Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Chapter 11

"You asked to see me, sir?" Mrs. Reynolds curtseyed as she entered the study.

"Yes, I did. It is a private matter; would you please close the door?"

"Very well, sir." She closed the door, and took a seat across the great desk from the Master.

"Mrs. Reynolds, do you remember the two weeks before Christmas?"

"When the Mistress was gone, sir?"

"I am certain that you, and many others of the staff, have had many questions arising from that time, and no doubt speculations about the situation. I was very sorry not to enlighten you, but it was impossible, or, at least, inadvisable; I could see no way to do so without raising many other questions. I am now about to tell you plainly what did happen, but it must be with the understanding that you tell no one else without my express permission, or the Mistress's. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mr. Darcy."

"The reason we did not tell anyone is that it is almost impossible to believe. You will find what I tell you quite shocking, Mrs. Reynolds, but I assure you it is true, and you will shortly see the proof of it. When Mrs. Darcy disappeared, those thirteen days just before Christmas, she had indeed, as we told you all, gone on a voyage. It was not, however, and as you were too well aware for the comfort of any of us, an ordinary journey, undertaken in a carriage. There is, you see, another Pemberley, like this in many details but different in a few; and the two Pemberleys are linked through the maze in the garden. You may remember that I often visited the maze during Mrs. Darcy's absence; I have never told you or the other servants that when she returned it was through the maze. She had been in the other Pemberley, and there met another Fitzwilliam Darcy, who was unmarried at the time. Since then he has wed, and is now married to the Miss Elizabeth Bennet of that world."

"You don't say, sir."

"Yes, I do, most emphatically, say," Darcy replied with a smile. "Mrs. Reynolds, to put before you the core of the matter: at this moment the other Mr. and Mrs. Darcy are with my wife in her sitting room upstairs. They came here from the other Pemberley this afternoon, through the maze. Some time earlier, this morning in fact, their year-old niece, the daughter of the Georgiana Darcy of that world, had crossed over to us, again by way of the maze, and they came to retrieve her. When you go upstairs, you will meet my double, and Mrs. Darcy's double. Are you prepared for that?"

"Your … Another … Another Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, then." Mrs. Reynolds' mouth opened and half-closed a couple of times before snapping decidedly shut. A determined look came over her face. "Yes, sir. I understand, sir. And the child, then, the child that several of us noticed Miss Georgiana carrying; that is Miss Georgiana's daughter. In the other Pemberley, I mean."

"That is correct--you have grasped the essence of it. The Bingleys, of course, are up in the sitting-room as well, and are now aware of the situation. Georgiana has gone to Cook, to ask for supper to be so prepared that it may be sent upstairs. I am requesting that you arrange that the meal be carried upstairs by some of the footmen or maids, but that it not be brought up, much less brought into the room until you have checked with me or one of the others, and have been assured that only one of any of us is in the room. I recognize that this is not a part of your regular duties, but I would like none but you and Mr. Enderby to enter after that time: we shall serve each other, and will not need anyone else in attendance."

"There will be talk belowstairs regarding this, Mr. Darcy."

"Yes, but I see no help for it."

"Perhaps I might suggest to appropriate parties that Mrs. Darcy feels her time is near and so prefers not to come downstairs, and that you probably wish to consult together as a family upon highly private matters and so wish to enjoy the meal together with none in attendance."

"Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds, that will be helpful. It is exactly what we had been hoping for."

Mrs. Reynolds nodded, understanding well enough why she should carry out these arrangements, but still struggling to clarify the situation in her own mind. "Ellen Ingram, now, sir, does she not know of this situation? I have searched for and been unable to find her: I thought she might be in the sitting-room with you. Will she be helping to serve you?"

"Ellen is not with us at present, Mrs. Reynolds. We believe that she is at the other Pemberley. Thus the Mistress, and the other Mrs. Darcy, are without their personal maid. It is not, of course, necessary for the other servants to know that."

"And you have no desire to ask one of the other maids to take Ellen's place. Of course not. Very well, I shall attend the two ladies -- I have certainly not forgotten how! But … how is the Mistress, sir? Is there any sign of a change in her condition?"

"She seems to be doing very well. In fact she and the other Mrs. Darcy have been enjoying each other's company greatly, laughing together a great deal and, I might say, behaving in a rather frivolous manner, enjoying deceiving various ones of us and generally taking advantage of this most unusual situation." His smile was such as to make it clear that he was uttering no criticism.

"Ah. That might be a sign, you know, sir. Mrs. Nadderby said as much to me, and I myself have known such energetic and high-spirited behaviour to immediately precede a birth. Now, if she starts rearranging things in the nursery … You keep an eye on her, sir! In the meantime I shall review the arrangements in the kitchen. I shall have the food delivered upstairs, but will take care ere it is brought in to you."

She bowed and left the room. Darcy sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, though he did so with an amused smile.

Some twenty minutes later, Mrs. Reynolds and Mr. Enderby supervised the placement, within the Mistress' sitting room, of a trestle table brought up from belowstairs. All of the family had absented themselves from the room, though enough giggles and exclamations could be heard from the adjacent dressing-room that it was clear whither the womenfolk, at least, had retired. The footmen who had carried the table up the stairs returned with five chairs to place at it "for the family" and a sixth "to make things balanced", as Mrs. Reynolds explained to them. They descended again to bring up steaming dishes from the kitchen. Maids had brought napery, including a large cloth which should disguise the lowly nature of the table which was being used, and china and silver, and had laid out five place settings on the table. One of the footmen retrieved from the dining-room and placed in the centre of the table a florid epergne, somewhat oversized for this new setting, but, in his judgment, necessary lest the Bingleys find the arrangements deficient in any respect. Sufficient china and utensils had been requested to afford the diners clean plates and silver ware for their use as needed.

When all was arranged, the servants awaited their orders. Mrs. Reynolds surprised them by saying, "You are all dismissed. As I already told the other staff downstairs, none of you are to come upstairs for the remainder of the evening unless I, … uh … Miss Ellen, Mr. Enderby or one of the Family specifically request it of you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mrs. Reynolds. Are none of us, then, to serve the table?"

"No, the Family prefer to serve themselves tonight. I and the other upper servants will attend to any further needs they may have. Very well, you may retire." She turned to the footmen. "Two of you remain on call until bedtime. You will be needed to carry used items back to the kitchen. The table and other arrangements we have set up can remain in place until tomorrow. The rest of you are released from your duties until the morning."

When they were gone, Mrs. Reynolds stood for a few seconds, hoping that the talk below-stairs would not amount to much. Tomorrow would bring additional challenges, however. And meanwhile … She took a deep breath, turned and entered the sitting-room, looked it over once more to be sure the arrangements were to her liking, and resolutely walked over to knock on the dressing-room door.

"Ma'am, you sent for me?" Joseph Padgett was nervous. He was but rarely inside the house at Pemberley, and had never been summoned by any except Mr. Darcy, though on the last occasion Mrs. Darcy had been with her husband during the meeting, which had to do with certain long-term plans for the gardens and the gardening staff. This afternoon, however, it was Mrs. Wickham that had summoned him, and it made him slightly nervous, though in a pleasurable way as much as not, that Miss Ellen Ingram was in Mr. Darcy's study with her as he entered. It was also disturbing (yet in some degree reassuring as well) to note that she also seemed a tad nervous. She also looked disapproving, as if slightly on her dignity. Nevertheless, a smile lurked at the edges of Joseph's mind as he thought on bushes and what might occur behind them. At the same time, the center of his consciousness was ruminating rather on the uncertainties arising from his seeing two of her, just before she disappeared there, and wondering what that might have to do with his summons.

"Yes, Padgett," said Mrs. Wickham, her voice betraying that she was nervous as well. Although the meetings with Mrs. Reynolds, and Wilkins and Enderby had gone well, they had taken a toll on her, distressed as she already was by the earlier events of the day. She turned now, resolutely, towards Padgett, saying "I am sorry that my brother is not presently able to conduct this interview with you, but it seemed important to do so even in his absence."

"Do the Master be away, then, ma'am?" Joseph asked in surprise. "I seen him, and the Mistress but this mid day, yonder by the maze, with you and Miss Ellen."

"Yes, he was here then, and yes, he is now from home for a time, though not all yet know it." She paused, as if somewhat at a loss as to how to continue. Then, as if coming to a settled mind, she said, "Tell me, Padgett, what you recall of Mrs. Kenton, the two times she visited here."

"Well, ma'am, the first time were nigh on two years ago, when she were still Miss Bennet. Then she come back, just afore Christmas, but she were a married woman then."

"And you are certain to have noticed the very strong resemblance between her and the new Mrs. Darcy."

"Oh, yes, ma'am, a body couldna fail to notice that."

"Well, Padgett, it has become necessary to tell you more regarding that situation." She paused, recollecting how she had thought she might lead into the subject. "Erm … Perhaps I might ask, do you know what my sister's maiden name was?"

"Well, I done heard, ma'am, but I didna quite credit it, as it done seemed a bit much to believe, …"

"Nevertheless, it is so: she was Miss Elizabeth Bennet, just as Mrs. Kenton had been. In fact, Padgett, the young woman you met two summers ago was not Mrs. Kenton at all, but the Miss Bennet who is now my sister, Mrs. Darcy."

"That do make my head spin, Mrs. Wickham!" Padgett's eyes were blinking rather fiercely. "How come Mrs. Kenton done knowed me, then? Why did she act as if she were Miss Bennet."

"The answer to your questions is very complex, Padgett. But let me put the centre of the matter to you as simply as I can. There are two Pemberleys, and at times, people can travel from one to the other through the maze in our garden. Mrs. Kenton, who used that name only as a convenience and to avoid raising too many questions, is in fact Mrs. Darcy in that other world. She knew you because she knew the Joseph Padgett of that world. This morning, my baby Annie …" Georgiana's eyes were moist but her voice paused only the slightest amount "passed through to the other Pemberley, and the Master and Mistress have gone after her. We hope they will bring her back soon, but we do not know when that will be. Meanwhile …" she tugged at one of the bell-pulls near the desk, "I believe you met with someone from the other Pemberley a few hours ago, and it seemed wise to offer you an explanation."

Ellen-from-there quietly entered the Master's study and curtseyed twice, deeply to Mrs. Wickham, and less so to Joseph, though she had a slight twist to her mouth which might be the beginnings of a grin, and her cheeks were showing a higher colour than he was used to seeing on her.

"This is Ellen Ingram from the other Pemberley, Padgett. We are calling her Ellen-from-there, to distinguish her from Ellen-from-here." Her eyes, and Joseph's went to the Ellen who had been sitting in the room all along; she also was blushing a bit. "It is my understanding that you saw the two of them together. We felt it would be best to explain plainly to you what it is that has happened."

"I … I be honoured, ma'am. I were a wondering at what I saw. I canna doubt that there be another Pemberley, as you say. Why in the world else would there be another pair of look-alikes like Mrs. Kenton and Mrs. Darcy? So this be why you was wanting to hide, Miss Ellen?" He looked first at Ellen-from-here, but then switched his eyes to the other one, and, as her blush heightened noticeably under his gaze, thought to himself, Ah, I wondered. Things mun be different, t'other Pemberley. He spoke his thought aloud: "And there be another Joseph Padgett at the other Pemberley. I take it he be a good friend of your'n, Miss Ellen?" Ellen-from-there looked at his chin, but slightly nodded her head, then looked him in the eye.

"Since you now know the situation, Padgett, I would like to ask you to take on some additional responsibilities," continued Mrs. Wickham. "As you can doubtless perceive, we do not know what will be happening, but the maze is very central to these happenings. We do not understand how it functions, but it appears to allow only those of its own choosing to pass from one Pemberley to the other, and only at times of its own determination. Ellen …erm … Miss Ellen and I intended to go after my daughter, but it did not allow us to pass; rather it was my brother and sister whom it chose to send. And now the other Miss Ellen," she nodded towards Ellen-from-there, "reports that several passages in the maze have grown over solid behind her, leaving the center inaccessible for the present. My brother tells me that something very similar happened, back in December, when Mrs. Kenton was here."

So that was what happened, thought Joseph. "I remember," he said aloud. "I never seen nowt like it afore. Aye, it done growed over thick like an it were planted so, and nowt I mun do, and believe me, I done tried every thing short of fire, would shift it. Then Mr. Darcy, he done told me to leave it be; and several times parts of it opened up, and then on Christmas Day it was open all the way to't centre, a'most as if it'd never grown over. And that day, Mrs. Kenton were gone." He pondered this for a second or two, suddenly realizing, And that's why the Master were so eager to have that gate put up an' locked. An', why he were so picky to have it to open up from t'inside, so none from 'tother side be locked in.

Mrs. Wickham continued, "I would like you, then, to see how far the growing over has extended, and check on it at least twice a day, to see if there is any change in it. I know you have keys to the gate, and none will see anything the least strange in your checking it, but now you can see how important it is that we be aware."

"Indeed, yes, ma'am."

"Also, I would appreciate your generally maintaining a heightened state of alert while my brother and sister are gone. We do not know at all what to expect, but would like to know as soon as possible, were anything to happen. We should not wish to alarm the household in general --they may already be concerned not to see the Master and Mistress-- but if you can induce some of the other staff assigned to the grounds and stables to keep their eyes and ears open, without prompting too many questions, I should appreciate it."

"That I mun do, ma'am." Perceiving that the audience was at an end, he bowed to her, touching his forelock, then bobbed his head at each of the Miss Ellens, making sure, however, to look each one in the eyes, as he took his leave.

Mrs. Darcy answered the door, and when Mrs. Reynolds informed her that all was in readiness smiled and expressed her thanks, and turning, passed the word to the others who were in the room. It was only then, as she took her husband's hand and turned back towards the sitting room that the observation impinged on Mrs. Reynolds' consciousness that her girth was considerably diminished, that in fact she appeared as a woman half-way through her waiting period, not as one at the time of full confinement, daily awaiting the birth of her child. As her gaze returned towards Mrs. Darcy's face, that lady said, with a smile, "Yes, Martha, I am the Mrs. Darcy from the other Pemberley. My child is not due for some months yet. I am very glad to meet you!" She inclined her head in response to Mrs. Reynolds' curtsey, and turned to say, "And this is my Mr. Darcy."

