CHAPTER XLII

The rumours began on the Sunday. A ripple ran through the congregation at St. George's, which even the good reverend's preaching could not quiet. The Goulburns found them as they left their pew. Had they not heard? Brougham had failed. Caroline was to set sail from Calais for Dover that evening. Her breath stopped. Were they certain? Yes. The War Office had eyes and ears everywhere.

The gentlemen dispatched themselves to Whitehall, telling their wives to return home and to stay there till they had word. A nervous energy overtook her; she offered Jane Goulburn a ride back. Tension again filled the air of the gilded streets on Mayfair, heavy and oppressive. Elizabeth took the boys and Catherine to play in Hyde Park. Everyone she met had the same news and questions; was it true? Had the King said anything? Where was Lord Matlock now, with Lord Sidmouth?

She gathered more information than she was able to give. Wood had indeed been the stronger voice. He had convinced Caroline that accepting the Government's fifty-thousand to stay away was an admission of guilt. And the Queen was guilty of nothing but love for her King and her country. That night she waited up for her husband's return, a glass of madeira ready for him. She would not repeat the mistakes of February or April. He was her best avenue to news and she needed to know what the situation was, so she could plan for her children's safety.

It was almost midnight when he did return. If he was surprised to find her still up, his face implied it was at least a pleasant one. She listened attentively. The Queen would likely land in Dover by lunchtime. From there, they suspected she would make her way to London, with Matthew Wood at her side. He made her promise to stay inside: she agreed not to put herself in any danger.

In the morning Annette left for Marylebone with a simple note.

"Let us try next Monday instead. Send word if you can. B."

She paced the corridors of Matlock House, until Mrs. Janssens told her the staff were concerned. After that she tried to look calmer, though there was little point.

Annette returned at lunch, note still in hand. There was no one to hand it to. Elizabeth supposed that made sense. He could be any at number of places with any number of patients that day.

"I must ask one more favour," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I need you to pack a bag, for us two and the children, and stash it someplace safe. Nothing grand, though perhaps a jewel or two, that are mine and mine alone."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Terror. If it comes we must go, as quickly and quietly as we can. Please Annette, can you do that?"

"Oui."

As she waited up again that night for her husband's return, her mind waged war against itself. One side prayed that nothing should happen, while the other desperately hoped it would.

Around midnight she gave up and retired to restless sleep. She got her news from the The Times over breakfast. The paper was outraged that the royal yacht had not been sent to collect the Queen. The King's snub stood in stark contrast to the people's welcome. A noisy crowd welcomed Caroline into Dover, waving great banners declaring 'God save the Queen.'

"Is she not – we put it to every English bosom – is she not a brave woman," The Times wrote "to force her way to us, in contempt of treacherous offers, to claim her rights as Britain's Queen?" Lord Sidmouth, Elizabeth thought, would not much like that. The Six Acts were still law, even if the papers no longer seemed to care.

By now the Queen was surely making her way to London. Mr. Janssesns dispatched one of the kitchen boys to discover the news. Soon enough he returned soaked from rain and able to report that the Queen and Alderman Wood had been spotted on the London Road, in a miserable, battered carriage, making for the Alderman's house in Mayfair. People of all ranks were streaming through the streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Queen's return.

With a flair for the dramatic, the rain ceased just as Caroline entered London. With more curiosity than care Elizabeth decided she wished to see this woman who filled the thoughts of so many of the men in her life. Marshalling Miss Hindmarsh and Jack Renner, she and the children made their way towards the Alderman's house – only to be blocked by the massive crowd that had gathered outside.

"Perhaps we should return ma'am?" Mr. Renner muttered, taking a defensive stride in front of the young masters.

"That might be wise Jack," she conceded. Amongst the many shouts of 'Long Live the Queen' were many more unsavoury ones about the King and his ministers.

On their return to Matlock House, Mrs. Janssens was quietly placing lit candles in all the windows. At her mistress's query, she explained those houses that did not where liable to have their windows smashed it. "It is a sign of support for the Queen you see ma'am," before adding with much agitation, "not that we do, of course. But one of the King's Guard called and told us it would be prudent."

Lady Matlock commended her sense and made for the nursery where she sang to her children till their nerves were calmed. That complete, she checked on Annette's progress. Her task was done: a bag was stored under her bed in the servant quarters, where no one would think to look.

She did not expect her husband back that night, nor any night for the foreseeable future. Despite everything, she hoped he was safe and well. That the stress was not too great. That he was able to rest.

The noise from the streets grew as evening fell. She headed back to the nursery and read Ivanhoe till her children fell asleep. Sitting on the edge of William's bed, she looked down on his little sleeping form – and desperately wished his father would come home. More than anything she wanted Darcy to come back, hold her tight, and sweep them all off home to Pemberley. For all of this past year to have been nothing more than a bad dream.

She headed to her usual sitting room and placed herself in the window seat, waiting and watching in case he did return.

She must have fallen asleep there. A scuttle of noise in the halls startled her awake. The clocks were chiming ten. Footsteps echoed from the hall and the door clicked open. There was only one person who could open it without knocking.

She leapt to her feet, her heart in her throat, relief washing over her as he entered. "Darcy, thank goodness. I thought you would not be home."

He walked straight past her to the decanter. He looked agitated, but that was to be understood. He downed one brandy and set about pouring the next. "Is that why you have lit those stupid candles? What on earth are you thinking?"

He marched over and snuffed out the one in her window.

