Chapter Nineteen

I did not sleep a wink that night as my mind was full of plans: All the plans amounted to this — I must leave, leave immediately, and go somewhere Mr. Darcy could not find me. That was completely clear to me.

The passage of time makes me know that in some ways I was foolish — I did not in fact need to disappear, not merely from Pemberley, but from everyone who I knew. But I wanted to escape, and I feared above all the response I would give if my honor and my morals were put to test by that look in Mr. Darcy's eyes once more.

I needed to be elsewhere, far away, where the only part of my happy life at Pemberley that I could find, the only reminder of who I was, would be myself.

My first act, when I arose long before dawn and sparked from the smoldering fire a candle was to write a brief letter — except I knew not what to say.

I cannot remain here under your roof when we cannot be married and to live as we wished to — as we had before. You must know, deep down, you must know that it is impossible. It would be—

I could not write more. I could not write that what he asked me to do would be wrong, a sin. So instead I wrote beneath that line, leaving the sentence unfinished:

Please share this letter, what parts of it I write to them at least, with Georgiana and Cathy.

To Georgiana: Know that you are a sister in my heart, and even should we never meet again, you will always be present in my thoughts, your memory will remain amongst my dearest treasures and—

Thick tears fell again — I thought I had cried all I could cry when Darcy spoke to me, and begged me to still come to live with him, to flee England, and be as husband and wife under papist skies. After a time I swallowed, thinking of how hurt Georgiana would be, for me to leave without speaking directly to her. How she would miss me, and be shy and lonely again, especially if Darcy, as I expected he would, left England once more, whilst she wished to remain. But I did not know if after the revelation of this day that Georgiana would wish to remain in Pemberley. So perhaps my dear friend, my dear, dear friend would lose her house, her chosen sister, and her brother, all in one blow, struck by Mrs. Darcy.

That creature I had expected to become.

I returned to myself and continued my letter:

Georgiana, your memory and the deepest, profoundest, unalterable and unshakeable affection for you will always be with me. Do not believe, do not, I beg you do not believe that my leaving, or the sudden and furtive manner of it does not mean I care not for you. I love you, you are dear to me as my own sisters, as dear to me as my closest, as my Jane, and I shall never forget that we were meant to BE sisters. Live well, live happy, and do not blame Mr. Darcy, nor I hope me. An evil fate cruelly struck against us, and that is all.

Cathy, my dear, dear sweetling. My child, I shall miss you. You shall find this all a confused tangle, and I cannot help you. But love your father, and be well, and be happy, and attend to your studies and — I wept bitter tears as I dipped my pen again in ink to be able to write this — to whoever shall replace me as your teacher or governess. But please, remember me a little. Oh, I do hope you will always remember me a little, for I shall always remember you a great deal

Mr. Darcy, I—

The pain rose up and threatened to choke me when I tried to write to Mr. Darcy.

I could not do it. There was nothing I could say which would assuage his hurt. The salty tears ran in streaks down my cheeks, with the salty taste full on my lips, and then down to my chin where it drip-drip-dripped down to fall on the paper. So I finished with just one line further down the page, leaving the marks from my tear drops as my text to him.

God bless you, Mr. Darcy. God bless and keep you, and go with you everywhere.

Your Elizabeth

I had begun to write my name with my familiar family name there at the end — Bennet. But even that much brought pain to me, and I thought it would bring pain to Mr. Darcy as well, to be reminded that I was Bennet, and Bennet I would remain.

I had thought to be transformed into that strange creature, a Mrs. Darcy. But that was impossible, I could never become Mrs. Darcy, I was forever separated from Mr. Darcy by the woman who had already taken that place which by affection ought to be mine.

I did not take any of the goods that Darcy had given me as a present, though I knew he would have preferred it if I left with ample resources to my support, rather than the slender stock I could draw on from my own possessions — in fact I also left much that had been my own — I feared the noise of the chest being picked up and carried downstairs waking a servant, or worse Mr. Darcy himself. Instead I put on my best travelling dress, and covered it in a heavy coat, and filled the pockets with the few mementoes I wished to keep of my life — none of Mr. Darcy. That was too painful at present.

I placed the billfold with my seven pounds of remaining salary into my purse, along with a few pieces of jewelry I retained from when my father lived.

I could not risk waking Georgiana — sweet Georgiana. But I paused at her door, and I kissed the frame. I whispered to her, a breath barely audible: "Know that I love you and will remember you with fondness, wherever I go."

I saw Darcy's door — there was no sound, but the light of a candle snuck out under the oak and paintings.

Silently, silently, on the balls of my feet.

To the nursery.

The well-oiled door silently swung open. I could not see clearly in the dark, and even had it been brightest summer noon, my eyes were too filled with tears to see.

But I could hear Cathy's sweet childlike breathing. She stirred a little, but did not wake when I bent over her to kiss her on the forehead.

And then, gripping my parcel, down, down the stairs. Numb fingers took several attempts to tighten and tie the boots by the door. The clear, almost icy cold of night.

There was no moon, and the stars above were bright that night.

I saw them all, all the constellations, the eagle Aquila especially was bright and clearly visible. Perhaps a good omen of good journey, in exchange for a most painful deed done. The Milky Way was spilt out above me, in a great whitish band.

My stomach ached the whole way, as I walked five miles to Lambton. I only had a half hour to wait at the post station before the stagecoach heading north came through, I paid my fare, made up of as much of the money as I had in small change, and I rattled off into my empty future.