Chapter Eighteen: Consequences of Truths
My first sight was of the soft pre-dawn light that rimmed the heavy curtains sheltering my room from the cold. It cast a pleasing aura of peacefulness as I turned my head against my pillow to stare at the watery light. It would probably be a pale day, perhaps with even more snow. I smiled at the prospect, feeling very cocooned in my nest of warm blankets and soft mattress. Listening to the house around me, I breathed deeply, reveling in the air that filled my lungs and the calming affect it had on my body overall. I lay nestled there, mindless of the passing minutes, noting only the steadying dulled brightness that filled the room as the sun rose.
The house was quiet and I was glad of it. The night before was a tempest of emotions and experiences which resulted in the most sound sleep I'd ever had in my life; near coma-like in its intensity. Waking to a peaceful morning was precisely the balm I needed to make sense of my new understanding of things. It was strangely transcending and almost as if I had been waiting for that revelation my whole time here. It was no doubt one of the most bizarre moments of my life, yet nothing could match my first, startling, introduction to this reality. I no longer felt the constant pulling of questions that interfered with my day-to-day thoughts. There was a calmness now where there had always been discord and doubt; even when I had been in my former life, I realized.
I finally felt a sense of true belonging. I had found my home.
Smiling to myself, I mindlessly rubbed my hands against the duvet to relieve the lingering tingles in my fingers as I turned my head and caught sight of Jane. She lay beside me, still asleep, with her body facing mine. My smile broadened.
She was my sister now. Truly.
Taking delight in studying her features, I observed her with a new eye, marveling at how familiar her face had become to me over the many months; and how dear. Every freckle and dimple, the faint baby hairs that framed her forehead, and the golden brows that caught the glint of the sun on fine days.
I mildly wondered why she was sharing my bed when I remembered she had been with me when I had felt Elizabeth's presence. She must've thought I had a fit or something and decided to remain with me out of concern. That was just like her and I was moved to brush her cheek in affection. Her nose crinkled and with a half-hearted wave of a lethargic hand she tried batting me away. I restrained my laughter to a soft snort through my nose, withdrawing my obtrusive hand to let her finish her slumber in peace.
I was just relaxing back onto my back when I heard a soft tap at my door. I stilled for a moment, unsure if I had actually heard it and listened to see if the knock would come again. It did; much softer and almost in a hesitant manner. Slipping out from under my covers, I wrapped my robe around me - more for warmth than proprieties sake - and opened my door.
I felt a curious smile tickle the corners of my mouth as I saw who it was.
"Mr. Darcy. You are very early. Or has the dim light deceived me and it is really nearing the tenth o'clock?"
He looked positively flabbergasted to see me which I could only react to with a bemused chuckle, for hadn't he been the one to knock on my door?
"Are you certain you have the right address Mr. Darcy? You look almost bewildered at the sight of me. We did travel together from Hertfordshire you might recall." This last I added in a conspiratorial whisper. I stepped lightly out of my room, shutting the door behind me so that we might leave Jane undisturbed.
Suddenly I felt hands on my neck and shoulder, clasping me with a firm pressure as his thumb searched higher on my neck until resting on my pulse. Surely he could feel how his touch affected me as I considered myself almost inadequate of keeping my racing heart within the bounds of my body. His eyes seemed to dance over my features, pulling me closer as I stared up at him in equal wonderment. I wasn't complaining, but why was he touching me in such an intimate way. My hands rose instinctively, sweeping up his shoulders and settling at the nape of his neck where I let my fingers feel the softness of his hair.
As swiftly as he had clasped me to him, he released me, leaving me a little dazed and disappointed.
"Forgive me," the gentleman finally spoke. "I...have been worrying over you for the better part of the night and I was overwhelmed just now to see you standing before me. I - I had feared the worst at one point."
I looked up and met his eyes, startled to see the exhaustion there. "You are aware of...last night?" I hesitated on what to call it as I'd never been visited by a version of myself from a different life before. He gave a curt nod.
"You saw me faint?" I suggested, hoping that was all he saw.
"I saw - much."
I looked at him sharply. "What does that mean?"
"In all honesty, I know not. Much is unclear to me at present, and I would wait for your sister ere further discussion is held between us. She has a part in this."
"A part in what?" I felt my head shake minutely from side to side in growing confusion and worry. I never thought of the possibility that any witnesses would see what I saw - though, in all fairness, it had not so much been seeing but a feeling.