By this time the Bingleys had entered the room, followed by Miss Georgiana, carrying the child Mrs. Reynolds had heard mentioned, and then by the other Darcys, her own Darcys, Mrs. Reynolds reminded herself. Jane Bingley came over by her sister, and something about seeing her standing there, with the Mistress standing on either side of her, was almost completely overwhelming to Mrs. Reynolds. She closed her mouth and focussed her eyes upon the carpet, then turned back towards the table, and spoke a few quiet words explaining the arrangements without looking directly at anyone: it was easier that way.

The two Mr. Darcys retrieved a pair of straight chairs from the Mistress' dressing room, providing seating for all at the table, even for the child, although she occupied a place on Miss Georgiana's lap instead of the chair.

Upon a softly spoken suggestion from his wife, the larger of the two Mrs. Darcys, Mr. Darcy lifted the epergne from the centre of the table. Mrs. Reynolds, divining that they felt they could more easily converse without such a decoration interrupting their views of each other, stepped forward to receive it from his hands, and set it upon a small side table.

When, a few minutes later, her Mrs. Darcy said that they would be able to look after each other's needs from this point, and that Mrs. Reynolds might return to her normal duties for the nonce, her feeling was one of considerable relief. Not but what she would have been quite interested in the conversation, but she could well understand their desire to be quite private.

Chapter 12

"Here, my love," said Georgiana, holding a small piece of potato to Annie's lips. "It is not too hot, is it?"

"More," said Annie.

Jane was at Georgiana's side, helping to prepare and cool small bites for Annie's consumption.

It felt like a picnic as much as like dinner, thought Fitzwilliam George. The informality of the meal, with the absence of hovering servants, lent itself to a relaxed and quiet atmosphere. He was distracted by Andrew's voice speaking. "George, would this be a convenient time for you to tell us of the incident you have alluded to, when you saw me but I did not see you?"

"Very well," George replied. "You and I were about ten years old at the time, and I at least, I am afraid, was a rather annoying brat in some respects. I knew my parents held a weekly tryst by the fountain at the centre of the maze."

"Yes, I remember that," commented Andrew.

"I resented being excluded from it, and I determined to outwit and surprise them by hiding there before the appointed hour. It was a very warm day, and as I waited for them to appear, I leaned over the edge of the fountain to play in the water, was dazzled by the sunlight on it, and in fact fell in. The moment I stood up, my mother said 'Fitzwilliam Andrew Darcy! Where did you come from?' There the two of them were, sitting on a blanket, reading from a book of poetry. Mother had anticipated my own question, of course; if she had waited but another second I should have asked them, "Where did you come from?" As I stood there open-mouthed, Father asked why I was not where I had said I would be, swimming with George Wickham, and Mother insisted I go get dry clothing on. I was in no mood or condition to ask them, or even myself, any questions: both of them were, quite understandably, rather put out with me. Father escorted me, in a rather forcible manner, out of the maze, and I, instead of returning directly to the house, decided I might as well go swimming, since I was already wet, and so wandered down towards the lake.

"As I approached, I saw someone, George, it could have been, diving into the water. However, he did not surface or splash, and it became apparent that he had collided with a log that rolled to the surface of the water at that moment. I went in after him, and dragged him to the bank, and laid him unconscious on the ground. Only then did I realize it: it was you, Andrew! The boy had my own face! It was as if I had pulled myself from the water! I was thoroughly frightened by the sight, in fact very nearly shocked numb by it. The other boy had apparently not inhaled much while submerged, as he spat up little water; and he was now breathing steadily. So, as I saw someone, presumably George, coming towards us through the woods, I ran frantically back to the maze to find my parents. I did look back from a distance and see my other self starting to sit up, with George beside him and reaching out to him.

"When I got to the centre of the maze my parents were no longer there. I had, apparently, succeeded all too well in my plan to disrupt their assignation. I leaned over the ledge of the fountain to bathe my face, when again I was bedazzled and found myself once more in the water. As I climbed out, there were my parents, reading poetry on the blanket, and, as you might suppose, my mother said, 'Fitzwilliam George Darcy! Where on earth have you come from?' I could no more explain it to her than I could fly, but she and my father were both so annoyed with me for interrupting their tryst that they force-marched me to the entrance and sent me to the house, with instructions not to leave my room before dinner.

"Such, then, was my adventure. Since that time, I have occasionally wished I had remained for an additional span of time at the other Pemberley --I expect you and I could have had some fun, Andrew-- but although I have gone to the centre of the maze many times, it has never let me through again. Yet it was a comfort to me to know, or at least to be able to hope, when my Elizabeth went missing and it was clear she had last been at the fountain, that there was another Fitzwilliam Darcy at the Pemberley to which she was gone, who would care for her. I have long wanted to thank you, Andrew, for meeting those hopes so completely."

"You are most welcome; it was an honour as well as a great pleasure." He nodded towards Clorinda, who smiled back. "And it was she who cared for me, and brought fulfilment beyond my dreams to hopes beyond any I had ever known I had." He reached out his hand to his wife's, and again bowed his head in Clorinda's direction. Then, after a pause, he continued, looking to his counterpart from the other Pemberley, "So that time that I thought George had saved my life, it was you."

"So that in fact you were right, my love, only you had the wrong George in mind," commented Corinna with a grin. A second later she observed, with a sober expression on her face, "It would seem, then, that the maze lets us through only when there is some important matter in which we can help each other, does it not?"

"Yes," said George, "that is the conclusion we had come to. It does not seem so capricious when you view the pattern of its openings in that light. In any case, it is clear that George Wickham did help you recover from your near-drowning, which must be to his credit."

"True, but he told me, knowing that I would tell my father, that he had himself pulled me from the water and thus, in fact, saved my life. I do not doubt that a part of my father's ill-founded trust and appreciation for George was based upon that incident, and thus upon that lie."

"Yet my father, with no such incident to motivate him, was quite as thoroughly blind to his failings and trusted him implicitly right up to the end." Both Fitzwilliams shook their heads in puzzlement over their fathers' ingenuous faith in such a scoundrel.

"Have there been other crossings that we know of?" asked Georgiana. "My brother twenty years ago, my sister just at Christmas-time, and now Annie, you two," she nodded towards Andrew and Corry, "and Ellen. Why, most of the crossings have happened today!"

"I was just thinking about the brooch that you lost that time, my love," said Clorry, "and that I found."

"Is that where it came from?" exclaimed Andrew. "I wondered when you found it, my lady. He dropped it, did he? What were you doing with it, George? I trust it has been restored to a place of greater safety than your hands?"

"I was using it as a key to the maze, of course," George replied with some dignity, "and it has been restored to where my parents had put it, among Mrs. Darcy's jewels. I consider it to be safe there."

"Until Andry or one of her brothers or sisters decides she has need of it, for the same purpose!" his wife retorted.

"Speaking of jewellery, Clorinda," said Corinna, rising from her seat and reaching into her pocket, "I have this for you. I had prepared it to send with Georgiana when she and Ellen were to come here, and when Fitzwill… when Andrew and I decided to try I remembered to get it from her. I would like to keep the one you gave me," she patted her neck, "but this is the one that Papa gave me, and I would love for you to have it."

Clorinda, smiling her acquiescence, allowed Corry to fasten the carnelian cross around her neck, and the two of them, looking up together at the rest of the room but especially their husbands, treated them to identically winsome smiles.

Joseph Padgett knocked briskly at the door of the servants' entrance to Pemberley, and when a housemaid unbolted it for him, told her that he had a message for the Family, which he was to communicate to one of them or to Miss Ellen. Not many minutes later the door opened, as he had hoped, to Ellen. The housemaid who had summoned her stood the inner door to the entry-way, an impertinent grin upon her face, but when Ellen, following Joseph's eyes, caught sight of her, she shooed her away, saying "Sadie, you know this is business for the Family; scoot, now, and don't you be listening at the keyhole, or Mrs. Reynolds will have your skin. Or I will, if I catch you first." She then shut the inner door and turned, with a cool expression on her face, back to Joseph.

He let his eyes rove briefly over her face, then asked quietly, "Mought I know which o' ye twain I be a speaking to?"

She started to answer, then thought better of it, and replied, "I think I'll leave you wondering on that score. What was it you wanted to tell us?"

"To tell the two of ye, Miss Ellen? I think, whichever'n tha' be, I would say this to thee: if things be as I think they do, I be a mite jealous of t'other Joe Padgett. But I got to admit I do admire his taste. In women, I mean." Wisely, he kept his appreciative gaze fixed on her face.

Ellen took a deep breath. "I get where you're drifting, Joe Padgett," she said. "Just don't get no uppity ideas, now. You ain't the other Joe Padgett, and don't you think it. Now, what was it you called me down here for?"

"Well, Mrs. Wickham wanted to know how far the maze was grown over. Tell her it be all solid hedgery back five turns from t'end. And like last time, I can't seem to do nothing with it."

"Oh, don't try to do anything to it!" she protested. "I understand … I understand it's been dangerous for some. It's got a mind of its own, and it's best to leave it be, I think. Don't hurt it! Just let us know if there's been any change in it."

"Very well, Miss." He bowed his head subserviently, but as he turned to go cast a surreptitious glance at her, saying very quietly, "I meant what I done said, Miss Ellen. Tha be comely, lass. T'other Joe be a lucky fellow."

Chapter 13

Fitzwilliam George leaned back in his chair. He had helped his wife move her chair back a little ways from the table, and had moved his own back in order to accompany her. Their position, close enough to converse with the others but not currently doing so, suited his pensive, observant rather than participatory mood. He surveyed the room with satisfaction. Its occupants had mostly finished eating by this time; some were choosing delicacies from among the dessert offerings. It was good to be in this company, he thought, each member of which he admired greatly. Bingley, so affable, so full of cheer, so open and easy in his interactions, so quick to set others at ease. Dear Georgiana, quietly lovely; now, after a year and a half in Elizabeth's company not only capable but sweetly confident in her capability. Little Anne, asleep on Georgiana's lap; he wondered how this time with Annie would affect the maturing process he was seeing in his sister. What would it be like for her when Anne returned to her own world? Jane: how he had come to admire his sister-in-law. She did indeed smile upon everyone and everything in the world, but he had said few things in his lifetime that he now more thoroughly repudiated than his initial stricture upon her "smiling too much".

His counterpart, Fitzwilliam Andrew: he was in danger of becoming puffed up if he dwelt on how admirable the man was. It was, no doubt, a healthy fact that he could also see his own failings, the propensity to take on responsibility for the world and the susceptibility to pride, in him.

Elizabeth! Corinna had been teasingly interrogating Charles and Jane regarding the progress of Caroline Bingley's romance with Thomas Babbington, and now had just bestowed a bewitching smile on Andrew. Her beauty and liveliness took his breath away, her sweetly witty discourse enchanted him, and the observation of her interactions with her husband filled him with a profound satisfaction. How wonderful that his own Elizabeth had been able to bring them together, to create such happiness in the (or should he say in that? In this as well!) world.

Finally his gaze fell on his own dear Elizabeth. She had hardly eaten at all, but rather seemed to be partaking of his peaceful mood, contemplating their companions with quiet pleasure, letting them carry the conversation. Then her eyes turned to him, with an expression of such understanding and trusting adoration that his heart brimmed over. His Clorinda. He meditated on the name, and found it to his liking. It had been an alias of Maid Marian, he remembered: Clorinda the shepherdess, Queen of the May games. Her eyes questioned him, and he leaned over to whisper in her ear, "I was enjoying your new name, beloved. Will you be my Queen of the Maying?"

"If you will be my May King, love," she answered with a smile. "Perhaps we should call you Robin instead of George. I shall look forward to many more trysts in Sherwood Forest such as the one we enjoyed this morning."

He smiled, amazed, as he had been so often before, at how closely their minds tracked together.

"I think we had best refrain from any attempts to deliver Jerusalem from the Paynim, however," she continued, "much though I do love thee, my Tancred!"

"Nonetheless, I should like to see you in armour, on a horse. You would make a most attractive warrior-maiden, my dear."

"A maiden? In my condition? I think not!" was the saucy, whispered reply.¹

Fitzwilliam Andrew, meanwhile, leaning back to survey the company, smiled with contentment and admiration as he contemplated each one: the Annie he knew, the Georgiana, Charles, and Jane he had just met, although of course he also knew them very well. George, admirable fellow (although, like himself, flawed), and his Elizabeth, Mrs. Kenton as he still thought of her, as winsomely beautiful as ever he remembered. He marvelled again in grateful remembrance of how her visit to Pemberley had changed his life, and his heart caught in his throat as she caught his eye and smiled affectionately at him. He returned the smile, then turned to his wife with the biggest smile of all. His own Elizabeth. What a treasure he had been given.

My Corinna! he thought. She had just said, in a teasing fashion, to Jane, "So tell me, is it still Miss Bingley, or have your nefarious machinations on her behalf succeeded? Has Mr. Babbington yet succumbed to her manifold charms?", and had been rewarded with a fond smile from Jane and the information that the romance seemed to be progressing well. Then, sensing his gaze upon her, she turned to him with a smile. "And whither have your thoughts wandered, sir?" she inquired quietly.

"I was meditating on your new name," he answered, "and finding that I quite like it."

She leaned her head towards his, and her reply was pitched for his ears alone. "It is fitting for the season, to be sure --it is May, after all! Allusions to green-gowns and such had best remain between us, however."

He smiled at yet another demonstration of how very closely their minds tracked together. "Quite so, my love. How 'like the spring-time, fresh and green, and sweet as Flora!' And the jewels in your hair were indeed of the very finest. I find myself full of … of satisfaction … of a quite religious enthusiasm, in fact … as I meditate upon what exemplary piety we displayed, earlier this day."

