Chapter 22

They buried Mrs. Nichols four days after her death. Elizabeth was not present, of course, and neither were Charles or George Darcy. Darcy had given the twins and George Nichols the choice of attending the funeral – first impressing on them that they would have to sit for a very long time in the church and there would be many people – and James had been the first to say that he would, George Nichols seeming to draw courage from him. Elizabeth's George, though, had worn a stricken countenance until Elizabeth had quietly reassured him that he did not have to go, and he could stay home and mourn Mrs. Nichols with her instead if he wished.

The coffin was carried out by a group of male servants to be placed upon the hearse, and then they all followed after it, the servants walking, Darcy and the two boys in the landau. Once again poor George looked stricken, as though he was rethinking his choice to remain at Pemberley, and Elizabeth laid her hand upon his shoulder and said, "We can go to the chapel to pray for Mrs. Nichols's soul, George, if you would like."

He nodded, and they walked thither. George had never been in this room, and he made an awestruck pause in the doorway before he followed his mother inside. She led him to a pew and showed him how to kneel beside her and clasp his hands together, then began a prayer, endeavouring to keep it focused on topics George could understand, that Mrs. Nichols had been their friend and nurse, that she was a good and kind person, worthy of her place in Heaven, that they hoped God would look after her son now that his mother and father were both in Heaven. When she had finished, she turned to George. He still had his hands clasped tightly together and his eyes squeezed closed, and she said quietly, "George, is there anything you would like to add to the prayer?"

"Mrs. Nichols was my fwend," he said, "Pwease tell her I miss her and be nice to her."

Elizabeth waited for him to continue, but this was the extent of his prayer. Tearily, she murmured, "Amen," and then said, "You may open your eyes and stand up if you are finished, George."

He did so, and thinking of another space unknown to him nearby, she said, "Would you like to go to the library? Sometimes when we are sad, it is nice to have a distraction."

He nodded, and she led him thither. There was little in the library to amuse a boy of his age – all of the children's books had been moved into the nursery when the twins were old enough to be read to – but Elizabeth did have one thing in mind, the collections of George's namesake. They were housed in a cabinet between two of the windows, and once George had again gaped at the room he was entering, Elizabeth led him there. "Let us have a look at what your grandfather collected during his Grand Tour, shall we?"

The cabinet was largely filled with the sorts of trinkets a man of that time would have found interesting – all of the art and antiquities he had collected were elsewhere in the house, save a marble bust atop the cabinet – and Elizabeth and George spent some time merely examining the snuff and patch boxes, tiny vases of filigree glass, coins, and stones. George cared little for the glass, coins or stones, but he found the workings of the snuff boxes fascinating. When he had finally opened and closed his favourite sufficiently, Elizabeth pulled a leather folio from the bottom shelf and said, "There are prints in here, George, of famous places in Italy. Do you want to look at them with me?"

He set the snuffbox down and nodded eagerly. Elizabeth took a seat in the nearest chair and pulled him up into her lap, and they occupied themselves for a very long time in looking through the prints. Darcy's father had been meticulous about labelling any that were not labelled as part of the print, which was fortunate, for the pattern they established was that Elizabeth should shuffle the previous print to the back of the stack and expose a new scene, and George would ask, "What's that, mama?" and she would then answer him. She knew the more famous landmarks but not by any means all of them, and George Darcy's thoroughness meant she always had an answer for his grandson.

They were only interrupted when a familiar, unexpected but very welcome voice said, "They told me you were in here, Lizzy."

"Jane!" exclaimed her sister, turning from within her seat to see her elder sister standing in the doorway. "Look, George, it's your aunt Jane."

"Aunty Jane!" exclaimed George, jumping down from Elizabeth's lap. The Colosseum of Rome was entirely forgotten in the superior attractions of a hug from Jane Bingley, and Elizabeth gathered the prints back together in the folio, returned them to the cabinet, and then followed after George seeking the same.

"I had no idea you intended to come here today!" she exclaimed.

"Fitzwilliam wrote us of what happened with your nurse, and he thought my presence would be of some comfort to you."

"He was very right," said Elizabeth, feeling an immense tenderness in her heart towards both of them: Darcy, for knowing the one other person in the world who could soothe his wife's soul nearly as well as him; and Jane, whose very presence seemed to lessen the heartache and pain of the last few days.

