The courtyard below was busy, a whole village of people shunting and moving, boots echoing on the stone floor, the hum and chatter of servants going about their work, the occasional shout and clatter as something was dropped, and then the rush to pick it up and complete the work as quickly as possible. Staughton stormed out of the stone parlour hidden under the cloisters, and into the group of workmen who were laughing and joking.
"Is there any reason why you are gadding about and not completing your work, gentlemen?"
"Beg pardon, Mr Staughton, sir, we were just wondering when the master was home?"
The Darcy butler raised an eyebrow, "And what business is it to you? Is there some pressing social engagement that you wish to invite him to?"
"I don't know if I only speak for myself," said the workman, "but we are wondering as…well, with Miss Georgiana being here, then usually Mr Darcy is back at home more frequent like."
Staughton ruffled, "that is not a concern of yours, Harry Simms. Mr Darcy is perfectly able to decide his own schedule, whether or not Miss Georgiana is at home."
"We heard that she came back to Pemberley with Mrs Hurst, sir."
"Is it really that important who Miss Georgiana came home with?"
Harry Simms had a reason for wanting to know if Miss Georgiana was staying at Pemberley for the rest of the summer because if she was then Mrs Younge, with all her fancy talk and flirtations, would be back at Pemberley too, and he was rather hoping that they could finish what they had started.
"No, sir, not at all," Harry agreed, "but is the young Miss Darcy alright? We were all afeared that she might have caught the sweat. Tom's eldest boy passed of it not three weeks ago," he gestured to Tom, a sallow looking man of around thirty, with sad blue eyes.
"Miss Georgiana had a simple cold, which hastened her return from Ramsgate," Staughton confirmed, "and I am sorry to hear about your boy, Mr Reeve. If you call into my parlour on your way home, I will arrange something for you and Mrs Reeve." To lose a child, well, he couldn't even imagine. "Now get on with your work and make sure it's completed before the master is home."
"Yes, sir," Harry said, and he gestured to the rest of the men to continue on with the task in hand.
Edwin Staughton surveyed the works around the courtyard, the painting of the window frames, the installation of a new central feature, the staining of the tall, studded door that shut Pemberley off from the rest of the world. It was a comprehensive scheme of improvements and he was convinced that Fitzwilliam Darcy was preparing Pemberley for a new mistress. It was about time, he thought, as he ventured into the housekeeper's office. Mrs Reynolds was sitting at the large wooden table that dominated her room, tucked away at the corner of the house, she had a commanding view out onto the lake and from here she could see all of the comings and goings.
"Have you heard the talk amongst the workmen?"
She looked up from her ledger, "what talk?"
Staughton took a seat opposite and poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot, "the talk of Miss Georgiana," he gave his female counterpart a knowing look.
The evening that Mr Darcy, Mrs Hurst and Georgiana had returned to Pemberley had been in swathed in secrecy. The messenger had arrived on horseback the night before, urging both the butler and housekeeper to keep their arrival discreet. Willis, Mr Darcy's steward had ridden on ahead, arriving the afternoon before and calling a meeting between himself and the senior servants. Alexander Willis was an intelligent, well-mannered man in his mid-thirties, and had a wife and three children who lived in a cottage on the edges of the estate. He had made the move to Pemberley the year before, taking the post after working in a similar position for a minor lord in Wales. He had fitted in well with the servants in Derbyshire, although he was still at odds with the family's housekeeper in Grosvenor Square, making the job of managing the family interests a little bit harder than it ought to be.
"What has happened?"
Willis sighed, removing his hat and gloves, placing them near the fire to dry, "I am unsure."
