Readers should be warned that there is a depiction of 19th century surgery within this chapter. You'll know it as you're getting to it, and may wish to skip ahead.
Chapter 20
If Fitzwilliam Darcy was looking particularly irate that morning, he could not be blamed for it. At the urging of his wife, he had invited Laurence Sinclair and Mr. Houlton to go fishing with him, and while Elizabeth was glad he had agreed to do so, she did not envy him a morning spent with that man. Her purposes for doing so were to try to sow some goodwill between the three most prominent families of the neighbourhood, and she was of the hopes that if the outing did so, Laurence Sinclair might adjust his requirements for the accounting of the collection for the Browns.
For her own part, it was an opportunity to continue in her endeavours to befriend the new Mrs. Sinclair, for she had invited Mrs. Houlton and Mrs. Sinclair to pass the morning with her in the saloon at Pemberley. Her preference would have been to have a tete-a-tete with Mrs. Sinclair, but there was no way Mrs. Houlton could be excluded from the invitation, and therefore both women arrived with their husbands, the Houltons in their carriage and the Sinclairs on horseback, the young lady riding some strides behind her husband. Mrs. Sinclair rode a staid old cob and appeared very comfortable upon him, and Elizabeth wondered if the creature was a remnant of younger, happier days when her parents had still been alive. Mr. Sinclair rode a tall blood horse, and when Darcy murmured, "He is much too heavy on that horse's mouth," she drily replied: "You have made me enough of a horsewoman to know you were going to say that."
Mr. Sinclair lept down from his mount's back, tossing the reins to his groom and eyeing Pemberley's dog cart in the drive, and more particularly the horse it was harnessed to. Seagull was an old post horse that had been saved from being worked to death at a coaching inn some years ago by Darcy; he had recovered his soundness but still bore the scarring of his years of rougher treatment, and no one who looked at him had any expectations that he had been a more comely horse before those years of abuse. If horses could show gratitude, however, he was one who showed it, and save Flora, Elizabeth did not think there was a more affectionate horse in Pemberley's stables, nor a more obedient one.
"Didn't think I'd see the likes of that coming out of the stables that produced the great Kestrel and Osprey," stated Sinclair.
"The path to the stream is quite muddy at present, and he is my most easily biddable horse in such conditions," stated Darcy, his voice so even that it was likely only his wife caught his fury.
Elizabeth caught his eye and strode up to the horse, reaching up to scratch the creature behind his ears. "And besides, we love our old boy Seagull, don't we? Mr. Darcy says there's no other horse he'll trust so well when it's time to teach our sons to drive, and so he is truly one of the most indispensable horses in the stable."
She threw Mr. Sinclair an arch look and then noticed his wife was still mounted, although the groom had come up to hold her horse. Of the looks she gave to her husband and Mr. Sinclair, only one bore fruit, and the one true gentleman between them was the one who stepped forth to help the lady down from her mount. This embarrassed perhaps everyone present except Mr. Sinclair, and Elizabeth walked over to the young lady and took up her arm, saying, "I did not know you rode – you and I shall have to have some outings of our own."
"Thank you," was lady's soft response. "I would like that very much."
While these events had been taking place, the Houlton carriage had drawn to a halt and that family were alighting it. Elizabeth was glad to see Mrs. Houlton had brought her daughter, who was nearer in age to young Mrs. Sinclair and would even out their party a little more.
She should not have been glad, though. Young Miss Houlton was betrothed in what was plainly a love match, and conversation could not but turn to her upcoming nuptials. Like the previous Miss Houltons, she was a fresh-faced girl with pleasing manners, but she could not help but be effusive over her betrothed: what a fine dancer he was, and what wonderful conversation he had, how much she was anticipating the running of his house in Derby, what great hosts they planned to be. Mrs. Sinclair listened to these topics quietly, her face unmoving save her troubled eyes. Elizabeth watched her carefully, understanding the young lady's jealousy, and vowing they would have that ride soon, just the two of them. She could not solve Mrs. Sinclair's marriage, but she could at least be a friend and perhaps a confidante.
