Chapter 24
The sound of the lock caused Georgiana to let out a small whimper. Elizabeth looked at her compassionately.
“Here,” she said softly, “let us make you comfortable.”
She spread one of the blankets upon the floor, folding it over several times until it formed a makeshift cushion. Then she took another and wrapped it carefully about the girl’s shoulders. “There. That is a little better.”
The scullery was narrow and dim, its single window high and small, letting in only the faintest hint of afternoon light. Rows of shelves lined one wall, and barrels were stacked along the other—some filled with flour, others with salted fish, potatoes, or dried peas.
Elizabeth moved toward them, testing the weight of each one in turn. She tipped them gently, judging which were light enough to move yet heavy enough to serve her purpose.
“Let me help,” Georgiana said quickly, starting to rise.
Elizabeth turned at once. “No, no—do not strain yourself. I can manage. Sit and rest.”
The younger woman hesitated, then obeyed, her hands clasped over her rounded middle.
“Best keep you and your babe safe,” Elizabeth murmured, more to herself than to Georgiana, as she began to roll one barrel toward the door.
After a few minutes’ effort, Elizabeth had several of the barrels positioned near the door—enough to hinder any sudden attempt to open it should the lock fail. She straightened, brushing her hands together, and turned toward the small hamper Mrs. Wells had left them.
Inside were two skins of watered wine, a small loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, a few baked potatoes wrapped in cloth, several dried apples, and a bundle of salted meat. Elizabeth smiled faintly.
“We have enough to camp here for several days, it seems,” she said lightly, though the sound of her laughter was brittle.
Georgiana did not return it. Her eyes were wide and glistening in the low light.
Elizabeth knelt beside her and took her hand. “I will do all I can to keep you safe,” she promised.
That was enough to break whatever fragile composure Georgiana still held.
The girl burst into tears, burying her face in her hands.
“Why?” she choked out. “Why are you helping me? How can you not hate me for what I have done? For the danger I have brought upon you? We are practically strangers—why would you risk so much for me? Why not just leave?”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened. “Because I would want someone to do the same for one of my sisters,” she said quietly. “I have a sister in trouble now—perhaps in very great trouble—and I cannot be there to help her. So I pray that somewhere, someone will show her the same kindness I can show you.”
She hesitated, then added softly, “Her name is Jane. She was in love with a man who she thought was honorable. He loved her once, but then he left her behind, and she was left to face the consequences without a husband’s name.”
Georgiana’s fingers brushed the edge of her sleeve, her voice trembling. “I am not sure which is worse—being married to a cruel man, or not being married at all.”
Elizabeth smiled sadly. “Both are dreadful in their own way. The world is rarely just to women. My friend Charlotte once said that happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I used to think not,” Elizabeth said, glancing toward the little fire. “But now… I believe chance plays its part, yes—but so do choice and courage.”
Georgiana was quiet for a moment, then said, “How can anyone ever trust another enough to marry them? How did you know you could trust your husband—to put yourself in his power so completely?”
Elizabeth drew in a steadying breath, her lips curving into a wistful smile.
“Time,” she said. “Time, and truth. I misjudged him terribly at first. I thought him proud, arrogant, and disagreeable. At a public assembly, he refused to dance with me—and called me merely ‘tolerable.’ I thought him insufferable.”
Georgiana gave a startled little laugh. “Oh dear. That cannot have gone well.”
“No,” Elizabeth admitted, laughing softly herself.
“It did not. And when he finally confessed his love, I refused him most rudely. But afterward… circumstances threw us together. I began to see him as he truly was. He learned humility, and I learned forgiveness. He admitted his faults, and he changed. When it mattered most, he proved himself dependable, honorable, and sincere. Over time, I came to see the man beneath the pride.”
Georgiana sighed dreamily. “That is so romantic. You must love him very much.”
Elizabeth felt her eyes sting. “I do,” she whispered. “I love him so very, very dearly.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The faint sounds from Mrs. Wells in the kitchen filled the silence between them.
At last, Elizabeth drew the blankets higher about Georgiana’s shoulders. “Come now—you must be exhausted. Lie here and rest. When my sisters could not sleep, or had frightening dreams, they would come to my bed, and I would stroke their hair until they calmed. Sometimes I would sing.”