It was true. He had not been given the details regarding the hasty return of Darcy and his sister, had only been advised to travel on in advance and prepare the way. Mrs Hurst had been there, taking charge of the situation as usual, and Willis had wondered why she had not been at home with her own husband. It had crossed his mind, albeit fleetingly, that maybe Mr Darcy and Mrs Hurst were planning on running away together, but what he knew of Fitzwilliam Darcy contradicted that. The orders were given to close the house at Ramsgate, contact the agent and arrange for Miss Darcy's personal effects to be returned to Pemberley. Willis also had the arduous task of arranging carriage for the pianoforte, again. He had asked what was to be done about Mrs Younge, who surely would still be expecting the salary for her role, but received no answer.
"Unsure? But Mr Darcy surely would have given you some inclination as to the sudden removal," Mrs Reynolds was concerned. She had known the master since he was four years old, and was fully aware that he never made hasty decisions, each one considered and contemplated.
"Aye," Willis took a seat at the oak table in Staughton's parlour, "but I was given the orders to close up the house at Ramsgate and settle the family's affairs in that town, nothing more."
"But what about Mrs Younge," Staughton asked, "has she been dismissed or is she to return to Pemberley?"
Mrs Reynolds huffed loudly enough to be heard, "well I for one hope that she does not return to Pemberley… or Mr Darcy's service at all."
"Was there an issue with Mrs Younge?" Willis asked, taking a sup of ale and a mouthful of bread.
Mrs Reynolds looked over at Mr Staughton, neither of them had liked the companion chosen for Miss Darcy. Didn't like the way she spoke to the younger male servants or the liberties she took with Georgiana's income. Mrs Reynolds always welcomed people to Pemberley, but there was something about Mrs Younge that had left her feeling uneasy, and she was certain that whatever had transpired at the seaside it was all because of that woman.
"A clash of personalities," Staughton said, ever the statesman.
"Well there should be no issue with it, Mrs Younge was no longer at the house when I arrived and Mr Edwards confirmed that she had taken her leave earlier that day."
"She has abandoned her position?" Mrs Reynolds could not believe the audacity of this woman.
"That is grave news indeed, but is Miss Georgiana alright?"
Staughton had been there when Georgiana had been born, had seen the devastation the death of her mother had caused his master, and when George Darcy had passed away and Fitzwilliam has been too wrapped up in his own grief, it had been Staughton who had comforted and held her as she sobbed. He loved her as if she was his own child, and he knew that if any harm had befallen her he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.
Willis sighed, "I'm not sure, Edwin, I wouldn't like to guess at what happened, but I do know that Miss Darcy will be remaining at Pemberley now until Christmas, excepting a visit to Waddingham, and Mr Darcy will be returning to town."
"Well, that we can deal with," Mrs Reynolds said, looking to the butler for confirmation. "I will get the maids to make up the rooms tomorrow, and…maybe I will make a batch of seed cake for Miss Darcy's arrival, Georgiana always did love a piece of my seed cake."
"That sounds like a superb idea, Mrs Reynolds," said Willis, as the housekeeper scurried off to her own rooms.
Mr Staughton eyed Willis carefully, there was information that he hadn't been told yet. The steward gestured for the older man to take a seat, and he sat opposite him.
"Edwin, do you think this was anything to do with George Wickham?"
"I suspect that this was everything to do with George Wickham."
Georgiana felt empty. It was as if someone had drained the whole colour from her life and left her in shades of black and white and grey. Nothing felt right anymore, and even the kind words of Louisa and the loving embraces of Fitzwilliam could not fill that emptiness, or make her see anything but blackness. So they had taken her home. Brought her back to Pemberley, where everything would always feel better, Fitz had said, as they had rumbled up the drive and clattered over the cobbles in the courtyard. Fitzwilliam had carried her upstairs in the night, into the small inner bedroom, and under the heavy covers of the old Tudor bed that she had slept in as a tiny child, and now he sat at the side of her, stroking her forehead and holding her hand. The lamp flickered casting shadows around the room, the fire crackled in the stone hearth, and pictures of Kings and Queens decorated the walls. This was the Knight's bedroom, for reasons she had never known, but Papa had always said it was a room for a princess; the thought of his face and the familiar smell of him had caused a wave of emotion, because how could she have ever stood before him like this? She pulled herself into her brother, holding onto him tightly, and sobbed throughout the night.