As for the gentlemen, Darcy returned with a grave face and said only, "I am trying, Elizabeth – I am trying as hard as I possibly can, but that man is impossible to get along with." Elizabeth did not press him any further, nor did she make any progress on her own plans the following day, for Mr. Robinson was to come in from Manchester to perform the surgery on Mrs. Nichols's breast. Dr. Alderman arrived before he did, and asked Elizabeth for the use of a larger bedroom than the one Mrs. Nichols inhabited; he was offered a bedroom down the hall from Georgiana's old room. The physician pronounced it well-lit and asked to have footmen remove all of the furniture save the bed, washstand, and a few chairs.
Once she had given direction for this to be done, Elizabeth walked back to the nursery. Mrs. Nichols was there, wrapped tightly in a dressing gown, seated on the floor with her son. She was murmuring something to him, and Elizabeth averted her gaze, her eyes filling with tears. She could not imagine what she would say to her children at such a time and she settled for holding them each in turn as she waited, saving Charles for last so that she could offer to let him nurse once more before the surgery.
Mrs. Reynolds came in just after Charles had finished. Her face was grave. All of their faces were grave: Mrs. Nichols, of course, but also Miss Sawyer, Martha, and Sarah, who had followed Mrs. Reynolds into the nursery. It was only the children whose countenances were peaceful, innocent, save perhaps that of George Nichols, who seemed to have imparted something of the import of the day from his mother's murmured conversation.
"The surgeon is here," said Mrs. Reynolds. "They're ready for you, Mrs. Nichols."
Mrs. Nichols nodded, kissed her son's forehead, and rose. Her arms crossed tight over her chest, she followed Mrs. Reynolds from the room, Elizabeth and Sarah trailing behind her. "They said they'd need two people, to help hold her, and that it was better they be women, for her modesty," said Sarah. "So I said I'd be one."
"I can think of no one better to assist," replied Elizabeth.
Mrs. Reynolds, it seemed, had volunteered to be the other woman, but when they entered the bedroom and Elizabeth came to understand this, she claimed the place for herself. It was the prerogative of the mistress of the house to do so, although Mrs. Reynolds did still put up some little protest, saying that Mrs. Darcy need not trouble herself. She relinquished her position when Elizabeth told her firmly that she did intend to trouble herself for the woman who had cared for each of her sons since birth, and then encouraged Mrs. Reynolds – of an age at which she should not be expected to hold Mrs. Nichols with the strength of women in their twenties – to sit at the door so that she could summon any additional help or materials that were needed by the surgeon.
Thus the surgeon's assistants were settled, and Mrs. Nichols was told by that man to lay down upon the bed. It had been stripped of all but the sheets, and she clasped them with uncertain hands as she crawled into the centre of the bed and turned over so that she was flat on her back. Mr. Robinson handed Elizabeth a bundle that turned out to be strips of calico.
"Tie her hands and feet, tight," he said. "Even with ye holdin' her, she'll want'a move."
Elizabeth and Sarah exchanged a horrified glance but complied with his request, Elizabeth taking first a trembling foot and then a trembling hand and binding them on her side of the bed. She could sense Mrs. Nichols's panic, could see it in the woman's eyes, but could not think of what to say to quell it until Sarah said, "Breathe deep, Martha. T'will be over soon."
This did seem to have some benefit, but in truth the greater benefit came with the draught glass Dr. Alderman handed Elizabeth, saying it was laudanum. Elizabeth held it to the nurse's lips until she drank it down, and within minutes either the laudanum itself or the thought of the laudanum had nearly dissipated her shaking. During all of this, the surgeon had been arranging his knives upon the washstand, and he held one up and said, "I am nearly ready. Place the leather in her mouth, please."
