Twenty-Six #2
"You speak of the law as though it were some sacred protection," she continued.
"The law did not protect my mother when every acquaintance ceased to call upon her.
It did not protect me when young ladies who had once sought my friendship were forbidden even to acknowledge me.
It did not prevent tradesmen from gathering at our door, nor strangers from staring whenever we ventured to leave our home. "
Darcy remained silent. Hartley's guilt admitted of no doubt, yet the suffering she described had found no place in the dry legal papers he had read.
"My father lost his estate," she said. "He lost his name, his standing, and every hope of recovering either.
Within months he put a pistol to his own heart.
We left Derbyshire soon afterwards, but my mother followed him before the year was out, though no weapon was required to kill her. The shame did the same job."
Richard lowered his pistol a fraction, though his attention never left Hale.
"And you blamed my father," Darcy said quietly.
"Whom else should I have blamed?"
"The man who committed the fraud."
Mrs. Vane's eyes flashed. "Do you suppose I did not blame him? I spent years despising my father for his weakness, and myself for loving him despite it. But your father chose the manner of his ruin. George Darcy wished to make an example of him, and he succeeded."
"My father did not compel him to steal."
"No," she replied. "He merely ensured that every person connected with Thomas Hartley suffered for it."
Darcy's jaw tightened, and he held it there, saying nothing until he was certain of his own voice. "And therefore you determined that every person connected with George Darcy should suffer in return."
Something akin to satisfaction appeared in her expression.
"Now you understand."
"No," he replied quietly. "I understand only that you became the very thing you professed to despise."
The satisfaction faded instantly.
"You speak of innocent women punished for the actions of men," Darcy continued, "yet you chose my sister for ruin because she bore my father's name. You speak of cruelty shown to your mother, yet you were prepared to inflict disgrace upon Georgiana and leave her to endure it alone."
"She would not have been alone. She would have had you." Mrs. Vane turned her gaze upon Wickham. "And a husband, had Mr. Wickham done his duty."
Wickham swallowed where he stood, and every eye in the room turned briefly toward him.
"And what consolation was your presence to your own mother?"
Mrs. Vane recoiled as though he had struck her.
The silence that followed was broken only by the crackling of the fire. Wickham had ceased his restless shifting, and even Hale kept his eyes fixed upon the floor.
Darcy had expected to feel triumph when at last he confronted the person responsible for the dangers that had threatened his family. He felt none. There was only anger, mingled with a reluctant understanding of how grief, nourished for too many years, could become something monstrous.
"You married Mr. Vane," he said. "A wealthy man with no connection to Derbyshire."
"My parents lost everything, including my dowry," she replied. "With neither fortune nor consequence to recommend me, I accepted the security that was offered."
"And after his death, his fortune gave you the means to pursue this design."
"If you mean to obtain justice, then yes."
"This was never justice."
"It should have begun with your father," she said. "He died just as I was laying my plans and left everything to you. He left Pemberley untouched, his name unsullied, and his children provided for. Mine was buried while half the county whispered that his death had spared the hangman his duty."
"My father was not responsible for your father's taking his own life."
"He knew what would happen."
"He could not have known."
"He did not care."
Darcy met her gaze steadily. He would not defend every decision his father had made without knowing every circumstance, but neither would he permit grief to transform guilt into innocence.
"Even were that true, Georgiana bore no responsibility for it. Nor did the servants whose lives you endangered, the tenants whose affairs you pried into, or the many others you injured merely because they were connected with my family."
She looked back at him, and for the first time he saw not anger alone, but profound weariness beneath it.
"You speak as a man who has never known what it is to lose everything," she said quietly.
"You were free to marry where you pleased.
You inherited your father's estate, his consequence, and his place in society.
I possessed neither fortune nor dowry. Affection mattered very little when survival demanded something else. "
Darcy regarded her for a long moment.
"You have spent so many years allowing your father's actions to destroy what remained of your own conscience."
Her face hardened. "You shall not pity me."
"I do not."
The quiet reply appeared to wound her more deeply than pity ever could.
Darcy stepped backwards as Colonel Forster stepped forward.
"Mrs. Vane, you will accompany us. Hale will be questioned separately, and the statements already obtained from Mrs. Younge and Mr. Wickham will be laid before the magistrate."
Mrs. Vane drew herself upright.
"On whose evidence do you expect to convict me? Hale will never speak, and I doubt any magistrate will place much reliance upon the word of a disgraced companion or George Wickham."