In the morning the light shining through the curtain woke her early, the house sounded silent, even though a fire had already been lit in the hearth. Fitz had stayed with her as she slept and was uncomfortably tucked up on the chair, his head kissing his chest.
"Fitzwilliam," she said, her voice scratchy in her throat.
He edged awake, jolted from sleep, opening his eyes to see Georgiana sitting up in bed. She looked pale and drawn, he moved to sit next to her.
"G, are you alright?"
She nodded, there was a wobble on her bottom lip, her eyes heavy with redness and unfulfilling sleep.
"Are you ashamed of me?" Her voice, usually bossy and demanding was small and quiet.
"Ashamed of you? He took her hand in his, "why would I be ashamed of you, dearest Georgiana?"
She didn't want to explain the humiliation that she felt, how the physical pain had subsided quickly, but that the feeling of shame remained deep within her.
"Who will want me now, Fitz? Even with my thirty thousand…What man would ever…" she stumbled over the words, soft tears rolling down her face. He grasped for her hand and held it tightly.
"This was not your fault," he said firmly.
"But Fitz," she said sadly, "in the eyes of God, I cannot deny…in the eyes of God, brother, I am his wife."
"No," his voice was gentle, his gaze unwavering, "no god would ever join you with a man who thought it right to force himself upon you, and I would never make you marry such a man."
"But what can I do, Fitz? I have brought shame on our family, this could ruin us… and any expectation we have of," the words rattled out of her, bringing her to the verge of hysterics, and he held close to him as her body shook with panic and fear.
He was scared too. They had done a quick, clean job of keeping news of her departure from Ramsgate quiet, had managed to silence the innkeepers and the tavern wenches who had seen the Darcy coach on its journey to Gretna, and Fielding would never say a word, would never tell anyone how he had seen Georgiana Darcy distraught and screaming, George Wickham lying cold on the ground, his devilish leer still emblazoned on his face. They had taken the women to a local inn, Georgiana clinging to Louisa, still half-dressed under the cape, before travelling on horseback to reprimand her assailant. But he had already gone, unharnessing a horse and vanishing into the night. God knows where he was now, but Fitz suspected that he had not worked alone, and he was determined to see justice served.
"Georgiana, we have to wait a few weeks now."
"A few weeks for what?"
He didn't know how to phrase it delicately, "to see if…"
"You mean if I am with… oh god, Fitz…I cannot, I would not, I would rather tear it out of my body than…"
"Stop, G. Listen to me, listen," he pulled her out of her panic. "We have to allow a few weeks, but other than that everything will continue as normal, no-one knows and the ones who do will never speak of it. We told Staughton that you had a cold and that your physician in Ramsgate said to return to the country for respite."
She nodded, "who else knows?"
"Louisa, Fielding, and myself. That is all."
"And George Wickham," even saying his name made her stomach turn in knots as she remembered the weight of him pressed against her, the smell of brandy on his breath.
"I promise you that I will find George Wickham," he said, "and I will make him pay for this crime."
Georgiana very rarely saw her brother's features harden to granite, but she could see the look of anger and revenge branded across his face, and she feared that he would do something reckless.
"Please don't challenge him."
"Don't challenge him? What would you have me do, G? Look what he has done to you…I will ensure that he never does this again, to anyone."
The anger turned to despair and she realised that Fitz saw this as his only way to protect and keep her safe, how he thought he had failed in doing so. She held his hands tightly wound in her own.
"Fitzwilliam Darcy, you will not risk the gallows for the sake of George Wickham. I would not have you do it…"
"But Georgiana…"
"No," she said firmly, tears running down her face, "how can you let him take you away from me? Has he not taken enough?"
There was a moment of understanding between them, and he pulled her close, hugging her tightly.
"What should I do, Georgiana… tell me, because I don't know how I can put this right."