Mr. Darcy drew his gaze up, a line of concern etching across his otherwise smooth brow. He seemed to be considering me in a new light.
"Are you unaware of the events of last night?" he almost whispered, bowing his head closer to my ear. I looked up at him in such a surreal state that I couldn't be sure that I was not still dreaming snugly in my warm bed. Had I entered the twilight zone or something? Was I missing some important link? Or had something entirely different to my ordeal transpired the previous night that affected the rest of the house?
"I don't know how to answer you, Mr. Darcy," I managed at last, bringing a hand to my head and rubbing at a temple. "I'm not even sure if I'm awake as of yet. Your questions and demeanor are as complex as my thoughts." I spoke truthfully, feeling a jolt of surprise when I felt his hands on me again.
The material of my robe was thin – positively flimsy when confronted by the strength of his presence, holding me, though at a semi-respectable arm's length. Our eyes met.
"Mr. Darcy?"
The final vestiges of strong emotion rippled across his features in an uncharacteristic display of his inner thoughts. There was fear, panic, relief; a melting pot that transformed his face into a picture of vulnerability. My hands itched to meet him, to take his head and bring it down on my shoulder where I could sooth away the plaguing worries of last night. I felt almost guilty. My experiences of the previous evening were good. The closure I had sought was given to me, as well as a large answer that took care of many of my questions. Of course, an answer of that nature was bound to induce further questions (which I most certainly had), but I was content with the knowledge I was given.
Mr. Darcy (and Jane, if I was to take his word) clearly did not share in that relief.
"You are sure that you are well?" he whispered, his fingers digging ever so slightly into my flesh. I allowed myself to clasp his wrists, wanting to reciprocate his touch. My thumbs mindlessly stroked passed the hem of his sleeve and found his skin.
"I am."
His gaze never wavered from mine, in fact, he was drawing closer, and I was meeting him. My hands slid up his arms, eager to feel the soft waves of his hair once more.
"Lizzy!"
Jane's muffled call from behind my bedroom door startled us apart, waking us, and making us aware of what we had almost done. His eyes dropped to my lips momentarily before his own opened as if to speak. I was not surprised when nothing came out. What was there to say when words were a poor substitute to the searing mark of a kiss?
"I'm here," I feebly called out, opening the door. Jane, robe half on and alarmed, turned towards us and let out a sob as she rushed at me, enveloping me in a monstrous embrace.
"Lizzy! Oh, Lizzy! You frightened me half to death!" she exclaimed, squeezing me tighter. I barely noticed as my thoughts were on the gentleman behind me. I hoped that he remained and would not go to his room. "What are you thinking wandering about the hall passages? You should be resting in bed!" Her outcry noticeably mellowed the more she spoke and the longer she held me, indicating that her hysteria would soon dissipate altogether. Again, I felt that unwarranted guilt at how my calm and collected sister had been turned into an impressive echo of the iron lady of the time – our mother.
"It is I whom you should berate, Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy interceded, his voice cutting through the melodrama with a reassuring richness. My back tingled at his proximity. Jane straightened herself, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve; she only then seemed to realize that she had an extra sleeve dangling behind her. She quickly rectified, what to her must have been a partial state of undress, with graceful movements that contradicted her frazzled state.
"Lizzy, come back to bed. Let us fetch Doctor Trillip – he will, maybe, have something for you."
I let her lead me back to the mattress, which in truth was beckoning, though I struggled when she tried to tuck me tightly under the layers of duvets and blankets. I was suddenly made claustrophobic.
"Doctor Trillip?" I questioned, firmly pushing the covers down while giving Jane an imploring look. She relented, but sat on the edge beside me to ensure I remained still. Mr. Darcy, hovering in the doorway, answered.
"He is a physician. We called on his services last night when you – when…"
He and Jane shared a silent exchange, as if coming to a decision. I knew it was made when Mr. Darcy entered the room completely, checked the hall and then shut the door. A sudden fear dropped into my stomach.
"Lizzy," Jane began, taking my hand in hers, while her other occupied itself in smoothing hair away from my forehead. I let her, too focused on where this interrogation was headed. For it was an interrogation. The shape of Mr. Darcy was silhouetted by the faint light seeping through the curtains of the window he stationed himself at.
"Lizzy," Jane began again, as if saying my name in an altered tone might have an effect on any answers she wanted to hear. "Last night – do you remember anything about it?"
I looked at her.
This was the moment.