"Surely the avoidance of sin and profanation must always be viewed as most commendable," she confirmed, and he nodded, a wide smile on his face. "And yet-- do you suppose one's pieties count in the balance when practised outdoors rather than in the closet?"

"Practising them in the closet sounds most enticing, my love --we should try it one day soon. Yet you are correct. I am afraid my left hand was most acutely aware of what my right hand was doing," he replied, as her eyes twinkled back at him, "and rejoicing in it. I have been more than amply rewarded here on earth, and can find no reason to repine."

"His left hand was under my head ..." Her voice trailed off and her face was calm, but her eyes gleamed at him.²

Fitzwilliam George and his wife continued to sit in silence for some time. The smile on Elizabeth's face gradually diminished, and she held herself very still, though her eyes widened and her breathing quickened. Then she seemed to relax, and smiled at the concerned expression on his face. "What is it, my love?" he asked, still whispering.

Her smile turned misty, though she continued breathing rather faster than her resting pose might warrant. "They are such admirable people, are they not? Our other selves and our brother and sisters? Was that not what you had been thinking? … I wish you to be calm, as I am, my love, and please, do not tell the others yet. I could wish for Ellen, but apart from her I can think of no one else I would rather have with me, surrounding me, at this time. I am sure there is yet opportunity to enjoy their company, for although the frequency is increasing slightly, the discomfort is still quite bearable. Still … I do believe Andry intends to make his or her appearance in the coming hours; likely sometime tonight or tomorrow."

"My God!" he whispered. "Should I not be sending for the doctor and the midwife? Should Mrs. Reynolds not be making preparations? Should not …"

"Hush, my love!" Her hand soothed his. "Come, remain here beside me, and hold me when I need you. Will you not? The other Fitzwilliam is here; he can attend to those details when the time comes. I expect he shall be in need of the distraction. It will be soon enough. Stay with me, my love."

¹ The references are to the Robin Hood legends and to Tasso's poem La Gerusalemme Liberata, in which the battle-maiden Clorinda is mistakenly slain by her lover, the knight Tancred.

² The references are to Robert Herrick's poem On Corinna's Going A-Maying, to certain passages of the Sermon on the Mount (e.g. Matthew 6.1-6), and to the Song of Solomon (2.6). A green-gown is the natural result of assuming a recumbent position upon the greenery.

Chapter 14

The pleasant conversation among the others continued, but there came a brief moment during which Corinna was neither speaking nor being spoken to directly, and she looked over at Clorinda. The smile that passed between them seemed to tell the story: Corry's eyes widened slightly and her eyebrows rose. She started to rise from her chair, but Clorry reassured her with a renewed smile and a slight hand gesture, and she remained seated, soon entering back into conversation with the others.

Georgiana rose and took the sleeping Anne to her room and, a few minutes later, returned, and Jane was starting to yawn (in a very ladylike way, of course), when Corinna came to Clorinda's side. Just then the strongest contraction so far took Clorinda. She gave a very slight gasp, swallowed and then deliberately breathed, clutching her husband's hand, while Corinna rested a hand lightly on her midsection. "It is time, is it not so?" Corinna said, when the contraction had passed.

"Yes," Clorinda agreed. "You may tell them, now."

"Very well. Everyone, may I request your attention? It seems that young Andry will soon be making an appearance. Andrew, my love, I think it would be best if you are Mr. Darcy downstairs, arranging for the midwife and doctor to be called, and doing whatever else needs doing. Georgiana can help you. Clorry will be wanting George with her, I know. Georgiana, dear, please fetch Mrs. Reynolds; she can make sure all is prepared for the birth. Andrew, you will have to prepare whoever comes for the sight of both of us in the room together, and perhaps of the other Fitzwilliam as well. Charles, you should accompany Andrew, so that you may keep each other company down in the library. If any of you become tired, you are of course encouraged to make your way to your rooms to sleep; we will let you know when the child is born." She turned back to Clorinda. "How long have the pains been coming, Clorry? Since before our supper, is it not so?"

"Yes, they began soon after Jane and Charles arrived. They have definitely got stronger and more frequent, at this point."

With surprisingly little fuss a coach was dispatched to Lambton for Serena Nadderby, the midwife who had delivered both Darcys and hundreds of other babies over a period of forty years, and for Dr. Marcus Rushmore, the well-recommended accoucheur whom Darcy had brought to Lambton from Derby. Clorinda was pacing back and forth in her bed chamber, where birthing supplies were already in place, and water was being heated, to be ready when needed. As Mrs. Reynolds was informing her about the water, Clorinda whispered in Corinna's ear, and she said, "Of course!", then turned to Mrs. Reynolds and said, "Mrs. Darcy would like the first of the hot water used for a bath. Could you arrange for a maid to bring it up, but warn us before she comes, so that she only sees one of us?"

Corinna attended Clorinda to her bath, in which she soaked for some time, and found it quite soothing and refreshing, but by the time she was done the pains were coming every few minutes and were very strong. Her waters came just as she was emerging from the tub. Instinctively, and encouraged as well by Mrs. Reynolds' advice, she concentrated on breathing as they put a bed-gown and robe upon her, and on letting the pains roll over her with as little outcry as possible. Corinna and Jane brought her into her bedroom, and she allowed her husband and Corinna to help her up onto her bed, where she relaxed for a minute or so until the next pang took hold.

Meanwhile, Andrew was receiving Mrs. Nadderby downstairs. It was pouring rain, and the Darcys' coachman was dripping water, but he had kept Mrs. Nadderby dry under a large umbrella. The doctor, however, had not arrived. He would, so the coachman informed Andrew, be coming along later, in his own equipage, after picking up from a neighbouring village the wet nurse he had engaged; they should be at Pemberley within the hour.

"It's right happy I be to attend Mrs. Darcy, Mr. Darcy, sir," said Mrs. Nadderby, who was both short and stout, but had an air of brisk competence about her. "But why you must needs bring some fancy London doctor into the business do be beyond me. I ain't a-needin' no man-midwife to tell me what to do. Your lady and her babby will be just fine, you wait and see if 'tain't so. I seen her last week, and all were just as it should be. Her measurements be good --God made her for having babbies--; she'll do just fine."

"I am sure you are right, Mrs. Nadderby; and yet it seems right to me to have the best of the old knowledge along with the newer science, to be sure Mrs. Darcy receives the best care. I am sure that between the two of you she could not receive better. However, I must prepare you for something very shocking, and swear you to silence regarding it."

"Oh, ho, Mr. Darcy? Don't tell me there be another to give birth, and it ain't to be known?"

"Mrs. Nadderby? How could you think such a thing? Surely you have not attended such births in the past?"

"There's surprising little I ain't seen, young man, these forty years," she said, with a twinkle in her eye. "And it's mumchance I'll stay about it, too." She pantomimed the closing of her lips.

"That is well, ma'am," he said, twinkling back. "Nevertheless, I dare say this time you will see what you have not seen before. When you arrive upstairs you will find my wife attending Mrs. Darcy. My wife, you see, is only in her fifth month. Also you will find Mr. Darcy with his wife, who is indeed to give birth tonight."

"Lawks, what do you be saying, sir! What on earth do you mean?" Mrs. Nadderby rather suddenly took a seat, though given her stature her face was hardly any lower in his vision than before she had done so. "I examined Mrs. Darcy myself last week, and if she be in her fifth month, I be a cow's fifth tit. If'n you'll pardon the expression."

"I mean, ma'am, that there are two Pemberleys, and two of each of us, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. I am not the Mr. Fitzwilliam George that you brought into this world and have known all his life, but Fitzwilliam Andrew Darcy, and I was delivered by the other Mrs. Nadderby. Yes, you have a counterpart in my world as well."

Mrs. Nadderby's eyes blinked repeatedly and her mouth remained soundlessly open for some ten seconds --quite a long time for her-- before she was able to say, "Well I never! And you ain't twins, nor nothing like that? Well, of course you ain't! Who could know that better 'n me! You be right, sir, this I hain't never seen before."

But she bore it well when she did see it, a few minutes later. She immediately took charge of the proceedings. "Now you just rest quiet-like while you can, Mrs. Darcy. I see you done laid in the supplies we'll need, and there be a-plenty of hot water. Good, good. Now, Mrs. D, I see another pain is hitting you. That's right, just keep breathing and let it pass. All of this lilliburlero is just practising for the real thing; it ha'n't got really serious yet. It's just your body trying to convince the young-'un that it is time to abandon her comfortable nest. Do not push until I tell you it be time; you'ld just hurt yourself and wear yourself out. That's right, Mrs. … you other Mrs. Darcy, what shall I be calling you?"

"Call me Corinna, ma'am. It is the name that the others are using for me as well."

"All right, Corinna, rub her shoulders and wipe her face, make her comfortable. You too, Mr. D. Only let her hold your hand an she wants to. And Mrs. Bingley, stay out of my way, but happen you might rub her feet, especially when a pain has taken hold like this. It'll distract her, and feel good to her besides."

Meanwhile the contraction had eased, and Mrs. Nadderby, with a murmured request and an acquiescent nod from Clorinda, performed a quick internal examination, and her eyebrows rose at what she found.

"My, you do be in a hurry!" she said. "This child be coming very quickly, for a first one. How many hours do you say it been, Mrs. D, since your pains started?"

"About five, or five and a half."

"And your water broke half an hour agone? You be nigh on four fingers a'ready--as I said, you be coming along very fast. That be well." She turned away to speak with Mrs. Reynolds to make sure all needed preparations had been seen to.

Jane, meanwhile had moved to her sister's feet and had begun to rub them. "Ah, thank you, Jane, that feels wonderful!" she responded, but then suddenly jerked convulsively, pulling her feet from Jane's hands. Jane reacted with near-horror, but then realized that Clorinda was laughing.

"You must have been rubbing Charles' feet too often lately!" Corinna explained. "You seem to have forgotten how ticklish are the soles of my feet. Either rub them quite hard, or just rub the tops and my ankles."

Clorinda's laughter ceased, however, as another pain mounted in intensity. Mrs. Nadderby moved into position and felt the top of her abdominal protrusion, with a satisfied nod.

"Yes, coming good and strong, and you're almost wide open. Don't push yet, but I'll let you know. Mr. Darcy, I want you out of here in the next few minutes."

Darcy looked at her with a mixture of nervous bewilderment, unwillingness and reluctant acquiescence, but Corinna intervened. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Nadderby, but he stays. I know that Mrs. Darcy wants it that way."

"Yes, I do," panted Clorinda, just before something between a sob and a grunt escaped her lips. "Don't go, Fitzw …" She couldn't finish saying his name.

"I don't hold with that!" protested Mrs. Nadderby. "A man at the birthing! As well have a horse in the kitchen! What do this world be coming to?!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Nadderby, but that is how it is going to be!" Corinna said sternly. "You must simply accept it." Clorinda and George both looked at her with gratitude in their eyes.

Twenty minutes later George was not so sure he was grateful. His dear wife, the light of his eyes, had turned into a termagant, and was upbraiding him most decidedly, and he was totally at a loss as to what he had done to rouse her ire. She had groaned most horribly at the last contraction, and pled with Mrs. Nadderby to be allowed to push. It was Mrs. Nadderby that had denied her, not he, and yet it was he upon whom she had turned. "Help me, Fitzwilliam!" she shouted. "Why don't you help me! This is your fault! I cannot take this for another minute!"

"Hush, my love, I am here with you," he said.

"I know you are here," she said irascibly. "As if that helps! Why do you not make it stop! Why …" Her speech was interrupted by the setting in of another birth pang, and she cried out in anguish.

"Why is she so upset at me?" his eyes asked Corinna, and hers registered the same question back to him, with a certain note of humour, as if to say, "Don't take her too literally here--she isn't really responsible for what she is saying."

"Oh, Lizzy!" Jane's voice was as flustered as Darcy had ever heard it.

"This is good, this is good," said Mrs. Nadderby calmly, one hand on Mrs. Darcy's abdomen and the other feeling for the baby's head. "You'll really want to push on the next one, dearie, and it be nearly time; just one more, I think, and then you'll be all the way open and it'll be all right to do it." She turned to Mr. Darcy and said somewhat fiercely, "Just think on what you'd feel, if'n you had a cannon-ball up your arse that you was trying to pass, and you knew it was her what had put it there. You too might say owt you didna really mean, belike."

He gulped and looked self-conscious, then reapplied himself to stroking his wife's arm and forehead, and she, wordlessly, looked at him and touched his soothing hand with her hot one before another pang took hold.

It was at this juncture that Georgiana knocked on the door, and Jane went to speak with her, but Mrs. Nadderby did not wait. "Just tell 'em, downstairs," she said sharply, "that it be all coming along just fine, nary a hitch. But if that fancy town-doctor don't make it here very soon now, he be going to miss the main event. 'Tain't as if we want him …" she grumbled.

Elizabeth groaned once more, so strongly that Georgiana turned white, closed the door and fairly ran for the stairs. But despite the intensity of the pang, Elizabeth's urge to snap at those around her had receded, and in its place she was conscious of a fierce determination building within her.

"Now, push!" Mrs. Nadderby said, as the next contraction built, and she pushed with all her might, grunting and sobbing as she ran out of breath.

Five minutes and three contractions later, Mrs. Nadderby said "Here she comes! Come see," and Corinna quickly stepped down towards Clorinda's feet; Jane was already there watching. Darcy, however, remained by Elizabeth's head, his arm around the back of her neck, helping hold her where she could push steadily.

"He's got dark hair, Lizzy!" Jane said excitedly. "Just like you, brother."

"Oh my Lord!" Corinna breathed reverently. The head was now out, and on the next contraction Mrs. Nadderby eased the shoulders out, and suddenly the whole little body was wriggling in her capable hands. Jane had caught up a soft blanket, and she and Corinna together held it as Mrs. Nadderby laid the infant in it. He (it was definitely a boy) looked calmly around, breathing easily and squirming to turn his head in every direction possible, not crying or exhibiting any apparent emotion other than curiosity.

