The Elizabeth Papers (14 page)

He forced himself to look at her as he spoke.

“I’m sorry, Evie. Nothing doing.”

***

For Evie’s part, an unfamiliar fatalism overtook her. They had tried and failed, and now there was nothing for it than to let the future be the future. She could not fault his thoroughness, and there was no stone within her view that he had left unturned. She thought of Clemmie and Milena at home, the studio, and the fragile green shoot that was her career as an artist. She knew that the whole expensive, imperfect edifice may come crashing down at any point. He walked beside her in the corridor and tension poured off him. The weird thing was that, now that the game was lost, she didn’t blame him. The afternoon was slipping into evening, and they said little as they reached their rooms and parted. The Darcys would be home soon, and it had already been arranged that they would dine at eight with drinks at seven in the drawing room.

It was to be her last hour in the presence of
Mrs. Darcy and Her Daughters
, and Evie did not intend to waste it. She closed the door of her enormous bedroom, took off every scrap of clothing without thinking, and walked to the en suite bathroom. The bath was so enormous that she had been shy of using it, but now she surveyed its creamy vastness and thought, “Why not?” There was a tiny, probably ancient bottle of lavender oil on the windowsill, and she dripped some into the steaming water as it thundered out of the taps. She looked at her reflection in the mirror until it clouded in the heat, and then she plunged into the water.

Sometime later, when she got out and padded around the room, pink-footed and wrapped in a slightly too small towel, she willed herself to force away the worry. She leaned against the window and looked out onto the luscious, living green of the estate. Defiance welled inside her, and she dressed in clean, cold clothes for dinner. She had planned poorly, and the only unworn clothes she had left were jeans and a blue T-shirt she had originally envisaged wearing on the journey home. She put them on, and when she looked in the mirror, she thought she looked quite reasonable. Her appearance didn’t worry her as it did other girls.

As it was, Evie actually regretted not having dressed up more. Honoria was wearing a dress and a different colour lipstick, and even James looked to be wearing a fresh shirt. Honoria handed out glasses of gin and tonic and stood under the painting, beaming.

“Well, cheers! We shall miss you both. It has been lovely having guests, hasn’t it, James?”

“Err, yes…”

“And you must send us a copy of your project, Miss Jones. It shall be most interesting to see what you have made of our little painting here. I’m always telling my son that it is really special.”

Charlie caught Evie’s eye and moved closer. She got the feeling that he knew she was in no mood to discuss her fictitious PhD.

“It is really special, Mrs. Darcy, and the sketches were a real insight into how Clerkenman built it up into what we see today. It looks as though he had each of the girls sitting separately with their mother. We speculated that they were probably too young to reliably sit all together for a long period, so maybe that is why there are so many separate sketches. Some of them are so good and so detailed; I’m surprised you don’t display them.”

“I had never thought of that, Mr. Haywood. What a good idea. James, what do you think to that darling?”

“Err, well, yes…”

“Yes, I can imagine it. What a good idea! To be honest, I didn’t realise we had so many sketches until I dug them out for you. There is stuff everywhere in this house. You never really know what you’ve got if you know what I mean. Some of those sketches I found in the old library, some of them in the archive boxes in my husband’s study, and then there were some others in a little room at the back of the house that has all sorts of odds and ends. I even found a wedding dress in there! Don’t know whose it was. The trouble with a house like this is that nobody has ever really gone through things and put them into any sort of order. It just gets passed on generation to generation, and I’m afraid it doesn’t come with an inventory.”

“Do you know very much about the Mrs. Darcy in the painting?” asked Evie.

“Not much, I’m afraid, Miss Jones. Only that her name was Elizabeth and she was very good at having daughters!” She laughed and lifted her eyes to the painting. “She is rather lovely, isn’t she?”

“She is. Her eyes are wonderful. What a gift Clerkenman had. You can feel them looking at you and laughing. Well, even if you don’t know all that much about her, you get a sense of her just by looking at her picture and being in the place she lived. I mean, she sat in this room and walked in that garden and ate in your dining room. That’s amazing to think of, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is, Miss Jones. I’ve never thought of it, but you are right.” She gave Evie an appraising look and took a sip of her gin and tonic before continuing. “Of course, the place has changed over the years, probably more than you would think. People imagine that grand houses like this are fixed in aspic, but they’re not, you know. This Mrs. Darcy lived in a Pemberley with no electricity, no telephone line, no plumbing system, and far more servants than you can imagine because it was before they all went to the towns to work in the factories. I suspect that we would be shocked if we could go back and spend a night in her shoes, don’t you?”

