Chapter 28
True to her promise, Elizabeth slowed her pace of reading Lady Anne's journals, and in truth the entries prior to the young lady's wedding were – while satisfying – far less interesting than those when her romance had been in doubt. Finally, Elizabeth passed the general effusions of young love and saw all of the players arriving at Stradbroke Castle for what was to be a double wedding, and then:
"August 17, 1779
"I should not have thought I would have time to write here, but I am wholly ready and there is still a half hour before the ceremony, so I had been left alone with my thoughts. I have spent the morning with Lady Ellen, mama, grandmother, and Cathy, being prepared by Lady Ellen's and grandmother's Abigails. There has been some argument, for Lady Ellen and her woman proposed we should wear very light makeup and powder and I thought this a very fine idea, particularly after Lady Ellen was so complimentary of my complexion, for she claims I have the finest of anyone our age and have no need of any paint at all. I might say the same of her and told her so, but still, it was so nice of her to say. Mama and Cathy were both adamantly against it but grandmother strangely enough was the one who said that the young ladies ought to do as we wished and our husbands would soon enough know what we looked like underneath our make-up and so they might as well get a hint of it before-hand. In my own case the first time I met Mr. Darcy was here at Stradbroke with my face bare as was his and if I could meet him thus before the vicar I would, but I think the lightest layer of paint a good compromise, and Lady Ellen and I had been long agreed about keeping our hair simple so we would not need to worry about preserving it on our wedding nights.
"'Tis a quarter hour, now, until we shall be married. A quarter hour until I am Lady Anne Darcy. I am wearing my polonaise dress, for it is my favourite and Lady Ellen says a woman of my size looks best in such a dress for it gives me more volume and I am one of few who need it. I had not thought myself to be so small but everyone says such similar things about me, although no-one so elegantly as Lady Ellen.
"Mama wanted me to wear pearls in my hair but I asked for rosebuds instead and so there are pretty yellow rosebuds, which go nicely with grandmother's topaz set, which I have borrowed again. I chose to wear but one patch – a heart – and considered placing it at the corner of my mouth, but did not have quite so much gumption for that and have done the eye instead.
"I think they will be calling for me soon. I find myself more nervous than happy at present. I will be relieved when all is done and I am finally Lady Anne Darcy.
"August 18, 1779
"I have only a little time before dinner but I wanted to write a little something of how wonderfully happy I am. George, O, my wonderful George, and how happy I am to call him thus now, to be intimate with him in every way a wife can be, is surely the kindest and most patient man that ever was. If I could but be held by him forever and taste a thousand of his kisses! I must capture his words although I know not how I could ever forget them – 'O, my loveliest Anne, how I have longed for this day' as he clasped me to him and kissed me and made my knees so weak I thought I might swoon. When he caressed my damp, plaited hair and ran his fingers down my nightgown and said 'I have seen you without paint or powder, may I now see you in nothing, dear Anne?' I was so discomfited to remove it but when I did he said"
Just as Elizabeth was determining she should read no more, for it seemed very likely that Anne was going to describe her wedding night in far greater detail than a daughter-in-law ought to read, the entry stopped, and different handwriting could be seen below:
"I have startled my poor, dear wife and made her confess to the keeping of a journal, which I find to be a very fine thing. I promise I shall never again breach its pages and have read not a word. I wanted merely to record for posterity that I have married the sweetest, loveliest creature in all the world. G.D."
Elizabeth smiled deeply, to be presented with the evidence of such a sweet love as these Darcys had shared. She thought back to the portrait in the gallery, the young couple with the inscrutable countenances, their faces covered in paint and powder and their bodies in clothes of the old fashion. There was nothing to even hint at the deep love they shared below the surface. "Clearly, it runs in the family," she murmured, and then decided she would read a few more entries before going to see the children and then down to breakfast, for she was eager to read of Lady Anne's reaction to Pemberley.
"August 21, 1779
"O, how angry I am at papa! How could he raise such subjects, and at the dinner-table! It seems this morning he attempted to convince Lord Lynton to part with some of Lady Ellen's inheritance, even before his own death. I do not know how papa can do so without shame, but I suppose a man moves past shame when he encumbers himself as much as papa has.
