Teaching Eliza, page 28
“Oh, you know them?” Georgie’s eyebrows lifted in amazement, for Lizzy had not before mentioned her time in London and her association with the family. She had no wish to recount her history with Georgie’s brother, and less still to explain her own uncertain feelings about him.
“I made their acquaintance in the winter,” she dissembled, “and your cousin Richard Fitzwilliam is recently wed to my good friend.”
“You are friendly with Charlotte? Richard writes so well of her; Mrs. Reynolds insists on reading his letters to me. I have difficulty finding interest in much of what he says, but he talks so happily of Charlotte that his joy brings some meaning to my own life. Pray, Lizzy, tell me about her!”
This was the curiosity and interest that Lizzy had been hoping for; at that moment, Georgie could be any young woman, poised on the verge of adulthood, eager to meet the world. The girl’s eyes were wide with anticipation and she grinned with the notion of particular information. In response, Lizzy felt her own face break into a smile, allowing her brows to rise briefly as she prepared to dispense her secrets.
As she talked, she tried to describe Charlotte to Georgie and the girl sketched at her paper, eventually presenting Lizzy with the result. It was not Charlotte, but the face certainly bore a respectable resemblance to her friend. “You are remarkable!” Lizzy gushed, and Georgie blushed a deep pink that looked most well on her.
Eventually they returned to the portraits. As Georgie flipped through the stack, one by one, Lizzy stopped her at a face that looked familiar. “Who is this man? I know I have seen him before, but I cannot think where.”
At once she regretted this question, for the light that had been coming over Georgie’s face vanished in an instant, to be replaced by the darkest cloud. It was the same cloud she had seen at their second visit, when Georgie had been visited by memories of the cad who had so abused her.
“Oh, pray forgive me!” Lizzy exclaimed. This portrait clearly evoked terrible memories, and she feared that she would send Georgie once more into the depths of her melancholia. “Do not talk of him, for I see this gives you pain. Let us find another—”
But Georgie stopped her with a soft hand. “No. I wish to talk of him. If you know my cousins, you may know the story anyway….” Lizzy tried to protest that she knew nothing from the cousins, but Georgie would not allow it. “I have known you only a short time, but your kindness to a sad and dull girl such as myself brings me to feel I can unburden myself to you. Mrs. Reynolds, too, must trust you, and the weight of my sins is lying so heavily on my heart. If I can tell you of what I have done, it may ease my burden. I know you will not cast judgement upon me. Please, allow me this!”
The passion that infused these last words alarmed Lizzy, for until this moment, she had only heard the flat and expressionless voice that had matched the blank face. As she stared at Georgie, she also saw, for the first time, real fire in the girl’s eyes. “Forgive me if I err,” she prayed silently, dreading that her agreement might cause worse damage to the wretched creature beside her on the sofa. To Georgie, she said as calmly as she could manage, “Only speak if it does not distress you; I shan’t demand that you finish even a single sentence.”
And so Georgie spoke. “The man is the son of my father’s old steward. He was a favourite of my father, and a constant playmate to my brother as a child. His name is George Wickham.” Lizzy now recalled the man. He had been in the militia in Meryton, a handsome officer in a splendid red coat, with whom her sisters flirted from afar. She had heard his name, but she had not been formally introduced to him during her sporadic residence at Longbourn. She explained this quickly to Georgie, who then continued her sad tale.
“Last year, when I was fifteen, he met me and my companion at Ramsgate, and being an old friend from childhood, my companion allowed us to spend time together. George doted on me and paid me every attention. He convinced me that he loved me. He said we were fated to be together, that providence alone had brought him to where I happened to be, and threw us together once more. Later I discovered that providence went by the name of Mrs. Younge, who was my companion and who was known to Mr. Wickham. But I digress.