Dr. Alderman handed Elizabeth a piece of rolled-up leather, which reminded her of little William Stanton's birth and how odd she had found it that Georgiana had wished to use such a thing. How did the pain of childbirth compare to the pain of having one's breast cut off, she wondered, just barely refraining from shuddering as she placed the leather in Mrs. Nichols's mouth, gazing sympathetically into her eyes as she did so. Turning, she caught sight of the size of the knife in Robinson's hand, and did shudder.
"Will you expose the breast, please?" he asked, and his command was followed by Sarah's careful hands.
Elizabeth could not watch. At the first sight of knife turning flesh to blood, she turned her head and focused instead on pressing all of her weight down on Mrs. Nichols's shoulder. Sarah was watching; Sarah who swallowed heavily but kept her hard, green gaze upon Mrs. Nichols's breast. Then all of the noises that could be made by a mouth clamped down upon a piece of leather were made, and her shoulder tensed beneath Elizabeth's hands, so tight it was clear Mrs. Nichols was shaking again, this time in pain, rather than fear. It became difficult to hold Mrs. Nichols; Elizabeth had to push with all of her weight, and still it did not seem to be enough.
It was hot in the room; a fire had been lit, and the air felt thick and close. Something wet hit Elizabeth's neck and she looked down just long enough to understand that it was blood. Blood was everywhere: thickly gleaming across the place where Mrs. Nichols's breast was half-removed, soaking into the edges of her parted dressing-gown, speckled across Sarah's dress and likely Elizabeth's as well. Mrs. Nichols opened her mouth so wide the leather fell out, and then she screamed, screamed, screamed again. Elizabeth and Sarah were too occupied with holding her down to replace it, and finally Dr. Alderman pried her mouth open long enough to shove the leather back in. Still, in Elizabeth's mind, the screams continued. It was the most awful thing she had ever experienced, and she had not even watched half of it.
"It's too much blood," Sarah whispered.
Elizabeth returned her gaze to Mrs. Nichols's chest to find what Sarah meant: the blood had spread, down Mrs. Nichols's side, pouring onto the bed, and still it pumped slickly from the space where her breast had been. Elizabeth averted her eyes and only just avoided retching. She turned her gaze instead to the surgeon and physician, and saw from them the first signs that all was not well. They were murmuring with their heads together, and although they seemed to be endeavouring to appear unworried, still, she could catch it in their attitudes. Dr. Alderman approached the bed at a rapid clip and held a bundle of flannel down upon the worst of the bleeding, and when Elizabeth looked at Mrs. Nichols, she saw the nurse had grown paler, her eyes half closed. She had ceased flailing, and Sarah reached over, removed the leather, and grasped her jaw. "You stay awake, Martha. You must stay awake."
"John? Oh my Johnny, I'm glad you came," Mrs. Nichols slurred her words as she spoke: John Nichols was her dead husband. "I'm so tired, my Johnny."
"Please – do something for her!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Help her!"
"Do you think he's not doing all he can?" Dr. Alderman snapped back at her. "Shut your mouth and hold her!"
It shocked her, to be thus spoken to, but she was not angered; she did not have time for anger. Mrs. Reynolds did, however, and when Elizabeth caught her eye across the room, the housekeeper stood and mouthed, "Mr. Darcy?" and when Elizabeth nodded, fled the room. Then the surgeon approached with a poker from the fireplace, glowing red-hot, and Elizabeth shuddered as she realised he intended to press it into the wound. Mrs. Nichols's screams before had been nothing to the sounds she made now, the petrified animal shrieks of a woman thus tortured. Elizabeth felt her own chest ache, that such pain and suffering could be inflicted in the name of healing. She knew she would never forget the sound, so long as she lived.
The burning of the wound did seem to both slow the bleeding and bring Mrs. Nichols back to greater coherence. The surgeon said she could be untied, and Elizabeth and Sarah made quick work of her restraints. When Elizabeth freed her hand, she reached for Elizabeth's arm and touched it with a feeble hand:
"Mrs. Darcy, your promise, for my George – you'll keep your promise?"
