Since I forgot to include the explanation last chapter, I'll have to make it up in this one. Pride and Prejudice was set during the period of Napoleon's world wide domination and England's leadership was left in the hands of the deteriorating King George III. Chopin's public debut was in 1829, only nine years after George III's death.
Yeah…ok my timeline stuff is not so good. My copy of Pride and Prejudice doesn't have those lovely notes that some books have. Whatever, on with the chapter!
-O-
When Elizabeth and Darcy made their return, darkness already began to creep steadily behind them. Mr. Darcy invited them to stay the night. The two realized the importance to retain their proper proximities and to conceal a little of the intimacy the shared. During dinner Darcy only took a seat next to her after the Gardiners had chosen their seats on her left. They both were careful to monitor their private conversations, but for all caution not everyone was fooled. Georgiana was naïve, but the Gardiners were wise and could see the change immediately. When the two did join in the group conversations they answered in tandem. Also the two just looked happy and content. Both had a spark that wasn't there before. It was refreshing to see and for every smile the two of them gave each other the Gardiners would echo it. Young love is the most savage love there is, but when it blooms it's the most beautiful.
In the drawing room the process started anew, although they allowed themselves to relax. At this time talking was the main activity that is supposed to be. Not once did the Gardiners interrupt them. Mr. Darcy too was too engrossed in Georgiana's playing to fully impede himself on them.
The two laxed into a comfortable silence when Georgiana's concerto ended to applause from her small audience.
"Georgiana I would very much like to hear you play a nice jig," Mrs. Gardiner requested.
Her ulterior motive was actually quite obvious by now to Georgiana, who spent her even watching her brother and Elizabeth from her place at the piano, thus why she chose songs she knew very well. Her hands flashed across the keys, producing a heart pumping melody with a distinct beat.
Darcy stood and extended his hand. "May I ask for this dance Miss. Elizabeth."
"Your offer is gladly taken," Elizabeth replied, taking his hand and allowing him to lead her to one side of the room.
As they took their places and began the flowing steps and delicate movements of the dance. Elizabeth again felt the familiar streak of evil.
"Do you remember our first dance?"
Darcy nodded. "Yes, but I think we spent a majority of that time glaring at each other."
Elizabeth shook her head. "No, not that one. The first one."
Darcy looked perplexed. "I am sorry. I don't quite understand."
Stepping in closer to him, Elizabeth whispered, "That's because it never occurred."
Understanding immediately, Darcy flushed and cleared his throat. She was of course referring to his first assessment of her where he flat out refused to dance with her and that it would be a total shame to do otherwise. He hadn't actually thought her that bad. It was just the noise, the surrounding people, and the fact he just wanted to be ill tempered about everything.
"Can I ever make up for that mistake," Darcy asked gravely.
Elizabeth smiled widely. "You already have."
Darcy was once again in a state of confusion, while Elizabeth floated serenely through the dance. It wasn't the new intimacy they shared that made up for Darcy's past mistakes, but that he changed. He had always been good, but then again, he had always been rich too.
The night ended warmly and Georgiana, feeling worn from her constant playing, eagerly went to her bed. She had not even changed before sinking into the soft sheets and gave a sigh of pleasure. It was so quiet and peaceful. Being with guests so long had easily made her weary. Just as she was drifting off, the door burst open with a loud crash. Bolting out of bed and grabbing the nearest object, a flower vase, and holding it over her head, she braced herself. What she did not expect was the hug that engulfed her.
Darcy held his sister to him with as much brotherly fierceness as he could muster. Parrallel to his sister, his spirits were higher than the clouds. Everything was going right today. There was nothing that could bring him down.
Coming back to her senses and dropping the vase onto her pillow, Georgiana pried herself out of her brother's grip just long enough to inquire on his sanity. Darcy, feeling his emotions set back into place, sat upon the bed to join his sister. He took her hands in his like he had so many time before and looked deeply into her eyes.
"Everything is fine, maybe even better. Georgiana I love her. I think, I think she may love me too. Today there was this moment. It should have been awkward, but it wasn't," Darcy said excitedly.