“When you put it like that, maybe we would.”

“And of course, speaking of spending the night…this Mrs. Darcy was well before my husband’s American grandmother completely relocated and redesigned the family quarters.”

“Really?” Charlie’s interest perked up like the ears on a dog.

“Oh, yes. It was James’s grandfather—married a tea heiress from Boston, didn’t he, darling? She got an association with an old family and a rolling estate, and he got a thumping great dowry to shore up the family finances. She was quite a lady as well—I’m given to believe. These days she would be called “high maintenance,” but I don’t think people were so cheeky then. Had the whole place stripped and redecorated as soon as she arrived. Installed all manner of mod cons. Took one look at the mistress’s chamber and wasn’t having any of it. According to James’s mother, she didn’t like the lack of light in the afternoons, and so that was when the family quarters were moved to the other side of the house.”

“So the family quarters were moved from where they would have been during Elizabeth Darcy’s lifetime?”

“Oh, yes. Goodness me, Miss Jones, did I not say before? They were moved from the current guest wing. Indeed, my dear, the room that
you
are sleeping in was the mistress’s chamber then.”

An odd, comforting feeling stole over Evie. She recalled how she had wandered around the room only an hour earlier, naked and warm from the bath. She knew on instinct that Elizabeth had done the same. Somewhere on the edge of her consciousness, Honoria continued.

“It is our best guest room
because
it used to be the mistress’s chamber. That is why it is so big and has such a super view. The next room was her sitting room and the one on the other side, which is not actually as nice, was the master’s chamber. For myself, I have always thought that set of rooms enchanting, but I am not my husband’s grandmother, and the thought of rearranging things again—well—I can’t be doing with it.”

Charlie began to speak to Honoria about which rooms had been changed over the years, and it sounded as though the mistress’s chamber had not been the only victim of the American Mrs. Darcy’s idea of a well-planned house. When Evie looked at him, his eyes were alive with suppressed excitement. To see him in the warm light of the Pemberley evening, chatting to Honoria and strangely enervated, moved her. She thought that, when his eyes glanced her way, he might be trying to speak. But since there was no way they could have a private discussion with James and Honoria present, she could hardly ask him what he was trying to say.

Honoria had promised them that they would be spoiled on the last night, and so indeed they were. Dinner was delicious, and the four of them chatted happily until the sky was black with night and a chill crept over Evie’s bare arms. The soft light from the chandelier above the table fell on their faces, and by the time the plates were cleared away, even James was telling jokes and suggesting that they move on to port in the drawing room. Evie was about to say, “Yes please” when Charlie surprised her.

“That is kind, Mr. Darcy, thank you. But I think I might turn in. We have to get away rather early in the morning…”

He met her eyes, and she somehow understood that she should follow suit. The Darcys looked crestfallen, but she trusted Charlie, and if he didn’t want to stay up with them, then there must be a reason. It occurred to her that he might want to search her room now that he knew it used to be Elizabeth’s. And so it was that they drank the last of their wine, thanked their hosts, and began to meander their way up the great staircase towards the guest corridor. As they rounded the corner, Charlie turned and, with a quiet, gentle “shh,” placed his hands on her goose-pimpled arms.

“What are you doing?”

He lowered his face to hers.

“We need to go back, Evie.”

“What? Go back? But there’s nothing down there. I thought you might want to search my room—”

“Shh,” he commanded swiftly and gently as he pulled them both into the recess at the top of the stairs. Silently, and with Evie’s heart thumping in her chest, they watched James and Honoria potter past on the other side of the landing towards their own bedrooms, James muttering about some weeds in the turning circle. After a moment of pulse-quickening quiet, Charlie leaned in to her and spoke again.

“I don’t think there is anything in your room. We can look, but I don’t think it’s there. We need to go back downstairs.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve had an idea. Do you remember we said that Hannah would have put it somewhere where it would not be disturbed?”

