Chapter 15 #6
“Make arrangements to travel at first light,” Bingley informed his man upon reaching his rooms. “I must return to Pemberley.”
“Is there something there you have forgotten, sir?”
Yes, he thought. The only person left in the world who might yet love me.
Monday 15 March 1813, Derbyshire
Impatience had become less of an imperfection and more of an affliction for Elizabeth.
Husbands, babies, news—all were presently exhibiting a most vexing disdain for celerity.
Regardless of the grey clouds on the horizon, she was determined to walk out that morning before she went distracted from inaction.
“This letter has just arrived, Mrs Darcy,” said Maltravers as she came into the hall. She took the letter but waved away his offer of an extra shawl.
“The master’s instructions, ma’am,” he said with some embarrassment.
She smiled wryly and draped it over her arm.
“Might I enquire where you intend to walk, ma’am?” he said as he opened the front door for her.
She looked at him slyly. “Also the master’s instructions?”
He inclined his head.
Grinning at the very great pleasure of being cherished thus, even in Darcy’s absence, she informed Maltravers of her destination and stepped out onto the front steps.
Only then did she look at her letter. She was alarmed to see Lady Ashby’s seal, for they had never corresponded.
She tore it open, fearing instantly for Darcy’s safety.
Alarm turned to shock and shock to fury as she read of Bingley’s intentions to leave the country after all and to take a mistress and natural child with him.
With an angry growl, she whirled about to go back into the house, but the shawl had tangled about her legs.
The world tilted. She saw Maltraver’s horrified expression, then she saw the music room window, then the sky.
She flung her arms wide, banging her wrist painfully on the balustrade.
She grabbed it and cried out at the fire that burst through her shoulder as momentum wrenched her to face the other way.
Her grip on the rail held, but her feet were gone from under her, and she slammed down heavily onto a step, knocking all the air from her lungs.
Maltravers appeared in front of her and soon after Mrs Reynolds, both enquiring urgently whether she were hurt.
She was not sure. Upon reflection, her wrist and shoulder both throbbed abominably, yet they were the least of her concerns.
She waited, caught her breath and prayed until, with the most profound relief, she felt her baby wriggle its protest at being so violently flung about.
What little air remained to her escaped in a shaky laugh. “I am well,” she whispered.
She was led, gingerly, back inside to a chair where Mrs Sinclair met them. “What has happened, Lizzy?”
Satisfied she had done herself no serious harm, Elizabeth’s mind jumped directly beyond her fall to that which pained her most. “Mr Bingley has been unfaithful to my sister!”
“We already knew that.”
“No, he has a mistress! She is with child! He is taking her abroad. He lied! He was to go home to Jane, yet all the while, he was planning to go away with this…this woman!”
Mrs Sinclair pulled an incredulous face.
“The man is incapable of resolving on anything. Two weeks ago, it was you with whom he wished to go away. Before that, he planned to go alone. At some point, I suppose, he must have wanted your sister. I am beginning to feel quite put out that he has never wanted to go anywhere with me.”
“Poor, poor Jane!”
Mrs Sinclair looked distinctly sceptical but did not argue and instead enquired how Elizabeth had come to discover this news on the front steps of Pemberley.
“Lady Ashby has written, asking that I prevent him from leaving. They must all think he is still here. I must write to Jane.” She shuffled to the edge of her seat.
Mrs Reynolds, hovering fretfully nearby, stepped forward to offer her assistance.
Elizabeth was glad of it, for upon standing, she experienced a most shocking expulsion of fluids that rendered her faint with alarm. “Oh God, what is it?”
“’Tis the baby, ma’am,” Mrs Reynolds replied, looking disconcertingly troubled.
“Oh no! ’Tis too soon, is it not?”
“You tell us, my dear,” Mrs Sinclair said with a knowing look.
“Try not to worry, Mrs Darcy,” Mrs Reynolds said more helpfully. “It is earlier than expected, but there is no sense in giving yourself any more to be anxious about than necessary.”
Never had Elizabeth wanted Darcy more. The prospect of birthing a child was terrifying enough, without fearing that it was not fit to be born.
She sat down again. “I am not ready. It will have to wait.” She ignored the look that passed between the two ladies.
“My aunt is not yet here,” she said, failing to keep her voice from trembling. “Who will attend me?”
“I shall, if you wish it,” Mrs Reynolds offered.
“I shall, even if you do not wish it,” said Mrs Sinclair.
