“Lizzy, this is meaningless gossip—a few spurious remarks overheard in a busy gallery. You ought to know better than to pay attention to such things.”
“And in the usual course of things, I would think nothing of it. But I have another reason to be concerned.”
“Oh?”
Elizabeth sighed heavily. “I would not, under any other circumstance, reveal this, for my discretion in this matter hasbeen as valuable to Mr Darcy as his was to us when it came to Lydia’s elopement.”
Mrs Gardiner frowned deeply and assured Elizabeth that she could depend upon her secrecy. She and her husband, Elizabeth knew, thought exceptionally well of Mr Darcy for the probity and generosity he had shown in saving Lydia from ruin. They had assumed, at the time, he had done it for their niece. That it had not turned out to be affection which motivated him, whilst it made them sorry for her, had only increased their good opinion of him. For if it had not been love that induced him, it could only have been the finest sense of honour.
“Lydia was not the first girl whom Wickham almost ruined,” Elizabeth whispered, as though saying it aloud might be ruinous despite there being nobody else present to hear. “Before her, he persuaded Miss Darcy to believe herself in love with him. She was but fifteen at the time. Their elopement was only prevented because Mr Darcy visited his sister unexpectedly, and she confessed the whole of it to him.”
Her aunt pursed her lips and exhaled heavily through her nose. “Your new brother has a lot to answer for. No wonder Mr Darcy was so reluctant to reveal his true character to the world—his poor sister!”
“Exactly. Do you see now why I am fearful for her? She has been burnt once before, almost irreparably. She is such a dear, sweet girl—so shy and trusting. I would warn her to be careful of Lord Rutherford, that is all. I cannot bear the thought of her being ill-used again.”
“It would be a tragedy, I agree, but it is not our place to intervene, and certainly not on the grounds of two unsubstantiated rumours. You would do better to have your uncle send a note to Mr Darcy. Let her brother be the one to investigate the matter.”
Elizabeth shook her head—and rather more violently than she intended to, but that was the solution she wasleastinclined to pursue. “You have not heard from him since Lydia’s wedding. That can mean only one thing—that he did not wish to maintain an acquaintance with you, any more than he did with me. And really, who can blame him, for we are now related to a man he justly scorns.”
“True, but in these circumstances, a simple letter would surely present no evil.”
“But it would! Imagine, the first contact in months from a family he would sooner forget, and it is with the accusation that his sister is engaged in another illicit liaison! Censure all the more problematic precisely because,as you say, the reports are unsubstantiated.” She shook her head again. “I cannot hurl any more unfounded charges at Mr Darcy; it would be unthinkably cruel—not to mention unfair to his sister and mortifying for me. It would be much better if I were to have a quiet word with Miss Darcy at the gallery. Mr Darcy need never know.”
The answer was going to be no; Elizabeth could tell. Her aunt’s mien was sympathetic, but she was taking a long time to answer, and that meant she was preparing her excuses. “I shall never have the chance to thank him for what he did for Lydia,” she interjected before Mrs Gardiner could speak. “If I can do this one thing, if I can protect his sister, it would be the closest to repaying him I shall ever have the opportunity for.”
She saw the indecision in her aunt’s countenance—and she saw it disappear again when the door opened, and her uncle poked his head into the room.
“Gregg and Sawyer are leaving, my dear.”
Mrs Gardiner hastened to her feet, urgently seeking assurances that neither of the gentlemen wished for coffee.
“Gregg has an early appointment,” Mr Gardiner explained, holding the door open for his wife. He seemed surprised whenElizabeth stood up to follow them both into the hall. “Lizzy! I thought you went to bed when your sister did. You are good to stay up and keep your aunt company.”
“Not at all, Uncle, it was my pleasure.” She followed him along the passage to the entrance hall, where Mr Sawyer and Mr Gregg were shrugging into their coats in readiness to leave. She tried her best to be cheerful as she wished them both farewell, but privately, she could think of little other than how awful it would be if, after everything Mr Darcy had done for her sister, her inaction allowedhissister to come to harm.
“Youaregood, Lizzy. You have a big heart,” her aunt whispered, startling her. She looked up and was greeted with a kind smile and kinder words. “I shall go with you tomorrow. It will be pleasant to see Miss Darcy again. She is a sweet girl.”
The magnitude of her relief made even Elizabeth begin to doubt her earlier avowals of being reconciled to her acquaintance with Mr Darcy being over, but there was nothing she could do about that. She might see him again, or she might not; for now, Miss Darcy would be warned, and Mr Darcy would be spared the pain of seeing his sister unhappy again. That was all that mattered. She thanked her aunt in the warmest of terms and excused herself to bed.
CHAPTER NINE
Kitty refused her sister and aunt’s invitation to return to the gallery again the next morning. She made her refusal in as sulky a way as she possibly could to ensure that neither pressed the point. Then she lingered over her breakfast, dawdled over her toilette, and generally made it seem as though leaving the house was the least agreeable prospect in the world. It worked; they departed for the gallery without her, leaving behind them the counsel that she ought to find something to do while they were out that would put her in a better humour.
They need not have concerned themselves; Kitty had plans that would raise any girl’s spirits—and since her ill temper was entirely fictitious in any case, her humour looked set to become positively jubilant before too long. As soon as she heard the front door close, she abandoned her magazine, snatched up her bonnet and cloak, and hastened to the back of the house, where she knew Annie awaited her.
“They have gone! Time to go!”
The maid finished folding the napkin in her hands and set it on a pile of others, then picked up her own pelisse and bonnet from the chair beside her. “’Tis a relief, miss, I don’tmind admitting. I had a hard time hiding from your sister all morning.”
“Why were you hiding from Lizzy?”
“She asked me to go with her today. I had to tell her I had other plans, since you asked me not to let on about ours, only then I had to keep out of her way, and I thought she would discover me at every minute.”
Kitty grinned and gave an affected sigh of relief. She had originally planned to feign a headache and sneak out of the house to keep her meeting with Sergeant Mulhall while everybody else thought she was resting. She had secured Annie’s services as a chaperon for the venture the moment she returned from her outing with Lizzy the previous day. It was a feeble plan, almost certain to be foiled—not least because she shared a bedroom with her sister, and the chances of her absence from it going undiscovered were therefore vanishingly small. She had scarcely believed her luck when Lizzy and Mrs Gardiner announced their intention to go out, leaving her at liberty to come and go as she pleased without disguise.
“Well done for not getting caught—but what a fine adventure!” she cried. Ignoring Annie’s muted enthusiasm, she led the way out of the back door. “We had better make haste—’tis almost noon already, and I do not want to be late.”
They made their way towards the river, where they crossed the bridge into Southwark and turned eastwards. It was a warm day, and Kitty regretted wearing her cloak, but she refrained from asking Annie to take it, for she was in a far worse state, short of breath and gleaming with exertion—clearly unfit to be burdened with anything to carry. She wondered whether the maid was unused to walking so far, but she ought to be glad to have come with her, in that case, for if she had gone with Lizzy, she would have had to walk twice as far at twice the pace.