"Lord Lynton was very firm in indicating that Lady Ellen would receive no more than her existing pin money from him (I expect this is still very generous tho) before his death. Then, and I believe this was a surprise to papa, Lord Lynton indicated that should his death come before papa's, Lady Ellen's fortune will be held in trust until Andrew accedes to the earldom – without saying it, giving papa to understand that he will never benefit from Lady Ellen's money. I can see Andrew readily agreeing to this as they negotiated the marriage contract – I half suspect he instigated it – but oh how angry it made papa. I am only glad my Darcy parents have already departed for Pemberley so they were not exposed to such a scene. I feel guilty, that I shall leave tomorrow myself, that George shall rescue me and take me away to Pemberley just as I once wished for him to do. Were it not for Andrew and Ellen (I suppose I can call her thus here, as I do when it is just the two of us – Cathy won't stand for such informality with someone so new to the family) I would not feel so guilty, but there are now two people dear to my heart at Stradbroke, and I wish they did not have to suffer this. I expect they may spend more of their early married life in Cornwall than they might have originally planned. For myself I have only lovely things to anticipate – some four or five days on the road with none but my George in the Darcy post-chaise and then to finally see the estate he says such lovely things about, the estate I shall be mistress of someday, but hopefully not too soon, for I want neither the responsibility nor to supplant my very kind new mother.
"August 31, 1779
"I cannot believe I shall get to live in such a place as Pemberley, that it shall be my home. I have not the time to recount each room at present, for I do not wish to keep my George waiting, but there was not a room I saw that was at all outdated or less than what it ought to be, and the state rooms were some of the prettiest I have ever seen.
"The grounds are nice as well, although the formal gardens are rather dull. Then again, I suppose if we were to bring in some landscape gardener, he would just wish to take out the formal gardens and have more parkland with perhaps some picturesque new ruins. Mr. Gilpin has his place I am sure, but sometimes it is nice to just walk among some pretty flowers.
"George and I have a very fine apartment at the back of the house that shall suit us just perfectly. My bedchamber is done up in green and pink, with the dressing room a darker green, and light green panelling for them both. George is here now, so I shall write more in the coming days.
"September 1, 1779
"It has been an exhausting day, but generally a good one. Mrs. Darcy wished to take me around the neighbourhood to introduce me to the principal ladies there, and to invite them to dinner. I gather she is a bit proud of having an earl's daughter in the family – this is a neighbourhood composed entirely of gentry and she certainly put emphasis on the Lady part of my name as she introduced me.
"Some were very kind and others more reserved. I think I liked Mrs. Charlotte Sinclair most, for she said such nice things to me, particularly that she hoped we would be good friends, being so near in age. Her husband, Mr. Sinclair, has already inherited their estate, Berewick – he did so even before he reached his majority, she said. Her kindness notwithstanding, the whole morning was very trying for me, to meet so many new acquaintances, and so I was ever grateful when we returned home and my dear George said I should have a cup of tea and then go driving with him about the park. We had tea together and then walked to the stables, where he surprised me by showing me a new landau that had been purchased just for me. I thought it perfect for calls around the neighbourhood and I was glad his mother had not usurped him in the surprise as we had taken the closed coach for our calls. But then after I had looked it over, he asked whether I would rather go about in it, with the coachman to drive us, or in an older curricle that he would drive with just the two of us. I was quite torn for I did not wish to slight such a fine present, but I told him I would rather it be just the two of us, regardless of the equipage, and he – my dearest, darling George! – said he had hoped that was what I would say. So we went about in the curricle – the park is a full ten miles around – and he told me about the history of the estate.
"After the Norman Conquest much of the land in the neighbourhood had belonged to the Deveraux family, the Barons de Kympton. The D'Arcys – spelled in the French manner, at that time – had been a gentry family in service to the Baron. When the last Baron had died without issue, the land had reverted to the Crown and the King had seen fit to redistribute it among the gentry, with the D'Arcys getting a larger share of the land because the King had looked most favourably on them. Not favourably enough to ennoble them, but the rights of lord of the manor had at least passed to them. The Baron's castle had been kept for use by the Crown until the Civil War when it was heavily damaged and then pulled down, so there was nothing to see of it – perhaps this is why George enjoyed Stradbroke so – but he did show me the ruins of the old medieval home of the D'Arcys. He also stopped to steal innumerable kisses from me, but I adored him for his larceny."
A note in Abigail's wispy hand was delivered at breakfast, indicating she was well enough for callers, and so Elizabeth went to call on all of the Sinclair women. She went to Fitzwilliam House first, finding Mrs. Sinclair and Clarissa still living their quiet life of mourning, and glad to see their friend. Abigail Sinclair was, as Elizabeth had expected, of quite different demeanour. Elizabeth had called on Berewick second in the hopes that Laurence Sinclair would have gone out by the time she arrived, and was grateful to see her hopes met. Yet Abigail seemed even more timid than usual, as though his spectre still haunted the house.