This was the moment that had weighed like an ominous presence at the back of my mind, tearing into my dreams and dissolving them into nightmares; tipping my contented moments into periods of dismay and uncertainties. This was the moment I had been dreading, but knew, inexplicably, was rushing to meet me. This was the moment that would decide everything.
Keeping my sister's eye, I took a breath and made my decision.
Mr. Darcy stormed out of the woman's room; the cry of his name falling from her lips a useless supplication that he scorned in his current temper. What right had she to call him in that manner? His heart tore against his will, anguishing at the distress in the voice he had, only that morning, worshiped as being the sweetest amongst the fairer sex. He forced his emotions to turn away from that feeling. It was pointless to further imagine a life shared by one so duplicitous, so conniving, so…so…so unnatural.
His fury at being had, at being taken in, fueled his descent to the front hall of Mrs. Treggels' home and out the front door. The cold hit him immediately, cooling a fraction of his anger to make him aware of his less than acceptable state of dress. He wore nothing more than his shirt and breeches. His boots had somehow made it on his feet, though he couldn't remember stopping to put them on. Biting back a curse, he turned on his heel and returned to the house.
Mrs. Treggels, who had noticed a blur pass across her foyer as she'd emerged from the kitchens where she'd had a quick word with cook in regards to a breakfast being brought up to Miss Elizabeth, was doubly astonished to see the blur return and in the form of Mr. Darcy. When he spotted her, his countenance worsened. He did not stop to apologize nor explain. His anger towards himself for his lack of propriety the previous evening, returned forcefully now, though, Miss Elizabeth was now his outlet. Or, perhaps he should say Miss Devon.
'My name is – was – Sophie Devon," she said. She sat there, in bed, Miss Bennet beside her, though no longer holding her hand. Darcy, having listened to the account thus far, turned his back at the admission of this new name. He knew not what he sought behind the dent in the curtains he made with his hand, but leveled his eyes to the street nevertheless. Still, he listened.
'I – I am from the year two thousand sixteen. That's two hundred years from now," she impressed, her voice rising in pitch as if she were realizing this fact herself for the first time.
'Liz-' Miss Bennet hesitated.
'You may call me Lizzy. I am Lizzy," this woman beseeched.
'Miss Devon," Miss Bennet said deliberately. Mr. Darcy stiffened at the use of it. Her acceptance of the name indicated that she believed this story – this impossibility.
'You have said that you know of us from a work of fiction,' Miss Bennet continued. 'Yet you also claim that you come to us from a time in the future. I am sorry, but I cannot see how the two support each other."
There was a pause.
'No,' the woman's voice was low, miserable. 'I do not know how you could when the how of it is still as mysterious to me as it was when I first arrived. But it still remains,' she went on, 'that somehow, amazingly, there is a bridge bypassing the laws of nature as we know it. You saw it!' she cried. He could hear the rising desperation in her tone. He would not allow himself to turn to her.
'You both saw that spectre above my head! You cannot think me insane or a liar when you yourselves are witness to the very supernatural account I am relaying to you. What purpose would I have in exposing myself in this way if it were not the truth?'
"The truth, indeed," Mr. Darcy spat as he tore down the street, now fully decent. He tugged at his cravat in a distracted manner, having knotted it with a little too much vigour. He was oblivious to those he passed; ignorant of the brushes and shoves, deaf to the rude remarks and angry hollers. It was only her voice that rattled his ears, pressing down on him with the encompassing pressure of cotton dulling everything else out. Her words came back to him disjointed and out of context, but he did not care.
His feet took him farther from the house, as his mind worked to accomplish the identical feat in removing the woman from his thoughts. Only his heart was offended by this endeavor. Sporadic pangs slowed his steps momentarily, but he would not yield. He could not.
It was impossible to believe she knew what she did from a – a book. It was the most preposterous claptrap he had ever heard in his life! His traitorous heart supplied that many impossible things have been proven in the last twenty-four hours. He ignored the truth of this. His ire was still immense, therefore, reason, even his own, had no chance of making a full argument until his blood could cool.
He wanted to feel vindicated in arguing that it was far more likely that Wickham had shared his story with Miss – with the woman. Of course that brought into question his motive. How would it benefit him to reveal himself as a snake to the daughter of a respectable country gentleman? What cause would induce the pair to collaborate a scheme that ended in this result? To break his heart? No – he was a man of science, of logic and reason. Wickham knew this. If he wanted to injure his heart, the blackguard had more believable methods than resorting to ghosts and the supernatural. There was also that niggling fact that Darcy had seen that spectre.