“George convinced me to agree to an elopement. He told me that my brother would be distressed at having to set aside the time and resources to plan a wedding, and that he would be much more pleased if the ceremony and festivities could be dispensed with. Knowing Fitz as I do, I had to agree with him, for Fitz is not a lover of society, and is more content on his own than in the midst of a large function. But when Fitz arrived to visit me just days before the elopement was to take place, I had to tell him all. I thought he would be so happy, and so pleased at the trouble we had saved him. Oh, Lizzy, I was so very, very wrong!
“Fitz was furious. He shouted at me for what seemed like hours before he turned his rage on George. And that was when my heart truly broke, for Fitz was right. George did not love me at all. All he wanted was my dowry, and I so nearly succumbed to his plot. When Fitz told him that the dowry was only to be given with his blessing, George spat at him and hissed at me that I could keep my dowry, for he had already ruined me, and that I would be useless to any other man, an object of scorn.”
Somewhere in the midst of this breathless recital, tears began to form in the girl’s eyes, and now they overflowed the edges of her lashes. She did not sob, nor did she wail, but she let the tears flow unstopped down her face.
This was the matter Mrs. Reynolds had failed to discern. Lizzy had to ask, “Forgive me again, Georgie, but when Mr. Wickham said that he ruined you, did he truly... That is, did he…?” She sighed. There was no polite way to ask, but something in the girl’s words made her wonder. “What, exactly, did he do to you?”
The girl wiped her face with a handkerchief and fought back her tears. “Oh, Lizzy, I am so ashamed of what I allowed him. We were alone together, and he said it was expected of courting couples… He… I allowed him to kiss me, on the lips even, and once, he moved his hand to touch my—” she broke off and moved her hand to indicate her bosom. “It is so very, very shameful. I tried to return to my old society in London, but all I could hear were girls who had been my friends and acquaintances talking about those they knew who had been ruined, and how the shame would follow them forever, how they could never wed or be presented or be in good society again, and even though they knew not of my own personal shame, I could not abide it. I had to hide, and that is when the melancholia became so very bad.” Now she was starting to sob quietly, releasing emotions held too tightly and for too long.
Still, a question remained. “Georgie, answer me this truthfully. Please. Mr. Wickham did nothing other than kiss you on the mouth and place his hand on your chest?” The girl nodded. “Nothing more?”
“What more is there?” she sobbed, choking out the words between tears and gasps. “I allowed him this, and it is to my eternal shame.”
In any other circumstance, Lizzy might have laughed. The relief she felt on the young girl’s behalf was tremendous and the sun seemed, suddenly, a little brighter. But she could not laugh, for Georgie’s pain was too raw and her innocence too pure. With the steadiest voice she could manage, Lizzy said, “You are not ruined, sweet thing. He misled you. There is much more that he might have done, and still not ruined you. He is a lying cad, a scoundrel of the worst stripes, but he has not ruined you.”
Georgie dissolved completely into tears now, and Lizzy gathered her into her arms, allowing the younger girl full vent of her anguish. “But he kissed me… he even used his tongue…”
“Oh, my dear friend, I have been thoroughly kissed too, by a man I thought I liked, and I am not at all ruined. The man’s cousins and friends surely know he kissed me thus, and they still are proud to introduce me to their exclusive society. No, you may set your sweet heart at ease, for you are not even slightly tarnished.”
“Truly?”
“Truly!”
A great many more tears ensued, but Lizzy felt they were cleansing tears, washing away some of the pain and torment and watering the ground where healing might take root. When Mrs. Reynolds reappeared some time later to take away the tea tray and ask after the two ladies, she found them thus, with Georgie weeping onto Lizzy’s shoulder, while Lizzy handed her handkerchiefs to dry her tears and lifted sodden hair from her streaming eyes. The expression on the older woman’s face suggested that she was uncertain whether to be alarmed at the tears, or to be relieved that her charge was, at last, releasing the bad humours that fed her melancholia. Lizzy saw her and looked up, mouthing, “Everything will be alright,” and Mrs. Reynolds let out a deep grateful breath.