Elizabeth proposed they have a walk in the gardens, wondering if perhaps some of the servants had been directed to spy on their mistress, but once there Abigail seemed no less reticent, and finally Elizabeth decided she must confront things directly.
"Abigail, I saw you in the window, when last I called. I saw your face."
"Please, Elizabeth, I don't wish to speak of it," pleaded Abigail. "It will just make things worse if he learns I spoke of it to you."
"But if you are not safe – "
"Please!" Somehow Abigail's tremulous whisper was more striking to Elizabeth than if she would have shouted the word, and Elizabeth remained silent as Abigail continued: "I made a mistake, a blunder. I will not do it again, and all will be well."
Elizabeth was exceedingly dubious of this statement, but followed Abigail's wishes that she say no more. Instead, she took her friend's hand and squeezed it, and asked if she would like to go riding tomorrow. Tearily, Abigail said she would.
As she rode Flora back towards Pemberley, Elizabeth contemplated Abigail, and saw in her friend a similarity to Lady Anne Darcy, both of them shy, quiet women with good hearts. Lady Anne, though, had married the best of men, someone who had promised to protect her, to allow her to bloom, and poor Abigail had married the worst. The thought of the years of fear and misery her friend must face brought tears to Elizabeth's eyes, and it was not the breeze that made them spill over.
It was a comfort, to go and see the children in the nursery – the older boys all eager in their studies – and then to return to the secret room and more of Lady Anne's entries, as the young woman met more of the neighbourhood and accompanied Mrs. Darcy to give alms to the poor, all the while looking toward the coming dinner with nervous anticipation. Lady Anne would wear her best dress, the polonaise she loved so well, and some of her new mother-in-law's jewellery, with a hairdresser brought in from Derby to do her hair. Reading of the latter made Elizabeth grateful that the styles had changed – and Sarah's skill was so extensive – that she needed no such arrangements. She read the final lines of trepidation from Lady Anne, and then:
"September 4, 1779
"Dinner is over, at least. Without the knowledge that George was to take me to bed and soothe me after it was over, I am not sure that I would have endured it.
"How awful it was, to be the centre of attention. How mislead I was, by Charlotte Sinclair! I try to remind myself that things were so much worse at Stradbroke, that at least I have George's love, but my spirits are so very low tonight.
"September 5, 1779
"How can I go from such agony to such happiness? It is down to George, of course, that dearest man of my heart. He saw how upset I was last night and asked what had distressed me so. I told him of how stupid I had been, to not realise how much I would be the centre of attention, to not even understand that I should go first until that moment when his father had offered me his arm and I had realised that not only was I a new bride but that I would always go first, for I outranked every other lady of the neighbourhood. And how that would not have been so awful had I not overheard Mrs. Sinclair speaking to Miss Houlton in the drawing-room and saying she had expected more in jewels and dress from the daughter of an Earl and she was beginning to wonder if it was worth cultivating the connexion with such a quiet mouse as me for perhaps the rumours were true and I would not be able to introduce her into superior society in town, for my father's debts had ruined my own connexions.
"George said that due to his longer acquaintance with her, he had seen her to be a reaching woman, and wished he had warned me of her. He said the Darcy family jewels could be reset to better suit my stature and I should be fitted for as many new dresses as I pleased, although he feared only a town modiste would suit and he had begun to think that perhaps we should go in the opposite direction from town. This quite perplexed me at first but then he explained that for some years his family had enjoyed travelling to the Lakes when they could not travel farther afield, and they held the lease on a house there. I was not to expect much in the way of decor, for in truth it was a farm-house made redundant by the consolidation of two farms, but I told him very truthfully – indeed with all my heart – that so long as we were preserved from the basest wants I should gladly live alone with him in a little cottage, still less a farm-house. He said we could not be entirely alone, for he would not see his Anne cooking or cleaning, but that we could live very simply there, with no other society but our own and all the beauty of the Lakes to enjoy. He apologised that he had not thought of it earlier, for he saw now that we should have had more time to ourselves at the beginning of our marriage, than 5 nights in coaching inns.
"So we are to spend another week here and then set out for the Lakes, and if we wish to spend some months there we may, for there is nothing requiring us here before Christmas. But George says if I find myself missing more luxurious comforts we may return sooner – whatever I wish. I do not think I deserve him, dearest man."