She rose from the bed and went to the window, the house was coming to life now and below in the courtyard the servants and workers and gardeners and footmen and stablehands were all starting their days work.
"I remember when I was younger," she began, "you told me about the snakes that you saw in Egypt and how some were so big they could devour a man."
"I did," he confirmed, "are you suggesting I feed him to a snake?"
She smiled softly, "I don't even think snakes would eat him. But you said that the natives would kill the snakes by cutting off their heads."
"Aye, that was true, sometimes the heads would bite even after severed from the bodies. Georgiana, do you want me cut off his head?"
"Fitz, you are being too literal. What I mean is… Wickham has been the devil on your back since you were both little, and the one thing that he always asks of you is money. I know now that he only ever wanted my money, all of his talk of friendship and family was simply to win my confidence and trust. I was so scared when he told me you were in prison, Fitz, I did what I thought best and by doing so I fell into his trap. He is a clever man, there is no doubting it."
"And he didn't work alone…" Fitz had discovered the true identity of Miranda Tench, the former actress who had done so credible a job as Mrs Younge, and then convinced his sister to abscond into the night, "… will there be no end to his machinations?"
"Wickham knows you almost as well as I," Georgiana said, "he is fully aware of how important our family name is to you, how proud you can be. He will have wanted to force your hand, make you feel compelled to agree to the match knowing how he had… how he had…" She composed herself, "we should cut him loose. We should let him fend for himself."
"I have no intention of giving George Wickham another penny, Georgiana."
"And you mustn't," she sat back down on the bed, "that man is a poison in our lives, he tarnishes everything he touches. But we cannot continue to pay his creditors or support his lifestyle."
"Do you think that is wise? Wickham can be rather like those snakes that continue to bite after death. Do you not think he would plot an act of revenge? He is cold-hearted and damning when it comes to others, he would have no qualms about telling people of his conquest of you. Truly that would be his revenge on us."
"What revenge could he seek, Fitz? George Wickham and his rumours do not scare me, nobody would believe the word of such a man. What is he doing to do? Kidnap me again? He has ruined me, Fitz, and I have to live with that, but I will not let him destroy me or this family. In that, he will not be victorious."
"And if people talk? Society can be cruel."
"Society would have more to say if you were on trial for murder, and I would still be subjected to the same rumours and hearsay. This is the best way forward, brother, I know it in my heart."
He took her hand and kissed it softly, "you are growing up to be a remarkable woman, Georgiana Darcy."
"Thank you," she smiled, "it means ever the more coming from you, brother. You truly are the best of men."
"You are biased, I think because I am your brother…"
"I am more inclined to see the good in you, perhaps, but I am also your harshest critic when you need it."
"That you are, G."
"And I heard that very soon there will be another lady desperate to reprimand you when you are being miserable and taciturn in company."
"You have?" Fitz blushed slightly.
"Aye, a Miss Godwin had your heart in its snare, so I have heard."
He dipped his head, looked up under his unkempt hair, "you have heard correctly, although I must confirm to you that you have to approve of her before any kind of offer is made."
"Of course I must," the lightness faded and the sadness reappeared again, "but I am sure she is wonderful. I hope that she likes me too, seeing as she will be my sister."
"She is, and how could she not like you, G?"
"And once you are married then George Wickham will not be able to hurt us, what reason can there possibly be after this for allowing that gentleman into our lives?"
"No reason at all, my darling girl," he said.
Georgiana felt lighter now, even though she dreaded the thought of George Wickham's child growing within her, but she hoped that she had convinced Fitz to not kill him, even though the thought of George Wickham dead in a paupers grave made her feel that justice was served. It would not be worth losing Fitz for the sake of Wickham, and if they called the militia and had him arrested then the ensuing scandal for the family would be worse than the punishment he would receive. To cut George off from Darcy money, however, would truly be like cutting off the head of a snake. They would just have to hope that it wouldn't bite.