It was Georgiana's turn to give her brother a strong hug. "Brother, I am so happy for you. Will you propose?"
Darcy nodded. This time it would work.
Georgiana giggled at the prospect of the increase of family.
"You approve then?" Darcy's question only held a hint of doubt.
"Of course I do! Are the two of you going to ride out into the sunset or retreat to the beaches?"
"Yes, I believe that would be the right kind of ending."
Feeling giddy all over Georgiana asked more about the afternoon they shared alone. Darcy was only halfway through the account when a straight backed and somber looking servant walked in.
"Sir."
Darcy looked up and his face fell. Standing before him was Henry Goodwin, the personal manservant of his father. Fear inflated a balloon within his chest. No, not tonight. Not while she's here. His father wouldn't. Not like this. Why now? Why was life so cruel? Could this simply be normal? He could hope, but it was a weak one.
"Yes?"
"Your father would like to…speak with you."
Georgiana heart froze and she felt an icy chill engulf her body.
Henry met the eyes of Darcy and knew that he would understand what he meant. Henry had always looked out for Darcy. He was one of the few that knew nearly all of what transpired between the father and son. He had seen the damages that he had bore witness to being done.
Gulping and breaking away his gaze, he added quietly, "He's very drunk and he…he knows."
Darcy literaly felt his heart stop. His father knew about he and Elizabeth. How could he have been so blind? Why wasn't he more careful? What if she had to pay the price as well? Any hope of a relationship was forfeit now. His father would make sure to that. Gathering himself and taking deep and calming breaths, he stood and went to follow the servant to the inevitable. He knew right there and then that if he walked out of this, it would only be if he could still marry Elizabeth. He was ready to make that final stand.
Georgiana was not quite so ready. Her hand on his sleeve stopped him immediately to see the teary face of his sister.
"Don't go…please."
Darcy brought his sister into another hug, his cheek resting upon her hair.
"Georgiana you must promise me. Right now, now look at me," he waited until she reluctantly brought her eyes up to his before continuing, "Georgiana you must promise not to watch tonight. No! Don't argue. I don't want you to see. Promise me Georgiana. Please, it will be easier if I know you're away and safe."
Georgiana shook her head and burrowed into his chest. He wouldn't have it though and he shook her slightly.
"Promise me Georgiana. I need you to do this for me."
Letting go of his lapels, Georgiana nodded silently, making no reaction as Darcy gave her a kiss upon the forehead before departing. She continued to watch the door long after he had left, hoping, praying to the gods that her brother come back through it.
Darcy strode before Goodwin with a bravado that he worked hard to maintain. Goodwin surveyed his master's son with sorrow. Darcy's own manservant was Goodwin's younger brother, Andrew. The two of them had been one of the few that stood up to Mr. Darcy and his treatment of his son. When the madness had first began and Mr. Darcy had tried pushing a thirteen year old Darcy into the dying flames of his fireplace, it had been Henry who had pulled his master back and Andrew who had nursed Darcy's burns. The year Mr. Darcy had bound and locked Fitwilliam inside his closet for three days, Andrew had been the one to search for him while Harry kept the master busy. When the harrowing experience had been recreated once again ten years later with twenty-four year old Darcy tied to an old furnace in the cellar for ten days, it was up to them to carry Darcy out and nurse him back to health.
It was the two of them who watched Darcy grow with the pride and admiration that his father deprived him of. They saw the fire inside his eyes grow and foster, never once waverings. They watched him endure countless horrors and move on each and every time. Yet for all of this neither of them could tell the authorities. It was against their master's privacy and if Mr. Darcy was able to pay his way out of jail, then the two of them would surely be fired and then there would be no one to stand in his way. They just could not allow that to happen.
When they reached the doors to his father's rooms, Darcy's hand lingered and with the mind set of a condemned man, he pushed his way inside.
Upon his entrance his father looked up from the dresser on which he leaned and directed his eyes first to his son and then to his servant.