Elizabeth had always suspected that the old Mr. Sinclair's wife had been a vain, reaching woman, and now had Lady Anne's words as proof of this. Perhaps it was inevitable that Laurence Sinclair had turned out so poorly, she thought, with such a mother. Reared on poison by her and spoiled by his father as the first-born son, it would have been miraculous for him to become otherwise than what he was. Darcy had vowed that none of their sons would be allowed idleness, including James, and for this Elizabeth was grateful. Yes, the Darcy children would never want for anything their little imaginations could conjure and might therefore be spoiled, but they would also learn responsibility and duty. Elizabeth continued reading of Anne's eager anticipation to go to the Lakes, and then:
"September 14, 1779
"O! How I adore the Lakes! I had enjoyed the beauty of what I have seen of the Peaks, but the vistas here feature both Peaks and Lakes which makes them particularly delightful, and still more is our situation. Perhaps it is a farm-house in status, but I should prefer to call our dwelling a cottage, for that is its size to my mind, and it is everything quaint and rustic. Such a thing might be strange for me to say after loathing Stradbroke for so long, but somehow it is different. The cottage is filled up with various pieces of furniture that seem to have outworn their need at Pemberley and yet most of them are still newer than what can be found in the best rooms of Stradbroke. Still more, I think I could more easily sleep in the oldest, creakiest bed in the world, so long as George was there to love me as a husband does. What we lack in luxury and modernity we surely make up for in intimacy. There is but a husband and wife who have had management of the house for some years, and a local girl who lives in the nearby village, Near Sawrey, and helps with the cleaning and laundry. Given the state of the house, I cannot say more is needed for our comfort.
"We arrived this morning, and a spate of rain prevented any further exploration beyond a quick walk down to the nearby tarn – that is what they call a little lake, here – but I cannot say I regret the rain. Further exploration shall come in time, I am sure, but I cannot say I shall enjoy it substantially more than an evening curled up with my George before a peat fire, for that is what I have to anticipate."
The Darcys did go out walking in the following days, each walk described by Anne in expressions of effusive happiness and adoration of her husband, the only entry different from this sea of happy sameness one from later in September:
"September 23, 1779
"George and mama Darcy have contrived the finest surprise for me, for this afternoon a great parcel of fabric swatches arrived, from town. I am to choose my favourites – and George says as many favourites as I like – to have made into dresses. Mama Darcy writes that she has just had a dress done by a new French mantua-maker in Derby and found her skills to be comparable to those in town. We are to stop there on our return from the Lakes so I can be fitted for new dresses. It is so strange to speak of new dresses without concern for the cost.
"This morning was quite lovely. George and I walked back out to Moss Eccles and had a little picnic there, and then walked on up the hill a little way to enjoy the greater vista. After the sameness of Norfolk I think I am very blessed to have a honeymoon here and the promise of returning to my new home in the Peaks. There is such majesty, such beauty here. George says he still adores them, even after having spent so much more time in both places than I have. I think eagerly of the days when it will be more than just the two of us, when we shall have the joys of bringing our family here."
Did the Darcys ever bring their family to the Lakes? Elizabeth's husband had never mentioned it, and when they were seated for a quiet little dinner within their private sitting-room, she asked him of it.
"We did go to the Lakes," said he, smiling fondly. "Often just the three of us until Georgiana was born, although sometimes the Fitzwilliams came with us. Some of my favourite memories from childhood are from the Lakes."
"I am surprised you have never spoken of it, then."
He sighed. "We stopped going, after my mother died. I suppose the lease on the house lapsed – I have received no correspondence regarding it, since my father passed."
"It must have reminded him of her, very much – I can see that it would have been painful for him to return. They spent their first months after marriage there, but she was already anticipating going there with her children."
They ate silently for a little while, until Elizabeth asked how his day had been.
"Good, generally. I called on Houlton, and he remains against the enclosure of the common. It is excellent of him – it would be easy for a man with Houlton's debts to drift from his scruples."
"I am glad of it. Between the two of you, I should hope this can be easily enough quashed."
"I share your hope, and I intend to write to Lord Brandon to see if he may assist. I wish Georgiana's uncle was still here in England, for his political connexions are broader, but I hope Lord Brandon's will be sufficient," said he. "And how was your day?"
Elizabeth sighed. "I fear my own troubles regarding Laurence Sinclair will not be so easily resolved. He beats his wife – he has done so on two occasions that I know of. I do not know what to do for her."
"Continue to offer your friendship," Darcy said, reaching over to clasp her hand. "I wish it were otherwise, but I fear that is all we can do."
When the meal was finished, the Darcys went up to the nursery to see the children while everything was cleared away, and then they returned to the sitting room for an evening of quiet reading, Darcy with Keats, a favourite of his, and Elizabeth with his mother's journal.