'Lizzy, last night – do you remember anything about it?'
Mr. Darcy, still fresh from the feeling of her soft skin in his hands, wanted nothing more than to reach for her now. In his mind's eye he saw his finger tracing away the furrow between her brows and kissing it in order to take all worries away. Her fingers fidgeted in the folds of the comforter, though her gaze remained fixed on her sister.
'Yes,' she answered at last. Mr. Darcy felt his chest tighten and could not determine if it was due to apprehension or curiosity. 'But, if you would indulge me, I would hear your account first. It may make the telling of mine more coherent – I think.'
He met Miss Bennet's inquisitive glance and nodded.
'Well, to begin, do you remember my bringing coco and our little talk?' Miss Bennet spoke in a leading way, suggesting that whatever their 'little talk' had been about was decidedly private. He felt even surer of this when Miss Elizabeth's complexion turned a fetching pink.
'Yes, I remember all that. I even remember your screaming, though it confused me at the time.'
Miss Bennet's sigh spoke directly to Mr. Darcy, who, like her, wished to never bring up what they had seen.
'I apologize, Lizzy, I can fathom no manner in which I may impart to you the truth of last night with any softness. There was a spirit hovering above your head – a face,' Miss Bennet said haltingly. Mr. Darcy readied himself should Miss Elizabeth fall into another faint.
'A face?' she questioned. 'Did you – could you see what it looked like? Was it female?'
Her brand of questioning took them aback somewhat. They had expected more signs of terror before, if at all, contemplating appearances.
'I believe it was a woman,' he said. He took a step forward. Miss Elizabeth looked at him. There, in her direct glance, he could see the simmering fear playing just below the surface of her features. He went to her, bringing an ottoman to sit by her head.
'Yes, I believe you're right,' Miss Bennet acceded. 'As to what she looked like,' her brow crumpled in recollection. 'It is hard to say. There was a horrid light about her, as if she were glowing from within. Her features were not solid. I could see through her clearly.'
Miss Elizabeth nodded, taking in what they were saying. By the small flicks of her eyes and the repetitive way in which she moistened her lips (a distracting motion that captured Mr. Darcy's imagination), she seemed to be readying herself for something.
'I believe I may have some insight into who . . . visited me,' she said at last. The room grew silent in succession to such a statement. He and Miss Bennet froze in an attempt to understand the implications.
'I ask only that you keep an open mind,' Miss Elizabeth began, 'and to save your questions until I have finished relaying to you the truth as I know it. In all honesty, I do not know how much help it will be for I have struggled in the comprehension of it myself.'
'Lizzy?' Miss Bennet called to her sister fearfully. Miss Elizabeth extricated her hand from her sister's grasp, but smiled reassuringly.
'It was perhaps three months ago,' she ticked invisible dates off her fingers, 'yes, three months ago that I became aware of a startling phenomenon.'
From that point, Mr. Darcy physically withdrew. First by a simple recline on the ottoman, taking his elbows off the mattress he should never have been leaning on. His next reversion came with his rising and stepping back to the lonely comfort of the window. Yet, still he listened. And watched. He looked for signs in her demeanour that would reveal to him either a touch of madness or cunning that had skillfully been hidden for the length of their acquaintanceship.
He listened to an account that would make him nothing more than a well-known character in a novel. She would have them believe that she knew of said novel as she has read it – multiple times, no less! Mr. Darcy hardly spared a thought towards Miss Bennet, but he looked at her now. She sat immobile, her hands limply folded in her lap, while her eyes watched that of her sister's with a growing hesitancy.
'Lizzy, please, what are you saying?' Miss Bennet entreated, forgetting her sister's plea of staving off questions until the end. Miss Elizabeth did not rebuke her in any fashion. She merely collected a fortifying breath.
'What I am saying, Jane, is that I . . . I – the reason that I know of this book, the reason I have been able to read it . . . is because I – I'm from the future.'
Mr. Darcy slammed the flat of his hand against a passing fence post; the cold metal sharp against his skin, the momentary pain a welcome distraction to his otherwise raw self. The future! What nonsense was this! Those of a more spiritual inclination he could tolerate, in fact he shared acquaintances with a few and found them diverting company – for a shared evening, that is. Alas this was distorting the lines between reality as it was known.
Precisely, a haunted voice spoke from the once full cavity of his chest, could you propose that argument to the spirit you know you witnessed? Would it align with your beliefs simply because there was no room for it in your logic?