"Goodwin your services will no longer be needed tonight. Go back to the servant's quarters and retire. Bring your brother too," Mr. Darcy commanded before bringing the bottle of liquour to his lips and taking a generous swig.
"But sir--"
"Leave us!" Mr. Darcy yelled.
Goodwin bowed and left, leaving father and son alone.
"You wanted to see me father?" Darcy tried.
"Don't play innocent, you know why you are here," he spat vehenmously.
Darcy swallowed. His father was not far enough in his cups to be incapacitated, but he was to be dangerous, murderous even. Although his senses were intact, his reason was compromised, to say at best. Darcy needed to tread cautiously.
Swaying with an almost hypnotic grace, his father pushed off from the dresser and while taking another generous swig, started walking towards him, grasping something that had previously been on the surface of the dresser. Darcy's eyes trained automatically on the object in his father's hand and in that instant he identified what the object was his stomach churned. Trailing along the floor behind his father was the braided tail of a riding crop.
The Darcys had only ever kept one horse whip, which normally hung, coiled, on the back wall of the stables. Never in all its employment had it been used against the beasts it was made for. The Darcys were proud keepers of their horses and the loyalties of the animals had never been breached enough to warrant the offensive object's attention. So sinister was it that it was truly never meant for horses, much less humans. These facts of course were overlooked in Mr. Darcy's intoxicated stupor.
"Take off those clothes and kneel," the older Darcy commanded, indicating a spot in the middle of the room.
Darcy's fists clenched at his sides and he shook his head, letting his father see the defiance in his eyes.
"Not tonight father. Not while there's guests. They will hear and they will know," Darcy reasoned slowly.
"Then I suggest you scream quietly," his father answered, grinning darkly.
"If they find out--"
Mr. Darcy interjected with a harsh laugh.
"They'll do what, pray tell? Fitzwilliam, I admire that you've finally shown some back bone, but still your intelligence is doubtful. Do you really think that a bunch of country bumpkins will have any consequence to the Darcy name? I thought you knew better than that."
"Word will spread. Then even those of consequence will have heard."
Mr. Darcy smirked. "So I see you have thought this through a little more thoroughly. Well, refresh my memory, how long has our 'conversations' been going on?"
"Sixteen," Darcy answered through gritted teeth. Ever since Georgiana had been brought into the world and their mother had left it.
Mr. Darcy's eyes widened with mock astonishment. "Years! Has it truly been that long? My have the years flown by! More to the point, during these sixteen years has any of the servants dared go to the authorities? They could have gathered more than enough evidence and yet not a sinlge rumour has leaked out of this household. Why is that?"
Darcy refused to answer.
His father took this as a sign on triumph.
"They fear me. None of those little vermin would stand a chance if they were cast out of this house. You see, no one cares about each other anymore. They care solely for themselves and their stomachs. There are no heroes in the real world son. There's no one to save you. Now just be a good little boy and do what your father tells you."
"No!"
His father gave out a long drawn cackle, only halted by yet another drink. He strode forward arrogantly, stopping so close that Darcy could smell the alcohol in his breath, nevertheless he stayed his ground.
"Very well, where is your sister?"
Darcy's eyes flashed.
"You know she does look so much like your mother. Perhaps if after just a few more drinks I may not be able to discern the difference anymore. I have been quite lonely you know. My bed has grown cold."
The gleam in his father's eyes was sickening. Feeling defeat weigh heavily upon his shoulders, Darcy conceded and slowly sank to his knees.
Mr. Darcy gifted his son with a hardy slap across the face. Darcy seemed unfazed by his stinging cheek and commenced in following his father's comand. Knowing what was expected of him, he began to unbutton his waistcoat, prolonging the inevitable as long as he possibly could. As he had countless times before, he faultlessly folded his coat and pushed it to the side, laying his cravat across it. Placing his hands on his knees, he steeled himself for what was to come. His heart raced, though he hid it well. He only focused on breathing. He wouldn't allow his father to conquer him so fully.
"Your shirt too."