"Oh Lizzy! He's beautiful!" Jane was practically squealing, while Corinna just looked on the baby's face with eyes full of love, yet with tears streaming down her face.

Mrs. Nadderby had tied and cut the cord by now, and Corinna, gently taking the little bundle from Jane's hands, carried him up to where George and Clorinda were together at the head of the bed. "Meet your son, Lizzy and Fitzwilliam!" she said.

"Little Andrew!" Clorinda cooed. Darcy, looking on in almost shell-shocked fascination, reached out to hesitantly to touch his son's cheek as he lay in his wife's arms, and the baby, waving his arm at random, touched his father's index finger and instinctively grasped it. His eyes, which had been roving the room, just as suddenly locked onto his father's eyes, sealing the bond between them in an instant. It was only several seconds later that the baby turned away, looked at his mother and gave a small grimace, and soon after that twisted his face into a full scowl, drew a deep breath, and let it be known that, notwithstanding his earlier manifestations of detached sang-froid, he was capable of passionate protest when so moved, and was possessed of very healthy lungs and a most remarkable vociferative apparatus, each of which he was quite prepared to employ in conjunction with the other.

Chapter 15

Downstairs, Darcy and Bingley had been pacing the floor in the library. Perhaps somewhat surprisingly, Bingley's pacing had been the more energetic and unceasing of the two. Georgiana had gone to the servants' wing to summon Marjory, the new maid who had been hired to care for the baby, and to help her with last-minute readying of the nursery for its new inhabitant and choosing of infant clothing to bring to the Mistress' suite for when he or she should be born.

"Calm down, Bingley!" Darcy said for the tenth time. "There is nothing we can do to hurry things, and your pacing does not improve or even affect any of what is going on upstairs. Here, have a little more of this …"

"Thank you, Darcy. Excellent brandy, it is. But, does it not disturb you, thinking of what is happening upstairs and of how many things could go wrong? I shudder to think of when my Jane shall be the one undergoing such a painful and dangerous process."

Such a reminder, unsurprisingly, failed to promote Darcy's peace of mind.

However, what with Darcy's occasional encouragement and his own proclivities when facing this kind of stress, Bingley was soon induced to be in a more mellow mood. He had become, to say truth, a trifle disguised; perhaps not yet quite bosky, so to speak, but certainly well on the way to being half-sprung, and rapidly progressing yet further in that direction.

Darcy, by contrast, although he was the more profoundly concerned of the two, or rather for that very reason, had restricted himself to half a glass of brandy. He had no intention of allowing his mental processes and reactions to be impaired. Only occasionally did he pace; for the most part he confined himself to looking out the window, twisting the ring on his finger, hoping to see some sign of the doctor's carriage, and wallowing in the throes of a robust bout of worrying, with little but prayer available for its alleviation. He knew his own Elizabeth was well, and was with her counterpart, but it was still Elizabeth, whom he loved, undergoing the ordeal that all women and their husbands dreaded, that took so many women before their time, and yet that brought such great joy when it was successfully achieved. Had he not known that George was there with her, he was not certain he could have borne it.

Bingley had become so reconciled to the situation that he had offered to sing a song to cheer Darcy up, when Georgiana, flustered and somewhat upset, entered the room.

"Mrs. Nadderby says that all is going very well, Fitzwilliam," she said, "but that the doctor had best be on hand as soon as ever it is possible, if he is to be present at the birth. But oh, Brother, just as I left the room, I heard Elizabeth groan most grievously, and cry out. You know how she never does so, even when something has hurt her quite badly. What she must be suffering!"

"Let us take comfort from Mrs. Nadderby's message, however," Darcy replied, "in the thought that it shall soon be over and we shall have a nephew or niece upon whom to shower our love."

"Only, for you … ? I suppose you are right; it shall be much like a nephew or niece. And yet like something closer, in many ways, as well, shall it not? More like a son."

"Not your son, Darcy? Oh, thass right," contributed Charles thoughtfully.

"Perhaps something like Anne Elizabeth is for you, Georgiana?"

"Yes, much like that. But even closer." She did not mention the name of Wickham, but Darcy knew he was in her thoughts. Darcy would be subject to no such antipathy whilst thinking of the mother of the new life soon to be revealed upstairs.

"I think I will go look in on Annie, Brother, and review the state of the nursery one more time."

In a moment she was gone, and Darcy resumed his vigil at the window, while Bingley, meditatively, resumed his potations. It was but a few minutes later, however, that a carriage pulled up at the side entrance to Pemberley. It was, Darcy realized, of the cheapest sort available for hire in Derby or Sheffield, and drawn by a horse with scarcely sufficient meat on its bones to keep them from soaking up the rain. It looked to be shivering with cold, despite the relative mildness of the temperature: it was May to be sure, but this was Derbyshire. The poverty of the equipage surprised him; he had certainly expected the carriage of a man of Dr. Rushmore's eminence to be more up to the rig.

The first passenger to descend from the carriage was likely to be, judging from his dress and stately air, the eagerly-awaited accoucheur. Balancing a portly figure well, he held high over his head a large umbrella, and reached up a gallant hand to help a young woman to descend, who in turn reached up to lift down a child, a little girl perhaps two years of age. Why had she been brought along, Darcy wondered. As far as he knew, no preparations had been made for the wet nurse to have a child with her during her service at Pemberley.

With the urgency of Mrs. Nadderby's message in his mind, Darcy moved into the hallway in order to greet the physician as expeditiously as possible. Dr. Rushmore apparently shared his eagerness, so much so that he pushed past Wilkins before Wilkins was able to announce him properly, offending that worthy servitor rather seriously. Once the Doctor knew he had gained Darcy's attention, however, his sense of urgency seemed to give way to a need to express his apologies fully.

"Mr. Darcy," he began, his tone somewhere between the apologetic and the obsequious, "I most humbly crave your indulgence and pardon for the tardiness of my arrival. Unfortunately I must take it upon myself to inform you that just outside the gates of your park there lies a stone, a milestone as I believe it was, almost as it were a snake lying in wait in the grass, which, as the most unfortunate happenstance came to pass, made contact with the rear wheel of my chaise even as I turned onto the road to your most noble house, with the result that …"

"A carriage accident?" Darcy interrupted somewhat brusquely. "That was unfortunate. However, you are now here, and from what Mrs. Nadderby tells us, Mrs. Darcy's time is imminent, and you will need to be with her as soon as ever may be."

"Mrs. Nadderby! She is here then?" asked the doctor, attempting to be professional about it but obviously affronted at the reminder of her existence, not to mention her attendance upon Mrs. Darcy.

Darcy continued smoothly, "Sir, I will need to speak with you briefly in private to acquaint you with certain peculiarities of this situation. Wilkins, Mrs. Reynolds is occupied with Mrs. Darcy. Would you please, in her stead, find one of the upper maids and ask her to convey this young woman to the room prepared for her, next the nursery?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Darcy," said Dr. Rushmore. "I fear that there has been a misunderstanding in the present case. I did indeed travel to the village of Stokely, where I was to meet the young woman who had been engaged to fulfil the function of a wet-nurse, which, unfortunate as the event proves to be, accounts for fully half an hour of my tardiness, but the girl was found, most regrettably, upon my examination of her person prior to transporting her here, to have developed a bilateral pair of abscesses upon her b… erm … abscesses which will preclude her being able to function in the role for which we had anticipated recommending her to you, sir, and to Mrs. Darcy. In short, …"

"Cut line, man!" Darcy muttered in exasperation. The Doctor's eyes may have narrowed ever so slightly, but his composure seemed unruffled, and the stream of his speech experienced no noticeable diminution, so perhaps he had not heard Darcy's words. The young woman had certainly heard, however: to Darcy's surprise she glanced at him with a raised eyebrow --for all the world as Elizabeth would have done in her place, he thought. Meanwhile, the words continued to flow, in full spate, from the Doctor's mouth.

"In short, sir, I have been unsuccessful in my attempt to procure a wet-nurse for your wife's assistance at this time, and am most chagrined at my failure. I had previously enquired most diligently, and to my certain knowledge there was not another woman, either in Lambton or in the surrounding communities, other than the aforesaid Mrs. Compton, qualified and available for this purpose. However, let me assure you, sir, that upon the morrow I shall send forthwith, though it be so far as to Derby, to procure the services …"

"Yes, that is well," Darcy interrupted, a little impatiently. "But whom then have you brought with you?"

"This lady happened by --it is in fact her equipage rather than my own which graces your doorstep at this moment, seeing that mine was rendered inoperable by the aforementioned accident, sir. Since she was coming this way she very kindly offered to transport me hither --for which indeed I owe you my profound thanks, madam."

The woman, who had been standing with her face so inclined as to be hidden by her bonnet, save for that one brief glimpse of her eyebrow, and her posture bespeaking deference or perhaps embarrassment, raised her head slightly at these words and murmured, "It was nothing, sir. You are welcome, I am sure."

But that glimpse and those few words were enough for Darcy to recognize her. "Mrs. Lart … Mrs. Wickham!" he exclaimed, then continued, "Pardon me for not welcoming you immediately. I had no idea it was you."

"You could not have known," said Lydia, her voice softer and quieter than what he remembered of it. "Is Lizzy …?" She stopped and swallowed.

"Yes, she is brought to bed and the midwife is even now with her. I am given to understand that the birth is imminent."

"Sir, you should bear in mind that this is the confinement of a prima gravida of which we speak," interjected Dr. Rushmore. "As such, and given that, to my understanding, her pains did not commence until near the hour of the evening repast, I may confidently predict that there will yet be several hours of labour before the birth is truly imminent. It is not to be surprised at that Mrs. … er … Nadderby should mistake the matter. For as Galen himself has said, or was it not rather Pliny …"

"Yes, Dr. Rushmore, however, with your pardon … Mrs. Wickham, perhaps you and -- and Miss Wickham, I suppose it is?" Lydia nodded. "Perhaps you will wish to wait here in the library, in company with Mr. Bingley. There are matters with which I must acquaint Dr. Rushmore before he attends upon Mrs. Darcy."

"Yes, but Mr. Darcy …" pleading battled with something else --was it shame?-- in Lydia's eyes, "I am afraid I must ask for your assistance. I … have not the funds to pay for the carriage I hired in Sheffield, and the driver is expecting to be paid here. I had hoped to speak to Lizzy and not need to bother you, but I see that it is impossible to do so."

"I shall take care of it," Darcy reassured her, and she breathed "Thank you, Mr. Darcy," bowing her head and giving him a little curtsey as he let her in the library door, saying somewhat abruptly, "Care for her, Bingley. I shall return when I am able."

Darcy excused himself from the Doctor, and, gesturing slightly with his head, summoned Wilkins into his office, where he gave him some coins. "First ascertain that all of Mrs. Wickham's belongings have been retrieved from the carriage, and then pay the driver and send him on his way. Add this," and he added an extra coin, "to the amount, with the recommendation that he remain for the night in Lambton: I would wish for no man to have to be out in such weather as this, and that nag of his appears to be in grave danger of expiring before reaching Matlock. Ask him to take with him to Lambton anyone the Doctor may have left with his stricken coach at the entrance to the park. Then, when you have returned, ready Mrs. Wickham's things to be taken to her room as soon as Mrs. Reynolds or Miss Georgiana is at liberty to decide which room that should be."

Darcy then returned to the Doctor, intending to bring him into the office to explain to him what he was about to see. It was at this point, however, that a teary-eyed Jane appeared on the stairs. "It's a boy!" she was saying. "It's a little boy, and he's absolutely beautiful!"

Chapter 16

"God be praised!" said Darcy, while Georgiana, who had been coming along the corridor upstairs when Jane had emerged from the mistress' suite and had run down the stairs behind her, squealed joyfully, and Bingley stuck his head out the library door to find out what the commotion was about --his ears were so attuned to Jane's voice that even in his impaired condition he was able to tell from within the room that she was without.

"A boy! Darcy! Congratulations, man! You have a son!" he said, then stopped for a second or two before continuing, with obvious puzzlement, "No, I forgot, not yours. But congratulations anyway."

"Charles!" Jane rounded on him with unprecedented ferocity. "If you must make yourself so despicably inebriated, at least keep your mouth shut. You do not know what you are saying!"

"Just happy for Darce …" he muttered ineffectually as she bundled him back into the library. She was actually turning to go back out when she realized that there was another woman who had been alone in the room with Charles. "Who … what…?" Jane had rarely been so disconcerted in her life, and when her sister slowly raised her eyes to her she could do naught but stare. Then, perceiving the shyness and hurt in Lydia's eyes, she reached out her arms to her, and she, with a small sob, ran into them and the two sisters embraced.

Meanwhile Darcy, ignoring Dr. Rushmore's wondering stare towards the library door and his doubtless severe cogitations upon the possible implications of Charles' words, walked over to Georgiana and spoke, so low as to almost be whispering, "Georgiana, could you go up and warn them that I will be along in a few minutes with Dr. Rushmore? Suggest that your brother and my wife leave the room before he comes in. I find that I would rather he not know of our presence, and indeed it seems less than fully necessary at this point."

Georgiana nodded her understanding and sped off up the stairs, and Darcy turned slowly back to Dr. Rushmore. "So, Mrs. Darcy has given birth and her child is here, safely," he said. "Nevertheless, I thank you for coming. While I am extremely gratified by the news of the successful birth, I am reassured by the fact that you shall be able to verify that all has proceeded well, and that neither Mrs. Darcy nor the child is now in any sort of danger."

The doctor seemed to be torn between his need to apologize to Mr. Darcy for not having been the one to welcome into the world the new heir of Pemberley (though he looked conscious for a moment as he had turned that phrase, no doubt suddenly pondering the implications of Bingley's indiscreet words), indignation with the child for having appeared so expeditiously as to deny him the privilege, and even greater indignation with Mrs. Nadderby for having usurped it from him. After listening to his expostulations for three or four minutes, Darcy judged that sufficient time had passed, and interrupted the flow of his eloquence.

