Page 47 of The Winter of Our Discontent
“She has asked for you every half an hour since two o’clock, sir.”
I did not prefer to be ‘summoned’. My mouth hardened into a grim, straight line if only to underscore what a petulant child I had become. My expression, however, turned to one of concern when I was ushered into her room and saw her in her bed. She looked truly ill. I shuffled forward with trepidation.
“Mr Darcy,” she said. Her voice was weak and parched. “Forgive me for intruding on your time. Only I have a favour—” She broke off and spoke again in a stronger, more urgent tone. “Most likely I only have a severe cold, sir, but I feel so ill that I am beset by fear, and I cannot rest. Will you help me?”
I stepped forwards in alarm. “What is it you wish me to do for you? Should we not call Yardley?”
“No, no. He has been here and done what is possible. Only Georgiana wishes to nurse me, and I will not allow it. But I fear if I get any weaker, she will prevail and attend to me.”
“I see.” I said this while standing at my wife’s bedside in a state of confused stupidity.
“Mr Yardley says my fever could become contagious, though he hopes it will not. I am begging, sir. Take Georgiana away from here. Promise me you will see her safely away.” She reached for my hand and clutched at it. The gesture awoke me to the fear she felt, and a cold tendril of infectious dread crawled around my heart as I realised the danger my sister might be in.
“Yes, I see. Yes, I will take her.”
“You should not stay. Forgive me for asking you to come to me. I hope you too do not sicken—” She collapsed against her pillow. Wilson swept in and edged between us, and I was left with nothing to do but to depart the sickroom and command the travelling coach be ready to leave in under an hour.
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The dilemma of where to take my sister absorbed the background of my mind as I roared up and down the stairs barking out orders. My prevailing fear of taking her to the Countess of Matlock in London was that once she had Georgiana in her possession, our aunt would find ways to keep her. She took my father’s directive that Richard and I serve as guardians with very little good grace and had long wished to mould my sister in her own image. No, I would not put my sister under her power. Besides which, London, being realistically four days away in winter, was out of the question.
Lady Catherine was similarly ruled out. I thought vaguely of prevailing upon Mr Maunders, but Georgiana remaining in the neighbourhood would not serve. If there was an epidemic in Lambton and hereabouts, then she would still be at risk. Barring that, she would be close enough to visit my wife the moment my back was turned. For a half second and with a touch of dark irony, I considered my estate in Scotland.
My lack of options flummoxed me. I, awealthy man, was used to a full array of solutions for every eventuality. The situation I now faced was the consequence of my damnable reticence and my determination to protect my sister from everyone—though onlyafterWickham imposed on her. I had practically imprisoned her, and I should not wonder she became so enamoured of my wife, who widened her circle in spite of me. With a helpless sense of resignation, we left for Manchester. There was a decent inn there. Mrs Annesley, a brace of footmen, and my friend Greeley could be counted on to keep an eye on my sister.
Georgiana sat across from me in defeat. She had begged not to go, pleaded, and cajoled. I was in too great a hurry to be patient. I simply said, “My love, this is what she wants. She made me promise.”
The toll of the past few days had been high, and my sister wept her way through the frenetic business of packing and our precipitous removal, and now she sat sagged against Mrs Annesley.
Our silence left me to sit with my ragged reflections, none of which were welcome. How easy I had found it since even before I reached my majority only to dwell on my strengths and accomplishments. How self-satisfied I had been as I catalogued the finer points of my character. A gentleman, both liberal and well educated, with an impeccable record of doing his duty and preserving the reputation of his name, so cultured, so discerning and meticulous, and so—so deplorable! Wealth and privilege had shone a great light on me, a God-given benefice I took to be my own doing. How easy it was to stand in the light and refuse to look behind at the shadow I cast.
The great long list of my failures was due an unflinching review. But I was stubborn, and I believed they could bedismisseden massewithout a painfully detailed review. I shifted in my seat, striving to find a comfortable position, and instead of the reckoning that was long overdue with regard to myself, I began to consider the matter of my forced marriage.
That is to say, I wished to think on the substantive fact. I could not and would not remember the experience that forced me to the altar. No. That was entirely too painful, and even tothinkabout recalling every vivid detail left my heart pounding in panic, much as it had pounded the moment I realised my fate was well and truly sealed.
What I preferred to ponder was this: Mrs Darcy had every appearance of goodness. Just as my sister pointed out in her heated defence, my wife tried as hard as she could to be an excellent mistress to my estate. She was tireless, sympathetic, and engaged. She had turned Mrs Reynolds and others into supporters and had shown a surprising lack of self-interest. Her expenditures were so small they could not even be called modest. What she did spend on—support for my tenants and cottagers, the school, and Mr Hodges’s poor relief—she financed with very careful management. This was hardly evidence she was a fortune hunter. And as a sister for Georgiana, she had wildly exceeded every expectation. Had I not acknowledged all this in defending her against Miss Bingley’s snide attack?
Yet, this same woman, with a chilling genius for seizing opportunity at a public assembly, saw a half second lapse of concentration on my part and cruelly used it against me. I could not put the two women together and make a whole person.
Yes, I could stay fixed in my disgust of her with effort, sometimesgreateffort, but she had thrown me once again into confusion by insisting I protect Georgiana from even thepossibility of contagion. A person can easily pretend to be selfless while they are strong and vital, but struck down and made miserable by illness, few could maintain a pretence. I began to believe she truly cared for my sister. Truly, from her heart! I always prided myself on my capacity for reason, but this puzzle outstripped me.
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My sister was settled, though anxious. She sat picking at her food and glancing at me from time to time. None of us spoke. Mrs Annesley was silent because I was silent, and I was silent because I knew not what to say to comfort my sister. And my sister was in the throes of some horrible imaginings by the looks that crossed her face like dark clouds.
Am I to bury my wife?I wondered.Was there to be yet another funeral at Pemberley?Certainly, people recover from illness, and Mr Yardley was optimistic. Mrs Darcy’s constitution, he claimed, was that of a hardened naval lieutenant after a blue water tour of fifteen months. Her constant physical activity could not be for nothing, could it? But still. She had looked so—so ill!
Apparently, Georgiana was not the only one in the throes of some horrible imaginings that morning, and pulling myself back into reality from such reflections, I reckoned with what was required of me. When I arrived in Manchester, I had not thought beyond seeing my sister settled. Now, it became clearI must decide what to do. I cleared my throat and my sister’s eyes lifted uncertainly from her plate.
“Georgiana, I really should go back?—”
“Yes,” she said earnestly, almost pleading with me. “You must go to her. What if they are heating her room too much?”
This time, it was my own eyes that fell to the plate set before me. She recalled, as did I, how ghastly hot my mother’s sickroom was kept. We were both of us overlaying thoseotherdeaths we had lived through on top of the mere possibility of my wife not surviving what was likely a severe cold.
“I will make sure the room is properly aired.”
“And you will not let them burn camphor?”