Elizabeth looked in the woman's pale face and knew it would be wrong to assure her that the promise was not necessary. She had watched the pain and blood in horror of understanding something bad was happening, and it was turning for the worse. Only now, though, did she fully comprehend that Mrs. Nichols might not survive this day.
"You have my word," she said, firmly.
"Thank you," whispered Mrs. Nichols. She began to close her eyes again, and Sarah once again grasped her chin and told her to stay awake.
The door clapped open and there was Darcy, staring in shock at the scene before him.
"Get the child! Get her son!" cried Elizabeth, weeping.
He ran off down the hallway, and during his absence Sarah endeavoured to get Mrs. Nichols to take a glass of wine, but she could not manage more than the barest of sips. Then Darcy was entering with the child in his arms, and Elizabeth panicked that little George should see the charred place where his mother's breast had been, tugging the bloody dressing-gown up on Mrs. Nichols's chest as Darcy sat the boy down in the bed.
"Oh – yes – my little George, how I love thee, child," murmured Mrs. Nichols. She slowly slid her good arm about the boy, but had not the strength for anything else.
"Mamma, whats'a matter?" the boy asked. He never received an answer. His mother's eyes remained open for some minutes more, but it was Sarah who made the shift from possibility to certainty for them all, clasping her hands together on the blood-soaked sheets and saying,
"I, for my part, know that my Redeemer lives
"that He, at last, will rise on the earth.
"After I wake up, He will make me stand next to Him,
"and, in my flesh, I shall see God.
"The One I shall see shall be for me,
"the One I shall look upon will not be a stranger."
She continued on through other recitations as Mrs. Nichols's eyes closed, as her son noticed this and began shaking her in an endeavour to wake her up, shaking her uselessly, for as the boy descended into frantic tears, Dr. Alderman came over, laid his fingers upon Mrs. Nichols's neck, and said, "She is gone. I am sorry."
The adults understood the finality of his words, but little George continued to try to shake his mother awake until Darcy approached him and picked him up. "George, your mother has gone to be with the angels now," he said. "I know you can still see her body here, but her mind – her thoughts in her head – are in Heaven now, with the angels and with God."
"Can I go'ta Heaven, Mister Dawcy?"
"You will someday, but not now. Only when it is your time to go."
The child looked at Darcy as though he still did not comprehend his words, but he said nothing more, and when Miss Sawyer came in and said she would take him to the nursery to clean him up and give him some warm milk, he went without protest, looking back to where his mother laid on the bed in silent confusion.
This left the six living adults in the room: the surgeon and physician quietly packing up their instruments and physic; Darcy and Mrs. Reynolds surveying the scene in muted horror; Elizabeth and Sarah standing on either side of the bed in shock.
"I'll have some of the maids help clean her," said Mrs. Reynolds. "I don't want her waiting here like this until Ainsley arrives."
Darcy nodded. "Have someone help change Kelly, and then take her to her family's farm. She should remain there a few days, to recover. I will take Mrs. Darcy down to her chambers."
Elizabeth heard all of this, and yet still it seemed a surprise when he wrapped his arm around her waist and said, "Come Elizabeth, let's go down and change."
Elizabeth looked down at the blood spattered across her dress, the blood on her hands, the blood-soaked chest of the dead woman before her. She had pulled Mrs. Nichols's dressing-down up too hastily, had missed covering some of the charred skin. Elizabeth recalled again those awful moments, the shrieking, the smell of burning flesh, and her knees buckled.
"Easy, easy," murmured Darcy. "Let's get you out of here." He did not pick her up, but Elizabeth sensed that he was planning to if she weakened further. With his hand heavy on her back, he led her down the stairs to her dressing-room. Once there, he made a quick survey of her dress and then stepped behind her. Elizabeth had thought he would begin unbuttoning the dress, but instead he put a hand on either side, gripped tight, and ripped the fabric, straight down her back. It surprised her, but she thought it for the best – the dress was surely unsalvageable, and he must have sensed her desire to be out of this dress, to stop wearing another woman's blood. The blood had soaked through to the petticoat, which went the way of the dress, and then he led her over to the ewer and basin, painstakingly washing the blood from her face and arms. The water in the basin was a shockingly deep shade of pink when he finished, and he said, "I'll have them draw you a bath, too."