"Very well, Dr. Rushmore. Perhaps we should move to Mrs. Darcy's suite, lest you miss out not only on the birth but on the rest of the event as well."

Shortly thereafter Darcy was knocking gently on the door to Mrs. Darcy's rooms. His knock was answered by Georgiana, who allowed him and the doctor in to the sitting room and then put her head into the bedroom to announce their arrival. "Come in, Fitzwilliam," she said. "Mrs. Darcy is quite presentable, and perhaps you would wish to meet my nephew?"

Darcy's eyes, nevertheless, went first to Elizabeth's face. He knew it was Clorinda, George's wife and not his own, but still, she was Elizabeth. He went over to her and gently kissed her forehead. "Well done, Mrs. Darcy!" he said quietly, but with great satisfaction. "You are a wonderful woman." He then turned to Georgiana. "May I see the baby?" he asked, and held out his arms to receive him.

"Meet Andrew Thomas, Mr. Darcy," said Clorinda in a quiet voice. She did not say "your namesake", but he knew the words were intended.

The infant had gone to sleep by this time. That did not diminish Darcy's awe and amazement at the sight of him: he simply stared, overwhelmed, for over a minute, at the sleeping child in his arms, before his disapproving attention was attracted by Dr. Rushmore's words to Mrs. Reynolds.

"This birth has been sadly mishandled," he was saying. "It should not have been entrusted to one lacking careful preparation and a thorough education in the modern obstetric arts. I must protest …"

"But Dr. Rushmore!" Mrs. Reynolds was replying, even as a quite audible "Hmph!" emerged from Mrs. Nadderby's mouth. "Mrs. Nadderby handled it beautifully. As I know for a fact she has done consistently for forty years and more! Why she delivered Mr. Darcy himself, sir!"

"Nevertheless," Dr. Rushmore began, but Darcy had seen a pleading look in Elizabeth's eyes, and agreed that it was time to intervene. Unfortunately, given the precarious state of his own emotions and the irritation he was feeling with the Doctor, the words that came out of his mouth, as well as their tone, were somewhat more harsh than he would have desired.

"Come, Dr. Rushmore," he said. "You should rather be giving thanks to Providence that Mrs. Nadderby was here. Would you have had Mrs. Darcy give birth to her son with no knowledgeable assistance whatsoever? It was through no fault of Mrs. Nadderby's that your carriage wheel struck a milestone, nor was it she who delayed downstairs, discoursing at unnecessary length upon less than fully consequential matters, confident that Galen and Pliny would retard the process, while the birth and its aftermath were taking place up here. As Mrs. Reynolds has said, Mrs. Nadderby is very capable, and has conducted this birth most competently and brought it to a successful conclusion. I will not have you criticizing her. On the contrary," and here he turned to Mrs. Nadderby herself with a courteous bow, "we are very grateful to you, madam."

Dr. Rushmore was so shocked and offended by these words as to be left speechless. His discomfiture was complete. His mind was largely dwelling on his own humiliation, and on biting back the words that rose to the surface of his thought. Some of his attention was indeed given to his professional task. He briefly examined the afterbirth, and confirmed that it had been expelled entire, and even brought himself to say as much (though somewhat bitterly) to Mrs. Nadderby. The other part of his mind, however, was festering with resentment against her and against Mr. Darcy, and, fuelled by that resentment, he came to pondering the manner in which which Mr. Darcy, and even Miss Darcy, had referred to the newborn child. There was a jackdaw quickness to his mind that was quite capable of making a connection to what he had overheard from the other man downstairs, Darcy's brother-in-law, was he not? It was, of course, not his place to suppose, and certainly not ever to divulge even the slightest suggestion of such a thing, but a part of him felt a certain satisfaction at the thought that the man who had so humiliated him might himself have been so humiliated.

He came to the realization that he did have the prerogative of asking Mr. Darcy to leave the room for a few minutes, and he did so, pleased to suppose that the request sounded professional rather than resentful. Darcy looked to Elizabeth, and at her understanding look and very slight nod he acquiesced to the request, suggesting that he should return in ten minutes. Then he left the room, the babe still in his arms.

He headed down the hallway and opened the door to the Master's sitting room, where he found George, pacing distractedly. However, a wry but very warm smile came over his face as he saw his son in Andrew's arms, and held out his arms for him.

"Isn't he a wonder?" Andrew asked.

"Indeed he is," George agreed.

"As is your Elizabeth."

"Yes, she was marvellous. But so was your Elizabeth. I know her presence made the process much smoother and easier. I pray my wife can return the favour when her time comes."

It was at this juncture that a soft knock was heard on the door coming from the Master's room. George, knowing that Corinna had been waiting there, where she could be aware of what was going on in the Mistress's room, motioned with his head for Andrew to answer it. As he opened the door, Corinna peeked around, and then came confidently (though not before checking his waistcoat) into her husband's arms.

"I heard the two of you talking," she explained, "and thought I might join your conversation. They seem to have achieved enough of a truce next door to work with at least a pretence of amicability. I suppose that Dr. Rushmore will have finished his examination before long."

"That, George," said Andrew, "brings to mind a bone I would pick with you. How on this earth did you come to hire such a … a gabble-grinding toad-eater, to attend Elizabeth in her confinement? I have rarely heard such a wind-bag --an organ-bellows is nothing to the fellow-- and of all the inappropriate times for such verbosity! The man is certainly ill-named: he spouted irrelevancies at me for fully ten minutes while this young fellow" (he smiled at the infant in George's arms) "was making his appearance. And then, he must needs depreciate Mrs. Nadderby, speaking of her as if she were a novice attending her first birth, and puff himself up as if … What are you laughing at?" The affectionate tone of his voice, as he directed the final question towards his wife, belied any ill-humour the reader might be tempted to surmise from the words alone.

"I am laughing at how effectively our Dr. Waitmore --or was the name Chatmore?-- has got under your skin, my love," Lizzy replied. "I could hear your interactions with him when you were in the other room. We may indeed be grateful that he was not able to arrive earlier; it would undoubtedly have been a less harmonious event had he been present."

"I should have thought to warn you about him," George admitted. "The man's prolixity is indeed remarkable, if not wholly admirable. He was endorsed by a friend of the physician that had been attending upon Elizabeth when we were in Town, and he undoubtedly harbours some kind of competence beneath that overly ingratiating manner of his, but I am inclined to believe I did poorly to trust so easily in the recommendation I was given. Elizabeth herself would have been content with Mrs. Nadderby alone to attend her, as my mother was, but I thought it good to have both."

"Indeed, in the abstract, it was a prudent choice. However …" Corinna's voice trailed off, though an impish smile remained on her face. "When my time comes, we shall know whose services not to engage."

"Which of us should go back to the Mistress' room?" asked Andrew. "I think perhaps it should be you, George, though I am willing to do so should you think it better."

"I shall go," replied George. "It would not do for you to lose your patience entirely and bite the poor man's head off."

"Yes, it will be as well," Andrew replied. "However, there are two other developments which it is desirable that you both hear about. The first is that our loquacious friend was not able to bring the wet nurse with him as he had intended. I expect he will have spoken of this to your lady" (here he nodded towards George) "by now. He spoke of perhaps bringing someone from Derby tomorrow. My own impulse would be to dismiss him and ask Mrs. Nadderby to find us someone, but, perhaps it would be better to allow him to accomplish at least one thing successfully! Oh, yes, you should know, George, that he managed to wreck his carriage upon the milestone at the entrance to the park; you will need to have our coachman return him to Lambton, and probably would do well to have someone there tomorrow to help clear the wreckage from the roadway and transport it to Lambton. The other development … I know not what to make of it. George, your sister-in-law, Mrs. Wickham, is here; she it was who brought the doctor, in fact."

"Lydia!" Elizabeth realized, as Andrew continued speaking.

"She brings with her a daughter who looks to be around two years of age. She arrived in a hired hack (which I have sent back to Lambton). Apparently she is destitute of money; she was unable to pay for the carriage; and she seemed rather quieter than the Lydia with whom I have been acquainted. I know little of your relationship, on this side of the maze, with the Wickhams, though Eliz … Mrs. Kenton did tell me that you avoid contact with them. Nevertheless I felt that, under the circumstances, I could do no other than to make her welcome and assure her of our hospitality. We spoke but little. When I came upstairs I left her in the library, with Jane and Charles. Charles, I am afraid, has been making serious indentures into the brandy and is more than a trifle top-heavy at this stage."

"It would seem that you have had your hands full, my friend!" George laughed at him a bit, and then said "I thank you for handling it all for us! Very well, I should doubtless return to the fray." He nodded again to Andrew, and, bowing to Corinna, carried his son into the hall, and returned to the Mistress' sitting room.

Corinna returned to her husband's arms. "Oh, my love!" she exclaimed, leaning up against him. "It was overwhelming. To think that our mothers, that every woman who has ever borne a child, has had to go through that! And Mrs. Nadderby assures us that this was as smooth and easy a birth as she has ever attended! What must a difficult birth be like? And yet, the miracle of that little life suddenly appearing in the world, the joy in my … in Clorinda's eyes as she first held him!" He had his handkerchief out by now, gently drying the tears on her cheeks as she continued, "I do not dread this ordeal, though of course in some other sense I do, but I am very ready to go through it, for the joy of holding our child in my arms and seeing your face as I saw George's, when he met his son for the first time. I have indeed been most profoundly moved by this experience."

Some twenty minutes later Dr. Rushmore was downstairs, being encouraged by Mr. Darcy to leave. One of the Darcy coaches stood ready to convey him to Lambton, and he had been assured that he should receive the previously agreed-upon fee, despite not having participated in any but the very last stages of the birthing process. He was, nevertheless, feeling put-upon, yet simultaneously and uneasily aware of how thoroughly he had failed to impress his prestigious clients or to ingratiate himself with them. When Mr. Darcy had returned to the Mistress' chamber from his temporary banishment he had once again felt the need to overtly praise Mrs. Nadderby, as if he had not done so just minutes before; and Mrs. Darcy had spoken in agreement. Dr. Rushmore had been rendered almost incoherent in his indignation at such praise of his nemesis. It was as well that he was not aware of how forcefully he put both Mr. and Mrs. Darcy in mind of a turkey gobbler at that moment, nor of the chuckling pleasure the pair of them would take, an hour or so hence, in the mutual confession of that perception.

And now, as he was being ushered towards the door, held open for him by that overweening butler, Darcy spoke to him, cutting off short what --he flattered himself-- had been a perfectly unexceptionable and in fact quite laudably-worded offer to return on the morrow to check on Mrs. Darcy's state, or to attend her should such a situation arise again. "I regret," Darcy's final words were, "that I cannot encourage any anticipation that we shall soon require your services, Dr. Chatmore, but I should like, once again, to express our appreciation for your holding yourself in readiness to assist on this occasion."

As he settled his ample frame against the comfort of the squabs in the Darcy carriage, the Doctor was fuming within as he rehearsed Darcy's words in his mind. First he makes it appallingly clear that he will not call upon my services in the future. Then, as insult upon that injury, he as much as states, not just insinuates, that my role has been, at best, no more than one of standing by, waiting to be of assistance --as an assistant to Mrs. Nadderby, no doubt. The Devil take the woman! He ground his teeth. And then --unkindest cut of all-- "Chatmore"!

His chin sank to his chest even as his hands formed into fists which he raised and shook with considerable vigour. But by the time he reached Lambton his angry humour had declined into a merely morose one, smouldering with resentment but unable to find the energy with which to burst into flame.

Chapter 17

16-17 May 1814

About the same time Corinna, nestled comfortably in her husband's arms and softly kissing his neck, was close to falling asleep, when she was brought awake by four soft scratches on the door.

"What happened?" asked her husband, himself awakened by her sudden alertness.

"It is Jane. That was always her signal; scratches so that only I would be likely to hear them, and four so I would not mistake them for anything else: two short ones, a long one, and another short one."

"I see. I suppose you had better check what the matter is," he said.

Pulling her dressing-gown around her, she walked softly over to the door and gently opened it. Only a few seconds later she was back at her husband's side. "Jane wants to have an old-fashioned night-time cose with me," she said, "and probably Georgiana too. You shall survive if I indulge her, shall you not?"

"I will not release you at the whim of my sister-in-law, or even to indulge my sister, fond though I am of them," he said. "However, I sense that you want to go be with them, so on those grounds I shall let you go, my dear. Despite the affront to my self-consequence and my tender feelings, of course! But do hurry back. I truly do not know how on earth I survived nearly thirty years of sleeping without you in my bed, and I have no desire at all ever to experience it again."

She smiled and kissed him, and whispered in his ear, then went to meet her sister at the door. As they left the room they saw Mrs. Nadderby in the hallway, just preparing to enter the Mistress' rooms, and naturally they went to speak to her. Meanwhile Georgiana had popped her head out of her doorway, and seeing them there, came up to join them.

"How are they, Mrs. Nadderby?" asked Corry.

"They'm both be just fine, ma'am," said Mrs. Nadderby. "She were awake a few minutes agone. Let me ask her, she mought like having you come in for a bit."

A few minutes later they were all gathered around Clorinda's bed. Corinna, sitting on the bed to Clorinda's left, realized from the indentation of the pillow and the state of the bedclothes, that this half of the bed had just been occupied. "Chased him off, did we?" she commented. "Perhaps I should send him down to be with my husband, that they may commiserate with each other."

"I do not expect that he will allow us to exclude him for very long," Clorinda smiled. "And I dare say your Andrew will be wanting you back as well. Will he not?"

"How are you feeling, my dear?" It was Jane asking.

"I feel exhilarated! I cannot begin to describe how wonderful it is to have finally seen our son, to have held him in my arms. He is such a miracle! But, of course, I am quite exhausted. And extremely sore, as you can no doubt imagine."

"And so you will, some days yet," said Mrs. Nadderby. "Just you rest, dearie. No doubt you'll be wanting to be up and doing tomorrow or the next day at latest, but you'd best stay abed the better part of a week, and just let t'others tend to your needs."