"We had intended to be here before the funeral began, but one of the horses lost a shoe. Charles has gone there now, though, to see if either of the boys has become fussy and wishes to come home."

"Are Bess and Emma with you?"

"Yes, we brought them – we thought it might cheer the other children."

"George, did you hear that? Your cousins Bess and Emma are here. Would you like to go and see them?"

George nodded vigorously, and so they all went upstairs. When they reached the nursery, George ran through the doorway towards the first of his cousins he could see, which was little Emma. Unfortunately for George and Emma, he ran much too fast and could not stop himself in time, and his precipitate approach was far too much for a little girl of Emma's age, when children are still not entirely sure on their feet. He knocked her down and toppled over himself. Emma began to cry, George started to rise in confusion over what had occurred in the preceding half-minute, and before any of the adults could reach them, Bess Bingley had struck him twice, crying as she did so, "Don't you huwt my baby Emma!"

It took some time for Elizabeth, Jane, Mrs. Padgett, and Miss Sawyer to put an end to this fracas, untangling the children. Bess was defiant, to be kept from her fisticuffs, George was in tears but just beginning to understand that he could use his own fists to fight back, and little Emma was merely sobbing. Emma was most easily calmed, having the benefit of Jane's embrace to aid in her recovery. Bess was carried away by the two nurses and instructed as to how George's apparent attack on her sister had been an accident, which left Elizabeth to carry one emotionally overwrought boy into a corner of the nursery and speak to him of what had happened, endeavouring to lessen his confusion and calm him.

He did calm eventually, and while children generally do not hold grudges, he beheld Bess warily until the other boys returned. They had – so said Darcy – behaved themselves very well during the funeral and the burial, but they were quite energetic and pleased to find new playmates within the nursery. George and Bess played together with no further ill-will, and when Emma finally wriggled within her mother's arms in an effort to join in the play, it was with the countenance of an happy child who could not remember that she had ever been knocked over in her life. Elizabeth watched her join the others with a certain pang in her breast: she still longed to have a girl, and a sweet little creature like Emma Bingley was precisely what she thought of when she considered having her own girl. Surely her next would be a girl, and hopefully the child would be of just such a disposition.

The Bingleys stayed overnight, and Elizabeth was half of a mind to convince them to stay for longer, for as long as they were at Pemberley, they provided a diversion from the repercussions of Mrs. Nichols's death. After a long, lingering breakfast and good-byes in the drive, however, the Darcys were required to turn their minds to practicalities – namely that one nurse and one nurserymaid could not continue to look after four boys, even with a bevy of maids removed from their usual duties to lend their assistance.

The subject was approached gently by Darcy, who took his wife's arm and said, "Will you come back with me to my study? We ought to speak of how the nursery is to be staffed."

That he was the one to broach it gave Elizabeth some hint of what the content of their conversation was to be, although they did not reach what she had expected until later. First, they were seated in the chairs before the desk and he said, "I received David Stanton's reply to my letter late last night. He had to consult Lord Winterley, as regarded Mr. Nichols's will. He did write down his wishes shortly after his son was born, and although there were no witnesses, Lord Winterley had no doubt of its veracity. George was left to the care of his mother and her brother, which now leaves the brother as his only living guardian."

"Oh Darcy, how I had hoped it would not be thus," whispered Elizabeth, overwhelmed with grief and remorse.

"I will write to the brother," said Darcy. "Let us hope he has no interest in raising the child and would rather George stay where he is – be assured I will do all I can to persuade him thus. Until we have his response, please do not worry too much over it. The most sensible thing to do would be to leave the boy where he is well cared for and will have the greatest opportunities, and that is here at Pemberley."

Elizabeth nodded, and he reached over and clasped her hand.

"I hope deeply that George Nichols will remain a part of our nursery, but even if he does not, we will need to hire a replacement for Mrs. Nichols."

"I had been thinking of that, and I would like to promote Miss Sawyer to be head nurse, with Martha to take her place as under-nurse. We will need to find a new nursery-maid, then."

"I do like the idea of promoting both Sawyer and Martha, but rather than hiring on a new nursery-maid, I believe it is time for the twins to have a governess. She would teach George Nichols as well, if he remains with us."

It did not surprise Elizabeth that things had come to this. Five girls might be raised at Longbourn with no governess, but the education necessary for James to take up his place at Pemberley and the other boys to succeed in genteel professions would have to begin with a governess. She had not thought closely on it, but had understood it deep down since the twins had been born. What she did not know was her husband's opinions on who would instruct them after the governess.