In time, the weeping abated and Georgie was prevailed upon to take a bit of broth and some bread. Lizzy requested that they take their luncheon on the balcony, for there was sufficient space for a small table and two or three chairs, and this was deemed a good idea by all. The fresh air and sunlight seemed to be healing for the young lady, and might be welcome solace after her cathartic experience that morning. Mrs. Reynolds sat with them for a few moments, enough to convey her maternal concern for Georgie without overstepping her bounds as housekeeper. Then Lizzy and Georgie sat peacefully, watching the birds fly over the wood, catching glimpses of animals as they wandered along the clearing edge of the trees, and enjoying the redolent air of the rose-perfumed garden below.
“Is anybody living in the cottage now?” asked Lizzy after a time. “I have been looking yonder and thought I saw some movement amongst the trees. But, perhaps it was a deer, or even a bird, for it is too far to see clearly, and too hidden by the wood.”
“None is there that I know,” Georgie replied. Her voice seemed clearer now, though thick from her recent tears, and there was a trace of animation in it. “I have thought, at night, that there might be smoke billowing from the chimney, but I have not looked closely. It might be a groundskeeper, with his maintenance, or it might be birds flying through the air above it.”
Happy to keep Georgie’s mind on something that cheered her slightly, Lizzy asked more questions about the cottage and the games that were played there, until at last it was time for her to return to Arlenby. The two parted with fervent embraces, and a renewal of Georgie’s pledge of friendship. “Perhaps on my next visit we can look through your music,” Lizzy teased, “unless you have had any secret assignations with Herr Haydn.” The joke was well received and Georgie smiled tentatively and expressed her deep gratitude.
As they walked out of the house, Lizzy requested a moment with Mrs. Reynolds. She had not been asked to keep Georgie’s confession secret and thought it best that the caring housekeeper know. She explained the situation as discreetly as she could and expressed her hopes that Georgie might now begin to work her way free from the devils that plagued her since she understood at last that she was not completely ruined after all.
“It will take time, still, Miss Bennet, for her to recover her spirits,” the lady warned. Lizzy concurred, but hoped that healing might now begin. “Thank you, Miss Bennet, for telling me,” she added as the chaise started moving on its return to Arlenby.
When next Lizzy arrived at Pemberley to visit her friend, it was to find a much improved Georgie waiting for her. The young lady was dressed for the outdoors and walking around her sitting room as Lizzy entered. “I hope you might join me in a short walk through the gardens.” Her face was alive with anxious optimism, and she chewed her bottom lip as she took breath. “I feel I might do well with some air. I have not left my rooms in too long, and I feel now I wish to re-enter the world.” This was most welcome news, and Lizzy eagerly agreed.
“I also wish to tell you that I have agreed to take the draughts the doctor left for me. Mrs. Reynolds tried a small taste and promised me it is not too foul. There is a tincture of St. John’s Wort, and Doctor Trentham promises it will be beneficial. He also suggested taking a tea made with saffron, which is very pretty and rather delicate in flavour. I had my first dose of the St. John’s Wort this morning.” She bit her lips once more and looked, for a moment, much younger than her sixteen years. “I know it is too soon for the draught to have effect, but I believe I feel better already! The world still feels empty and grey, but now I can sense that there is some colour in it, even if I do not see it yet. I know the colour is there and I shall strive for it.” This was better news still, and with a great smile and a gentle hug around the shoulders, Lizzy let her friend lead her down the stairs and through the house towards the terrace below.
The terrace, which ran the entire length of the house on that facing, had doors that opened onto it from several rooms, including the breakfast room, the morning room, and the library. The two exited through the sunny morning room, decorated in pale yellows and greens, seeming an extension of the gardens beyond. Lizzy gazed around the lovely space and commented freely of her appreciation, to which Georgie responded with a quiet thank you, for the colours had been her own choice. “I have forgotten about these things, these simple things that I used to enjoy. I know that one day soon, I will enjoy them again,” she stated.