"It's too much effort, with all the staff has to manage right now."
"No one will begrudge you of it, after what you have been through. I will order one for Kelly as well."
"What we went through was far less than what poor Mrs. Nichols had to endure, and all for nought. She might have had years more, Darcy, years, and now she is gone, after enduring such – such torture."
She was weeping again, and he pulled her close. Elizabeth was more grateful in that moment for his strength, his stability, his love, than she could ever express, and all she did manage to choke out was, "Oh God, my love, it was so awful."
Her faithful attendant did not leave her when the bath was prepared; he remained to kneel behind her and lay his hands upon her shoulders, to eventually suggest she ought to wash her hair, and to help her in doing so. She got out only when the water began to chill her skin, pulling on a dressing gown and enlisting Darcy in a search through the wardrobes for her mourning clothes. When finally she emerged from the dressing-room, it was in a rather dishevelled-looking black dress that would not have passed Sarah's muster.
She took up his arm in a tight grip, to walk back up to the bedroom where Mrs. Nichols had died. There were Mrs. Reynolds and Annie, the head housemaid, and they had been busy. Mrs. Nichols was laid out in a clean white shift, her chest covered with a fichu and some manner of padding where her breast had been. Elizabeth's throat constricted at the sight of this. The sheets on the bed were clean and white as well, with no sign of blood anywhere, and yet Elizabeth found her mind continued to flip back to what had been here before.
"Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds, she looks beautiful," Elizabeth said, receiving a solemn nod in return. "I intend the house to observe a week of mourning, beginning this evening."
Mrs. Reynolds appeared a bit taken aback, but she nodded again and said, "They'll appreciate it, ma'am. It's been many years since we had a death in the staff, and never anything like poor Mrs. Nichols since I've been here."
Mr. Parker appeared in the doorway and announced Mr. Clark, who entered, bowed, and said, "I am grieved I could not be here to give her last rites while she was still alive – I went to Matlock this morning, but if I had known one of my parishioners was undergoing such a dangerous surgery, I would have remained at the parsonage."
"We did not fully understand the degree of danger ourselves," said Elizabeth. "My maid Kelly did recite some verses for her. I believe they gave her some comfort as she passed."
Mr. Clark sniffed and muttered, "Well, I suppose last rites from a papist are better than nothing at all."
"Mr. Clark! Need I remind you that Kelly attends your services more regularly than most of the born protestants in your parish?" exclaimed Elizabeth.
"Of course. My apologies, madam," he replied, although in a tone that left Elizabeth in some doubt of his sincerity. He took his prayer-book over to Mrs. Nichols's bedside and opened it.
Elizabeth would have remained for the ceremony but for poor harried Martha running into the room and whispering, "Ma'am, Charles has need of you, and they're all mighty upset, in the nursery."
The Darcys followed Martha back to the nursery at a rapid clip, and there found four boys in varying degrees of tears and sobbing. Charles was the worst, very upset and very hungry, and she scooped him up and carried him behind the dressing-screen, leaving his father to comfort the older boys.
James and George Darcy were both demanding the presence of their nurse with plaintive cries of, "Wherws Mrs. Nichaws?" and "I want Mrs. Nichaws!" and Darcy gave them the same explanation he had given George Nichols. That explanation had been given beside her lifeless body, however, and in the lack of such evidence the twins merely shifted their questioning: "When's she going to come back from Heaven?" was James's response.
"She cannot come back," stated Darcy. "Once your soul – your mind – goes to Heaven, it cannot return."
"But why?" asked James.