Mr. Darcy's jaw ticked. He had no answer for that and it greatly disturbed him. It was no easy feat to be expected to relinquish all you thought to be true in a single encounter. Along with playing back the morning's event in his mind, a collection of thoughts barraged Mr. Darcy, demanding his attention on whether his opinions of them required editing. The growing sense of isolation surrounded him and he found himself feeling incredibly small as it occurred to him that the secrets of the world were as illusive to him now as they had been when he was a boy. His anger still pulsated through his temples, though the logic he was so fond of was now twisting against him to show that if he followed scientific procedure he was bound to come to the conclusion that – despite the insanity of such possibilities – there was some truth in what Miss El – in what the woman had said.
"If only I'd never seen that damned spirit," he muttered to himself. He had walked far in his temper, and now looked up to see where he was. He had made it to the Thames, was crossing Westminster Bridge, in fact. After exhausting his energy, Mr. Darcy steadied his pace so as to walk as one with the flowing crush of pedestrians. His head drooped now as new thoughts entered his consciousness for examination. He was not ready to be calm. Indeed, it was his aim to recapture some of his original spit fire to fuel him past this unpleasantness.
The unorthodox explanation was beyond him presently. The same could not be said, however, of the inclusion of his personal affairs that the woman relished bringing up to prove her point. He would not admit it, but this was the true source of the sting Mr. Darcy felt so acutely. His bluster over the supernatural were candid reactions to something he could not understand; it brought out bold emotions, but so too were the more vulnerable feelings present. The weight of having to unlearn everything he thought to be set in stone was an ideal outlet for his true anguish.
How betrayed he felt.
And how it always was that it led back to the scoundrel Wickham.
'Have you nothing to say?' Miss Elizabeth pled. Her account had been told and now she looked between himself and Miss Bennet. Neither of them spoke immediately. He believed that, in a small way, they both assumed that this mad tale was the product of extraordinary dreams, induced by the otherworldly visitor that had hovered above Miss Elizabeth's head. Miss Bennet expressed this more transparently through her pitying look. Miss Elizabeth did not miss it.
'You do not believe me,' she stated. Then she let out a breath that could have been translated as a laugh. 'This entire time I've been worried of the possible fissure this would create, yet you don't even believe me. What can I say to prove my point? Shall I summon the face of my former life? You do understand what I've just told you? You understand that, though I am not the Lizzy you know intrinsically, I am still the soul – the foundation, if you will – of that person. It is still me. It is still one being.'
Miss Bennet looked away, her hands suddenly a fascinating subject for study.
'Are we still not sisters?' Miss Elizabeth voiced in a dejected manner. Miss Bennet clenched a pair of fists in the material of her robe. It was the only show of emotion Mr. Darcy could detect in the eldest Bennet sister.
'It is much to consider; not only what you have shared, but the meaning behind it all. It is quite the story to digest. I will speak truthfully,' she said, meeting Miss Elizabeth's eyes, 'I cannot know whether to believe you or not. In a way, I wish not to. It would make you a stranger to me, despite your assurances that you are, in some fashion, a reincarnated version revisiting a past life?' she put to Miss Elizabeth, using an almost identical term to that which Miss Elizabeth herself had used in attempting to explain the link between Sophie Devon and Elizabeth Bennet.
'I am sorry, but I am more inclined to believe that you are suffering from troubled dreams. Caused, of course, by the – '
Miss Bennet could not finish her sentence for risk of undoing her own point. Miss Elizabeth knew it.
'By the spectre that was seen only by you two. It is unlikely that you shared an identical dream.'
'Regardless, it does not prove that what you have told us is genuine.'
'That is exactly what it proves,' Miss Elizabeth exclaimed. She collected herself before continuing. Her gaze flicked minutely to Mr. Darcy. 'I believe there is a way I can prove my point with tangible facts, only it involves secrets that are not my own to share.' She looked at him openly now.
Mr. Darcy had remained quiet throughout, intent only to listen and observe, but now he shook himself and responded to what was clearly permission being asked.
'Am I to gather that your proof relates to me somehow?'
'Yes.'
'And you claim this foreknowledge comes from your book?'
'It is not foreknowledge that I speak of presently. It is your past – your recent past.'
Mr. Darcy stiffened. There was only one thing that had occupied his time for months prior to his joining Bingley and his sisters in Hertfordshire.
