Chapter 26
The days after Christmas all seemed rather sleepy and uneventful, though convivial and full of ease. Elizabeth walked through the halls of Pemberley in something like a pleasant dream, feeling at long, long last as though true happiness might be in her grasp.
The afternoon of Twelfth Night glistened bright and clear.
A light snow had fallen the night before.
The temperature had stayed below freezing, leaving the ground covered in a blanket of white.
Her hair having become a little disarrayed over the course of the morning, Elizabeth returned to her room after luncheon to have it rearranged.
“There now, is it to your liking, Mrs Darcy?” Stephans asked. She stepped back from the vanity to inspect her work and gave an approving nod.
Though Elizabeth might have said ‘yes’ without looking, for Stephans’s work was never less than elegant, she had learned that her maid was happier when she believed that her labour had been carefully assessed. She therefore made a show of looking in the mirror before answering.
“No, there is nothing else, Stephans. I like it very much,” she said, lightly touching a wisp of hair at her temple. Soft curls framed her face, and the few ribbons Stephans had woven into her braids added a nice touch. “I shall see you at the gong,” she said in dismissal.
Stephans curtsied, then left the room.
Having settled in to write letters at her desk, Elizabeth became lost in the task and heedless of time.
She had not realised how long she had been at her desk when a knock sounded at the door.
She turned her head slightly as the door to her room was opened.
“Is it time to dress for tea already, Stephans? I was just finishing a letter to my sister. I shall be right with you.”
“It is me, Mrs Darcy,” came the apologetic reply.
Elizabeth turned, surprised to see Eva, not her older sister, standing behind her. To her still greater surprise, Eva held her hands clasped behind her back and was shifting nervously from one foot to the other.
Elizabeth frowned and turned all the way around, leaving her quill on the desk. “Is something amiss, Eva? You know you can tell me if something is wrong.”
“Yes, Mrs Darcy, and that is why I’m here.” She came forward and brought a letter out from behind her back.
Elizabeth frowned. “What do you have there, Eva?”
“Well, ma’am, it is…oh dear! It is a letter addressed to Mr Wickham.”
“Eva!”
“I know that this is very irregular. I would not take a gentleman’s post, of course not, only…
well, ma’am, someone ought to know about this.
” Eva looked terrified, handing the letter over slowly.
Even as Elizabeth peered at the name on the front of the letter, the maid was wringing her hands. Then she saw the name of the sender.
Clear as day, it was addressed from Lincolnshire — from a Mrs Wickham!
Elizabeth snapped her head up, staring at the girl as though to demand an explanation. Eva licked her lips nervously. “Normally, a gentleman’s correspondence is his own business, but something about this doesn’t seem right, ma’am.”
“Very troubling indeed,” Elizabeth agreed. The letter could hardly be from Georgiana. She would hardly write to her husband while with him, and in any case, the letter was sent from Lincolnshire.
“Very troubling indeed, mistress. He’s received several letters from this address. When this one came today, I couldn’t keep silent about it anymore.” Eva lifted her chin, almost defiantly. “I like Mrs Georgiana Wickham. I know I should not touch a gentleman’s letters, but this is not right.”
“Thank you, Eva. I will look into this,” Elizabeth vowed.
Eva curtsied and went out of the room, closing the door behind her. Elizabeth sat at her writing desk for several minutes, motionless and lost in thought. It was difficult to imagine an innocent explanation. No — it was difficult to imagine an explanation that was not completely disastrous.
The rules of society were very clear about what she ought to do. The letter ought to be returned to Mr Wickham unopened, and Eva ought to be turned out. Taking a gentleman’s mail was a firing offense for any servant; Elizabeth knew that very well.
Only, she also knew that she would not do it. Eva’s concerns were now her own. But what on earth was she to do about it?
She stood, leaving the offensive letter on her desk.
Elizabeth paced back and forth, thinking furiously.
She had promised Eva she would see to the letter, but she was in uncharted waters now.
She was the lady of the house, and it was her duty to respect the privacy of her guests.