“Yes…”

“Well, think about it. Where in this house is there a place that is completely safe? A place that is going to stay the same over time? A place that isn’t going to be changed around and turned upside down on someone’s whim?”

She looked at him blankly. She had drunk more wine than she was used to, and the scent of him was stealing around her.

“Where?”

He looked over her shoulder, seemingly distracted, and in a moment had taken her hand in his and was guiding her back down the stairs and into the darkness beneath. Before long, they were moving through the house without light or sound and at a speed that did not seem real. Together they whipped past the drawing room and the dining room into more Spartan corridors with doors on all sides and unprepossessing portraits, not interesting enough for the main rooms, glaring down at them. Although they had been there before, when they reached the great mahogany door, it took her a moment to process where they were.

“The chapel?”

“Yes, the chapel,” he whispered, opening the door and ushering her in. He wrestled with the dusty curtains and flicked on the lights.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. It is the only sacred space in the house. It is quiet. It is mostly unoccupied. It is not kept locked, and I don’t imagine it ever was. You could put something in here, and if you were careful and hid it properly, it might go completely undetected.”

“Clever.” Evie looked around the cold, empty cavern. “But where? There’s nowhere to hide anything in here.”

With that, Charlie began to trace his way around the walls, running his hands around the edge of stone reliefs and framed oil paintings. At the altar, he crouched down and examined the underside and the compartments around the small organ at the back. There were only a few wooden pews, some of them pushed against the back wall. Those that remained on each side of the narrow nave were heavier and appeared to be bolted to the floor. Charlie bent down and began running his hand along the underside. In the final row on the “bride’s side,” he looked up at Evie.

“There’s something here.”

Feeling useless, she joined him on the floor and tried to focus on the underside of the pew.

“It’s some sort of box.”

Evie lay on her back and slid towards him, dust from the floor gathering on her shoulders.

“It’s really big, Charlie. Are you sure it’s not just part of the pew?”

“No. Look, it’s been screwed on, and there’s a weird clasp at this end.”

He began to jostle with a dirty, metal handle that was fixed over one end of the box, trying to shake it loose and swearing under his breath. Anxiety welled up inside Evie, and she felt her palms becoming sweaty. She sat up and watched him in the harsh light. Suddenly and without preamble, the handle moved, there was a loud clatter, and a heap of leather-bound books landed on Charlie’s chest. He did not seem to be fazed by it.

“Okay. Whatever it is, I think we’ve found it.”

“I think
you’ve
found it.”

He jumped to his feet and quickly turned a few pages.

“This looks like it. Female handwriting. Right period. Yes, look. ‘Elizabeth Darcy, December 25, 1817,’” he read from the inside cover, and his finger gently stroked the empty space beneath her name.

“Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

He looked back at her with laughing eyes, the books piled up in his arms. “Well, I thought that, after going through all of this, you might like to read them?”

He was, she knew, teasing her, and she smiled back. “Okay. Let’s take them to my room.”

They nodded to each other, switched off the lights, closed the door on the dusty, old monument, and were gone.

Chapter 21

April 4, 1821, Holyhead, Wales

We have been travelling through Wales for some time, and the road is so narrow and uneven that I can hardly credit it. Lydia has been in slumber for several hours, and I cannot begrudge it to her after the night we all passed at Pemberley before our departure. Fitzwilliam, I know, would never sleep in a carriage and certainly not with Lydia for company, but he is tired to the bone and stares, misty eyed, out of the windows at the damp, vivid beauty of the country beyond. The splendour of the countryside, I must confess, quite passes me by. I cannot turn my mind from my discussion with Lydia last night. Upon Hannah announcing that my sister, quite unaccountably, was installed in the drawing room at such a late hour of the night, I immediately went to her. When I flew into the room, she was sitting on the chaise staring like a statue at the piano. Her hands, which I have never previously seen still for two moments together, were clasped and motionless in her lap. She turned to me, smiled in a resigned manner, and said, “Hello, Lizzy” as if there were nothing unusual about her appearance.

“Lydia, whatever is it? I thought you were with Jane at Bollington! How did you get here?”

“I hired a carriage, Lizzy. I had to. When you know everything, you will understand.”

“Hired a carriage? What on earth for, and how did you pay for it?”