Darcy's head snapped to the face of his father, who began to circle him so as to gain a better position of his back. Finding no pity there, Darcy began to remove his undershirt as well, cursing the betrayal of his trembling hands. There was no helping the panic that chilled his blood. Without the shirt he would be totally and utterly exposed. There would be nothing between his bare skin and the whip's bite.
"Well, on with the order of business on which I called you here for. It concerns that young woman, Elizabeth."
The first lash echoed throughout the room, stealing his breath away.
"I saw you together and I am no fool. She is below our rank and as pathetic you are I will not have you soil the family name!"
The second drew blood.
"Are you or are you not engaged to Miss. Bennet!"
Darcy jerked as the third lash fell across his shoulders. The question was repeated, but he made no answer. He didn't know if it was from defiance or from lack of breath. The once cold room was quickly becoming more and more heated as the lashes continued to fall. Blood dribbled down onto the floor and flecks of it stained his neatly folded clothes. His brow moistened with sweat and his skin grew clammy. He tried holding in his screams as best he could. The whip continued to tear across his skin and he felt his resolve slacken.
His admission was whispered, half said between a gasp and a groan.
"No…I am not."
Had he been able to see his father he would have seen the exultant expression adorning his face.
Darcy flinched when his father gave him another playful slap and shrank away when he came to crounch in front of him.
"Now that wasn't hard. It is as I expected. I didn't think you would ask her so soon after she had refused you."
Unable to control his emotions, Darcy's alarm was revealed unmasked.
His father withdrew a letter from his breast pocket and let the comprehension dawn on his son. There in his hand was a letter from Lady Catherine of Rosings.
His father made his way back to his previous place, repositioning the handle of the whip in his hand.
"Then again," the whip fell again, cutting across several other lacerations and doubling his pain, "who could ever love such a feeble and pitiful excuse for a gentleman? I could just imagine you on bended knee, begging for her to accept you. It is no wonder that she was so repulsed."
Each word, nay each syllable was emphasized with another stroke. Darcy's breathing hitched, but it was not from the lash that had snaked across his chest. The pain in his heart reawakened and all that he had had experienced that day was forgotten. Despair held his heart in its iron grip, feeding off the darkness and hopelessness around him. Unbidden, a solitary tear slipped out from his eye and fell to the floor, mingling with the crimson drops of blood.
The voice of his father drifted in and out of his conscience, though the pain remained. His breathing was ragged and his lungs burned from the screams he would not allow to release. The pain exploding across his senses were quickly becoming to hard to handle. His sweaty palms had let go of the death grip upon his knees and he was now bent double across his knees. His forehead was pressed against the ground and his eyes screwed shut.
When Mr. Darcy was satisfied he had weakened his son to a considerable degree, he let the bloodied whip fall still to his side.
"Do you love her?"
Darcy didn't reply.
With added force, Mr. Darcy struck his son again, the whip springing back to life.
"I asked you if you loved her!"
Despite the flare of pain at a second strike Darcy felt a strange sensation of warmth spread from his heart and reaching all the way to his arms, giving him strength where he thought he had none. He remembered it then that there was more than this pain and that it was not so impossibly far as he had been forced to believe. The fire leapt anew within his eyes and with new vigor he lifted himself from the floor.
His voice did not waver as he spoke. "Yes, with all my heart."
Mr. Darcy's eyes flashed with anger.
"No! Take it back!"
Darcy let one corner of his mouth upturn. This was one thing he couldn't deny.
Feeling things slip out of his control, the senior Darcy was over the edge with rage.
"Do you think you're in pain now! Just you wait. You will beg to die before the end!"
Taking the recently abandoned bottle of spirits, Mr. Darcy poured the rest of its contents across his son's damaged flesh. The alcohol seared into the wounds and through a wave of burning shame, a choked cry of pure agony was torn from his lips. After that first emision, there was no way of stopping himself from vocalizing his pain. But never once was he brought back down to the ground. And even though he could not keep from moaning or crying out into the night, his mouth never once omitted what his father wished to hear. Not even to stop the pain that was very slowly, but surely…
Killing him.