"November 12, 1779
"The weather here grows worse, and although I quite enjoy my days spent snuggled under wool blankets with a cup of tea and of course George, he begins to speak of setting a date for our return to Pemberley via Derby. We are in no hurry, but will wish to be back before Christmas."
Morning calls; time spent with the children, both in the nursery and on family rides on horseback; another horseback ride with Abigail Sinclair, that lady in seeingingly better spirits; quiet dinners by themselves and a few pleasantly conversable ones with Miss Fischer; evenings reading. This was how the Darcys spent the following week, as a year passed in Lady Anne's life. Her new dresses were completed, the jewels were reset, and yet still she struggled with being the centre of attention, and struggled still more with the old Mr. Darcy's sternness. She wrote of the Gordon Riots, grateful that no-one she knew had been harmed by them, and distressed that people would do each other injury when, whether Protestant or Catholic, they all did worship God. And then a more interesting entry, for Elizabeth had been expecting the younger Andrew Fitzwilliam was soon to appear:
"November 29,1780
I had a letter from Ellen today to say that she is with child. I am trying very hard not to lapse into my old jealousy of her, for I do love her as a sister, but when it comes to conceiving children to further fill our hearts, and heirs to continue our husbands' legacies, I will admit that I had hoped we would proceed at a similar pace. And yet even this is unfair, for Ellen must bear a male heir to continue the Earldom, while Pemberley is unentailed and so a child of any gender could follow George, although of course a boy would be preferred."
Lady Ellen's pregnancy proceeded, as did poor Anne's fretfulness, until finally it came time to travel to Stradbroke for the birth, poor Anne eager to see Ellen and Andrew, but not Lady Catherine or her father, whose health she had reason to believe was worsening.
"May 31, 1781
"Is it wrong that I am ashamed to be returned to this house – this castle – if one can be brought to call it thus? I am not happy to be at Stradbroke when I had been feeling myself more comfortable in the society at Pemberley. Here society revolves around poor Ellen and her soon-to-be-child. I hope that someday I shall be provided with such care, but with less enthusiasm than has been shown to my sister, for she looks weary with the attention.
"Cathy, of course, has not shown the same enthusiasm. She mostly just glowers when mama or grandmother are in the room, but if they are absent, she often snipes at Ellen, and even more so at me. She does not like any of my new dresses or jewels – or so she says. I believe she is just jealous. She has been good about keeping papa occupied, tho, and has organized games of penny Whist and even Pharo in the evenings, which she says satisfies papa's enjoyment of gambling but at comparably little cost – and at least the money stays within the family. I am not sure if we shall continue with it once Lord Lynton arrives, tho, for I think he is bound to find it strange. He is due to reach Stradbroke in three or four days, and I think he could not leave it for later if he wants to arrive before his grandchild, for Ellen is very large and she says she thinks it cannot be long now, an opinion in which grandmother concurs. Grandmother is usually right about such things.
"June 5, 1781
"Last night was awful. Papa had far too much brandy – we were playing penny Whist again – and he began speaking of going to Epsom for the races.
"We were all horrified, that he should speak of it, and when Andrew said if papa went he would only put the estate further in debt, papa said he was tired of being hemmed in at Stradbroke and that he was the head of his family and could go to Epsom if he felt like it, and anyway he was overdue to win. 'Have you no shame!" cried poor Andrew, for he and we all know that papa is never due to win – his luck is abominable. I was very worried, for although it no longer affects me so far as fortune is concerned, it would still affect those I care about, and I got a very bad head-ache. George took me up to bed and I took a little laudanum and had a very good sleep, so at least I am feeling better this morning. Dear George is such a comfort to me, and this would all be so much more difficult to bear without him by my side. I love him so much sometimes I think my heart could burst just to think of living without him.
"June 6, 1781
"I hardly know where to start except to say papa is dead, or really I should say he was killed. Beyond that I think I must go from the beginning. We played penny Whist again last night, and all of the gentlemen partook too much of the brandy decanter. Cathy encouraged them – I thought nothing strange of it for she has done the same since we arrived at Stradbroke, always going to fetch papa another brandy, and pouring one out for any of the other gentlemen who wished for it. Papa seemed a bit abashed by the argument and spoke little, except as required by the game. I was hoping he had changed his mind about going to the races. He won, for once, but still called for Cathy to bring him another brandy. We all moved to sit in the chairs and settles by the fireplace. Papa fell asleep almost immediately in his chair, and as George was out of brandy, he picked up papa's glass of brandy and was about to pour it into his own when Cathy said she would pour him a new one and made to take his glass, but he said papa had not even touched this one and there was no reason to waste French brandy. Cathy muttered that only a commoner would do such a thing, and George just shrugged and poured the brandy. George and Andrew finished their brandies and we all went up after that – save Ellen, whom Andrew had taken up much earlier. Papa was still asleep, so Cathy covered him with a blanket and left him there. I remember thinking that she had been very kind to be taking such care of him as she had been for the past few days.