“Oh, I had the money to pay, Lizzy. I have been saving some of the funds you send me out of your pin money for some time, so I had enough. When you hear what I must tell you, you shall not be worrying about carriage bills.”

She spoke the words with an odd intonation, and a sense of dread came over me. She looked different, but I could not say how. I moved towards her and sat down beside her on the chaise. She began to fiddle with her wedding ring and bit her bottom lip as she looked at me.

“Lydia, what is it? Is everyone in Hertfordshire well?”

“Oh, yes, they are well.”

“It is not Mama?”

“No, it is nothing to do with Mama. Although, if she knew what I must tell you, she would die of shame. As things are, I believe she is fine. Jane is fine. Everyone is fine—except me.”

“Lydia, whatever is it?”

She let out a quiet sob, and before I knew what she was about, she had taken my hand and placed it flat against the swell of her belly. I know all of my sisters’ figures. I know how they walk, how they sit, and how they look in their undergarments. Lydia and I are alike in body, but even if we were not, I would know the uncompromising hardness of a baby in the belly. It is unmistakable. I fought not to shrink back, not to take my hand away in horror. After a moment, I took her hand in mine and stood.

“Come, let us go to my chambers.”

Hannah was in the hall outside, and I asked her to bring some tea and toast to us. As she disappeared in the direction of the kitchens, Lydia asked in a whisper, “Can we trust Hannah?”

“Yes,” I said without a moment of hesitation.

When we were in the room with the door closed, I allowed myself to breathe.

“Lydia, how can this be true?”

“How, Lizzy? Well, I believe you know that as well as I.”

“Do not be impudent. How can you be sure?”

“Because I have not had my courses for five months. I have been poorly for weeks and weeks. My bosom is much increased as you can see, and as for my belly…well, you have touched it yourself.”

“Have you spoken to anyone about this?”

“Yes. When I was visiting with Aunt and Uncle Gardiner last month, I took a carriage to the west of Town and asked in the marketplace where I may find a midwife. I gave a false name, and they directed me to a dreadful, old woman who, for a fee, laid me down upon her floor and felt about me. I should not have wasted my money, Lizzy, for she said nothing that I did not already know. It is true. It is real, and I cannot stop it.”

“Anyone else?”

“No. No one. I have been wanting to tell Jane and have even rehearsed it a few times, but it is so hard to get her alone, Lizzy. Miss Bingley is always there, and even when she is not…well, Jane is so
good
, is she not? She is too good to hear such a truth as this. Somehow I simply could not say it to her.”

The face of my elder sister appeared before me, and although I was boiling with rage at Lydia’s situation, I had some sympathy for her inability to confide in Jane. She is my closest sister, and even I do not know how I should face her were I in such a predicament as this.

“Lydia, I have to ask you this. Who is…responsible”—the word seemed to stick in my throat as I spoke—“for your condition?”

With that question, her curly head turned away, and she spoke through a cry.

“Oh, Lizzy, must you?”

“Yes, I must. Lydia, this man should be made to marry you. I am sure that Mr. Darcy will prevail upon him to do so, but you have to tell us who he is.”

“Mr. Darcy shall not prevail upon him to marry me, Lizzy.”

I knew it would be cruel to mention that it was he who had procured her first marriage, so I remained silent.

“I am sure he shall, Lydia, and all may be well. But we have to move quickly for we have already lost no little time.”

“No, you do not understand. Mr. Darcy shall not prevail upon the father of my child to marry me…because he is already married.”

With that, she turned and looked me squarely in the face, the light from the candles bouncing on her plump cheeks and lighting sparks in her eyes. I felt a pain creeping into my temples and a sudden urge to sit.

“Married?” The word came out as a croak. “Oh, Lydia.”

There was an endless, agonising silence before I mustered the strength to speak again.

“Where did this happen?”

“In Margate when I was staying with Maria. I met him at a dance and then again at a card party. His wife is unwell.”

“How unwell?”

“Not as unwell as I should like I am afraid. But she is sickly and does not come out much in company. I saw him a great deal, Lizzy. There were several gatherings, and then there was a picnic, and then a ball on a local estate. I hardly thought that I should ever have such laughs again, but I did, although I wonder at the price of them now. We had a wonderful time and were so merry. I am sure that I do not need to go any further, Lizzy—you know the manner of these things.”