A long silence followed this, an understandable one. James had just asked his father to articulate something no-one could truly explain. Finally, Darcy said, "We do not know why, James. It just is the way things are."
"I think she will come back, papa. I wanta see Mrs. Nichaws."
"I am sorry, James, but you cannot see her. She is gone. She is dead."
"Papa is auntie Catty and auntie Gigi and cuzwin Cawo dead?"
"No James – they are still in London. They are not here, but that does not mean they are dead."
"Papa! How'm I 'apposed to know who's dead?"
"Your mama or I will tell you, if someone you know is dead."
Thankfully, James did not recall that they had once told him his uncle Matthew was dead, and this had proven to be untrue, unless he did, and this was at the root of his misunderstanding of the permanence of death. While Charles drank his fill, James continued to discuss the possibility of Mrs. Nichols's return and who was and was not dead with his father, with neither side making much progress. Charles, at least, had calmed now that he was no longer deprived of his mother's arms and sustenance, and once Martha had helped with her stays and dress, Elizabeth returned him to his toys on the nursery floor.
"Darcy." She took up his arm and led him out into the hall. "We need to take them to see her body. It is the only way they will truly understand. And her son should see her again, now that she's – now that she has been cleaned."
"Elizabeth, I do not want that for them. Her son, perhaps, since he was already there when she passed, but not our boys."
"They will never understand without seeing her, my love."
"They will not understand regardless, Elizabeth. The notion of death is beyond children of that age. Please – please remember this is not my first time, with this," he said. "My father and I took my sister to see mama, after she passed, and it made poor little Georgiana hysterical. They still have both of us, and Sawyer, and Martha – it is better to let her fade from their memory."
"She suckled them at her breast, Darcy, and aside from us she has been the one constant in their lives since they were born. Do not demean her importance by saying she will fade from their memory. She should have become the woman they would call 'Old Nurse' with every affection, in twenty years' time."
"Elizabeth, I do not know how to express how strongly I am against this."
"Nor do I know how to say how strongly I am for it."
He took a strong, deep breath and then said, "Let us wait until tomorrow, to see how they are managing it. I do not wish to quarrel – not today."
Elizabeth nodded, but as she thought it could have given the children some closure before they were to be expected to sleep, she said nothing more and strode back into the nursery. Charles was still playing upon the floor, although his eyes were growing sleepy, and James and George Nichols appeared to be holding a conversation about the day's events near the hobby-horse, both of their little faces upset.
"Where is George – my George?" Elizabeth asked Miss Sawyer.
"Over there, ma'am," Miss Sawyer said, pointing to one of the three low little beds against the wall. "I tried to console him, but he didn't want me." George was curled up on his bed, quietly weeping. Elizabeth's heart broke for him, and she approached the bed, whispering, "George?"
"I miss Mrs. Nichaws," he whimpered. "I want'a see her."
"Oh, my poor little boy, I'm so sorry," Elizabeth said. She laid down on the bed beside him and pulled him into her embrace, allowing him to sob against her chest.
"Will you go to Heaven, mama? I don't wan'chu to go."
"I will try very hard not to, my darling boy, but it is not under my control."
Elizabeth awoke in the middle of the night, groggily comprehending that she was still in George's bed, her sleeping son in her arms. James, it appeared, had wriggled himself into a place by her knees, and it seemed one and possibly both spaniels were lying at her feet. She blinked in the moonlight, and only then saw Darcy, curled up in a ridiculously awkward fashion on James's bed across from her.
Upon noticing she had awakened, he whispered: "We will take the older boys – all of them – to see her in the morning. It will surely be upsetting for them, but I see the alternative could be far worse."
Just because it was the right thing to do, to take the boys to see Mrs. Nichols, did not mean that it was easy. Elizabeth was in agreement with Darcy that Charles was too young for this to have any benefit – his primary concerns were still in the state of his tailclouts and whether someone was available to hold him and feed him.