"We shall see about that," Clorinda replied, a mutinous light in her eyes.

"She's right, Lizzy," said Jane. "What you went through …" Her eyes teared up as scenes from a couple of hours earlier flashed through her mind.

"Where is the baby?" asked Corinna. "Have you named him yet?"

"Andrew Thomas is his name," Clorinda replied. "And I believe he is in the nursery. Is he well, Mrs. Nadderby?"

"Aye, the wee lad be fine. He do be a mite fussy, starting to feel a little hungry, of course."

"Oh, please bring him in here!" said Georgiana, at the same time that Corinna said to Clorinda, "Do you not want to …?"; and Clorinda answered "Of course!" at the same moment that Jane said "I shall go and get him. I shall return directly!"

Mrs. Nadderby continued, "Since the wet nurse ha'n't come, you might ask Mrs. Reynolds to have 'em make up a coction of cow's milk and boiled water for him. Be that your wish, Madam? I moughtn't altogether recommend it. Some babbies sicken on it, belike."

By then Jane was back with the restive, mewling bundle in her arms. Immediately all four ladies, and in fact Mrs. Nadderby as well, were clustered around the young gentleman, cooing, oohing and aahing, smiling and laughing at the faces he was making. Eventually it all became too much for him, and he let loose a quite creditable squalling wail.

"Oh, the poor little thing," said his mother. "Here, my little love, here, here!" She held him against her bosom, moving him soothingly and running her fingers along his forehead. "Such a handsome boy you are!" Her little love grimaced frightfully, stretching his open mouth into surprising asymmetrical shapes and rooting like a little pig in the direction in which he instinctively knew his dinner awaited.

"Excuse me, ladies," Clorinda said, adjusting her clothing so as to provide the necessary access.

"Are you …?" asked Georgiana, almost horrified, while Mrs. Nadderby nodded approvingly, saying, "Oh, good. Yes, that's the way. That's what he needs."

"Yes," said Clorinda. "I am. You tell her, Lizzy."

"Our mother suckled all of us girls, Georgiana, and most women do suckle their babies, you know. Aunt Gardiner did as well, and we want to."

"'Tis good you see it that road, Mrs. Darcy," said Mrs. Nadderby. "It be how God made it to be: nowt better for a babby than its own mother's milk."

"It is true that most of the ton rely entirely on wet-nurses," Corry continued, "but we do not see it as necessary to follow the mode in such matters. We do not intend to be such mothers as blindly follow the dictates of fashion, in particular such as leave the upbringing of their children almost entirely to nurses and nannies. It is well to begin as we mean to continue."

"Howsomever, I warrant you it won't be very long, when he wakes up yeowling for the third time some night, you mun be glad enough for a wet nurse to handle 'im for a feeding or two while you get some sleep!" said Mrs. Nadderby.

Young Master Andrew had by this time found what he wanted, and champed down upon it, making his mother gasp briefly, but soon he settled down to suckle in blissful contentment, while his mother gently flicked his cheek with her finger, and Corinna and his two aunts looked on in fond tenderness. "Oh, Clorry!" sighed Corry. "I wasn't at all jealous of you a few hours ago, but now I am. He's so sweet!"

"Your turn will be coming soon enough, Lizzy," said Jane. "You're further along than I am, are you not?" And from there the conversation turned to anticipated birth dates and similar topics.

They were interrupted almost simultaneously by a gentle knock on the interior door to the Mistress's dressing-room and four slight scratches on the door to the hallway. Corry went first to the interior door and said to the keyhole, "Give us a quarter of an hour, Mr. Darcy," and then, going to the hallway door, said, "We shall yet be fifteen minutes or so, my love. Have patience!"

"Lizzy," she began, as soon as she returned to the bed, "Do you know that Lydia is here? With her daughter?"

"Yes," Clorinda replied. "My Fitzwilliam informed me of that. You have seen her, Jane. What can you tell us about her situation?"

"She looks poorly, Lizzy," Jane replied. "She was highly fatigued, as might be expected, from her journey, and seems to be suffering under some oppression of spirits. She tried to rouse herself to send her felicitations to you and Darcy, but she was unable to do so without beginning to weep. I felt it best to conduct her to the guest room that Georgiana indicated, and she was most appreciative of that. She asked me to convey to you her gratitude for allowing her to come to you here."

"Well she might," said Clorinda. "She knows she is not to come without an invitation, or prior notification at the least, and under no circumstances is her husband to accompany her. I do hope, however, that she is not in such dire straits as would truly necessitate this step."

"I fear there is reason to suspect such to be the case," Jane continued. "She had tried to cover them with cosmetic powders, but I could see evidence of bruisings on her face and arms. What is worse, little Mathilda also bears bruises."

"Oh, no!" the other three ladies gasped, almost in unison, while Mrs. Nadderby made a clucking sound. "Trust that scoundrel …" she muttered, almost under her breath.

"We must speak with her in the morning, then," said Corry decidedly, before suddenly remembering her position and smiling at Clorinda, "do you not think, Lizzy?"

"Yes, that would be best. Who should conduct that interview?" Her voice was soft and relaxed.

"It should be you and George, do you not agree? And Jane, I should think." Clorinda nodded. "But not Charles?" continued Corinna, looking at Jane.

"Oh, no, not Charles," Jane confirmed. "Although I hope it may be possible to seek his counsel beforehand, and of course I shall inform him afterwards of what is said. He was with Lydia in the library, and may have heard something of interest from her. However, his own state has been such as to render him, in all probability, incapable of remembering much of anything she may have said."

Her strong disapproval of her husband's state was not obvious to Mrs. Nadderby, but Georgiana knew enough to suspect that she was less than fully pleased, and it was abundantly clear to one of the two Elizabeths. The other, her companions suddenly comprehended, had abandoned the proceedings. Her son also was asleep at her breast, the sweet indifference of a contented baby's expression on his face.

Corinna, holding a finger to her lips, looked at her sisters with love, then gently picked the baby up from her counterpart's arms and covered her with the sheet so as to restore her modesty. She nodded to Mrs. Nadderby, who joined the other ladies as they withdrew from the room, and moved towards the inner door, upon which she knocked gently. When Fitzwilliam George opened it, she smiled at him and held his son where he could see him. Darcy gazed at him for a long minute, then gently touched his cheek with a finger. He laid the same finger and its three companions on Corinna's cheek, smiled at her, and said a gentle "Thank you, Mrs. Darcy." She smiled again, giving a very slight curtsey, turned and, carrying the sleeping child, left the room. Before she had closed the door behind her, George was in the bed, holding his sleeping wife's back against him, with his eyes closing as well.

Corinna carried the baby back to the nursery, but could not bring herself to just lay him down. She hugged him to her bosom for a long minute, then lowered him to where she could again see his face. She heard nothing, but nevertheless was aware that her husband had come up behind her and was only inches away, and so she confidently leaned her head back to come to rest on his shoulder as she felt his arms come around her. "Your namesake, my love," she said, "is the sweetest child the good Lord ever made."

"With the single exception of this one," Andrew said, laying his big hands on the bulge of her belly and nuzzling her neck just below the ear. She laughed in gentle concordance with the sentiment, laid the sleeping child in his cradle, and accompanied her husband to their well-earned rest.

Chapter 18

17 May 1814

Dr. Marcus Rushmore glowered at the table where he sat, in a semi-private salon adjoining the main taproom of The Black Bull of Lambton. He was conscious of having suffered grave discomfiture, but was progressively losing the awareness of his own contributions to the débâcle, according as he imbibed another and yet another glass of The Black Bull's ale, which while not entirely excellent improved the more one partook of it. His uncle (the baronet, not his other uncle the solicitor, of whom the less said the better) had been good friends, since their school days, with Dr. Smithson, the well-known London gynaecologist and obstetrician. Dr. Smithson, despite Marcus' never having been much more than an adequate student, had, out of consideration for his friend and given that he knew no other in Derbyshire, spoken for Marcus when he knew that a family prominent in that county was seeking an accoucheur. It had been a good opportunity to advance his career, for a recommendation from the Darcy family would carry enormous weight in Derbyshire; and Dr. Rushmore had certainly intended to give them satisfaction. However, the stars in their courses had conspired against him.

First there was the girl --Damn the wench!-- that had made him late and then had developed abbesses, no, abscesses of course, so that despite driving through the mud and rain to her village, he was obliged to come to Pemberley without the nurse that he had promised. Then there had been that milestone, which had so bounded from its place as to catch his carriage wheel. He had been driving in a perfectly competent manner, feathering the turn just beautifully in fact, when the accident occurred.

"Damn it!" he said aloud.

The well-dressed young man seated at the next table had already been observing Dr. Rushmore closely, and further perked up his ears at this exclamation. Any gentleman who was both angry and in his cups might well be induced to contribute something useful to one's purposes. It might be money or something readily convertible into the same; such men were often careless with their belongings. Or it might be information, if one should be able to befriend the man at such a vulnerable moment. And the dapper young man knew himself to be quite skilled at extracting either or both of the aforementioned benefits from complete strangers. At the moment his hopes of information were foremost in his mind, for he knew who this angrily inebriated gentleman was. It went without saying, however, that he would not reject an opportunity of attaching the other commodity if such should present itself.

That Mrs. Nadderby! Dr. Rushmore thought with loathing, and "Damn her!" he said. What humiliation he had experienced at her hands! Not only had she preceded him to Pemberley, but she had in fact presided at the all-important birth, and, most gallingly, had brought it about quickly and without complications. There had been no need for him to guide the process and no opportunity for him to demonstrate the superiority of his skills over hers.

And then Mr. Darcy! He had managed to ignore it when the great man had so rudely muttered "Cut line!" But he had heard it, oh, yes, he had heard it --his hearing was in no way deficient. And then, to denigrate him while praising Mrs. Nadderby, to mock his knowledge of Pliny and of … and of whatsisname … of the other great foundling father of the art and science of medicine … to rub his nose in the fact that he had not arrived in time and then to dismiss him with the curt statement that they would have no further need of his services … "Damn almighty arrogant Darcy!" he said. He did not see the expression of eager satisfaction that passed briefly over the dapper young gentleman's face, but he did notice when he came over to sit next to him, carrying a bottle.

"Friend," said the stranger, "It sounds as if you are facing considerable difficulties. I would gladly share this whiskey, poor as it is, with you, and lend you an ear, should you wish to share your troubles. Here, Nan!" he summoned the barmaid, who was passing by the door at the moment, "Bring another glass for this gentleman, if you please." She was a pretty young thing, he reflected, Giles' little sister, young enough not to know any details of his past but old enough to know not to talk about him, and pretty enough that … no, none of that. He did not need to cause himself trouble with the few friends yet remaining to him here in Lambton.

Rushmore was too far gone to respond with adequate politeness to the gentleman's attentions, although he did mutter "Obliged," before sinking back into morose contemplation. In truth he did not greatly desire the drink, but he was willing enough to partake of it, given that the other was being so generous with it. When he came to taste it, he sensed again, even through the haze already upon his senses, that this was a drink of far from the highest quality. He also knew, at some level, that he had better not drink very much of it, lest he lose control of himself altogether.

"I was interested to hear you mention the name of a gentleman well-known in these parts," said his new friend. "Have you had dealings with him in the recent past?"

"To whom do you refer?" Rushmore asked, a trifle suspiciously. He was not so far gone as to have lost all caution; he retained a residual fear of what one of Darcy's prominence might do to him. But his companion's next words soothed his fears.

"Why, to Darcy of Pemberley," said the well-dressed gentleman. "He is accounted a great man, but has been known sometimes to tread, whether carelessly or not, upon us lesser beings."

"Yes, well. …" Rushmore sank once more into contemplation. The scenes he had recently witnessed at Pemberley played over in his mind once more, slowly because his cognitive functions were not at their peak, yet strongly because his emotions were. "Yes, he has indeed tread … trod … treaden on me." He launched into a diatribe, short on specific, not to mention plausible, accusations of mistreatment, yet long on the description of his sufferings as a result of the alleged abuse. Darcy, it seemed, had called him at the worst possible time, had so skimped on the maintenance of his roads that large rocks were hidden in the grass on the roadway itself, lying in wait for unsuspecting vehic … vehicles, so that, if Providence had not sent by a young woman with her child, on their way to Pemberley, the devil alone knew when he would have arrived.

"A child? Perhaps two years old or so? Was the woman a servant at the house?"

"No, she seemed to be a sort of a relative," Dr. Rushmore answered. "Darcy received her and tol … told her they would find a room for her."

So, Lydia had evaded him, and successfully made her way into Pemberley. The gentleman's jaw tightened briefly. It was typical enough of her, and quite understandable: she was but seeking her own comfort. But in the process she had denied him his revenge (or at least postponed it), and left him shut out in the cold while she destroyed what little might be left of his character in the family's eyes. However, the doctor had now resumed his jeremiad, and his companion returned his attention to him.

Darcy, it seemed, had received him so brusquely as to be almost guilty of insuff … of incivility, had prevented him from providing a full account of the difficulties of his arrival; had held him back from arriving at Mrs. Darcy's side before the child was born, had entrussed the birth of his heir … or at least, of Mrs. Darcy's son … to an ingnorant, uneducated, supersish … supersitious old woman, and then had dismissed him (Rushmore) most precipitously, rebuking him for his treatment of the old hag, sending him away from Pemberley and making it clear that he need not expect to return. "Unless Mrs. Darcy were to take a turn for the worse," he concluded with a sort of vengeful hopefulness, "then they would wish they had retained my services!" His voice died into a mumble. "Chatmore! Chatmore!!" he repeated with disgust. "Of all the discusst … discusting apple … appelat … applications to have applied to one!"