The day was fine and the sun bright but not excessively warm. The two wandered quietly for some time through the rose garden, stopping here to smell a particular variety or there to appreciate some new hybrid of special colour or shape. The garden was an idyllic spot, a true Eden amongst the crags and woods of Derbyshire. There were benches upon which to sit and rest and precisely cut topiary upon which to rest the eyes.
They wandered through a small maze, and from there along the paths towards the far end of the house, near to the wing beyond which the stream curved on its way down from the hills. The sun was shining brightly and Lizzy was grateful for the parasol Georgie had pressed into her hands. She was examining it and the beautiful effect of the sunlight passing through the painted silk with such attention that she almost missed the man who walked around the corner of the wing they were approaching. At first, she thought nothing of him, for he looked, from this distance, to be a gardener or groundskeeper, with his simple trousers, shirt sleeves, and wide-brimmed straw hat. But there was something in the way he moved that arrested her attention.
“Eliza,” the familiar, beautiful voice sounded.
Lizzy froze, hardly daring to breathe, whilst at her side, with more enthusiasm and emotion than she might ever have imagined, Georgie cried out, “Fitz!” and ran to her brother, allowing him to enfold her in a ferocious embrace.
~
What was she to make of this, the unexpected return of the disappeared professor? Where had he been hiding? Certainly no one in the house seemed to have been aware of his presence, and yet he was unencumbered with the accoutrements of travel. Had he just arrived, his horse still panting hot air, being walked by a stable hand, his saddlebags being carried into the house by a loyal servant boy? And what of his strange garb? This creature before her, a simulacrum of a gardener, was as far removed from the overdressed gentleman of the London salon as Pemberley was from London. And once again, that old question resurfaced in her mind: Which was the real Professor Darcy?
A more alarming thought, however, was whatever Darcy was to make of her! How would he construe her presence here, walking so companionably with his sister, so at home in his manor house? Would he be angry? Scornful? Would he offer her some subtle but stinging insult, leaving her to slink her way back to Arlenby without so much as a goodbye to Georgie? It took every ounce of courage she could find to turn her head towards him and meet his eye, ready for whatever assault he might fling her way.
But there were no insults, no barbs, no words of dismissal. Instead, he crossed the few paces towards her and bowed as if he were wearing the finest of morning coats and the most fashionable of cravats. He took her hand in his and kissed the back of it so tenderly she thought she might faint. “Eliza,” he repeated, his voice soft and full of wonder. “Eliza… I had given up hope of ever seeing you again, but here you are,” he gazed around him at his house, his gardens, and the two ladies walking in them, “here, at Pemberley. I must have done something to please the gods, for they have brought you to me, when I could never go to you. Oh, I am grateful to them!”
She ought to hate him, imperious and arrogant man that he was. She ought to turn her head and walk away, cut him and refuse all acknowledgement of him. But her feet could not move, nor could her lips find words with which to repudiate him. He had belittled her and broken her heart, but that heart still beat, and as much as the thought infuriated her, it beat for him. She had been anxious about him, more than she had dared to admit, during those long months during which none knew of his whereabouts; she had denied her conscious mind permission to think about him, but he had crept his way into the depths of her soul, and there he had remained all this time. And where she ought to slap his face or fling some barbed insult at him, all she could do was stare at him, knowing full well that every emotion was writ large upon her face. Traitor ! She chided her body, but she could not deny that her dearest wish right now was to throw her arms about him and crush him to her.
His eyes, too, were brimming with emotion, and he stared at her with the look of a starving man being offered food. His head shook slightly and he pinched his lips together between his teeth. For a moment, Lizzy thought he might kiss her as his eyes darted from hers to her lips and back again. She started in alarm, wondering if such a daring act would destroy his sister, or conversely, comfort her with the knowledge that a kiss was daring but hardly equal to ruination.
She might have gaped at this notion, or licked her lips, for in a second, Darcy had lowered his head to hers and brushed her mouth so gently with his own. “Oh, I have missed you, Eliza. You cannot know how much.”