-O-
Elizabeth crept out of the library in trepidation. She realized it was very late and that it looked much like she was snooping. She just couldn't help herself. She had gotten a glance of the library earlier that day, but had no opportunity to explore. Her hands were tingling with excitement as she let ran her fingers over the spines of books that she could only dream of ever owning. Some of her favorite stories and authors could be found across the shelves with beautiful gold leafing and leather bound covers, nothing like her tattered and heavily used manuscripts at home. It taken all her power not to hide some of the books underneath her skirts. The thought that stayed her hand was that perhaps tomorrow she could persuade Darcy to take her there again.
So entertained with this thought that she did not notice Georgiana until she nearly tripped over her. To her credit, Georgiana was in an obscure position of the floor. Stumbling over a hasty apology, Elizabeth was struck with the sudden confusion as to why exactly Georgiana Darcy was sitting, knees drawn up to her chest, at the end of a darkened hall in the dead of the night and was so inattentive that she had not even made a single reaction at Elizabeth's appearance or mitigation. Upon further inspection Elizabeth noticed that silent tears slid across her cheeks, leaving silvery tracks that reflected in the starlight streaming through the windows.
Being one of the eldest sisters, Elizabeth held strong maternal instincts, rivaled only by those of Jane, thus when she saw Georgiana's distress, unease filtered through her as she crouched down in order to put a hand on the younger girl's arm.
"Georgiana? Whatever is the matter dear?" asked in concern.
Georgiana turned her tear filled eyes towards Elizabeth. "He told me to stay here and that's what I am going to do."
"Who? Your brother? Why did he--"
Suddenly, a sharp crack ripped through the silence, followed by a heart wrenching cry.
Georgiana burrowed her face in her arms and continued to weep, her shoulders hitched with silent sobs. Each new cry, each muffled grunt off pain, she bore as if she was the one it was inflicted upon.
Elizabeth, as if having stepped into a vision, stood and began to walk towards the sounds.
Seeing what Elizabeth was doing Georgiana called out to her.
"Wait! No Miss. Elizabeth, no! Do not go there!"
Choosing not to heed those words and increasing her speed to a full on run, Elizabeth raced towards the sounds. She was eerily beckoned by them as surely is if someone was calling her name. She did not need to be told its meaning for in her heart she knew. The fact that the cries were getting weaker only hastened her flight.
-O-
On the brink of consciousness, Darcy mind was hardly even registering the individual hits anymore. His father had abandoned the whip and had resolved to beat the out of the desired admission by his own hands. Of course being as that his son had collapsed upon the ground minutes ago, most of it consisted of booted kicks.
Darcy's knees ached and he couldn't seem to feel his hands. Breathing was an effort at this stage. His chest felt as though iron bands had been wrapped around them. He could feel his strings unwinding, his mind shattering, his body splintering. Though he knew his father would never break his spirit, his body seemed ot wholly disagree. He was now experiencing brilliant flashes of light as the blows reached their crescendo. Maybe they were glances of heaven, he thought detachedly. Maybe if he just let go…
Between the flashes he thought he caught sight of Elizabeth and found himself wondering if he had already reached heaven.
-O-
Elizabeth burst through the doors with a bang. Taking in the entire scene in a matter of seconds Elizabeth found her voice immediately.
"Mr. Darcy stop this madness at once!"
Mr. Darcy was so surprised by the sudden interuption that he ceased his moments as he watched Elizabeth run to Darcy and fall to her knees beside him, checking for a pulse and then desperately try to rouse him.
"Darcy? Darcy!" Elizabeth groped for one of his hands, while she placing the other delicately across his ashen cheek. Feeling tears prick at her eyes she whispered, "Fitzwilliam?"
Her voice reached him through his unconsciousness and permeated the darkened shroud that surrounded his mind and knew that he could not deny her anything. He opened his eyes as if on command and upon beholding her face he mused that heaven was starting to look a whole lot duller.