George Darcy had proven reluctant – nay, beyond reluctant, almost desperate – to avoid losing his mother's company, and so Elizabeth had taken him down to her dressing-room with her. She was surprised to find Sarah there, instead of one of the maids.
"Sarah? Whatever are you doing here? I thought Mr. Darcy said you should stay with your family for some days."
"He did, ma'am – I'll go back if you really wish it, but I'd rather work. It keeps my mind off of what happened," Sarah said. "And if I stay home my mama'd keep asking if I did something wrong, to make you send me there."
"I would hope your mother knows you better than that, Sarah," said Elizabeth, realising that George had left her side and was approaching Sarah.
"Kewwy?"
"Good morning, Master George." Sarah knelt down and George ran to her and threw his arms around her, entirely surprising Sarah.
"He has been struggling with Mrs. Nichols's death," said Elizabeth. "I think he is very glad to see any of his friends."
"We've all been struggling, ma'am," said Sarah, eyeing Elizabeth's rumpled black calico as she returned George's embrace.
"I fell asleep in the nursery," Elizabeth said.
Sarah nodded, and eventually they were able to coax George out of her embrace so that Elizabeth could be changed into a different black dress, one more thoroughly pressed and cleaned than the previous one; someone must have informed Sarah of the week of mourning.
When Sarah had changed her and done what could be done with hair that had been allowed to dry in a still more rumpled fashion than the dress, Elizabeth took George by the hand and led him back upstairs. Darcy was already at Mrs. Nichols's bedside with James and her son. Someone had brought in a set of bed stairs, so the boys could see her more easily, and they were both standing upon the top of the stairs, crying piteously. George Nichols had his hands laid upon her belly and was crying, "mama, mama, mama," over and over again, while James reached out to touch her arm and said, "she's cold, papa, why is she cold?"
"She is cold because when your body dies, there is no more life in it, and life is what makes you warm."
"If we makes her wawm, can she come back, papa?"
"No, James, once she is dead – once she is cold – she cannot come back."
"Oh." His little face fell, as though his hopes had finally been extinguished, but although he continued to sniffle, Elizabeth thought that at least for James, this visit had been beneficial.
"Would you like to come down and let your brother have your place here?" asked Darcy.
"Yes, papa."
James was handed down the steps by his father, and Darcy held out his hand to George, who looked up at his mother in alarm.
"You do not have to see her if you do not want to, George," said Elizabeth, softly. "You can say good-bye to her from here."
It broke her heart, to see him summon his courage and step towards his father, to hold his father's hand as he climbed the steps to stand beside George Nichols. He reached out to touch her arm, slowly, tentatively, and then drew his hand back as if he had been scalded, burst into tears, and tumbled back down the stairs to scamper into his mother's arms. It took a very long time for him to stop sobbing, and then he found himself the recipient of an embrace from James. When they separated, Darcy approached them. He had produced what appeared to be a handful of black crepe, and he knelt down before them. They had considered the children too young to be dressed in mourning for Matthew, a man they had hardly known, but now that they were fully breeched and had lost someone far closer to them, the Darcys had agreed it was time for this ritual to be explained:
"James, George, when someone we care about dies, we go into mourning. It is how we say good-bye to them and honour them. To mourn Mrs. Nichols you may wear a black band around your arm for one week, or longer if you wish. May I put them on you?"
"Yes, papa," said James, while George merely nodded, looking as though he might burst into tears again at any moment. Darcy tied the armbands onto James and then George, then rose and approached George Nichols. "George, I have an armband for you to mourn and remember your mother, as well. As she was your mother, you should wear yours for one year."
George Nichols looked up and sniffled. "Yes, Mister Dawcy." He waited while the cloth was tied around his arm, and then returned to crying over his mother's body.
Elizabeth took up her sons' hands. "James, George, why don't we return to the nursery and let George have some time alone with his mother?"
Darcy followed them, after ensuring that the maid who was sitting vigil would look after George Nichols and return him to the nursery when he was ready. Elizabeth had thought George would continue in his wish to stay close to her, but he seemed content at present with the company of the spaniels, who swarmed the boys as soon as they entered and endeavoured to lick away their tears, allowing Elizabeth and Darcy to slip away to break their fasts.
