Page 117

“I am sorry that I upset you Georgie.”

“You did not Lizzie. It was my own behaviour, my own conscious that was upset.”

She looked over at Mrs. Annesley who appeared conflicted. No words were exchanged before she finally nodded.

“If you are sure Miss Darcy.”

“I trust Elizabeth.”

“Then I will take Mrs. Smith down to the other end of the parlour while you speak to Miss Bennet.”

Georgiana waited until it was just the two of them before squaring her shoulders.

“Last summer I agreed to elope with a man. If my brother had not arrived unexpectedly then I would have been ruined, the family too.”

Whatever Elizabeth had been expecting it was not this. She listened as Georgiana told her tale. Her face became more and more severe.

“I am sorry, I can see how disappointed you are in me.”

Elizabeth realised that Georgie was interpreting her expression as a reflection of her own behaviour.

“No, it is nothing like that. My sour face was because of the behaviour of the man. You were betrayed and taken advantage of by those you should have been able to trust.”

“But I should have known better, I do know better. My shame at my behaviour is burned into my soul.”

Elizabeth thought about the right way to address Georgiana’s distress.

“Let me see if I can ease your burden. There are three parts to it. The first is the most important. You are safe, and there is no damage to your reputation. But look at it this way. As a small child you were told to stay away from the fire, not to go near it, the flames were hot, they were dangerous. But how many children, even after all these warnings, still edge their fingers towards the flames? They have to learn the hard way. This is what you have done. But the tips of your fingers hurt for an afternoon and then you were fine. You learned your lesson and you kept your fingers away from the fire after that. This has been a hard lesson but you have learned from it.

“The second aspect is this is not all your fault. Do you have some of the blame? Yes you do. But not close to the main portion. In order, the blame lies with the man, your companion, you and even your brother. He should have checked the references of this Mrs. Younge more carefully, and knowing your brother I am sure that he blames himself more than he blames you. She in turn was able to facilitate this evil plan and you as an impressionable 15 year old were led astray by someone that you should have been able to rely on. And then there is the despicable louse that is the man in this tale. A man, ages with your brother, who preys on a naïve young woman.

“And that brings me to the final point. You know your mythology. This man was your Achilles heel. How many other men are there that you knew growing up at Pemberley? Who else could remember small incidents from your childhood? This is the only person who could sneak inside your guard, get you to forget yourself, forget your upbringing. Dante assigns the 9th and lowest circle of hell to betrayers. This man will find himself in the eternal company of Judas for what he did to you.”

Rather than immediately respond Georgiana listened to the words. She had not dangled her fingers near a fire but she knew that her Aunt Susan still teased Richard for that very thing. She understood the point Elizabeth was making. What was refreshing was Elizabeth did not try and absolve her of blame. Both her brother and aunt had not scolded her for the way she had behaved. Elizabeth did not scold her but she did not cast a veil over her behaviour. And the final point, it struck home. There was no one else that could inveigle his way into her confidence. And although it was not particularly Christian she smiled at the thought of Wickham in eternal torment with Judas and Brutus. She took Elizabeth’s hands and pulled her to her feet before once again hugging her, this time without the tears.

“Thank you, Elizabeth. I see now that George was my Achilles heel. You are right, there is no one else with the specific circumstances and memories.”

“George? Oh, I see, that was the name of the man.”

“Yes, George Wickham.”

So many things flitted through Elizabeth’s mind, a cascading waterfall of snippets of information. And several things she had overlooked now made so much more sense.

“Elizabeth, you are distracted.”

“Can you describe this Wickham to me please?”

“He is the same age as my brother, slightly shorter and less broad across the shoulders. He has sandy coloured hair.” She paused and blushed. “And an attractive mien.”

It was the same man.

“Why do you ask?”

Suddenly she stared intently at Elizabeth.

“You have met him?”

Elizabeth nodded.