He read the article once, then again, his lips tightening, his hand gripping the paper so tightly it crumpled in his grasp. Elizabeth watched him anxiously, searching his face for some sign of reassurance or disbelief.
At length, Darcy looked up, his voice low and controlled. “This is serious indeed. How? Who could have found out such a thing?”
Mr. Gardiner looked between Elizabeth and Darcy with confusion. Elizabeth blushed, sank into the cushions on the settee, buried her face in her hands. “It is the most dreadful news; I had thought that Spain was well behind me.”
She burst into tears, and for a few moments could not speak another word. Darcy stood frozen, he was unable even to mutter words of comfort.
“Mr. Darcy, what is this about? I fear you have a greater understanding of the newspaper article than my wife and I.”
Before Darcy could speak, Elizabeth interrupted. “It cannot be concealed from any one. Oh, dearest Aunt and Uncle, I have betrayed you, betrayed my family—we are lost forever.”
Mrs. Gardiner was fixed in astonishment. “Lizzy, whatever do you mean? Surely there cannot be any truth to the article. Please, tell me so!”
Elizabeth looked in anguish at Mr. Darcy. “Oh! Is there nothing to be done? How was such ever discovered? Have we not the smallest hope? It is every way horrible.”
Darcy shook his head in silent acquiescence. “This Williams. Do you know such a man: an acquaintance, family friend, in trade?”
Mr. Gardiner made no answer. He took his wife’s hand. The revelations of the article, he feared, were more damaging than any suit for libel could contain.
Darcy was walking up and down the room in earnest meditation, his brow contracted, his air gloomy. Elizabeth looked up at him, and instantly understood. Her power was sinking; every thing must sink under such disclosure, such assurance of the deepest disgrace. She could neither wonder nor condemn, but the belief of his restraint brought nothing consolatory to her bosom, afforded no palliation of her distress. It was, on the contrary, exactly calculated to make her understand her own wishes; and never had she so honestly felt that she could have loved him, as now, when all love must be vain.
Elizabeth was soon lost to every thing else; and, after a pause of several minutes, was only recalled to a sense of her situation by the voice of Mr. Darcy, who, in a manner, which though it spoke compassion, spoke likewise, so it seemed to her, of censure—
“I am afraid you have been long desiring my absence, nor have I any thing to plead in excuse of my stay. Would to heaven that any thing could be either said or done on my part, that might offer consolation to such distress. But I will not torment you with vain wishes. This unfortunate affair will, I fear, prevent my sister’s having the pleasure of seeing you today.”
He bowed to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, turned once again to look at Elizabeth, then quitted the room.
* * *
Elizabeth saw him go with regret; and in this early example of what her infamy must produce, found additional anguish as she reflected on that wretched business. Of course, when she hadentered the French camp, she had accepted, in an abstract way, that were it known, her action could reflect on her reputation. But she had justified this by the thought of rescuing the British army from certain annihilation, trapped between three French armies at Salamanca. It was a gamble which had, indeed, won the day—yet she herself had lost. Was that not always the fate of those who gave their lives so that others might live? Oh, that she had died herself!
Her story came stumbling out, interspersed with tears, with hot tea, with great lamentations. If Elizabeth had thought to be censured, then she was wrong, for her aunt and uncle could only admire her. She had, with great danger to herself, both morally and physically, entered the camp of the enemy and discovered intelligence of vital importance. And then gave all credit to Colonel Fitzwilliam for averting catastrophe. Lord Wellington had known the truth but had agreed that no one would understand the nature of her gift: it was a truth universally agreed, that there was only one way a woman could learn such intelligence from a man—in war, moral turpitude was necessary, but never acknowledged nor condoned.
Mrs. Gardiner, wiping her own eyes, took Elizabeth’s hand in both of hers. “My dear girl, you acted with more courage than any officer in His Majesty’s service could boast. Why, to think of you going alone—at such risk! That the world should see only scandal in it, and not the service you have done your country—oh, it is shameful! But we know the truth, Lizzy, and so, I dare say, does Mr. Darcy.”
Elizabeth pressed her hand in silent gratitude, but her heart was still sore. “I fear it will be no comfort to those who read such things in the papers,” she said, her voice trembling. “You are very good, Aunt, but what of Georgiana Darcy? What of Lydia?What of Jane and my poor father? The world is not so forgiving as you are.”
Mr. Gardiner, who had been pacing the rug, now spoke with renewed firmness. “We must write at once to Longbourn, to warn your family of what has appeared in print.”
Mrs. Gardiner nodded. “Indeed, I think, Lizzy, you will find friends in places you did not expect. This may yet be set right. The truth has a way of making itself known, even in London.”
There was little comfort in these words for Elizabeth, yet she accepted them as best she could. She rose and composed herself, determined to bear the blow as bravely as she might. “Will you send a note to my father, Uncle? Will you—will you tell him the truth, as I have told it to you?”
“Of course, my dear. And you must not worry for Jane—she is strong. She will stand by you, of that I am certain. Bingley is an honourable man; he will not forsake her.”
Elizabeth managed a wan smile. “Thank you. I do not know what I should do without you both.”
The room fell into a thoughtful hush, broken only by the distant sound of children’s voices in the garden. Elizabeth retired to her room. She had little left but tears; tears for the injustice of the world; tears for her heart.
* * *
Chapter 19
London
“William, where is Miss Elizabeth?” Is she unwell?” Georgiana asked her brother as he climbed into the carriage. His brow was furrowed—pain, concern; yet, there was more, a seething anger which threatened to break free of his restraint. Darcy still clutched the crumpled newspaper. Without a word, he passed it to Georgiana.
His sister gasped, putting her hand to her mouth. “Oh, this is so wrong! And such lies—about her and Lydia. They are the loveliest people.”