"George was still fast asleep when I awoke in the morning – so strange for him, but I thought little of it since he had drank more brandy than usual last night. So I rang for Byers and she helped me dress, then I went down to breakfast. Byers must not have had the news yet, for as soon as I entered the great hall Albey told me that my father had died in his sleep. I was too shocked to cry for some time, nor even to speak. Eventually I asked where my mother was and he said in the sitting room, where papa had passed, so that I came to understand he had died in the chair where he had fallen asleep last night. I went in and found mama and grandmother sitting by his body, which had been put on the settle bench, there being no other space better in the room for him to be laid out. Neither of them were crying. 'O Anne, he is at peace now,' said mama. Grandmother said nothing and mostly looked relieved, which, I am ashamed to say, was also my sentiment at the time. I sat with them for a time, and perhaps it was their lack of emotions which eventually drew me into tears. I cannot say they were specifically in mourning for papa – more in distress over what had happened and guilt over my own relief. I cried myself into a head-ache, and grandmother encouraged me to go upstairs and rest. I went to the cabinet to get some laudanum, and was surprised to find the bottle near-empty, when it had been nearly full when George had brought it to me the night before last. I wondered how we could have gone through so much in such a short time, and it was not long before I began to suspect what had happened, recalling Cathy's eagerness to give papa brandy and now seeing the absence of a great deal of laudanum tincture in spirits of brandy.
"Cathy came in then, and must have seen that I knew, for she said 'don't look so shocked, Anne. It needed to be done.' I protested to her that it was murder. She said she had done what needed to be done for the sake of the family, what Andrew had not the courage to do, although we'd all heard papa speaking of going to Epsom. That could be no reason for patricide, I argued, but she merely stated again that she had done what needed to be done, and anyway it was not as tho she had stabbed or shot papa – merely handed him glasses of something he had willingly drank himself."
Elizabeth rose abruptly from the sofa, dropping the journal on the cushion. "Oh God, oh dear God."
"Elizabeth? My love, what is it? You look terribly pale." Darcy rose and drew his arm about her, looking at her as though she might faint – a concern that was not entirely unfounded.
"Lady Catherine, she – she – " he was gazing at her in wretched suspense, and yet still she struggled to say it aloud " – she murdered her father, the previous Lord Brandon."
"Good God!" he exclaimed.
Elizabeth could not bring herself to speak of it, and so she picked up the journal and found the entry for the sixth of June, handing it over to him to read. She sat back down on the sofa, her mind roiling. Darcy read silently for some time, and then slipped the journal back into her hand before he crossed the room to the brandy decanter, poured out two large measures, and returned, handing one to Elizabeth.
He sat beside her and gulped at his brandy. "My aunt is a murderess."
"My God, Darcy, I am sorry I ever embarked on reading these journals. I had no idea I would learn of such a secret."
"Do not be, Elizabeth. She was no more or less a murderess before you found that room. The only difference is now we know."
"What do we do, now that we know?" Elizabeth whispered.
"The same as the previous generation, I fear. My mother told her brother, at the very least."
"I had not read that far," said Elizabeth, picking up the journal to find the place where she had stopped reading.
"I thought then of George, of how he must have drank a glass full of laudanum and that was the cause of his deep sleep that morning. I went to turn, to run back and check on him, but Cathy grabbed my arm and said I could tell no one – not even within the family. I said I would promise no such thing and wrenched my arm away. Her response was to strike me, but I was so angry at the thought that she might have harmed George and would not let me see him that I struck her right back and ran off, back to our bed-chamber. George was still asleep and I roused him in great distress, and was very relieved when he asked me what the matter was and seemed well, if still very sleepy. I told him everything, and he was as shocked as I was. He said he would dress as quickly as he could and then we would speak to Andrew.
"I went to go find Andrew and learned he had been fetching Mr. Finchling to do his duty as Coroner. Mr. Finchling was speaking to Andrew and mama and grandmother in the sitting-room and saying that at papa's age and in his state of health it was not uncommon to die in one's sleep and at least it must have been peaceful.