Elizabeth would have continued to object had a sharp pain not frightened her into silence. “I think I would prefer to go back to waiting,” she said quietly once it had passed.
“I fear young Master or Miss Darcy has other ideas, ma’am,” Mrs Reynolds replied.
Shaking with apprehension, Elizabeth allowed herself to be led upstairs to embark upon a wholly different exercise than she had thought to enjoy that day.
Even in the pallid light of late afternoon, Pemberley was magnificent.
Jane regretted not having told Elizabeth how very well she liked it on her last visit.
It was but one of innumerable things she regretted.
She turned away from the window, her palm burning from the memory of striking Elizabeth’s cheek.
She had no notion of what she would say to her sister, or indeed if she would even be received given Mr Darcy’s unequivocal exclusion.
Yet, there had been no alternative but to come.
There was too much to be said between her and Bingley to stay away.
“Mr Bingley left Pemberley above a se’ennight ago, madam,” she was informed upon reaching the house.
She stared at the butler in mute dismay, all her carefully prepared words rendered useless. There was nothing more she could do. He was gone. What would become of her now?
Maltravers cleared his throat.
“Pardon me,” she said quietly. “Would you be kind enough to inform my sister I am here?”
“I am afraid the family are not receiving visitors today, ma’am.”
The sound of scraping furniture, incongruous against the stillness of the rest of the house, drew Jane’s attention to a pair of footmen rolling the great hearthrug out from under the hall chairs.
“Is there to be a ball?” she enquired foolishly.
It mattered not what Elizabeth was doing. It did not involve her.
Maltravers looked excessively conscious. “Ahem…no. There was an incident—that is, Mrs Darcy was unexpectedly taken to childbed.”
She looked back at him in surprise. “Presently? Why did you not say? Pray, take me to her this instant.” He hesitated, and she said, more urgently, “I am her sister, it is quite proper. Please, sir, I must insist!”
She grew steadily more anxious as she was led through the house, but all concerns that her presence might be unwelcome vanished when Elizabeth’s cries first reached her ears.
She hastened her steps. The footman paled upon reaching the door, evidently unsure what to do next.
She dismissed him and, without a second thought, pushed the door open.
Her sister was propped on a bed of sorts, her hair drenched with perspiration and her countenance contorted in pain.
“Lizzy!”
Elizabeth’s head whipped up, and their eyes met. For a heartbeat, Jane feared she might spurn her coming. Then she burst into tears and held out her hand. “Jane! You are here!”
Jane rushed to take it. “I am, and I shall stay if you will let me.”
She nodded and gripped her hand tightly but seemed unable to speak further.
Jane looked around. An older woman, Mrs Sinclair, if she recalled correctly, glared at her reproachfully from the other side of the bed. The housekeeper was there, a maid—and nobody else. “Where is the midwife?” she enquired in alarm.
“There is nobody available,” Mrs Reynolds said in a low voice. “They are all either engaged with other women or nowhere to be found.”
“There must be somebody!”
“We are trying, Mrs Bingley. Two weeks hence and the accoucheur and monthly nurse would have been in residence. We have sent a man to fetch one or both, but they are in Sheffield, and that is assuming they are available to come.”
Elizabeth let out a held breath that stretched into a rasping groan. “It hurts!”
Jane looked in alarm at Mrs Sinclair. “I do not know what to do.”
“Nothing new there, then,” the old lady mumbled.
“Talk to me!” Elizabeth cried. “Distract me, I beg you. What are you doing here?”
Jane winced in shame, for the answer ought to be that she had come for her. “I came to stop Charles leaving,” she admitted. “But that matters not at the present moment. ’Tis you—”
“Of course it matters, Jane. I am so very sorry for you. You deserve a better man.”
“I know that is not true. I have been awful.”
Elizabeth did not argue. Instead, she squeezed her eyes shut and grimaced savagely. A long, tortured groan bubbled through her gritted teeth.
“Good girl,” Mrs Sinclair croaked, patting her other hand.
Elizabeth’s groan escalated into a strangled scream that went right through Jane.
“Oh, Lizzy!” She leant over her, peering closely, looking for what, she knew not. Mrs Reynolds appeared by her side, proffering a damp cloth. She thanked her, deeply obliged for something to do, and put it to use cooling her sister’s brow.
“Why did you not tell me?” Elizabeth enquired in a gasping, breathy voice.
“I confess I was ashamed my husband did not love me.”
“Perhaps, then, you ought not to have tricked him into marrying you,” Mrs Sinclair said tartly.