“No! You must not speak of him at all!” the housekeeper’s eyebrows flew up in alarm.
“Then I must insist that you provide me with an answer, Mrs. Reynolds.”
The older woman sighed. She took her keys from her belt and carefully located a small, bronze one to open the cabinet.
“His name is George Wickham, ma’am. He is the son of the late master’s steward. Old Mr. Darcy took a liking to him and raised him like a second son.”
“Oh! With Mr. Darcy, or with Miss Darcy?”
“The young master, assuredly. They are of an age. By the time Miss Darcy was in the nursery, they were both in the schoolroom. After that they went to Cambridge.”
“They stayed together? They must have been very close.”
“I suppose they were. Mr. Wickham turned out very differently to Mr. Darcy, though. It was plain as day that they had some disagreements when they were away. When they entered their professions, their friendship was gone entirely.”
“Is that why you must remove his portrait?”
“No, ma’am. The old master commissioned it, and Mr. Darcy is loath to destroy anything he cared about. He even concealed his great dislike for Wickham, so as not to upset his father. Mr. Darcy went to his grave believing Wickham to be a man of honour.”
“But he was not.”
“No indeed, ma’am.” Mrs. Reynolds look disgusted at the very thought. Then she beckoned Elizabeth closer and lowered her voice, “We are forbidden to speak of him, Mrs. Darcy, but it is only right for you to know the truth: Mr. Wickham is to blame for Miss Darcy’s illness.”
“How so?”
The servant shook her head emphatically. “I cannot speak of it. If you must know the answer, then you must hear it from Mr. Darcy himself. I have my duties to attend to, ma’am. Will you be needing anything else?”
Elizabeth’s heart ached at the sudden coldness in Mrs. Reynolds’ voice. It felt like she had thrown their friendship away for the sake of a piece of gossip. “No, you can go. Thank you so much for…”
Mrs. Reynolds shook her head. She picked up the miniature as if it was rotten, her face fixed in disgust, then locked the case with a harsh twist of the key. Mrs. Darcy received a curtsey and Mr. Wickham began his journey to the kitchen fire.
Chapter 18
Darcy had not yet found the right words to tell Georgiana about Elizabeth. He could not decide which part of the story sounded worse: that an angel had rescued him from drunken misery, or that he was so desperate for help that he was prepared to take advantage of a woman in need.
He had been in Georgiana’s room for a day and a night before he made the attempt. He had spoken of everything else under the sun except that. Now, when the world had ground into silence, he knew that he must saysomething.
Darcy found himself telling his sister tiny fragments. It was like trying to fill the ocean with raindrops.
There is a young lady staying here…
…a few years older than you, Georgiana…
… I am sure you will like her very much, when…
When what? When he brought poor Elizabeth into this awful place? Such a sin would be the perfect climax to his Luciferian fall: to take his sweet angel and tear off her wings forever.
He had been ready to do it. He would have thrown Miss Bennet to the wolves without question a month ago. Even though Darcy knew he was asking her for the impossible, he was ready to tieher to the task forever. But that was before their honeymoon, when she was a stranger and a hope and a dream. Now, she was Elizabeth: wonderfully and heartbreaking human. He could not lock her away.
Darcy spent three days in the music room, imagining how Elizabeth might feel in his place. Every passing hour was more tortuous than the last, but still he persisted.
Sometimes Miss Crocker brought him a tray, or tended to Georgiana’s needs, but her visits were always so brief that Darcy barely noticed her. He assumed that Mrs. Reynolds had told the servants to intrude on the peaceful room as little as possible. Certainly, Miss Crocker did not seem inclined to linger after her duties were carried out. She did not even speak to her patient, merely checked her over like a show-pig and frowned irritably at anything that needed attention.
Darcy knew that he should challenge that. Miss Crocker was efficient and professional, but her manner was that of utter disdain. He would speak to Mrs. Reynolds… but that was when he left. An insurmountable, exhausting task. The world outside the music room was loud and complicated. The world within it was slow and silent, leaching minutes from hours in an endless, pitiful whisper, but it waseasy.
On the third day the peace was broken. Darcy had been reading his sister a book. His head snapped up in amazement when a bright laugh sang through the air. Someone was outside the window, enjoying the autumn sunshine and making merry. Darcy drew back the green curtains a sliver and looked out.
It was Elizabeth. She was walking along the side of the house alone. A little grey cat had run up and snatched at her skirt, making her laugh. Normally the stable cats were feral, earning their keep as mousers and not as companions. This one,however, had decided it wanted to play. Elizabeth leaned down to stroke it and the cat made another attempt at her shawl. She laughed again, scooped the cat into her arms, and cuddled it thoroughly.