On the other hand, she also had a family obligation to protect her new sister-in-law.
What if Mr Wickham was involved in something that would hurt Georgiana?
Normally, she would never dream of snooping into someone else’s mail.
But Mr Wickham had already shown himself capable of a disreputable action.
Eloping with a sixteen-year-old girl showed that much, despite his protestations of uncontrollable love.
Mr Wickham thought himself ill-used by Mr Darcy, while Mr Darcy obviously believed his brother-in-law capable of anything. What was Mr Wickham, victim or villain?
The letter might hold the answer.
At last, Elizabeth stopped her pacing. She stood before her desk, staring at the letter.
Perhaps there was nothing really wrong at all.
Perhaps it would turn out to be a benign correspondence between Wickham and Georgiana.
If she opened the letter, she would have to give it to Mr Wickham afterward and admit what she had done.
He would be justified in taking grave offense, as would Georgiana.
It might prove disastrous to the fragile rapprochement between Will and his sister.
But if the letter was all she feared, they must know the truth, whatever the cost.
Elizabeth stepped over to the desk and snatched up the letter, holding her finger under the lip. After a moment of hesitation, she broke the seal and unfolded the missive.
My dear Mr Wickham,
I must protest your treatment of me these last months. Why will you not answer my many letters?
Elizabeth’s heart beat wildly in her chest. It would seem her instinct that the letter held dire information was correct. She scanned the lines, searching for the name of the sender.
“Your wife, Elaine Wickham…” Elizabeth read aloud.
Her heart nearly stopped when she read the words.
The suspicion that had been in her mind since first reading the letter’s address, the one almost too terrible to speak aloud, was true: Mr Wickham was already married.
In the eyes of the law and the church, he and Georgiana were not married at all, and she was ruined.
She snatched up the letter again and read it in full, each line worse than the last. Elaine Wickham spoke of the years of their marriage and her abandonment by Wickham since the previous summer.
The previous summer, when he courted and eloped with Georgiana Darcy.
Elizabeth sank into her chair before her writing desk.
She could not think of what she must do next; she could hardly breathe.
It was almost too much for her mind to comprehend.
How could she have been so duped by the man?
He had seemed too honourable and charming to do anything so devious.
And Mr Darcy had tried to warn her all along. His slights against Wickham’s character had not been too stringent. If anything, he had been too generous. Could anyone believe such villainy as this? Mr Wickham’s outrageous behaviour was beyond anything.
But she could not remain at her desk forever. Taking the letter into her hand, Elizabeth went out into the hall. She would walk a little, clear her mind. And then she would find her husband. Together, they would decide what must be done.
In her distracted state, Elizabeth strode as quickly as though she hoped to outrun her thoughts. When the door to the east sitting room abruptly opened almost in her face, she only just stopped in time.
“Oh!” Elizabeth exclaimed in surprise.
“Dear me!” The door was quickly closed. “How sorry I am! I ought not to have opened it so abruptly. Do forgive me.”
Emerging from behind the door, Mr Wickham gave her a warm, apologetic smile, as though a quickly opened door was the worst thing he had ever done in his life.
Elizabeth knew her face must have looked quite odd, but she could not control her shock and revulsion for the life of her. Mr Wickham looked at her in concern.
“Are you quite well, Mrs Darcy?” he asked her gently, taking her elbow to steady her. “I did not hurt you, did I?”
“No, no, not in the least,” Elizabeth said hurriedly. “I am quite well, thank you.” The letter clutched in her hand felt as though it might burn her.
“Are you certain? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” he said slowly. He released her, for which she was grateful. “Or perhaps you have had some disturbing news in the post?”
Elizabeth bit her lower lip, trying to remain calm. “The post? No, not at all.”
“I should not wish to pry,” Mr Wickham said gracefully. “It is only that I saw you have a letter there. I do hope your family are all well?”
“I believe so, yes,” Elizabeth told him, privately disgusted at his counterfeited concern. That was Mr Wickham all over — saying everything that was right, and doing everything that was wrong.