'I will not name it if you wish; not in mixed company. But know that I will never utter a word of it to anybody – for any reason.'
It was not possible for her to know the trials that haunted his sister. There was a limited society involved in the entire affair and for two he could vouch entirely. As for the other two; Mrs. Younge had hardly an opportunity to spread gossip in the country, while Wickham himself had repulsed Miss Elizabeth by his manner, making the divulgence of any near conquests a difficult thing to imagine. A wicked thought crossed his mind. What if their company was not so repugnant as he had been lead to believe?
Unexpectedly, Mr. Darcy needed to know precisely what this woman was alluding to. His sister's security had a far higher value than his own confused feelings towards a woman so blatantly at odds with who she had presented herself to be.
'Miss Bennet, might I ask for a private word with your – sister?' He hesitated on the word, hating himself for even questioning the link between the two. It was an improper request, he knew. The enclosure of the woman's bedroom was a strong reminder of the potentially compromising position they might be found in, but he needed to know.
'If you could wait by the door, I will only take a moment of her time.'
Miss Bennet rose with trepidation, though once she moved to the door her steps grew faster as if it was a relief to escape. When the quiet snick of the door announced their privacy, Mr. Darcy turned to the woman.
'You will tell me what you know.'
She looked close to tears, and he admitted to himself that his tone had been far colder than he intended. Nevertheless, he would not back down.
'I know of your sister, of Georgiana,' she gulped. 'I know what Wickham tried to do. I know how he refused his inheritance; the generous offer of your father to see him situated in life. I know how he demanded a lump sum of money instead. You granted it,' she said, meeting his eyes. A moment of weakness overcame him, and he longed to soften his gaze, to take her in his arms and kiss away her tears. Her distress pained him, though her words twisted his gut even more, and so he remained rigid.
'I am sorry, Mr. Darcy. I am sorry for your sister – that her heart was so recklessly played with. But I am even more sorry for you. I never meant for any of this to come out. It was my burden to bear, but now it is here, and I – I wish only that you will believe me. That you will believe me that I will never betray you or your sister.'
The silence that followed was deafening. It thrummed with the power of his pulsing blood washing past his ears and drowning out all else. An ordeal so private and painful that had affected his sister markedly was now nothing more than a point against him to prove the validity of this woman's tale. Wickham's name was branded in his mind's eye, and he could not dissolve the notion of there being no collaboration between the two, as unlikely as he wished it to be. In that instant, Mr. Darcy felt there was no coming back from this. This woman spoke of his sister's heart being handled carelessly – well, what of his own!
'You speak of betrayal as if it is a thing to avoid,' he spoke at last, his voice the calm that preceded the storm raging within. He met her gaze and felt the flint of his glare marking her. 'It has already come and I feel the bite of it keenly.'
Without warning, Mr. Darcy turned and fled her presence, ignoring her cry as he rushed passed Miss Bennet and down the hall.
Indeed, it was a betrayal. Memory of a country lane laced the edges of his more recent memories of that morning, reminding him of a walk shared with the woman after the discovery of Annie. Her interest in Devon and her surprise at her lack of knowledge of his father's service in parliament. His steps snapped against the road as his temper simmered again. What a fool he had been! How obvious the signs had been! She had said it herself that Wickham had spoken of Old Mr. Darcy to her.
Yes, it was a betrayal, one that even the cries of his heart were too weak to dismiss. With each step, Mr. Darcy felt the good opinion he once bore for Miss Elizabeth Bennet tatter into echoes of a lost passion.
I took breakfast alone in my room. The tray was brought in by a maid, though Mrs. Treggels accompanied her to see that I had everything I needed. She tittered nonsensically and after a time realized I wasn't attending to a single word she said. My apparent fainting fit of the previous evening saved me from apologizing, and I was soon left to the lonesome ticking of the mantle clock.
There had been little said between Jane and myself after Mr. Darcy vacated the room. She did her duty by ensuring that I was well enough to be on my own, and after ringing the bell for a servant, she'd left me. No doubt to ponder how her sister had fallen to such derangement.
It would never be the same between us now. What a punch to the stomach. Only this morning, lying in bed before any of this confusion happened, I had been content with my new understanding of life. I had claimed Jane as my own flesh and blood and saw her truly as my sister. Now the open revelation of that was the very thing that would alienate us for Lord knew how long. The chill air now settled between us permeated the levels of separating floors, and making every minute I spent alone a reminder that our bond was lost.
