Chapter One #4
“A swan. And very like. Does this swan have a name?”
“Uh…Georgie! Like me and Georgie.”
“An excellent name.”
At least she had the children. It was like when he’d abandoned her. There had been not much time for grief with all the necessary tasks.
Elizabeth looked around again. She collected the old blood-crusted bandages into one pile.
“You should not do this,” Mr. Darcy said. “You are not a servant.”
With a tense laugh Elizabeth replied, “You have no servants in the house, and I am the closest to one. I need something to do.”
Her hands shook a little.
She had fantasized about how it would be when Mr. Wickham at last returned.
Shouting and anger, of course.
Perhaps that was what had driven him away the first time. Her anger at the absence of money, about the courtesans, the drink, the gambling, and about how he never applied himself.
But in the fantasies, when she shouted at him, he admitted that she had been right about everything.
And then she imagined how he would put his abilities, which were not insignificant, to good use.
He would prosper in a respectable career.
He would put aside drink, gambling, and other women forever.
At first, of course, things could not be as they had been.
She no longer loved or trusted him, but when he proved to be a good father, a good provider, and when he had proven his constancy, she would eventually have forgiven him.
They would have been happy again.
Mr. Darcy watched her the entire time with his intense, dark gaze. She returned to the room and busied herself making another collection of detritus. This would be the last set, and then she would need to find a new task.
Nearly as soon as Elizabeth had settled everything into the scullery, Sally returned with the desired supplies.
Elizabeth set her to disposing of the rotten side of beef and then collecting more water.
With only one servant, Elizabeth could not expect the room to be scrubbed and properly cleaned soon.
“Afterwards go out and get light crackers and crusts of bread for Mr. Darcy. And some bones to make more broth with.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The actual servant no more thought of her as a servant than Mr. Darcy did. Finally, Elizabeth returned to the drawing room again.
A sweaty, hot day. And Elizabeth was becoming quite hungry. She had been tempted to take one of the apples she saw in the larder, but they were not hers, and she would not presume.
She brought Mr. Darcy the bottle of laudanum and cup of small beer to take it with, as that would disguise the unpleasant flavor.
As soon as Emily saw her mother, she sobbed and begged to be fed from the breast. “In a minute, dear, in a minute—Mr. Darcy, I do insist you take some laudanum, but I’ll only give you half the dose I normally would in such a case. Will that be acceptable?”
There was stiffness to the gentleman’s face, but he then nodded.
Several drops into the glass, and then with Miss Darcy’s help she propped the gentleman’s head up sufficiently that he could drink without much risk of choking. Emily maintained her sob and pulled constantly at Elizabeth’s skirts.
Usually, she would have picked up the child, but with the tension in her chest, Elizabeth simply could not make herself pretend to be calm as she talked sweetly to the girl. Mr. Darcy drank the laudanum down slowly, the motion seeming to cause a little bit of pain.
Then he sighed and relaxed again into the sofa after drinking it through.
Elizabeth picked up Emily, and retreated to the hallway, so that she might feed Emily in private. Despite her best efforts her courses had started again two months ago.
No need any more for anxiety about Wickham returning, demanding his husbandly rights, and getting another child on her before he abandoned her once more.
When Emily finished the feed, and Elizabeth returned, she found Mr. Darcy’s eyes immediately on her again.
Elizabeth smiled at him. “A little more comfortable?”
“I do not like my senses to be dulled,” Mr. Darcy replied.
He was the opposite of Wickham in that respect.
Elizabeth asked, “I must still inquire if either of you know my husband’s whereabouts, that is, where his mortal remains would presently be. Or where his lodgings were.” Elizabeth pressed her hand to her mouth. She felt wrung out. She was on the verge of tears, and that never helped anyone.
“Mrs. Wickham, please sit down,” Mr. Darcy said. “I beg you to sit down and rest yourself. It is clear that you are not well. Georgiana, call for tea.”
“Poor Sally. I hardly think she could manage an additional task. You must get more servants here if you wish to be able to simply ‘call for tea’.” She shook her head. “No, I wish to manage this all immediately. It is my duty to see him one last time, if I still can.”
Mr. Darcy studied her with those frowning, considering, intense eyes.
He managed being quite serious and dignified, despite lying on the sofa, covered by bandages and a sheet.
“Then you must fulfil your duties. He is laid out at St. Laurence, the parish church in Ramsgate. I paid for them to give him a proper burial, with a full coffin and a stone to mark the grave. I was told that it would only be tomorrow that all would be ready to bury him.”
Elizabeth felt a catch in her throat. “That was very kind of you. Do you know anything of his lodgings?”
“It was my duty,” Mr. Darcy replied solemnly. “I am afraid, however, that I do not know where he lodged.”
“He was staying next to one of the barracks by the harbor,” Miss Darcy said quietly. She did not look up from her hands. “I can write what I believe the address is. Mrs. Younge took me often to meet him there for a walk.”
“Next to the barracks by the harbor?” Mr. Darcy said with some scorn. “And this did not give you any suspicions as to his true circumstances—Georgiana, I apologize. I do not mean to reproach you. I know that you reproach yourself to such an extent that I can add nothing at present.”
“Is St. Laurence the church by the large park?—the carriage took us directly past it, and I can find it again easily enough. Thank you, Miss Darcy, for the direction—George, Emily, we are leaving. Mr. Darcy, do you wish me to make inquiries as to a sick nurse for you? I believe I might have better luck in assessing which person to hire than Miss Darcy. I likely can have someone sent over immediately.”
“What, you are leaving?” Mr. Darcy said with some surprise, and he tried to sit up, before hissing in pain, and giving up the effort. “So quickly?”
“The afternoon is going along, and I’ll need to find lodgings. Though I shall first inquire if my husband paid ahead at his own lodgings, to see if I can use them.” Elizabeth paused. She looked at Mr. Darcy and his sister.
There was an odd reluctance to pick up Emily and make George follow her to the church, and then to never see either of them again.
She felt rather as though they both needed her somehow.
And she felt as though she could scarce bear up under the weight of carrying Emily, and sometimes George, all about the city again.
“Stay here,” Mr. Darcy said. “At the least I can give you lodgings whilst you remain in Ramsgate—Mrs. Wickham, I can see from your manner that you are a woman who would hate to feel as though she is receiving pity or charity. I beg you to not consider it in such a light.”
“Then what light ought I to consider it in?” Elizabeth asked.
Mr. Darcy looked at her with a slight frown. And then he said, “As a kindness.”
It all seemed too difficult. If he had been a friend, she would have happily accepted such an offer.
“If you shall offer, I am in no state where I can refuse. For the night, in any case.” Elizabeth sighed, “I’ll stay the night then, and Miss Darcy, will you be willing to care for Emily while I walk out?”
“I would be happy to do so.” Miss Darcy actually smiled at the little girl and picked her up from the floor again.