"We will have to determine what is to be done about George Nichols," said Darcy.
"I promised Mrs. Nichols we would look after him, if anything happened to her," Elizabeth replied, "that we would keep him here and see to his schooling."
"Elizabeth, I wish you had spoken to me of this."
"I – I did not think it would be an issue so soon," said Elizabeth, only now realising that he might be particularly sensitive to the Darcys taking on a ward from a lower class, particularly one named George. "We were always agreed that we would support his schooling, and when she asked, I could not think of disappointing her. I am sorry – I should have thought that you might not want a ward – "
"It is not that, my love. It is that we have no legal right to the child. If we did, I would gladly take him in, but what happens to the child now must be determined by his legal guardian."
"Oh dear God, I did not think there would be a guardian," said Elizabeth tearily. "I promised her, Darcy – I reaffirmed my promise on her deathbed."
"Elizabeth, come here, my love." He pulled her into an embrace. "You promised her with every good intent in your heart of fulfilling your promise, and because of that, I am sure your promise gave her much peace at the end of her life. We may still take an interest in the child, even if he does not stay here. I cannot think of any guardian who would be opposed to a benefactor for his education."
"The only family she ever spoke of was a brother in Manchester," said Elizabeth, "and she did not seem to be very fond of him."
"The child's guardian would have been named by Mr. Nichols in his will – it may be a relation on his side of the family, or someone else known to him. It is possible no guardian was named, but if there was one, he must have agreed it was right for the mother to keep custody of the child, and I can only hope this guardian will agree that it is best for him to stay here, as his mother wanted. David is likely to know of the terms of the will, and if not he should be able to get them from Lord Winterley. I will write to him after breakfast and send the letter by a groom so we can have his response as quickly as possible."
Although she had skipped dinner the night before, Elizabeth still found she had very little appetite at breakfast, and ate more because Charles required her to than for any other reason. She followed Darcy to his study when they had finished – she understood Sarah's desire for work, for distraction, and the rigour of working on the household accounts was more appealing to her at this time than any other. They were there for some time when Parker entered with letters, one for Elizabeth, from Catherine, and one for each of the Darcys from Georgiana. The timing of the letters was such that Elizabeth feared some incident had occurred in London, for although the letters were sealed in red, she had long since learned that they did not always have to be sealed in black to carry the worst possible news. Saying a silent prayer that everyone was well, she opened Georgiana's letter first and read with rather more relief than concern that Matthew was resuming his command of the Caroline and would be carrying Lord Stretford to America. Darcy would not be happy about it, of course, particularly after the loss of the Icarus, but somehow the risk of death seemed a far more distant thing when they had just experienced an actual death in their house. Elizabeth read on and learned to her surprise that the Ramseys intended to travel with the Stantons, so that they could visit Lydia. This was surely the topic of Catherine's letter, and Elizabeth opened it to find her assumption correct, and Catherine offering to carry anything Elizabeth wished to send to Lydia. There would not be time to go to Matlock, Elizabeth thought, so Lydia would have to make do with whatever could be found at Green's. And money – for once, Elizabeth had a means of sending her youngest sister money and ensuring that it not only remained secure during its passage, but also ended up in Lydia's hands – not George Wickham's.
"I presume you had the news from Georgiana?" Darcy asked, quietly.
"I did, from both Georgiana and Catherine. I know it must be – disturbing – to you, to know Georgiana is to go to sea again."
"I would much rather she stayed on land, of course, but that is not where my concern lies. If she and Matthew were having difficulties, I cannot think it for the best that they cross an ocean together."
"Perhaps she thought this would help. They have spent more of their lives together at sea than on land. Maybe things were better there."
"I cannot be happy with that," said he, "but perhaps I will have to learn to be content, and hope you are right that they will be happier at sea."