I opened my mouth to deny this calumny, and then thought better of it.

“How many times?”

“Just once. Is that not unlucky?”

There was a light tap upon the door, and Hannah entered the room with a tray of toast and sweet tea. When Hannah had retreated, I placed my hand on Lydia’s knee.

“You must eat.”

“I am not hungry.”

“Well, try.”

I felt my patience growing short and battled to remain calm. I thought of Fitzwilliam, no doubt sitting in the next room, and wanted to feel his breath on my face.

“Are you going to tell Mr. Darcy?”

“Of course.”

She hung her head slightly and sighed. I knew it must be done, however disastrous the news. I recalled the dreadful things that I had said to him, the ill-considered fictions I had accused him of only an hour before, and my insides sank. The sight of my husband surrounded by my family came to me in a flash, and Mama’s silliest remarks and loudest shrieks roared through my memory like a fire. They were as nothing compared with this, and I prayed that the scandal and thoughtlessness of it would not break us. Would this outrage push him too far? There was nothing for it but to speak and find out. Fitzwilliam always knew what to do, so I slipped into the next room, and closing the door quietly behind me, I told him.

Was he shocked? I believe he was. He blinked, pursed his lips, and straightened his back with a deep breath. However, just as I anticipated that he would rake his fingers through his hair and turn his back to the room in his accustomed manner, he took me by surprise. Noiselessly, he moved towards me, took me in his arms, and kissed my head. After some time in this unexpectedly calmed state, he began to ask questions. Who was the man, and where did he reside? What was known of his circumstances? Was it known how long Lydia had before the babe was expected? Was she well in body if not in mind? Did anyone else know? I answered him as best I could.

“You say that she came here from Bollington in a hired carriage?”

“Yes.”

“And is it still here?”

“No, she said that she paid in advance, and the carriage left directly she alighted. It is probably stopping for the night in Lambton.”

“Hmm. Who at Bollington knew she was coming here?”

“Nobody. She left a note for Jane to say that she had been invited to stay with the widow of one of Wickham’s fellow officers. Jane must have believed her, or we would have had an express already.”

“I see. Forgive me, but I must ask. Is it—is it obvious? Are her circumstances plain to the casual observer?”

“Not quite but they shall be soon. It was plain to me, but that was because I felt about her middle. A person who knows her well may see it—but a stranger? At this moment, I do not believe that she is large enough to be unambiguous.”

“Well that is a temporary advantage.”

He began to pace the room, his long limbs casting moving shadows on the carpet.

“And what about her journey here? Did she stay at an inn?”

“Yes. She stayed one night at an inn near Grantham, the White Horse. I do not believe we have ever stopped there.”

“I have, Elizabeth, before we were married. She could have done worse. It is a reasonably respectable place, and there are many people coming and going—probably too many to notice a young woman who does not wish to be seen. What about here? Who at Pemberley knows she is here?”

“You and I and Hannah. And James. He let her in. I imagine he was just about to retire.”

There was a moment of aching silence, and I felt his hand stroke the small of my back with such care I could have wept.

“Would you like me to pour you a whiskey, Fitzwilliam?”

“No, thank you, Elizabeth. I believe that I shall need a clear head for what is before us, and so shall you.”

I swallowed hard. “What is in your mind, sir?”

“Well, it seems to me that there is not much time. The babe shall be in the world in a matter of months. The thing is in progress, and he or she shall wait for no man. If Lydia could pass for a maiden today, she shall not be able to do so next week or the week after. It is good fortune that she wears a wedding ring, although of course anyone of your family’s acquaintance knows that she is long widowed. Time is extremely short I am afraid.”

“Yes.” I agreed, but I confess, I knew not where he was leading me.

“We have only one thing on our side, and that is that nobody knows she is here except Hannah, whom we can trust completely. And James. He is a good young man, and if I speak to him personally, I am confident he will be silent.”

“But others will realise she is here in the morning. I cannot keep it from the staff for she must sleep somewhere, and she must eat and wash. And Lydia is Lydia; wherever she is, she is known.”

“I know. That is why I propose that we escort her somewhere else.”

My heart sank. Was it in his mind that my sister be put away somewhere—that she and her shame be hidden in some far-off, half-maintained place where nobody shall know her or her connection to us?