"I would be open to considering a governess instead, although I do not like the thought of having to look for a suitable one. It will take some time, I think, to find the right candidate."

"I am not so sure it will, and in truth it is why my thoughts tended towards hiring a governess. The Houltons's governess will be coming available, with the youngest daughter almost wed."

"In such cases, it is not usual for the governess to be pensioned off for her years of service to the family?"

"Miss Fischer is only in her middle forties – they were her first family – and I do not think Houlton will be able to do so. Their farms did not do so well over the poor weather of the last few years, and he mortgaged land in order to manage the youngest girl's dowry. I do not mean to say he is under water, but I do not think he will be inclined to keep a governess on his pay for what could be some decades."

"I see that I am peculiarly blessed, that my husband should propose a governess in her middle forties. Are not men supposed to want pretty young things as their governesses?"

"Not when they are already wed to pretty young things."

"Is that all I am to you, a thing?"

"Are you endeavouring to teaze me to divert me from the subject, madam?"

"No, I simply saw an opportunity and could not let it pass. I assumed we would get back around to it eventually."

"Hmpf. Well, what I had intended to say about this governess in her middle forties is that such an age would be a good fit for at least our present family. She can instruct the boys until they are old enough for school, and even a few other children that might follow, so long as her health is good. We would, of course, pension her off when there are no more children for her to instruct or she is too old to work."

School. So there it was then, what would follow after the governess, so far as he was concerned. "Must they go away to school, my love? Could they not remain here, with masters to educate them? I have never gotten the impression that you particularly enjoyed your years at Eton."

"Not my early time there, no, but I am sensible of the benefits it gave me and the friendships and connections that eventually resulted. It would have been far better if I had gone with any other boy than George Wickham as my closest companion, when I did not yet understand he had the heart of a viper. The twins will have each other, and hopefully George Nichols – they will all be much better positioned to manage the transition. They will need to learn to move in the world, Elizabeth, and Eton is the place where they will begin to do that. If I had been tutored at home until university, I would have been even more awkward in society, I have no doubt."

"That is not the word I would have used."

"Awkward was how I felt, not how I have appeared to others."

"And you do not feel that way anymore?"

"Not for some years. Five years, to be precise. Having a partner who knows me and looks after me has made all the difference, and it has been all the more so since she became so fashionable that I know everyone is staring at her dress rather than myself."

Elizabeth chuckled, and squeezed his hand.

"Elizabeth, I know it will be difficult for you as a mother to send them away to school, but I believe strongly that it is the right thing to do."

She sighed, and nodded. "Let us pray we have a girl for our next, so her mother will have a companion who can remain with her for much longer."

"Would it be so very terrible if it became just the two of us again?"

"No, I suppose not," Elizabeth replied, smiling faintly. "I suppose I could become reconciled to living here at Pemberley with no-one else but my handsome hermit."

Life went on, as it must. Three days after they buried Mrs. Nichols, the Darcys asked the boys if they wished to go for a long ride, and the prospect of this cheered all of them. The children were happy to be out and riding, distracted from what saddened them, but feelings for the adults must be more complicated. Elizabeth had always envisioned the four of them going out together as a family, and indeed they had done so. Yet now George Nichols was added to their number, and always would be – it would be cruel indeed to leave him back at the nursery without his mother. If Mrs. Nichols's brother would allow him to stay with them – and Elizabeth prayed the man would – George would be a part of their family, and yet not fully family.

After the week of mourning was complete, Elizabeth resumed her calls, taking the carriage over to Fitzwilliam House to check on the dowager Mrs. Sinclair and Clarissa, and visiting with Mrs. and Miss Houlton, the younger Mrs. Sinclair, and the other women of the neighbourhood. To the younger Mrs. Sinclair, she issued an invitation to go riding the following day, and the eagerness with which it was accepted only increased her sympathy for the lady. How awful it must have been, to move to a distant country with naught but a boorish husband for company!

They met as agreed at a point nearly equidistant between the stables of their respective homes, near what had been old Stonebridge Farm, now broken up into two farms, the smaller of which was farmed by the Kellys. Elizabeth espied Bernard Kelly out in the fields and waved to him, receiving a deep bow in return.