I hardly tasted the food. My jaw worked automatically, taking in bites at the speed that was likely more prone for that lawyer fellow, Wosright. It occurred to me, over the hard-boiled egg, that perhaps last night's visitor was a prequel to a reverse in our situations. I had always wondered if this was a permanent thing, but never felt so helpless in my ability to determine what next to expect. Had all that happened been a means to set the stage for my other self to return to her regency life, while I was whisked back to modern London? Back to my mother, Jules, Jax, and Dan?
I deliberately set the tray to the side of me before I could upend it in my agitation. My bare feet hit the cold floor with a smack, sending goosepimples all up my legs, and extending to even my arms. It was nearing noon, yet the air held a nip to it and I was forced to scurry over to a patch of rug. My slippers were hiding somewhere, and I had not the patience to search for them. I craved motion, yet the very idea of joining the group below made me shudder. My concerned mind provided me with an array of possibilities of their telling on me to the household. It was a cruel thought, one I knew they would never consider, but with no window to the normal goings-on of Mrs. Treggels house, I was steeped in my own false notions. It was this cowardice that prompted me to hole up for the day in my room, claiming a headache and fatigue. If I could, I would've begged an excuse for the whole rest of the week. The thought of facing Jane clenched my stomach, whereas it was my heart that suffered at the prospect of facing Mr. Darcy.
He must hate me, I feared. I knew what I was gambling by telling him the one thing that was still very raw to him. It took only the words, 'recent past', to turn his countenance against me. I had watched it, the moment the Roman sculpture appeared, diluting his kinder features to one of harsh lines directed at me and without hint of mock severity. I had understood in that moment how the Elizabeth I knew from the novel could take against the man when she had only that expression as guide to his character. My heart had turned cold at the sight and proved unlikely to thaw anytime soon.
Wrapped in a shawl and a number of blankets, I positioned myself by the window. The rest of my breakfast was deserted, and lunch held no sway over me. My stomach was in knots as I watched the streets for return of the gentleman. I had it from Mrs. Treggels that Mr. Darcy had left in such a rush as to walk out without proper care to his dress that he was actually forced to return before exiting once more in full attire. The snow that had fallen during the night was nothing more than slush pushed to the curbs. The once pristine white, now a dark sludge that was unappealing to the eye.
I worked to tether my emotions as face after face passed by the frosted panes of my window, never yielding the face I longed and dreaded to see. Anger followed regret, grief followed relief, impatience followed introspection and waiting behind it all was the omnipresence of uncertainty. Never had I so understood the phrase of having the rug pulled out from under me. My footing going forward was faulted no matter how I looked at it.
I wanted to be angry; to blame someone for leaving me alone with only my thoughts to gnaw at me. I desperately wanted to fume at Mr. Darcy, to call him unfeeling and a stick in the mud for not realizing how my confession tore at my heart! Did he not see my hesitancy in revealing the truth? Did he have no sense of intuition that I was pushing myself beyond the point of comfort in exposing myself implicitly? I shared with him my whole truth and he had had the audacity to say that I betrayed him?
My fists clenched in my shawl, creating a network of wrinkles. Yet, still, I watched out the window – waiting.
My solitude was eventually broken by Sally. I hesitated when I heard her muffled voice through the door. A part of me worried that she would know, simply by looking at me, that I was an imposter now that the veil had been revealed.
"Come in," I answered, steeling myself.
There was no change in her demeanor towards me as she entered the room, Annie swaddled and balanced on her hip. Her expression was kind and she approached me easily, as she always had once she trusted my intent to help. It was some comfort that not everyone was bound to hate me immediately.
"Mrs. Treggels tells me you have chosen to remain abed today," she said. Here eye roving over to the empty bed in question, then returning to my spot at the window. A single brow rose.
"Abed, awindow, my room holds more comfort to me presently than joining the party. I hope you forgive me," I added. She adjusted a wriggling Annie in her arms so that a pudgy hand suddenly appeared, snatching at air.
"Of course, Miss Lizzy. It must have been a truly awful nightmare to keep you from company. Your absence is felt."
I nodded my appreciation for her concern. She continued as Annie squirmed herself to a semblance of freedom and engaged in an incredible feat of acrobatic skills, leaning back as she looked at me upside down.
"Miss Jane seems a fair bit despondent herself. I fear what her concern for you may do to her own health. She has such a delicate complexion."
This comment riled me unexpectedly.