"I," she began, suddenly weary. "Mrs. Janssens advised those houses that did not were liable to be attacked. I thought it best."

"Of course you did." He finished his glass and moved to pour another. She took an instinctive step back. He was tenser than she had ever seen him.

Keeping her voice soft, she asked if there was trouble in the streets? He put his drink on the mantlepiece and said in a voice slow and low: "You need not sound so excited; we'll keep rebellion at bay."

"I'm sorry?"

"Our informants have been busy rounding up agitators. The mob will not organise, not tonight at least."

The glare he gave her made her want to run, far and fast. She took another step back. "Fitzwilliam, what is wrong?"

"Your friend Mr. Weir is amongst those arrested. We have enough sedition on his account that he will be for either a long stay in Newgate, or the rope. You seem shocked madam. I am surprised, given the intimacy of your acquaintance, I would have thought you had ample idea of the good physician's transgressions?"

Her breath stopped. "I don't take your meaning. I would not assume such an acquaintance."

"Really?" He mocked and then, with great care, pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. "Perhaps then, you will be so good as to explain to me what I should infer from his. 'My dearest – comma – Mr. Weir, I owe you an explanation for last night, though I imagine you can well guess what I must say. Please know that if I were still free to choose, then my desires would follow your own. But we are both wise enough to know that cannot be the case. Please, marry Sarah Davidson with my blessing. If she will have you, I believe she will be luckiest woman in all the land. Your Bess.'" He spat the last word out. "It is a pretty ending and most certainly your hand. I believe I have some sheets of my own that I could compare it to, though none quite so delicately written. Have you nothing to say? No thoughts? That is not like you Bess."

Panic froze her blood. Her head screamed to flee, but her feet were stone beneath her. No thought or words would form in her mind. She, who had never been without words, could think of none.

"You seem to be struggling, wife," her husband snarled. "And here I thought these past months you had been without passion. How foolish of me not to realise that you had simply directed them elsewhere. That I was being played as a cuckold. For, tell me, what else should I infer from this? What possible explanation can you give? What defence will you give for this – this treason? It can only be that you have lost your wits, for no woman in their right mind in a position such as yours would ever dream to act with such contempt for their husband!"

"It is not like that," she managed to choke out.

"Like what, pray tell? Not contempt? Because from where I sit it most certainly is. What should I assume now, but that every word that has passed between you and I, every secret and every plan, has ended up in the bed of you and this – this –" He could not finish the sentence.

"Please," Elizabeth stumbled, slowly finding her voice. "Please Fitzwilliam, let me explain. I have not–"

"No. No you will not play me for a fool again. How long have you lain with this man?"

"I have not. I swear, please–"

"How long!"

"I have not!"

"Do not lie to me Elizabeth. Do you love him?"

"What?"

"It is a simple question Lady Matlock; do you love this man or not?" She was frozen; her mouth would not move. Could not move. What would she even say?

"Say something!"

But she could not.

"Answer me!" He roared.

"Fitzwilliam please," she cried. "Please! It is not–"

"What a fool I have been," he hissed. "You are no better than your stupid slut of a sister, though you played your role with more skill. Was this the plan all along wife, this the reason for your change of heart? To secure yourself and your family, and then carry on as you please? Safe in the knowledge I would not stand for a separation? It makes sense. I had always wondered if you would have been quite so amenable to a second proposal if you had not already set your sights on Pemberley. Was that the price of your affection?"

She forced her eyes up to meet his. "No Fitzwilliam please–"

"Do not assume such familiarities madam. It is 'my lord' till I choose otherwise. Is he even the first? All those long walks, alone. Who else has had you? Brougham, or is he too grand? The bloody stable hand? More fool me indeed. I should have listened to the warnings. Well, I'll be damned if your family's bad blood pollutes our children. You should be on your knees every day thanking me for this elevation, instead of–" He stopped and collected himself again. "You will start acting like a countess. Like a wife. You will return to Scarcliffe tomorrow and you will stay there till I say otherwise. The children will go to Pemberley, to stay with Georgiana–"

That roused her from her panic. "You cannot take my children!"

"My children Elizabeth. Or at least so I am led to believe. Thanks to your efforts they are in danger here. I should throw you in Bedlam just for that. No, they will go with Georgiana, for their moral instruction until you come to your senses."

"Their moral instruction?" She spat. "La! The only thing that separates your sister from mine is the timing of your interference!"

"Enough!" He yelled. "If this is not yet enough for you to carefully consider your next words, then let me speak plainly. Your Mr. Weir will not see the light of day till a jury can be found that will convict him without a moment's hesitation. If he is remorseful, he may just live to spend the rest of his days working off his debt to the Crown in New South Wales. But if there is any of the defiance I see in you now, he will hang like Thistlewood before him. Let me be perfectly clear Elizabeth, the only reason you have escaped a similar fate is because of Sidmouth's attachment to me. That name you hate so much is all that stands between you and Newgate. You will return to Scarcliffe, you will breathe not a word of this to anyone, and you will reflect on how very, very fortunate a position you are in. You will do this, because if you do not, I will know your loyalties cheaply bought. And make no mistake Elizabeth, after that babe is born – if he is not mine – your name will be dragged through Parliament and you will be left without a ha'penny to your name. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes," she said through gritted teeth.

"Yes who?"

"Yes – my lord."

"Now get out of my sight."

With what little dignity she could muster, Lady Matlock pulled herself up and left the room.

End of Vol. III