, Emily! I am only saying that if you know something, you must tell me at once.”
“What is going on here?” Darcy demanded, eyes darting at once to the closed bedroom door.
Mrs. Reynolds looked hopelessly up at him, “I do not know, sir. Miss Darcy has been in ill spirits all morning, and then when Miss Bennet came to sit with her, she…”
“What? What happened?” Elizabeth asked with rising horror. She had never seen Mrs. Reynolds look so agitated before.
“She spoke, madam.”
“Spoke!”
The housekeeper winced, then eyed the weeping maid.
“After a fashion, ma’am. The second she saw your sister, Miss Darcy started to cry.
She clings to her still. I do not think we could pry her loose if we tried!
She started making sounds, ma’am. Such sounds!
They chilled my blood. Miss Bennet sent me to call the doctor - he is on his way as we speak - and now I must discover the cause. ”
“Oh! I must go to her.” Elizabeth gulped and hurried into the bedroom.
“You did not think to send for me?” Darcy turned on Mrs. Reynolds and spoke in a low, rough voice. The housekeeper was unfazed.
“No, sir. There has not been time, and since you were expected within the half hour, I did not think it would make much difference. I know you prefer answers to the unknown, and so had a mind to find out as much as I could before you arrived.”
Darcy turned his fiercest look on the trembling maid. Beside him, silent and pale, Fitzwilliam gave her an equally demanding look. She shivered so violently that they could see her skirt fluttering.
“I don’t know!” she cried, “I wasn’t even here last night, sir!
Marta put Miss Darcy to bed as always, and then I woke her up this morning.
She didn’t smile at me, sir, but sometimes she doesn’t.
When she sleeps badly, or when she has bad dreams, or when she can’t stop coughing…
oh.” her lip wobbled miserably, and Mrs. Reynolds rested a soothing hand on her shoulder.
“Breathe, Emily. We know that you care for her. Your service has been faultless.”
The woman drew herself up and spoke more confidently, “I didn’t know she was so badly took until Miss Bennet arrived. Then she… it was like she crumbled, sir.”
Darcy frowned at Mrs. Reynolds. “Marta, did she say? I thought that Marta was trustworthy.”
“She is, sir. I would trust her with my own life. Emily is just as steadfast. I have no doubt that whatever happened has nothing to do with them, I only hoped that one of them might have some clue as to…” she shook her head hopelessly.
“Thank you, Emily. Go and get a cup of tea and take the morning off to collect yourself. I apologise for being so harsh.”
Emily smiled shakily, bobbed a curtsey, and ran away so fast they could hear her shoes slapping against the floor.
“Does nobody stay with my sister overnight?” Darcy asked.
“No, sir. We look in every hour to check on her, but Miss Darcy has never needed our help. She always sleeps like a lamb. Poor dear. Her only escape must be in her dreams.”
“I doubt that this was a simple nightmare.” Darcy looked at Fitzwilliam, his brow furrowed, “I hope, cousin, that you shall not ascribe this to further neglect on my part. Nor that of my staff.”
“Do not apologise.” Fitzwilliam replied quietly, “I can see no flaws in your arrangements, Mrs. Reynolds. Even invalids deserve some privacy. You have treated my cousin as a person, not as an illness alone.”
“Yes, well…” the housekeeper huffed, “This waffling does not help us, sirs. It seems that something happened last night, after Miss Darcy and her maids were all abed.”
“You said that Georgiana spoke. Can she tell us what happened herself?” Fitzwilliam ventured.
Darcy and Mrs. Reynolds shook their heads in unison.
The look that Darcy had in his eyes, when he finally met his cousin’s, said more than the most articulate doctor in England could have managed.
There was such pain in it that Fitzwilliam had to tear his eyes away.
His throat worked, struggling to apologise for asking such a stupid question, and then Darcy turned away and pushed the door open.
Shaking his head to clear it, Fitzwilliam followed.
He froze.
The scene inside was like something from a Renaissance painting.
The three ladies were lying together on the bed.
Georgiana was wrapped up in a yellow blanket, lying on her side with her head nestled against Jane’s shoulder.
On her other side, Elizabeth had wrapped her arms around Georgiana’s waist and was holding her tightly.
Georgiana was white-faced and shaking, her eyes squeezed tightly shut and her hands clenched like claws.
The only motion was the rise and fall of the ladies’ chests in uncanny and comforting rhythm, and Jane’s hand gently stroking Georgiana’s hair.
All three of them were weeping.
That is love. Fitzwilliam thought, staring in silent wonder, True, unselfish love.
“Georgiana,” Jane murmured, “Your cousin is here, dearest. Would you like to see him?”
Georgiana opened her eyes with difficulty, as if the lashes were made of lead. With excruciating slowness, she looked up and met Fitzwilliam’s eyes.
“Rihh…” she croaked and then shuddered. Jane inhaled sharply and held her close.
“No, do not tax yourself, my darling. We are here. We love you so much.”
The younger woman made a harsh noise, a rattling sob, and then buried her head back into Jane’s shoulder. Without conscious thought, Miss Bennet kissed Georgiana’s forehead and rocked her like a child.
“You are safe, my love. Whatever happened shall not happen again.”
The absolute certainty in her voice was more than Darcy could bear. How could he prevent something which he did not understand? Still, he was just as determined as Jane to keep his sister safe.
“We will have a maid sit with you through the night, from now on.” he promised, “Something happened last night when you were alone, did it not?”
“Yuhh…” Georgiana tried again, let out a throat-tearing cough, and finally managed a weak, jolting nod.
Darcy’s jaw clenched. He hurried over to the bed, gripped his sister’s hand tightly, and then strode away.
The guise was to leave to direct the servants.
Elizabeth alone saw the pain that her husband was fighting to disguise.
“Georgiana, would you like to get up?” she asked softly.
After a long pause, the younger girl gave a tiny nod. Elizabeth smiled and sat up. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, will you excuse us? You can come back in half an hour. My sister has not yet eaten her breakfast and will need time to rise from bed.”
“Should I send for a maid? Or perhaps another one of your sisters to help?”
Georgiana let out a sudden, keening wail. All three visitors flinched. Jane even gave a small gasp, so unexpected and grotesque was the sound. She and Elizabeth exchanged horrified looks and then drew the sobbing girl back into their arms.
“I… I shall go.” Fitzwilliam croaked. “Georgie… Georgie, sweet, I won’t be long. I will… I won’t bring anyone, I promise. I…”
Jane nodded hastily at him and then pressed her forehead to Georgiana’s in wretched, desperate compassion. It was the instinctive love of one sister to another, as primitive and passionate as the roaring tide. Yet, against its force, Georgiana’s mouth was open in a silent scream.
She is no more recovered than I am a saint. Fitzwilliam thought, shutting the door behind him and then staggering back against the wall. And I expected Darcy to face this alone!
His forgiveness, before, had come from his heart but not his soul. He had returned to Pemberley because he loved his cousins, not because he had truly overcome the bitter words which they had shared. Now, with wrenching clarity, he understood.
Let the army try to recall him. Until Georgiana Darcy recovered, they could whistle into thin air. Their loyal dog would no longer answer.