Chapter 27
Intent on his letters, Darcy did not realise he was no longer alone in the room until Georgiana spoke up.
“I hope I am not interrupting,” she said, coming to look out the window near his desk.
“No, far from it,” Darcy said, turning to face her. “I have written enough for today. And I should rather talk with you in any case.”
As he had hoped, that called forth a smile on Georgiana’s face. “I hope you and Elizabeth will come to London soon. It has done my heart a wealth of good being together again.”
“Yes, it has done my heart good as well.” Darcy sat up straight and stretched his sore back muscles. He had been sitting in one position for far too long. He set his quill in the inkwell and rose from his seat. “Shall we go for a turn about the room?”
“Let us go for a turn about the house, hmm? I want to take a last look about before Mr Wickham and I return to London. I shall miss Pemberley ever so much.”
“Come for a long visit when spring comes,” Darcy suggested. “I know how you have always looked forward to the spring flowers coming into bloom. And if Wickham is ever away for long periods of time on business, you must know that you are always welcome to stay here with Elizabeth and me.”
“I appreciate that more than I can say. Thank you, brother.” Georgiana linked her arm with his as they left the parlour and entered the long, echoing corridor. “How quiet it is! It is strange to think that these halls may be filled with the laughter of children before a year is out.”
Darcy was taken aback by the remark, although he supposed he should not have been.
After all, she was a married woman now. He cleared his throat, searching for a fitting reply.
“Well, that remains to be seen, I suppose. One cannot arrange these things entirely.” That children were not yet a possibility would remain unsaid.
“You are fortunate in your marriage,” Georgiana went on. “I like Elizabeth very much indeed.”
“As do I,” Darcy agreed with a chuckle.
Georgiana laughed with him. “Oh, I know it well. It is good to see you so much in love.”
At that, Darcy stopped abruptly. “In love? Georgiana, you do know it was not a love match.”
“Perhaps not. But you love her now. Indeed, it is delightful to see a man so infatuated with his wife.” She glanced at him, looking surprised and a little amused. “But you sound as though you did not know it yourself.”
“I knew it,” Darcy said at last. “I suppose I did not know it was so obvious.”
She shook her head. “Only to someone who knows you as well as I do.”
Perhaps sensing his embarrassment, Georgiana suggested they go to the library. Darcy gratefully took up the idea, both to turn the conversation and because such a suggestion was never unwelcome.
Even on the coldest days of winter, the Pemberley library remained warm and welcoming. Today, as always in the colder months, a large fire blazed in the hearth, but something was amiss. There was a clamminess to the air, and the room felt strangely cold.
Georgiana frowned and looked around the room. “What is that? Why do I feel a draught?” she asked.
Darcy realised it then, following her gaze towards the windows.
He walked down the long row of shelving and saw that the terrace door had been left wide open.
“That is odd,” he remarked. Going up to it, they looked out at the garden beyond.
Footprints were evident in the snow outside the window.
“Someone has forgotten to shut this,” Darcy remarked.
“How very careless,” Georgiana said. “I wonder who could have left the door open like that.”
“Perhaps the wind blew it open,” Darcy said, though he did not feel entirely convinced.
Such an accident had never occurred before.
Taking one last look out into the garden, Darcy shut the door.
He put the latch down and tested it to ensure it would not blow open again.
“Strange, the latch seems strong enough. Perhaps a servant forgot to close it. I shall speak to Reynolds about it later. Come, let us return to the parlour.”
“Excellent, and perhaps I may play the pianoforte,” Georgiana said eagerly.
Darcy laughed. “I should like nothing better.”
More of Pemberley’s guests were soon drawn to the parlour, first by the sound of music, and then by lively conversation.
Lady Catherine came, first to judge Georgiana’s performance, and then to listen in pure enjoyment despite herself.
It was no surprise when Anne and Fitzwilliam arrived, seemingly halfway into a most amusing anecdote, though it was unexpected that the narrator was not the colonel, but the lady.
Two absences there were, of very different kinds.
Wickham did not show his face, which was a blessing, and Elizabeth was absent, which left Darcy glancing at the door throughout the afternoon, wondering when his wife might appear.
More than once, he reminded himself that Elizabeth’s time was her own, and if she wished a little time to herself, to write in the solitude of her rooms or perhaps simply to have a little time away from so many members of her husband’s family, it was hardly surprising.
It was not until teatime that he began to worry. Well past the customary time, Elizabeth still had not appeared.
As the minutes ticked by, Lady Catherine gave a derisive sniff. “How disappointing, and just when I had begun to think better of Mrs Darcy. It is dreadfully rude to keep one’s guests waiting.”
“Mother, I am sure Mrs Darcy has a good reason,” Anne put in. To Darcy’s surprise, Lady Catherine did not argue the point and even looked a little chastened.
“I shall send a servant to inquire if she is coming down,” Darcy remarked, looking at his guests.
“Oh, how thoughtless of me!” Georgiana exclaimed.
“I ought to have recalled before. She is in her room resting from a headache, poor thing. I am sure she will be well again for supper, as long as we give her the time she needs to recover. All the festivities of the past weeks have probably left her exhausted.”
“Yes, I suppose you are right,” he said.
As the shadows lengthened and nothing was heard from Elizabeth, Darcy wondered if her headache had not turned to something more serious.
Though chiding himself for being overanxious, Darcy could not seem to stop himself from worrying over her.
A half-hour before the gong was due to ring to announce it was time to dress for supper, he went to Elizabeth’s room.
He was not being irrational, Darcy told himself.
There were two excellent reasons for him to check on Elizabeth, quite unconnected to the strange unease that had seized him.
First, he wanted to assure himself that she was being looked after as she should be.
Second, he wanted to see if she would join them for one of the last suppers that Georgiana and Mr Wickham would attend before their scheduled departure.