"It was some time before I could get Andrew alone without rousing any suspicion. I made to take him upstairs to talk, but George was coming down the steps and suggested we go take some air in the gardens. We walked thither and I told him all I knew – poor Andrew, he was terribly shocked and grieved, particularly because like all of us, he had been relieved to know papa could cause no more harm.
"We had, then, to consider that most awful decision, whether we would report what we had seen and heard to the nearest magistrate, which was Sir George Harris now that papa was dead. We came around to it slowly, for it is not an easy thing to agree to cover up a murder, but eventually we agreed it must be done. Cathy's actions were abhorrent, but to see her arrested for them would only cause further ruin for the family, and would ruin those who were entirely innocent of the crime, including Andrew and Ellen's unborn child. Cathy came out as we were deciding upon this, and she came after me, shrieking that I had told on her and I was a dirty little rat. I think she would have hit me again, but George stepped between us and Andrew grasped her arm and spun her around to face him.
"He said he knew what she had done and abhorred it, but we would all never speak of it so long as he could be rid of her. He said he would send her with grandmother to town and she could go into half-mourning before the season started, for she had one more season to make a match – if she did not he would find a companion for her and send her to a cottage in the north, or perhaps somewhere even farther away. He understood there were a great many gentlemen seeking wives in India, he said to her. O! how she screamed at him! She said he was an ingrate when she had acted on behalf of the family and given him the power he had wanted. He said he had never wanted it at the cost of murder, and she called him a coward and spat in his face. How, O how can such a person be my own flesh and blood?
Andrew merely asked coldly if she had understood what he had said, and she said yes. He released her arm and bade her to leave but instead she shouted 'rat!' and made as tho to attack me again. This time it was George who caught her arm, and he said if ever harm befell me at her hand again, he would see her burn. He said it so sternly and yet so feelingly, that none of us had doubt of his sincerity, and Cathy said no more, merely stalking back into the house.
"We were silent for a while after such a scene, but eventually Andrew said he did not wish to tell Ellen on that day. He would not have it be a secret from her forever, but her condition was in such a delicate place that he loathed the thought of even informing her of papa's death, still less of this. Poor Andrew sat down on a bench and laid his head in his hand. He said he would have to live for the rest of his life with the knowledge that he had gained his Earldom through deceit and murder. I protested that it had been Cathy who had done it, not him, but he said that could not matter when his relief at his father's death – his father's murder – to a certain extent condoned what she had done. I protested that relief that he had died in his sleep was not the same as relief that he had been killed with too much laudanum that he had thought to be brandy. Yet it was George who made the more effective argument. He said nothing could change what had happened, but he expected there were hundreds who owed their livelihoods to the Stradbroke estate, and what Andrew could do now was focus on improving their lot, on shoring up the estate so that it would thrive for future generations – not only his own children, but theirs. I wish I could remember his precise words, for his speech moved me as much as it did Andrew, but in truth I think it was the sentiment of it that made his speech so beautiful – that and his fine mouth as he spoke, which I wanted very much to kiss, so overwhelmed with emotion was I. But I shall kiss him later, I am sure, and take refuge from this awful day in his arms.
"June 5, 1781
"Mr. Finchling named papa's death natural, although he told Andrew that nature had been accelerated by too much brandy and hard living. So we have been given leave to bury papa.
"Poor Ellen has begun her confinement amidst all of this, for the midwife says it shall be any day now. Andrew asked me to keep her company while they made plans for papa's funeral, which I was very glad to do until Cathy came in and seated herself as well. She glared at me but said nothing, and then endeavoured to make conversation with Ellen – I think she was seeking to ingratiate herself with the one member of our generation who does not know what she has done, although I am sure Ellen will judge her as well, once she knows.
"I endeavoured to join in, for Ellen's sake, and made the mistake of calling her Lady Ellen. I apologised, for of course she is Lady Brandon now – where once we were near equals, she is now a countess, and I shall always be the daughter of an Earl and no more. But she smiled very warmly at me and said she thought she could remain Lady Ellen among family. It was tremendously kind of her, and it certainly made Cathy's countenance less sour than it could have been. I am sure she was thinking the same thing about rank, and also that her thoughts were far more bitter than mine. Indeed when she finally left us and I thanked Ellen for doing something – in truth, making a sacrifice – that would make Cathy easier to deal with, she clasped my hand and said 'I did not do it for her, dear sister. You and I both married for love, and in that we are equals.' O! I do not deserve such a friend! I pray for her, for what she is about to endure. I care not about the Earldom – I just hope Ellen comes through and is well, and has a healthy child.
