Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Eavesdroppers never hear well of themselves. Was that not the phrase that was so popular? Elizabeth found it very untrue today. For she was overhearing her second conversation in under a quarter hour, and instead of hearing ill of herself, she was hearing ill of others, mostly Mr Wickham.
When she fled the upstairs corridor, she went to the ground floor and paced the hall for a moment, then collapsed on the bottom step as she thought desperately of the correct course of action.
Her legs were no longer interested in governing the rest of her.
What could she do? If she confronted Georgiana, she would be denied.
If she went straight to Darcy, Georgiana would never forgive her. Never trust her again.
But if she did nothing…everything would be so much worse. Georgiana might actually run away, and it would be Elizabeth’s fault. She was considering Darcy as her husband. The companion of her future life. She could not go to him with secrets in her heart, even if she wished to.
As she sat and considered her options desperately, nearly in tears, voices drifted across the hall. She realised that the door to Mr Darcy’s study was not completely closed. She knew she should leave. How many times in one day could a proper lady eavesdrop upon others?
Then she heard one voice quite clearly. Wickham’s voice.
“–not nearly sufficient!”
Elizabeth went completely still. The man’s voice was strained…and outraged.
“You know my rule, George.” The voice of Georgiana and Darcy’s father drifted softly across the hall.
“Your hypocrisy, you mean,” said Wickham.
From inside the study, his voice rose. “You would let me be ruined over a sum you will never even miss? Your precious son spends more on billiards!”
“I will settle debts to honest men and tradesmen, George. I do not finance vice.”
Wickham laughed. The sound was ugly and frightening. Elizabeth would have been terrified to be in the room with him. She was terrified to be outside the door.
“Vice?” Wickham was outraged. “My habits are no different than any other young man!”
“Your gaming debts are your own responsibility. You know this.” Mr Darcy’s voice trembled.
“My own responsibility?” Wickham shouted. “You speak of responsibility after all these years that you have raised me to the expectations of a gentleman, but then refuse me the means to live like one?”
“I give you enough to live respectably.” Darcy Senior’s voice still wavered.
“You choose to waste it on vice. I have attempted to assist you in respectable professions, but you refuse to work. You accuse me of indulging my son, but he works hard for Pemberley, for hours, every day. If you cannot make it work in the army, George, I do not know what shall become of you.”
“How can I make it work in the army if I cannot indulge in the same activities as the other men?” Wickham’s voice was scathing. “If I cannot pay these debts, the other men will turn upon me. It will not matter how well I do my duties if the other men are against me!”
A crash came from the room as Wickham’s tone turned so venomous, so uncontrolled that Elizabeth stopped thinking entirely. She turned and ran up the stairs as fast as she possibly could, and into Georgiana’s room without knocking.
“Lizzy!” Georgiana turned from her packing in shock.
“What is the meaning of this, young woman?” Mrs Younge drew herself up from her chair.
“Come with me now!” Elizabeth gasped, grasping Georgiana by her wrist.
Georgiana resisted instinctively. “What–”
“Come with me, Georgie!” Elizabeth insisted. She turned back to Mrs Younge with a forbidding glare. “If you know what is good for you, you will stay where you are.”
Elizabeth’s countenance silenced the woman at once, and she sank back into her chair in surprise. Elizabeth dragged her friend out into the corridor to the stairs. One did not need to go all the way down to hear Wickham now.
Georgiana heard Wickham too. Not charming…not laughing…not tender, loving, or kind. Wickham was furious. His tone was cruel, desperate, and vicious.
“You are a selfish old man!”
Georgiana froze.
“Do not make a sound, Georgie,” Elizabeth warned. She led the girl by the hand down the stairs and into the shadows by another door. They saw a frightened maid at the end of the hall. Elizabeth waved the girl away. Hidden from view, they listened.
“George, I have never seen you like this, but you cannot behave this way and think I will reward you. I will not pay gambling debts. You know this. Now take yourself from this house until you have calmed yourself and are ready to apologise.”
“Not without what I came for,” Wickham insisted. “I need it.”
“You shall have nothing.” Darcy Senior was firm.
“You owe me. You have not done half as much for me as you have Darcy! It is cruel!”
“Fitzwilliam is my son. He is a good and hardworking man with sound principles. He is right about you. I ruined you with indulgence. I pitied you too much for losing your parents. I am sorry, George.”
Then…a horrifying sound…a dull thud…like violence meeting flesh.
Georgiana stifled a strangled cry. Elizabeth clapped a hand over the crying girl’s mouth as she held her fast. There was silence from the room, then footsteps and the slam of the front door as Wickham fled the house.
Georgiana was already moving. “Father!”
Elizabeth stopped her, only temporarily. “Georgie. This is not the only conversation I have overheard today.”
Her friend’s eyes were wild in fear and confusion.
“I was coming to your room to find you, and I heard you planning with Mrs Younge,” Elizabeth explained quickly. “I fled down here, not knowing what I should do. Then I heard Wickham.”