Mrs. Sinclair was mounted upon the same cob she had ridden before, and she was not accompanied by a groom as Elizabeth was. Elizabeth expected that her husband had not thought it a necessity – as Elizabeth's most certainly did – to have someone to see to her safety, rather than any desire of the lady's to flaunt propriety.

"Mrs. Sinclair, good morning," said Elizabeth.

"Good morning to you too, Mrs. Darcy. Would you – do I ask too much to ask you to call me Abigail instead, when we are in each other's company? I feel Mrs. Sinclair belongs to my mother-in-law."

"I understand, and it is not too much at all, so long as you will call me Elizabeth."

"I would like that very much, Elizabeth. Your horse is very pretty. Laurence wants me to ride a thoroughbred horse like that, rather than good old Horace, but I haven't felt comfortable on any of the ones he's tried to mount me on. All of his horses seem rather wild."

"Flora is special," said Elizabeth, patting the mare's neck. "Mr. Darcy happened upon her at Tattersalls, otherwise I am sure it would have taken some time to find a horse like her, to be as handsome as she is and yet so well-mannered."

"I wish I could ask Mr. Darcy to look out for a horse for me, but I'm sure Laurence wouldn't like that."

"Shall we walk on?" asked Elizabeth, motioning to the path, and they did so. "How have you been getting along, with the management of Berewick?"

"Better, I think," said Abigail, looking more distressed than her words. "The staff that have remained have been good about following my orders and I mostly feel as though I know what orders I should be giving – but – it's just – Laurence has very high expectations of how the house should be run and I don't think it can be done with that many people, but he won't let me hire any new servants. He – I shouldn't be telling you this but he had many debts before he married and he's mortgaged lands to pay them. He doesn't want me to make any unnecessary expenditures but he still wants the house run the way it was when his father lived."

Poor Abigail was in tears, now, and Elizabeth looked over at her, concerned. "We retrenched in certain areas over the last few years, to endeavour to make more funds available for charity, so I have some experience in doing so. Would you like me to sit down with you and see if we might come up with a plan for how to do so in a way that will be less noticeable?"

Abigail nodded her head vigorously, attempting to blink away her tears. "Oh thank you, it would be so kind of you to help me."

Elizabeth returned from the ride in low spirits, worried about Abigail. In such a mood it was impossible to forget all else that might further depress her: the death of Mrs. Nichols and its continued impact on the boys in the nursery, the fact that someday she would have to send those boys off to school, then to university, and then into the world. She tried to turn her thoughts to more positive things as Sarah changed her, but she could think of very little to cheer herself beyond telling Sarah that she had seen Bernard and he had looked well. Even the garish space of her dressing-room irritated her far more than it usually did, and looking about her, she murmured, "Perhaps I need a project – perhaps I need to finally get about this project."

"Ma'am?" asked Sarah.

"Oh, nothing – I was just thinking I might finally begin redesigning these rooms."

"If you don't mind my saying, they don't exactly suit you."

Elizabeth chuckled. "I do not think you could understate that more, Sarah. The trouble is, I don't really know what does suit me, or how to even go about beginning. I know what I do not like, but I have seen very little that I truly do like so well as to wish for it to have some permanence in my chambers. Mrs. Bingley has done far more decorating – perhaps I shall have her send me her old furniture catalogues."

It became plain from Sarah's countenance that she did not agree with this plan, but would not say it.

"Sarah, what is it you wish to say? Please speak freely."

"Well, ma'am, I usually read the whole of Ackermann's Repository, not just the fashion pages, and there's illustrations of furniture in there that I think would suit you, but I also think you should start with colour."

"I hope you are volunteering to help with this project," said Elizabeth, "for I suspect you have better-educated opinions than my own. As for colour, you know yellow is a favourite of mine, but I also like the idea of green, of rooms that feel like nature inside."

"I'd love to help, ma'am, if you'll let me. I like making things look beautiful."

"And you have quite an eye for it," said Elizabeth, inwardly amused at having been called a thing by both her husband and her maid. "What would you say to this proposal – you know fabric better than anyone, so why do you not go Derby and see if you can find me some options you think I will like, for the curtains and bedlinens?"

"I'd be glad to, and while I'm gone, I'll leave the copies of Ackermann's with you, so you can look through the furniture pages and see what you'd like."

"We have a plan, then," said Elizabeth, and while she did not think it was the usual way ladies of great houses went about redecorating rooms, she liked it very much.