She smoothed Georgiana’s hair from her damp cheeks, the motion soothing them both. She began to hum—a tune she had not thought of in years, one her mother used to sing on soft summer evenings at Longbourn. The words came unbidden, trembling but sure.
Sleep, my child and peace attend thee,
All through the night
Guardian angels, God will send thee,
All through the night
Soft, the drowsy hours are creeping
Hill and vale, in slumber sleeping,
I, my loving vigil keeping
All through the night.
Elizabeth’s voice softened to a whisper, the sound filling the small scullery with peace. Through the small window, faint moonlight streamed in, illuminating Georgiana’s face.
While the moon, her watch is keeping
All through the night
While the weary world is sleeping
All through the night
O'er thy spirit gently stealing
Visions of delight revealing
Breathes a pure and holy feeling
All through the night.
Georgiana’s breathing began to slow, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks. Elizabeth drew the blanket higher about her shoulders and kept singing, her voice steadier now, the words turning into prayer.
Angels watching ever round thee
All through the night
In thy slumbers close surround thee
All through the night
They will of all fears disarm thee,
No forebodings should alarm thee,
They will let no peril harm thee
All through the night.
She hesitated then, her gaze drifting to the small, frost-rimmed window above them. A single star shone faintly beyond the glass, its light wavering but unbroken. She thought of it as a promise—that somewhere out there, God still saw them.
Though I roam a minstrel lonely
All through the night
My true harp shall praise sing only
All through the night
Love's young dream, alas, is over
Yet my strains of love shall hover
Near the presence of my lover
All through the night
The tune lingered in the still air. Elizabeth’s gaze drifted toward the faint line of light beneath the locked door. Somewhere beyond it, Darcy was riding through the cold and dark, and her voice trembled as poured her heart out in song.
Love to thee, my thoughts are turning
All through the night
All for thee, my heart is yearning,
All through the night.
Though sad fate our lives may sever
Parting will not last forever,
There's a hope that leaves me never,
All through the night.
Outside, the wind moaned through the cracks in the stone. But within the little scullery, the two women lay close together, and for the first time in many days, peace—fragile though it was—settled over Pemberley.
∞∞∞
Darcy leaned low over Nell’s neck, urging her onward with more fervor than the poor beast could easily endure.
The mare’s breath steamed in the cold air, plumes of white vanishing as quickly as they formed.
The road stretched ahead—mud frozen hard as stone, rimed with ice where thin trickles of meltwater crossed the track.
Every jolt of the saddle rattled his bones, but still he pressed her on.
“Come, girl,” he murmured hoarsely. “We must make better time than this.”
The mare flicked her ears, obedient but weary, her stride lengthening only slightly. Each step felt an eternity stolen from Elizabeth’s safety. The sun had reached its zenith but already began to sink, throwing long winter shadows across the Derbyshire hills.
He knew these roads—had known them all his life.
Yet today, even the landscape felt wrong.
The hedgerows seemed lower, the woods thinner, the farmsteads shuttered and silent.
Once, this had been his father’s land, his home, his charge.
Now it was a stranger’s country, stripped of its pride and color, and he rode through it like a ghost haunting his own past.
A sharp wind cut through his coat, and he pulled the collar higher, jaw clenched against the cold. His thoughts circled with every hoofbeat.
If he reached Matlock by nightfall, what then? Would they even grant him entry? To them, he was no Darcy—only a servant, grimy and travel-worn, arriving on a half-starved mare with no card of introduction.
And if, by some mercy, he was admitted—would Richard listen? Would he still be the same man, loyal and steadfast, whose laughter had once echoed through Pemberley’s halls? Or would he be changed, like everything else in this twisted world—another echo, hollow and unfamiliar?
His hands tightened on the reins, his fingers numb not only from the grip, but from the cold.
If Richard were not himself… if he refused to come… then Elizabeth and Georgiana were alone with that monster.
Darcy’s stomach turned violently at the thought.
He could still see her face when he left—the faint tremor in her smile, the quiet courage in her eyes. She had held herself upright, as she always did, though the weight upon her shoulders should have bent any mortal woman.
God, how he loved her for that.