“Do you mean somewhere on the estate?”

“No, Elizabeth. I do not believe there is anywhere she could be accommodated comfortably and properly without causing talk. The people here are very loyal, but if your sister, approaching two years a widow, appears heavy with child with no warning and no husband, it is inevitable that she, and we, shall be the subject of gossip. People are people, and they will make connections that are there to be made. I cannot completely protect her against that. She and the child would be at a great disadvantage.”

“Well, what do you propose then? This man is married already, Fitzwilliam, and he cannot have two wives.”

“No, he cannot. In any case, even if it were possible, it may not be best. He has a wife already, and yet he has done this. When I paid Wickham to marry her, I took him for a scoundrel, but I credited him with having some affection for her, albeit not enough to have treated her properly. But this is a different matter. We could not in conscience force her into matrimony with a man who could do such a thing.”

“Well, what do you suggest? Do you know of some respectable man who would take her in her current condition?”

“I am afraid I do not. If I did, I would be beating a path to his door.”

The clock ticked on the mantle, and tension climbed the walls like mist. Fitzwilliam’s voice broke through the fog.

“Lydia needs to depart from here as soon as possible, preferably before the household awakes. We cannot send her alone, so I propose, Elizabeth, that you and I go with her.”

“But where?”

“Do you recall that I mentioned a problem at Rosschapel?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the dispute with the tenant has been going on for some time. I have not bored you with it. You have had much to concern yourself with, and as you know, I do not like to have my time with you sullied with talk of business. That is why I did not tell you about Avery. But the fact is that it has been a thorn in my side for some time, and my steward in Ireland has been requesting that I visit the estate for months. He has written to me this very week to say that he has finally, and at no little expense, evicted the tenant but that the property has been left in a distressed condition by their occupation. The fact is that whatever damage has been done can be repaired before our arrival.”

“
Our
arrival?”

“Yes. It is in my mind that we take Lydia to Rosschapel for her to have her child. Nobody there knows her or anything about her. The house is in a secluded part of the country outside Dublin. We can take Hannah. I will write to my Irish steward directly and request that he ready the place. Once we arrive, we can obtain such assistance as Lydia may require. She can have her babe in secrecy and comfort.”

“And what then? I am by no means persuaded that Lydia could cope living alone in another land, particularly with a child.”

“Neither am I, and I do not suggest it. No. Lydia and the child shall return to Pemberley with us after a suitable period—I would suggest as soon as they are fit to make the journey.”

“But then—”

“We cannot send Lydia away from here again. It was remiss of us to let her leave before. The fact that she is…difficult…is not an excuse. She should be here for her own protection. She can live well and safely and be sheltered from the excesses of her own character. You can have the comfort of knowing that she is coming to no harm. As for the child, well, we cannot expose the poor creature. If it is known that it is illegitimate then its life will be blighted by it.”

He stopped and looked at me in a searching manner. Words galloped through my overcrowded mind quicker than I could give them voice. He continued, untroubled by confusion.

“If the child is a girl, I suggest that we pass her off as our own, Elizabeth. She can be a sister to the girls. They are four in number already; let them be five. You can say, if anyone is impertinent enough to ask, that you did not realise you were with child until after we departed and that the child came slightly early or some such. I am sure you can somehow dissemble and pass it off creditably.”

“And if it is a son?”

“If it is a son…I have said already this night that I have not given up on our having a son of our own, and I am not bequeathing Pemberley to the child of an unknown stranger. If I do not have a son, then the estate will go to Anne. On that, I am implacable. If Lydia’s child is a boy, we will have to invent a story.”

He paced the room further and brought his hand to his chin in thought. For myself, I felt somewhat lightheaded. Before long, Fitzwilliam continued. “I suggest that we say he is the orphan of some eminent person in Ireland connected to Rosschapel, and for that reason, I felt a sense of obligation towards him. He can live with us and be treated as a member of our family in every particular except that he would not be treated as an heir.”

“You would do that—undertake such a thing for my sister?”

“Is
your
sister not also
my
sister, Elizabeth? In any case, you must realise that, as much as I respect your family, I think only of you. If there is a thing in the world I would not do for you, I do not believe I have found it yet.”

With that, he looked at me and smiled a subtle smile. I shall keep the memory of it in my heart forever.