But his companion was interested in something else he had heard. He did take the time to express well-worded (and well-accepted) sentiments of understanding and indeed of sympathy. He finished, saying, "You do seem to have been treated in a rather callous and uncivil manner, a manner quite unworthy of the eminence of your profession, and I congratulate you on bearing up under it so well. Did I rightly hear, however, some degree of doubt as to the status of the child? Surely that would be a great comedown for the ineffable Mr. Darcy." He made a suggestive gesture bearing a certain resemblance to an animal's horns, while his countenance expressed such a sense of shared merriment and solidarity between fellow-sufferers that Dr. Rushmore felt almost no compunction, and certainly showed no notable hesitation, in confirming the supposition.

"Indeed … hic … Mr. Darcy himself consis … consis … consantly spoke of the child as 'the baby' or as 'Mrs. Darcy's son', Not once, do you hear me, not once did he say 'my son'. And Miss Darcy, talking to him, only said 'my nephew' instead of 'your son'. But the most damned … the most damneding thing was Mr. Darcy's brother-in-law. Mr. Bangling, wasn't it? No, that is not right. Bingling? No, that is not right either …"

He pondered the mystery for a second or two, before his companion helpfully suggested, "Bingley, is it not?"

"Yes, I believe that is it. Yes, I believe that was the name."

He seemed disposed to further meditation on the matter, but his companion gently prodded his memory. "And what did Mr. Bingley say regarding the child?"

"Oh, yes. He said, and I be …blieve I remember this exactly, … he said 'Congratulations, Darcy. It is too bad it is not yours.' He was jug-bitten, you see. And his wife, Mrs. Darcy's sees … sis… sister, turned on him, and fairly tore into him, told him to hold his tongue, as he was so far in his cups that he did not know what he was saying."

"In vino veritas," his companion nodded sagely.

"It is good to meet an educated gennelman like yourself who knows suffish … sufficient Greek to quote the classics to good effec'," Rushmore returned, quite unconscious of the irony implicit in the circumstances of his own revelations, "one who does not mock those of us who appreesh … appreciate them. You are a fine man, sir. May I have another sip or two of that exlent brandy, jus' a small amount, to be sure …"

His companion did keep the amount small; he did not want Rushmore to succumb completely to the effects of alcohol before he had revealed all that he knew. But Rushmore had already revealed all that he knew, and after another ten minutes of conversation, during which nothing else of interest was forthcoming, the gentleman concluded that such was the case and left the doctor in peace to rest his head on his arms on the table. He thoughtfully relieved the Doctor of a few coins and a snuff-box before leaving the room, but took only so much money as might not be immediately or incontrovertibly missed. The snuff-box would certainly be missed, but the Doctor would not know for certain when he had lost it.

He ducked out from the parlour, as he had previously entered, through a back door. He knew well his way around the inn, and so avoided going through the taproom; too many people knew him in Lambton. With a slight hitch in his gait, the longest-lasting effect of his contretemps with Sgt. Buncombe (though his ribs still hurt as well), he traversed the quiet streets to the furthest reaches of the town, where lay the house of his old friend and partner-in-misdeeds, Giles Parker. Giles was not quite as friendly as he was used to be, but Wickham (for of course it was he) knew enough unsavoury facts about him that he was persuaded to give him a bed to sleep in for a few days, and to pass useful information to him. In exchange he received a promise of silence regarding the past, and of not involving him in any present mischief. It had been Giles' sister Nancy who had sent word to her brother that the fancy lady-doctor from Derby had left the Black Bull, headed for Pemberley, and later that he had returned thence in a foul mood, and was in the parlour attempting to drink himself under the table.

Surprisingly to himself, Wickham was rendered more pensive than fully celebratory by the honey-fall that had come his way. Part of his mind was, of course, already concocting a half-dozen different and mutually incompatible schemes for making use of the information, and another part was indeed rubbing its hands with glee. How the mighty were fallen! How delicious that Darcy, of all men, should be cuckolded, and know it, and, if this intelligence was trustworthy, be in a fair way to raise another's child to inherit Pemberley. But was the information to be trusted? Would proud, almighty Darcy accept a child that was not his own, much less allow it to inherit? It certainly seemed improbable. He had clearly (and naturally enough!) been besotted with that lively Elizabeth Bennet, but such feelings could not be expected to last, and surely they were not still so strong as to induce him to condone a betrayal of such magnitude! And she, would she have done such a thing? Wickham didn't think so, at least not easily or lightly. She was no Lydia. And yet, there were the words the doctor had heard! They had been enough to convince him, at least. What Darcy and Georgiana had said, or rather not said, might not mean so much, but Bingley's words: those were telling. And his wife's anger was almost equally so. Assuming of course that the doctor had not invented that incident--and why would he? Jane Bennet never got angry at anyone, least of all at Bingley--it would take something like blurting out such an appalling secret to set her off. And why would Bingley come up with such a thing, if it were not true? It must be true!

Wickham briefly pondered who the bastard's father might be, and indulged a wish that it were he himself. How that would increase Darcy's humiliation! Besides, the thought of Mrs. Darcy …. Yet another part of him, a minor but very central part, a part he tried to stuff away and slam the door on, actually felt a minuscule bit of sympathy for Darcy, and no sooner had it indulged in that feeling than it was overwhelmed with the need to beweep its own humiliation. How she had struck him, right where it most hurt! He forced his mind back to the other issues at hand. Perhaps Darcy had other plans for the child rather than letting him inherit. Wickham certainly would go that route, were he ever in such a situation. And he was, damn it --once again his mind shied away from the sore spot, though it kept circling back around to it, like the tongue fondling and irritating a sore tooth.

He decided on his course of action. He would prepare a letter, or letters, tomorrow, and then make his way to Pemberley early on the following day, trusting to fortune for the chance to confirm the information, or learn or achieve something else to his advantage, and decide whether to leave the letter at Pemberley or post it later from some other place. Damn! He should have induced the doctor, drunk though he was, to give him a sample of his hand to copy. Perhaps he could achieve that tomorrow. In any case, he was master of several different hands himself and Darcy would not recognize the more recently acquired of them. Nor, or at least so it might be hoped, would he know it from the Doctor's hand. In any case, why should the letter have to come from the Doctor--would it not be as effective, or more so, if it came anonymously, if it claimed to be a copy of an original from the Doctor? He started putting the phrases together in his mind. It would only need to be a short missive. He would have to learn the child's name. Doubtless the gossips of Lambton would have circulated it tomorrow, and Giles, or Nan, could pick the information up for him. He would have time to ponder the matter in the morning.

Chapter 19

Jane brought Lydia into the Mistress's sitting-room, where they found the Darcys awaiting them. Elizabeth was seated on a soft cushion upon the sofa, dressed in one of the gowns she had had altered for her expanding figure early in her pregnancy. She did not rise to formally receive her youngest sister, but directed a smile towards her, and received a slight smile in return. Darcy stood for the ladies' entrance and bowed slightly, then resumed his seat in a chair beside and a little behind his wife's position. Mrs. Wickham sat to his left, but her chair was placed at such an angle that her sisters were centrally in her vision, and her brother only on the edge. In fact during much of the interview she quite forgot he was there, despite his occasional participation in the conversation, and spoke much as she would have if only she and her sisters were present.

"Lydia, my dear," Elizabeth began, "we hope you were able to rest comfortably, and that your accommodations were adequate."

Mrs. Wickham gave them to understand that the accommodations had been more than adequate, and that she had rested well. They inquired after Mathilda's health, and were told that she seemed happy, playing in the room where they had been placed. There might have been a spark of animation in Lydia's eyes as she mentioned her daughter. She did thank her sister for the excellent accommodations, but even as the words were in her mouth, the spark died down to the flat, apathetic gaze with which she had entered the room. 

"Lydia," said Jane, "we are interested to hear of your situation."

"Yes," said Elizabeth. "We are concerned for you. We find ourselves considering with some disquiet what may have occasioned your appearance here at Pemberley, unannounced, in a rainstorm and after dark, alone save for your daughter."

Lydia sat there for nearly a minute, opening her mouth as if to speak, then closing it and, a time or two, shaking her head as if denying her ability to articulate any words. Jane came over and put an arm around her, and Elizabeth also looked on with an expression of compassion. This was not the brash, exuberant younger sister they had grown up with. Finally, two large tears ran out of Lydia's eyes and down the cheek beneath them. Then, with no further distortions of the face, dry, hard and seemingly emotionless sobs began to come out of her mouth. "Oh, Lizzy, Jane," she said, once she could control her voice enough to speak with only occasional sobs and hiccups, "I've … I've … My life is so wretched."

"Tell us about it, Lyddie," said Jane.

The use of her childhood name seemed to touch something deep in Lydia's heart, and the fixed, hardened expression on her face cracked. For a few moments she looked her age or even younger --a bewildered, hurt child, needing comfort yet painfully aware that she was in all probability going to receive instead a much-deserved reprimand.

"What is it, Lydia?" Elizabeth encouraged her. "Has Mr. Wickham been mistreating you? Or is it something you have done? Or are there other circumstances that are distressing you?"

"I … I should never have got married like I did. I should have listened to you when you told me to restrain my behaviour. I should have listened to Mr. Darcy when he urged me to return to Uncle and Aunt Gardiner when he found me and Wickham in London, before our wedding. I should have listened to Aunt Gardiner's advice --and even," she sobbed, though she could not remove all the loathing from her voice, "Mary's sermons-- on how to behave as a girl and then how to be a good wife. I think of all I did and said, and how I crowed it over you and Kitty when I was first married. I find it hard to believe how willfully and woefully blind I was in those days. I thought it was to be all parties and dances, adventure and romance and everything agreeable, and … it is not like that at all.

"We never have enough money for my gowns and bonnets, or even for food. I thought, at first, and then I just pretended, that my Wickie was such a fine catch. But he's not. He's …" Her sobs overcame her, and she had resumed that curiously expressionless face. "He's always taking the money, and spending it on brandy and on his stupid wagers and games at the pub. He's not nearly as good at the cards as he thinks he is. So he's off wasting the ready with his friends, while I can't scrape two shillings together to put on a decent tea for mine." Her voice dropped to a resentful mumble, then rose to a whine. "He uses all the money for his clothes, and there's never any left for mine. I need new gowns, Jane, to feel good about myself."

"Lydia, has he mistreated you?" asked Elizabeth. "Does he strike you? I see bruises, some of them old bruises, on your arms, and under the powder on your face. "

"No, he generally doesn't. At least, no more than what would be normal. He's a good husband, as far as that goes. Not like Nellie Jones' husband."

"What do you mean?" asked Elizabeth, with no small sensation of horror. "What … what do you consider 'normal'?"

"Oh, you know," Lydia said. "He comes after me when he's in his cups, or if I get him angry. I have to watch out, those times, but he usually doesn't catch me. Or he'll slap me across the mouth if I get snippy with him. And sometimes it's with a strap. Though that's especially when we're in the bedroom … and that's almost love, really. My friends mostly tell me their husbands do as much. Don't yours?"

"Good God, no!" and "By no means!" said Elizabeth and Jane simultaneously, and Jane shuddered visibly.

"Does he mistreat your daughter?" Lydia jumped and shook slightly as Darcy's voice reminded her of his presence.

"No, he doesn't mind her, as long as she's quiet. Sometimes she gets on his nerves, of course, and he might take a swipe at her then, but mostly I can keep her out of his way. Though it's not like we have a big house with lots of rooms and servants to take care of the baby." The resentful undertone was creeping back into her voice.

"Does the housekeeper that was arranged for you not do an adequate job?" It was Darcy again who was asking.

"Oh no, she left months ago," Lydia revealed. "She got uppity with me, and with Wickie too, claimed we owed her wages, when Wickie had paid them to her --he told me so. The next girl we hired tried to make me jealous, cozying up to Wickie and then claiming he wouldn't leave her alone. Then she left too, spouting the same lies about her wages. Now when we try to hire help they make us pay them in advance, and mostly they don't stay more than a few days. One of them left after only five days when we had paid her for a week! If you can believe it. Right now there's no one. That's partly why I left and came here."

"Why else did you come, Lydia?" Elizabeth's voice was kind, but firm. "If it's not just the help, and it's not that your husband is mistreating you, why did you have to leave your home?" The hard expression on Lydia's face slipped again for a moment, then resumed its control.

"Wickie is really angry with me."

Her persistence in using the nickname was irritating, to say the least, to all of those listening. But at least she isn't calling him "George", thought Darcy wryly.

"What is he angry about, Lydia?" The firmness in Elizabeth's voice increased. She recognized the symptoms of her sister about to skirt the truth or simply make up a story to get out of trouble. "The truth, if you please."

"Well, you know how he always flirts with other women. He goes beyond flirting, of course, far beyond it, if he can. He … he has never been faithful to me."

Jane's face, and Elizabeth's to a lesser extent, betrayed their disgust with this topic, but they were willing to listen, for their sister's sake.

A couple more of those dry sobs escaped Lydia's mouth before she continued. "And so I thought, why not do the same. I mean, I would always flirt with them, already, but … anyway…" she shook her shoulders and straightened her back a bit, and the mask on her face slipped again, exposing her vulnerability. "I am with child, and it is probably not my husband's, and he is very angry with me."

"I imagine he is," said Jane, horrified. "Any man must suffer greatly in such a circumstance!"

"Do not waste your sympathy on that knave and villain, Jane," Elizabeth replied. "The truth is that what he has suffered is but his own wickedness returned upon him. Nevertheless," and here she rounded on her other sister, "that does not make what you did right in any sense of the word, Lydia, nor should you expect it to bring any good to you. How did you come to do something so --pardon me, but I shall call it by its right names-- so recklessly stupid, as well as immoral?"

"You are right, Lizzy, it was truly stupid." Lydia's shoulders slumped as she accepted the graver of the two charges laid at her door, and her head drooped. "Two of our friends were Sergeant Buncombe and his wife Penelope. At least I counted Penelope as my friend, but then she … she … she was one of Wickie's … conquests, I think he sometimes calls them, not that he talks about them to me, of course. But she sees it the other way around. She was bragging to me about how she had him to bed more often than I did. So I made it easy for her husband to visit me, sometimes when we knew Wickie was visiting her. And Wickie, when he found out, he fought with the Sergeant, down at the public house, and they both hurt each other pretty badly. Then he came home and started to hit me, and said he was going to kill me. He even …" Lydia's breath caught on a sob, "He even caught up a knife and came after me with it. He was drunk at the time, and so I got away, but I don't doubt he meant it anyway. So that is when I left. I didn't think he would be that angry. I mean, I wanted him to be a bit angry, but not like that."