Dutiful as ever, Stephans opened the door almost as soon as he had knocked on it. She gave a respectful curtsey. “Yes, sir? Can I be of service?”
“I should like to inquire after Mrs Darcy’s health,” Darcy began. “Is her headache any better? I shall come in and speak to her myself, if my wife feels equal to it.”
Stephans looked up at him, clearly surprised and concerned. “Mrs Darcy is not here, sir. I thought she was downstairs.” She frowned and joined him in the hallway, looking this way and that, as if Elizabeth would appear out of thin air. “I have not seen her in some hours.”
Darcy’s stomach sank. Where was Elizabeth? What did any of this mean? He could not say; he only knew that something felt terribly wrong. “Come with me, Stephans. We shall look into this directly.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I did not know —”
“It is not your fault, Stephans.”
Upon being admitted to Georgiana’s room, they found she was not alone; a maid was engaged in carrying away two of her dresses for laundering.
Darcy believed he recognised her as Stephans’s younger sister, an impression that was immediately confirmed when she dropped the dresses on the bed and ran to her sister.
“Oh, Grace, the look on your face! What has happened?”
“Eva!” Stephans reproved her, her voice shaking slightly. “What can you be thinking, being so forward? Mr Darcy has come to speak to his sister. I am sorry about my sister, sir,” she added, turning to Darcy.
He held up a hand. “Do not think of it; we must attend to the present matter.”
“What is going on?” Georgiana exclaimed. “Is Elizabeth worse than we feared?”
“Much worse,” Darcy said grimly. “She has not been seen since lunch, and we cannot find her.”
Eva startled. “Mrs Darcy is missing?” she asked. She backed away from Darcy, shaking her head. “I should never have given it to her. I should have come straight to you, Mr Darcy. But I did not know what I ought to do —”
The girl was not making a modicum of sense. He stepped up to her and steadied her with a hand under her elbow. She looked almost ready to faint. “Get control of yourself, Eva. What is this you’re saying?”
“I went to see Mrs Darcy earlier. A letter arrived for Mr Wickham, and it seemed very strange,” she said haltingly. She bit her lower lip, wringing her hands.
“You were the last to see her, then?” Darcy said in surprise. “Did she not tell you she was going to lie down and rest from a headache,” he said, turning to Georgiana.
She had turned as white as a sheet. “No, I did not say she told me herself,” Georgiana said slowly. “I thought she was in her room because my husband told me she had been complaining of a headache and she asked him to convey her regrets that she would not be at tea. I do not understand —”
Darcy feared he was beginning to understand. He only hoped he was wrong, for the picture that came to mind was unbearably bleak. He turned his attention back to Eva. “What is this letter you spoke of?” he asked.
Eva glanced nervously at Georgiana. “Perhaps this is not the best time to say, Mr Darcy,” she said reluctantly.
Darcy glanced at his sister, knowing equally that what was to be revealed might cause her pain, and that they could not afford to delay. To his relief, she gave him a single, firm nod, though tears shone in her eyes.
“Go on, Eva,” Darcy said. “You must tell us now, for time is of the essence. What did this letter contain?”
“I do not know what was in the letter, sir, only who it was from.” She stalled again, then went on after a short pause.
“It was my task to deliver the letters from the morning post. I would have left them on Mr Wickham’s desk without thinking anything of it, but I could not help but notice the addressee as I put it down. It was from Mrs Wickham…”
Georgiana frowned. “How very odd. It could not be an old letter of mine that went astray,” she said, looking down at the floor. “Indeed, there could be no occasion to write.” She looked up at him, her eyes searching, willing him to help her understand.
Darcy tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and bid her take a seat near the hearth. He patted her hand. “I do not think that is the answer, my dear sister,” he said gently.
“Then what could it mean?” she asked, her voice trailing off as recognition dawned. “No, it cannot mean —”
Darcy hated to see the shock spreading over her features, the realisation of the only logical answer.
Stephans stepped forward, clearly confused. “I do not understand. Did Mr Wickham receive a letter from his mother, or perhaps his brother’s wife?” she asked.
Darcy straightened. “Mr Wickham’s mother has been dead for many years,” he said grimly. He glanced at the servants, but there was no point in attempting concealment now. “There is only one explanation. Mr Wickham was already married when he eloped with my sister.”
Georgiana continued to wring her hands, evidently in shock.
“It cannot be. There has to be some kind of mistake.” She said the words as if to convince herself, but the effort could only be in vain.
Georgiana had once made a fatal error in judging character, but she was no fool.
She was already putting the puzzle pieces together, already seeing all the implications of what this would mean for her future if it proved to be the truth.
Darcy started toward the door, turning as he went.
“Come. There is only one person who knows the truth,” he said.
“Stephans, Eva. Come with us.” He held the door open for Georgiana, and the maids followed behind them as they hurried down the hall toward the grand staircase and made their way to the drawing room.
With two very notable exceptions, all the others were still gathered there. Lady Catherine, who had been dozing on the settee, snorted as she was awakened by the noise of so hasty an arrival.
“Darcy. What is the meaning of you stomping about like a herd of cattle? The very idea!” Lady Catherine scolded, but he had no time to listen to her.
“Have any of you seen Elizabeth?” he asked hurriedly.
Colonel Fitzwilliam rose from his chair near the hearth. He shook his head, a look of concern spreading over his face at the urgency of Darcy’s tone. Miss de Bourgh looked up slowly, folding her hands tightly in her lap. “I have not seen her since lunch,” she said softly.
Darcy turned to Eva. “Then you are the last person who saw her.” He looked around the room.
“You have not asked Mr Wickham —” Anne began, then let her words trail off. She frowned, and everyone seemed to come to the same conclusion. “Where is Mr Wickham?”