Dragging himself back into a sitting position with what strength he had left and damning propriety, he enclosed her in his arms. In those few seconds he forgot about everything. He forgot about his father and the pain. All that mattered was her body pressed against his and the elated feeling he received as he passionately pressed his lips against hers in a kiss he had wanted to give her a thousand times before.
Detaching himself, Darcy murmured softly into her ear, "I love you Elizabeth and no one can make me think differently."
Before she could reply, Mr. Darcy finally snapped out of his immobile stupor and advanced on the couple.
"No! I shall not allow this to pass! Step away from my son," when Elizabeth made no move to rise, Mr. Darcy turned his attention to his son, "Get away from her this instant Fitzwilliam!"
Quickly losing what little control he had over the situation, Mr. Darcy retrieved the whip from the dresser and turning his back on the two of them. In all his life, that wrathful choice was his one greatest mistake.
Knowing what his father was about to do, Darcy sprang into life. Darcy caught his father's hand as it fell in mid swing. In his weakened state he could only match his father's strength. They stood, pushing their powers against each other in contest. Father and son…
"Not her father, nor anyone else will suffer your folly."
"That doesn't matter does it? The point is that I got you."
In a burst of energy and strength that rivaled that of his younger days, Mr. Darcy pushed his son against the dresser and successfully pressing his injured back upon the unforgiving structure of the dresser.
Darcy gave a cry of surprise, his strength waning considerably. Momentarily freeing one of his hands, he gave his father a hard punch in the ribs. The pressure subsided briefly until his father recovered enough to shove him against the wall, his forearm pressed against his son's throat, depriving him the air he desperately needed.
Then out of the blue, Elizabeth advanced with a vase she had found on the corner. Without hesitation she brought it crashing down onto Mr. Darcy's head. It broke and Mr. Darcy fell with a thud to the ground. Not even giving him a second thought, she made her way to Darcy. Without the hold of his father, he slid to the ground, his blood staining the wall behind him. He coughed weakly as Elizabeth made it to his side.
"Hold on! I will call for a surgeon or some kind of doctor immediately. They will come. It isn't too late," she said this as much as a reassurance to her as to him.
Darcy did not respond, his eyes were unfocused and despite her continued efforts they closed. He slumped against her and Elizabeth did her best to cradle his tall form against her. Ripping pieces away from her skirts she tried dabbing at the rivulets of blood oozing from the crisscrossing lacerations that adorned his broad back.
She screamed and yelled for help, for someone, anyone. He was a whole head and half a neck taller than her and maybe even twice her weight. There was no way she would be able to carry him. Though her panic was nearly choking her with tears, she didn't allow herself to grow hysterical. She did this for him, even if he was not awake to see it.
Soon her aunt and uncle answered her calls along with two manservants and trailed by both Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam, whom Georgiana had called some time before Elizabeth had stumbled upon her. Within a twenty or thirty mile distance Fitzwilliam rode hard through the night to get there.
Hurriedly declining Mr. Gardiner's and the Goodwin's brothers offers of help, Fitzwilliam carried his cousin before him with ease, his arms already accustomed to holding downed soldiers on the battle field. He apologized to Elizabeth as he took him and gave her a knowing look of sorrow and solemnity. Extremely careful to avoid further injuring him, Fitwilliam adopted a steady march in order to prevent too much jarring as he farried his cousin to his rooms. Under no circumstances, urgent or not, would Darcy be treated in the very room he received his injuries.
As the party trooped out of the rooms, Elizabeth shut the doors with vehemence and directed to one of the servants to check the rooms for any means of escape before locking them and posting gaurds. To her surprise her orders were followed without dispute or comfirmation. In fact, Henry Goddwin looked very glad indeed.
Trailing behind the rest of the group, Elizabeth allowed a single tear to escape her vigilance. It was going to be a long night.
-O-
The next chapter will be titled "Explanations and Understandings" which shall be an enlightenment to all that has happened thus far. All those questions you've been asking will finally be answered. But if you were wondering, that will not be the end. There's still a while yet 'till this story comes to a close.
