Page 45 of The Winter of Our Discontent
I was afraid to speak lest I break into outright weeping. After I swallowed twice, I replied, “Make my excuses, Wilson. I will not go down this evening.”
“Would you care for a tray, ma’am?”
“A cup of tea will suffice,” I said in a pitiful voice. I turned my face to the wall and felt the weight of a blanket come down on my shivering form. That small act of kindness was quite sufficient to break my fragile defences, and I dissolved into inconsolable sobs.
My maid slipped a wet cloth onto my forehead, put a dry handkerchief into my clutched fist, and soothed my hair as she sat facing my back. She did not make a sound. When I was spent at last, she quietly stepped out to call for tea. When she returned, she wordlessly helped me up, undressed and washed me, and put me in my nightgown. My pillows were propped up, though when she did so was a mystery. A tray appeared as if by magic and there was a teacup in my hand. Another log went on the fire, and half the candles lit in my room were blown out. We acted as though someone had died.
I supposed that someone was Elizabeth Bennet, who pretended to be Mrs Darcy with as much dignity as she could muster, yet she failed. Wilson took up a chair discretely, as if on a deathwatch, and mended a loosened button on my walking dress until I fell into a deeply unconscious sleep.
42
By morning, I discovered I was not recovered at all. I could barely sit up, my eyelids scraped over my eyes as though they were filled with sand, and my head throbbed with every heartbeat. I felt so weary! I was too tired even to explain my state to Wilson, who looked upon me with alarm before she helped me to the necessary.
Breathless and exhausted, I returned to bed for a cup of tea. My breakfast stared at me, and I stared back at it. I did not have the will to chew, and I put my cup down and fell asleep. At one o’clock, a soft knock at the door woke me. Georgiana came into the room and stepped up to my bed in a rustle of blue silk. Her eyes were troubled, her hands cool as she grasped mine.
“Elizabeth,” she said with great sympathy.
I smiled weakly and dug deep for the energy to speak. “I am overtired, my dear. Forgive me if I rest today?”
“Of course you must rest! What an ordeal you have been through.”
I found myself wishing she would whisper, but instead, she launched into an eager and impassioned speech.
“I spoke to my brother last night. I told him how horrid everyone has been, and I only wish I had a tenth of your courage to stop and render aid as you did. I also said to him that there is speculation he will send you away, and if he does, he will also sendmeaway, for I will not stay here without you.”
“Oh, I wish you would not?—”
“Well, I have never spoken to him in that way, but I was very angry. I unleashed a torrent of words, which I have never done in all my life to anyone, but I felt much better for having done so.”
“Did you?”
“I would have been wretched had he scolded me for saying my piece, but he listened to me very gravely and assured me no one would be sent anywhere. Well, no one except Mr Johnson, that is.”
“What?”
“Mr Johnson was dismissed this morning, Elizabeth. My brother says he should have supported you and done a great deal to mitigate the difficulty. Instead, he seemed to have encouraged the ill feelings that arose.”
I felt the reverse of triumph at this bit of news. I felt deflated and thoroughly beaten, literally, as though with a rod. “I am sorry it has come to this,” I murmured.
“You should not be sorry in the least. My brother says Mr Johnson’s lack of feeling is a most unsavoury trait in a steward, and that, coupled with his poor opinion of women in general—what is the word he used?”
“Misogyny?” I mumbled.
“Yes! Coupled with his misogyny, which has come to lightin the past few months, Fitzwilliam does not feel he can rightfully be entrusted with the care of an estate that is more than half comprised of women and children. He said our mother would have had the man driven to the gates of Pemberley and pushed out onto the road if she had ever heard his opinion of what to do with a starving family, and we really should keep in mind whatshewould have done when judging what you, in fact,did.”
I heard this without any comprehension at all.Was she saying he defended me? Surely not. No, I cannot have heard aright.
“Forgive me, my love,” I said weakly, “but could you ask Mrs Reynolds for some of her headache remedy?”
This jolted her out of her fervid narrative, and she replied in the hushed tones proper for a sick room. She held my hand and caressed my forehead and fretted at Wilson before rustling downstairs to see to my request.
43
FITZWILLIAM DARCY, PEMBERLEY
I had been home for three days and done everything that needed doing. I dismissed my steward and took the resignations of two others—the under butler and the head gardener. Romney shrank into the background, looking wide-eyed and pale, having been one of Mrs Darcy’s staunchest critics. He seemed perfectly cognisant of how close I was to also replacing him, and like almost everyone in my household, he was swallowing his terror at my swift execution of justice.
I was in no mood to be delicate with regard to anyone’s feelings, however.