She looked into her friend’s eyes. “You must confess to your father what you were planning. You will not make me do it.”
Georgiana whimpered and fled to the study. Elizabeth followed her to the door, her heart pounding, praying that Mr Darcy was unhurt.
Mr Darcy was half upright beside his desk, holding his head.
Georgiana reached him and supported him. “Father! Oh God! Father, he hurt you!”
Mr Darcy thankfully looked more stunned than injured. That was not all. He looked completely humiliated. That was the worst part. Elizabeth felt his mortification and knew it pained him far more than the mark darkening his cheekbone.
Elizabeth heard a noise from behind her and whirled, throwing up her hands in fear that Wickham had returned.
“Peter!” she cried, leaving the doorway and returning to the hall.
The footman that Lady Barry had assigned to her protection looked at her in concern. “Miss Elizabeth. Maisie came into the kitchen and whispered to me that there be trouble.”
“There is trouble, Peter,” she whispered. “Mr Darcy is at the gentleman’s club with Mr Bingley. You must send someone there for him. They must hurry, Peter, as fast as they can. He must understand that it is of the greatest urgency. His father needs him. He must come, immediately!”
Peter nodded in understanding, then returned to the kitchens in haste.
Then followed the longest hour of Elizabeth’s life. Peter returned and watched Elizabeth pace the hallway in anxiety while Mr Darcy insisted to his daughter that he was fine. Georgiana cried. Mr Darcy demanded her silence and forbade her to tell her brother what she had heard.
Elizabeth had not been inside the room. She had not been begged for silence, and she would not allow herself to be. As Georgiana tearfully confessed her plans for elopement to her father, Elizabeth left the house as Peter followed, then paced the garden, waiting.
Peter stood close by and watched her pace in distress, until at last, hoofbeats, hard and fast, approached the cottage. Elizabeth peered through the gate as Darcy dismounted before his horse had properly stopped. Mr Bingley was just behind him.
Darcy saw Elizabeth and went to her. “Elizabeth! Is it my father? Is he–” he broke off, too terrified to voice his worst fear.
“He is well, you must not be too alarmed,” Elizabeth began.
“Of course I am! What am I to find inside, please!” he begged.
“You will think ill of me, I am sure, but I did not intend to eavesdrop,” Elizabeth babbled.
“Whatever do you mean? Of course you would never eavesdrop on purpose.” Darcy was impatient to hear what was wrong. “Elizabeth, tell me.”
Elizabeth began to weep as she rapidly and incoherently told him everything. By the end, Darcy had gone utterly still. He was not calm. Not remotely. His face became unreadable. There was something colder, more dangerous than anger upon it.
Darcy was utterly consumed by fury. “I must go to them.”
Bingley grabbed his arm. “Darcy, before you lose your temper entirely, let me tell you that I will not allow you to engage in a duel. You have every right to challenge him. Any man would. But there must be another way.”
“There will be no duel,” Darcy said coldly.
“I cannot indulge in such irresponsibility. That is for foolish boys. I have too many obligations to be killed or flee to the continent for having killed. My father needs me. My sister needs me. There are other ways to manage Wickham. Release me, Bingley.”
Mr Bingley complied and stepped back, and they watched Darcy disappear inside.
Elizabeth went to the door and crept in behind him.
The young ladies from Priscilla’s room had realised something was happening and were at the top of the stairs, worried.
There were servants in a group whispering at the back of the hall.
Darcy spoke to the butler. “Mrs Younge is to be confined to her room immediately. She is not to be released under any circumstances until I order it.”
The butler motioned to a footman, and the two men rushed up the stairs and past the young ladies at the top.
Elizabeth watched Darcy go into his father’s study, which was quiet. She followed him to the door. Georgiana sat by her father’s feet, her face tearstained and pale.
She began to babble as her brother entered. “You must not lose your temper. Father is too weak, he has–”
She broke off as her brother gave her a speaking glance.
His father appeared to have aged more than ten years since the previous evening. “Fitzwilliam, this is a private matter, it is unnecessary for you to–”
“Georgiana is right, Father,” Darcy said gently. “Please, do not upset yourself. We could not bear it if you were to collapse from this terrible shock.”
Darcy made no recriminations, no interrogations, no demands.
He knelt by his father’s chair. “How badly are you hurt?”
“It is nothing, Fitzwilliam. I walked into a door,” Darcy Senior lied.
Darcy did not contradict him. He stared at his father for a long moment, then rose and kissed his temple carefully. A familiarity so unreserved that it was nearly painful to witness. He took his sister's hand and helped her to her feet, then kissed her on the forehead.
“You will go to Priscilla,” he instructed her. “You will remain with her until I speak to you. You will not leave the house, not even to visit the garden. Do you understand me, Georgiana?”
His sister nodded, trembling. Darcy turned and spied Elizabeth waiting hesitantly by the door. He went to her and took her hands and kissed first one, then the other in gratitude. “Thank you, Elizabeth.”
Then he turned and left the room. He took his gloves from the hall table and left the house. He and Mr Bingley mounted their horses and were gone.