Chapter 42 The Tokens
For several minutes after the Bingleys’ carriage disappeared, Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam remained where they were. The morning was cold, and Elizabeth tucked her free hand more deeply into her muff while Fitzwilliam covered the other where it rested upon his arm.
“Come inside, darling. You are cold.”
Pemberley seemed unusually quiet without Jane, Charles, and Caroline. Elizabeth had spent much of the previous month surrounded by family and guests, and now that they were gone, she found herself pleased to have her husband and their home more nearly to herself.
Fitzwilliam left her at the foot of the stairs with a kiss upon her temple before going to his study. Elizabeth continued to her private parlor, where Papa’s books filled one wall.
She had grown accustomed to seeing them there, but every so often she entered the room and was struck anew by the sight.
She crossed to the shelves and ran one finger along the familiar bindings.
Papa had loved these books. He had written in some of them, argued with others, and occasionally thrown one aside after declaring the author a fool.
Elizabeth moved away from the shelves.
December twenty-first was less than a month away.
She went to the small writing desk near the window and opened the upper drawer. Her notebook lay inside.
Elizabeth took it out and turned through the pages containing the notes she and Papa had made before tragedy struck.
Later pages held the questions that had brought her to Arbor Low and the observations she had made while searching for an explanation of what had happened to those who had disappeared.
Between the blank pages at the back lay a folded sheet of paper. Aunt Maddie’s letter. It had not been lost or misplaced in the move to Pemberley.
She unfolded the single cross-written page.
Gracechurch Street, London
April 27, 1811
Aunt Maddie’s familiar handwriting covered the paper, and in one corner Jane had drawn several hawthorn blossoms.
Elizabeth touched them.
The letter had arrived at Longbourn on April thirtieth, and the following day Lydia had brought hawthorn branches into the house.
Mamma had declared they meant misfortune and death while Lydia insisted they promised a wedding.
That evening, Jane had taken Aunt Maddie’s letter from Elizabeth, drawn the little blossoms in the corner, and told her to save it.
Elizabeth had laughed at her, but she had saved it nevertheless.
She folded the letter and went in search of Fitzwilliam.
* * *
He was behind his desk when Elizabeth entered the study, but whatever business occupied him was forgotten when she laid the letter before him.
“I found Aunt Maddie’s letter.”
Fitzwilliam reached for it, and Elizabeth moved around the desk to stand beside him while he read the date.
“April twenty-seventh,” he said.
“Yes, but I did not receive it until April thirtieth. Jane drew the hawthorn on May first.”
He examined the little flowers. “The hawthorn Lydia brought into the house.”
“Yes.”
He ran his finger over Jane’s drawing of a hawthorn blossom. “Perhaps some old warnings survive for a reason.”
“The very same. Mamma said it meant misfortune and death, while Lydia insisted it meant marriage.”
“Marriage and misfortune upon the same page.”
Elizabeth rested her hand upon his shoulder. “None of us could have known how prophetic Lydia’s words would prove to be.”
He drew her around the chair until she stood between his knees and looked again at the letter.
“Samuel Grange’s receipt presented no such difficulty. He received it on the day it was written.”
She settled onto his lap. “Whereas I have three possible dates, and who is to say which one matters most?”
“If it takes you to any of those days, Elizabeth, you will return to a safe, familiar place, and your family will still be alive and well, living at Longbourn.”
Elizabeth leaned back until she rested against him.
“Papa will be alive.”
“Yes, darling.”
She bent and kissed him.
When she straightened, Fitzwilliam kept his arm around her. “Let us secure them in my strongbox.”
* * *
Fitzwilliam sent for Georgiana, asking her to bring the receipts they planned to use as tokens. She came to his study carrying the red Morocco portfolio they had purchased at Clementi’s shop. After removing the two receipts, she handed them to her brother, who laid Aunt Maddie’s letter beside them.
The receipts both bore the date April 12, 1811.
Georgiana studied Elizabeth’s letter for a moment before looking at the hawthorn blossoms. “I remember when you first showed us the letter at the Radcliffs’. I wished then that you had a simple token like our receipts.”
“Yes. A receipt worked for Samuel Grange and will most likely work for the two of you, but my letter remains an enigma.”
“I definitely prefer our receipts,” Georgiana said. “They are much less troublesome.”
Elizabeth laughed. “I envy you both your shopping.”
Georgiana touched her brother’s arm. “If the tokens return us to a moment connected with them, Fitzwilliam and I ought to arrive together.”
“We shall not know the exact day Elizabeth will return, but never mind, darling. You will return to your family circle, and I will wait for you.”
“You say that now, sir, when I am standing beside you. If several weeks pass and I have not appeared, you may become less confident.”
“I may become impatient. I shall not become less certain of you.”
The letters they had written to their former selves were already sealed and waiting in Fitzwilliam’s strongbox.
Fitzwilliam rose and unlocked it. “We shall keep everything together until the twenty-first.”
He placed the two receipts from Clementi’s music shop beside Elizabeth’s letter and locked them away for safekeeping.
* * *
The first days of December passed quietly.
Richard remained at Pemberley, and the four of them settled into the strange business of waiting for a day that might erase their shared history.
Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam rarely spoke of Arbor Low. Neither wished to dwell upon the possibility of losing the life they had together. For now, they had one another, and they were determined not to surrender the time that remained to fears of what might come afterward.
Elizabeth was surprised by how ordinary happiness could be.
She and Fitzwilliam spent as much time together as possible.
During the day, they both had duties requiring their attention, but at night, they remained together in Elizabeth’s room.
They talked in the darkness, loved each other, and slept in one another’s arms, increasingly reluctant to surrender even an hour of the time they had left.
Elizabeth had once imagined that the great happiness of being loved must reside in declarations and moments of great consequence.
Instead, she discovered it in a hundred small things she had never known to wish for.
It made December twenty-first difficult to contemplate.
* * *
Five days before the solstice, Elizabeth entered the music room and found Georgiana seated at the pianoforte with an open sheet of music before her. She was not playing. One hand rested low upon her abdomen, and her attention was fixed there.
Elizabeth crossed the room at once. “Are you unwell, Georgie?”
“No. I felt something a moment ago, and I think it was my baby.”
Elizabeth sat beside her.
They waited together until Georgiana suddenly drew a breath and pressed her hand more firmly against her gown.
“There. It moved again.”
Wonder softened her face.
“I knew there was a child,” Georgiana said. “I understood what Dr. Wynn told me and what being with child meant, but knowing is very different from feeling it.”
She remained quiet for a moment, her hand still beneath the gentle curve of her abdomen.
“I still want to go back, Lizzy. I do not want to take a holiday at Ramsgate or meet Wickham, and I want to be an innocent fifteen-year-old again and believe Fitzwilliam can protect me from everything. Feeling the child has not changed any of that.”
Elizabeth took her hand.
“For months I have wished Wickham had never harmed me, but only now do I realize that wishing him away comes with other consequences.”
Tears filled her eyes.
Elizabeth remained beside her, not knowing what to say.
Some time later, Fitzwilliam entered the music room. He looked from Elizabeth to his sister and came directly toward them.
“I felt the quickening.”
Fitzwilliam sat on her other side and took her hand.
“I have been telling Lizzy that I still want to go back. I want to stop Wickham before any of this happens.”
Fitzwilliam took her hand and pressed it.
“You may still change your mind, Georgiana. If you decide not to cross with us, I will remain behind with you.”
Her face crumpled, and Fitzwilliam drew her against him.
Elizabeth moved nearer and rested her hand upon Georgiana’s shoulder while Fitzwilliam held his sister close.