"She is not a china doll, Sally. Women will not break simply because they've gone pale," I snapped harshly, turning back towards the window. Silence followed my little outburst and I bit my cheek.
"Forgive me," I said eventually, "I do not want to lash out at you. I am preoccupied is all. I had no right to speak to you in that way."
"Forgiven, Miss Lizzy, and I understand. Of late, it is easier to find the end of my patience with this here cherub simply because she doesn't know yet. I love her beyond all else, but I would not mind having a full night's sleep sometime in the near future."
Looking back at Sally, I smiled in commiseration, remembering my brief stint as Annie's foster mother and those nights she would sooner bring the roof down than enter into the land of Nod.
"If you ever need a break, you can leave her with me. I will not mind. In a week, we will be gone and I doubt Mrs. Peach would extend such an offer."
We both chuckled at the impossible image. If Mrs. Treggels could be Santa Claus, then Mrs. Peach was surely the Grinch.
"But honestly, Sally, I insist you use me at your disposal. Sleep will be a rare commodity for you. Best if you meet these days in a new situation with clarity," I continued, making sure she read my sincerity.
"You are too kind, Miss Lizzy,' she said. "Surely an angel must have been watching over me and my child the day our paths crossed. I am truly grateful."
"You needn't be. I have a soft spot for babies," I assured her, opening my arms in a silent appeal to hold my favorite one. Annie filled my lap comfortably, her brown eyes barely noticing me as she became interested in the sky out the window. I could feel Sally watching us, but didn't look up. My old desires of wanting to keep Annie resurfaced so strongly that I had to breathe in order to fight back any tears. The bleak future illuminated Annie like a beacon, calling out to me to take her precious hand and follow her back to a time when the story still resembled something of what I had known. Unbidden images of the simpler time in which she was discovered clouded my vision and I yearned for its escape.
"Shall I leave her with you?" I heard Sally ask from somewhere far away.
"Yes," I replied, voicing it automatically.
"Youthful ears are the best for listening to the unburdening of one's heart."
After a moment, I looked up to find an empty room. Sally's parting remark, however, lingered in the air and I couldn't help a grudging smile at how easily I had been read. Looking down at Annie, I caught her hands and felt her squeeze my forefingers.
"Is that true, Annie?" I asked her quietly.
She gurgled.
"You promise you won't tell?"
A high-pitched noise that could range anywhere from being a dog whistle to a scream detected only by bats.
"You already know a bit of it. Shall I fill you in on how I ruined it?"
"Agda da boo! Grunump!" she exclaimed.
"Oh! Really? Well don't get mad at me all at once. I don't know if I could take it from you, too."
As I told Annie the events of the morning, a small sense of peace entered me at the release of the information to another human being. I spoke long into the afternoon, not minding when my voice eventually lulled her to sleep.
A/N: Well, here it is, and boy is it good to be back! I had major writer's block trying to figure out this part of the story. It wasn't until I had gotten to the point of Lizzy realizing she had to make a decision, that I decided that the revelation would be told through flash backs and from Mr. Darcy's POV. Having sat on this for nearly two years, and consequently getting involved in other writing projects (if any of you love LOTR or Vikings I've got a couple stories that I've already started that will be posted eventually), I finally found my way back and am so happy that I finished this chapter - and the one after! Woo-hoo! I want to pace myself, however, so chapter 19 will not be posted for a week or so. I mean, I've still gotta keep you on your toes ;)
I must thank all those who have been reviewing in my absence. I received all your messages and read them with a huge smile. Your dedication to seeing the ending of this tale is really what kept the fire burning in the back of my head.
I hope Mr. Darcy's struggle is portrayed as accurately as it could be under the circumstances. Part of my block came from - 'how do you even begin telling someone that you're:
a) From the future.
b) Aware of their lives in an omnipresent sort of way due to a novel they all feature in, and
c) A reincarnated version of the heroine of said novel.
Then there were the nuances of Jane and Darcy's reactions. How would someone from that time take such news, and how would the evidence of the spirit help them in coming to their conclusions. Needless to say, it was all very daunting. I would appreciate any feedback, critical, or otherwise. I am here to work on my craft and would love to hear how the reader responds to the words, the pacing, the emotion, etc.
On another note, has anyone been able to see the new Emma movie. I was planning to over the weekend - two weeks ago when this Coronavirus decided to have its way. I hear you can stream it, and the clips I've seen of it look hilarious. I'm a big fan of that screwball comedy genre.
Stay safe and healthy everyone,
'Til next time!