"June 15, 1781
"Ellen has had her child, a son, and both of them are well, God be blessed. He is to be called Andrew, although at present I cannot say he looks much like his namesake, for he looks more like a squinty little pink creature than anything else. Grandmother says they all look like that when they come out, tho, that the coming days will see him to a more adorable countenance, and that I won't feel that way about my own baby whenever that time comes. Cathy said it didn't matter much what it looked like as long as it had fingers and toes enough, and was a boy, to continue the Earldom. This was of course not received well by those of us who knew she had precipitated the urgent need for an heir to Andrew, but as the others were in the room we could not say anything.
"June 17, 1781
Ellen must now know of what Cathy did, for when I came into her room this morning she was telling Andrew that she would not have her near the baby, and it was plain by her who she meant. Andrew said he would send her to town with grandmother as soon as it could be arranged.
"In truth I do not think Cathy poses any threat to the child, for there is no benefit to her if the baby comes to harm. The same applies to grandmother, whose jointure will be lost to us once she passes. Yet I cannot fault Ellen for such sentiments.
"Lord Lynton and Andrew have been in what is now Andrew's study much of the time, going through papa's papers and attempting to make sense of them. Andrew gave me to understand that Lord Lynton intends to release some of Ellen's dowry to her now, as much as is needed to see the estate clear of debt. So I presume they are endeavouring to understand the sum it shall take to do so. I do not think Lord Lynton knows about papa's death. This must be our generation's secret to keep, I think."
"It appears Lady Ellen knew as well – Lord Brandon must have told her at some time after she bore Andrew," Elizabeth said.
"Elizabeth, are you comfortable with continuing to keep this a secret?" Darcy asked. "I abhor the thought of it, but I fear it is my instinct to do so."
"I fear it is mine, as well, and for the same reasons they chose to do so – for the innocents that would be harmed. The Smiths, the Fitzwilliams, all of our own children, they would harmed, perhaps irreparably, if Lady Catherine were to be prosecuted now. I am not even sure she could be prosecuted – the only evidence at this point is your mother's written suspicions. I do not think Lord Brandon would testify willingly after all these years."
He nodded. "I have thought, periodically, of encouraging Anne to heal the breach with her mother. I am glad I did not. I shall never sympathize with Lady Catherine again, and I am glad at least that she is already estranged from us all. We should tell Anne, at least. She deserves to know."
"I agree."
They were avoiding the most difficult topic, Elizabeth knew, the one Lord Brandon had likely wrestled with since he had become Lord Brandon: Lady Catherine's actions, however abhorrent, might well have saved the earldom from disgrace. New debts might have crippled Stradbroke so substantially that even Lady Ellen's fortune could not save it. Further years of dissipation by the old Lord Brandon might have harmed the family's reputation so severely that it could not be recovered by the next generation. Yet to raise such a subject might prompt the resurrection of other things, and she did not wish to do so. It was possible Darcy was thinking of them as well, but they did not need to speak of it.
He did resurrect those old topics, though, once they were lying in his bed, drawing her close to him and saying, "Elizabeth, that first time I proposed to you, when I was so puffed up with arrogance and pride, I insulted your family for their behaviour, and all the while that pride I took in my own position was based in large part on my relation to an earldom resurrected by a murder, an act done by an aunt completely lacking in morals, and I – "
Elizabeth laid her finger upon his lips. "Shh, my love. I was afraid we might find ourselves revisiting that time, but I do not want to. Nothing we have learned changes your second proposal, nor the man you have become."
"Thank God you feel it does not, but Elizabeth, you must know – it is very important that you know – that I value morals over behaviour. In many cases, they go together, but such innocent silliness as your sisters showed, and as I judged your family for – it is nothing, when considered against the weightier transgressions my aunt committed."
"Lydia's transgressions were not entirely innocent."
"Nor were Georgiana's, but they were both too young to understand fully what they were about, and sadly Lydia has paid far more penance," he said.
"You did offer to bring her home, away from him," Elizabeth sighed. "She wanted to marry him, and she got what she wanted."
"She was too young and too foolish to know, though, and I judged her for it, never knowing that my own aunt had fed her father glass after glass of laudanum, knowing it would kill him. She was not that much older than Lydia, but clearly far more calculating, far more cold."
"Lady Catherine is singular," Elizabeth said. "Yet we cannot dwell on her, or what she did. If we are to keep silent on the matter, we must put it behind us, the same as your parents and Lord and Lady Brandon did. And you must not dwell on what you said on that awful day, nor must I. Your family is mine now, and mine yours, and our family – our sons, and you – will always be most important to me."
"Thank God for them, and most particularly for you," he whispered, pulling her closer.