Jane and Elizabeth were stunned.

"Oh, Lydia, how could you do such a thing?" Jane asked sorrowfully.

Elizabeth was of the opinion that they had already heard more than enough about how Lydia could do such a thing, and thought it more profitable to consider what should have been, or perhaps might yet be, done about it. "Could you not seek refuge with Colonel Munworth's family or some other friends?" she asked. "You know the Colonel will look after you if necessary; he has done so in the past."

"Yes, but then Wickie would know where to find me. Besides, the Colonel only helps me because he wants to stay in the good graces of your cousin the General. It not like either he or his wife likes me. And they'll serve me a regular bear-garden jaw any time they have to help me --they're as bad as Mary, or Aunt Gardiner, that way. I can only imagine what sermons I would have got in this situation. I can't abide being lectured. And in any case, if I have to go live elsewhere, the Munworths have no money to help me with, as you two do." The ingratiating (not to say grating), wheedling whine was back in her voice. "I knew you would help me, Lizzy, Jane."

"Lydia!" Elizabeth began, but her husband interrupted her. "Mrs. Wickham," he said, "Please disabuse yourself of the notion that you will be prevailing upon your sisters for funds. You have consistently acted as if they owed it to you to extract you from predicaments you had no need or reason, beyond undisciplined indulgence, to have fallen into. My love," he said to Elizabeth, gently but firmly. "I have looked the other way when, in the past, I have been aware that you were scrimping on your personal expenditures in order to send your pin money to your sister. In very truth and from my heart, I honour you for the sisterly love and generosity that has motivated you to act so, and for the discipline that has made such generosity possible. But now I am instructing you not to give or send her any funds without my knowledge and direct involvement. And I will recommend to Charles that he institute the same measures. This has gone beyond what I am willing to countenance."

He glanced at Jane, who looked steadily back at him. There was gratitude behind that level gaze, he was certain. "Mrs. Wickham," he continued, "judging from what you say, it may well be necessary for you to be separated from your husband for some time, for your own protection, and if that happens, I personally will arrange for a place of safety for you. But please understand that it will be a very modest establishment, significantly less than what you have been used to in Newcastle. And there you shall not have the many servants and entertainments you dream of. Enough was done to provide you and your husband with a chance for respectability, and it is not your sisters' fault that you have, between the two of you, squandered it. You will be obliged to exercise discipline in order to live where I shall send you, and you shall live on the allowance your father has given you. I shall arrange for a woman to help you, but her wages shall not be under your control, and should you drive her away with mistreatment, no replacement will be provided. Any other servants shall no doubt, and as they should, require advance payment of their wages, and I will warn the local tradesmen not to extend credit to you. You must learn to live within your means, madam."

Lydia hunched over and sobbed into her hands. It was Elizabeth, this time, who moved to her side and touched her shoulder, and Lydia fled into her arms.

"You may remain here at Pemberley for the next few days, while we decide what it is best to do." Mr. Darcy's voice continued to be steady, and even kind, but very firm. "Your daughter shall be cared for, and your other daily needs provided for. But this is not a permanent arrangement. You need to consider carefully the predicament you have got yourself into, and how you will behave in the future in order to avoid worsening it."

Lydia, from the comfort of Elizabeth's arms, retrieved her last shreds of dignity, straightened her spine, and turned to face him. "Brother Darcy," she said, "You are justified in every thing you have said. I have brought this down upon my own head. I am grateful for your and Lizzy's generosity to me in the past, and your willingness to continue to help me in the future. I will try …" and here the sobs overcame her again, and Elizabeth's arms tightened around her once more, "I will try to be more worthy of it than I have been."

Chapter 20

Only a few minutes later, Jane conducted Lydia back to her chamber. She then collected her husband, and the two of them returned to Elizabeth's sitting room, there to find both sets of Darcys awaiting. She, Clorinda and George spoke the others, bringing them to an awareness of all that had been said in the interview.

Corinna was unable to refrain from shedding a few tears upon hearing certain parts of Lydia's story. When Clorinda asked gently what it was that was overcoming her, she said, "I am just distressed for our sister in her miserable state. I sometimes alternate between laughing and feeling exasperation at Lydia in our world, but Mrs. Larch has not had to suffer to nearly the degree that Mrs. Wickham has. Nor has she been driven to behave so egregiously. It seems that small differences in opportunity or situation can make for large differences in outcome."

"And yet, in our world, Lydia's lesser suffering is balanced by greater suffering of others. There it is our dear Georgiana who is Mrs. Wickham, and was made to suffer similarly great misery, and that through no fault of her own," said Andrew. "That scoundrel has always brought a curse upon any woman he could draw in to his nets. Georgiana, may I express to you my deep joy that in this world you have been spared that suffering?"

"Thank you, Fitzwilliam," Georgiana managed to reply. After a couple of seconds she continued, "And you, Fitzwilliam, Fitzwilliam George I mean, I thank you, and God, again, from the bottom of my heart, for your coming to me in Ramsgate in time to save me from my blind willingness to walk into Wickham's toils. When I consider the misery to which I was on the verge of subjecting you, and my family, and myself, through my own voluntary stupidity …" She was overcome with a mixture of shame, awe and gratitude, and yet deep grief at the knowledge of what another Georgiana, not to mention Lydia Wickham, had had to live through. Corinna, who was nearest to her, offered her an embrace and a handkerchief, both of which she accepted gratefully.

There was a pause, after which Andrew spoke. "George," he said, "and Clorinda, Jane; may I commend you on your firmness with our sister? I believe you have responded in the best way to her and her situation. She needs resolute treatment to help her learn to discipline herself; it is a gift that you are providing to her."

"Yes, I can see that that is so," said Bingley. "I too am in agreement with what you have done. Jane, my dear, we shall do the same, shall we not? Please do not send any more help to Lydia unless it comes through me. What is more, I will engage not to send it without communicating with you, Darcy," he said. "I can see that it shall be best that we entirely share each other's information and actions in this matter."

"To all appearances, she actually took a lecture to heart, for once in her life," said Jane, wonderingly, after a slight pause.

"It makes a difference when the person lecturing holds the purse strings," replied Corinna, "and when the one being lectured knows that the lecturer will not be wheedled or cajoled away from using that power to enforce the desired behaviour. I, also, commend your decisions," she dipped her head towards George. "Knowing how Lydia has turned out in our world, I do have hope for her, that she will respond well from now on, and make something better of her life. If she is not dragged under again by her unfortunate marriage."

"Thank you, madam," George replied. "However, she remains married to the scoundrel, and we must consider what he is likely to do in response to the situation. In truth, I suspect this should be the most urgent matter for all of our consideration at this point. Should we not expect a visit, in all likelihood a clandestine visit, from Wickham himself, within the next few days?"

"Surely he knows the danger to himself, should he be discovered on Pemberley land," Andrew replied.

"True, but, as you know, where he feels he has been defrauded he is bold to the point of recklessness in demanding restitution."

"'He took him by the throat, saying, Pay me that thou owest,'" Corinna murmured, and Andrew nodded, "Exactly. Human nature at its least admirable."³

"I shall advise the gardeners and groundskeepers and foresters, and indeed all the outdoor staff, to keep their eyes well opened," George said, "and to arm themselves with clubs or staves, when alone."

"What shall we do if he does come?" asked Jane. "What is he likely to try to do?"

"It were best if we could bring him into custody," George answered. "He is a danger unless we know where he is."

"Can he so easily abandon his post at Newcastle in order to come?" asked Corinna. "It is but a month since that fat little trouble-maker has been banished to Elba; is it believable that our military discipline should so quickly have deteriorated as to allow of a commissioned officer's absconding with impunity?"

"According to all that my cousin Roger has heard from Colonel Munworth," George replied, "Wickham has never been but an indifferent soldier. He has shown himself to be neither diligent nor even particularly ambitious. An unsanctioned absence of a few days' duration will doubtless bring a reprimand, which may affect negatively his chances of advancement, but those chances were not great in any case, especially now in the peacetime, and it is probable that he will not even give the matter much consideration. He has, as usual, been accruing ever greater amounts of debt, and perhaps it has mounted to such a level that he is ready to abandon his situation yet again on that account. Considerations of duty will certainly not, and considerations of consequences to his career will most probably not, detain or deflect him.

"As to what he will do: I would expect him to attempt to exact revenge upon his wife, and perhaps his child, though what form it would take I know not. However, none of us would be safe, if the opportunity were to present itself for him to harm us. We must be circumspect and careful in our actions. You ladies especially," and here George looked first at Corinna and then at Clorinda, "must not leave the house for any reason without an escort." The two Elizabeths looked at each other, grimaced, and then nodded in acquiescence.

"It is to be hoped that you and Andrew shall be willing to provide escort, then, sir," said Corinna. "Far be it from Clorinda or me to become irritable!" She smiled at George, as Clorinda shared a reminiscent smile with Andrew.

"Lydia, and her daughter, and in fact Georgiana and Annie, should be under the same restriction, should they not?" asked Clorinda. "For their own safety?"

"Yes, of course," her husband replied.

"Who is there in the surrounding villages, that you know of, that you could ask to look out for him, too?" asked Bingley.

"Or to whom Wickham might go for help?" said Jane.

"I shall ask Mr. Ellerton to look into it, and discreetly to spread the word that we would be interested in information regarding Wickham's whereabouts," said George, referring to his steward. "Ellerton knows as well as I whom Wickham has associated with or sought help from in the past. And Wickham has harmed enough people in the villages around here that if he is recognized most will be glad to send word to us."

"We might inquire with Joseph, the gardener," said Clorinda. "Ellen has told me of his knowing someone in Lambton who had been close to Wickham."

"Would that be Giles Parker?" asked Corinna. "In our Pemberley, he had been a particular friend of Wickham's at some point, three years or more in the past, but apparently has not been close to him since then. Yet Wickham might seek help with him. And of course the situation might be different here."

"From whom did you hear that?" asked Clorinda. "Was it your Ellen? She was walking out with Giles Parker when I visited there. It disturbs me to hear that one she was interested in was so connected with that man."

"Yes, she was disturbed when she learned of it. She immediately told me, believing it was important that I know. In any case, as you have indicated, it does not necessarily follow that they were friends in this world."

"Whatever the case, it is worth investigating to see what information we can learn," said George.

Luncheon followed this consultation, and immediately afterwards Georgiana and her brother took a brief excursion to the maze. Corinna of course had wished to go, but it was decided in council, and indeed she had to agree, that the servants would not expect the mistress to be abroad yet, and to see her out so soon after the birth of her son, (and apparently still with child) might raise too many questions for comfort. They returned with the report that three sections of the maze had opened. Four remained inaccessible.

Note:

³ Matthew 18.28 (from the Parable of the Two Debtors).

Chapter 21

Taking a deep breath, Georgiana Wickham surveyed, from the great staircase, the front entry to Pemberley. Most of her mind dwelt, as it did constantly, with Annie, Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth. Oh, she thought, how I hope they shall be able to return soon.

So far things were under control, and all had gone according to plan. The upper servants and Joseph Padgett knew what was toward, and were ready to help. The other servants, of course, knew some of what had happened last winter, albeit sans explanation. And those happenings, she was certain, had not faded from at least some of their minds or failed to prompt intense meditation. And now the rumour had clearly made the rounds that the Master and Mistress were from home, so there was, naturally enough, speculation among them as to how and where they had gone, and why they had done so with no advance notification that the servants had heard of. However, Mrs. Wickham's calm demeanour and authoritative mien, coupled with the upper staff's understanding and acceptance of the present situation, and their stern reprimands of an instance or two of incipient discussion, were enough to maintain discipline among the downstairs staff and restrain their overt curiosity, preventing the inevitable discussions from growing into full-blown rumor-mills. All knew it was not their place to question the Family's comings and goings or whereabouts, and they knew that the Family frowned greatly on gossip concerning them. But the balance was precarious: questions there would be, and the longer the Darcys were absent the stronger the impulse to question their absence would grow. So far none beyond those already mentioned had realized that Anne Elizabeth was also gone.

The Ellens had taken turns walking out from the house, and once Georgiana had accompanied Ellen-from-there, but Padgett, whom they saw upon each excursion, continued to report that the maze remained filled up until five turns from the centre. She remembered Lizzy and Fitzwilliam's conviction that the maze opened in response to particular events taking place. She felt a certain slightly unpleasant anticipation regarding what those events might be.

"Madam." It was Wilkins who addressed her. "A carriage has been sighted, coming along the drive towards the house; it should arrive within a few minutes. Those who have seen it, including Mr. Padgett and two of the grooms, recognize neither the horse nor the carriage."

"Very well, Wilkins," she responded, "I shall be in the smaller drawing room," and she headed in that direction. This might be the beginning of one of those "key" events, she thought with a shudder of trepidation, yet also with a measure of eagerness. She was impatient for what must occur to do so, in order that her Annie might be restored to her. Who could be arriving?

She spoke to the maid that she found cleaning the room, requesting that the kitchen prepare and send to her, within a quarter hour, a tea service for herself and as many guests as should appear. She then settled herself to await their arrival.

It was not long before the butler arrived at the door, saying, "Your pardon, ma'am, but a gentleman has arrived. He apparently," he cleared his throat, "neglected to bring his calling cards with him, but he claims to be Mrs. Darcy's father."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Bennet!" Georgiana's brow cleared. She had spent very little time in Mr. Bennet's company and in that sense did not know him well at all, but Lizzy had spoken so much of him, with such fond recognition of his quirks, that her immediate reaction was to think that such an informal arrival was very like him. "Very well, Wilkins, send him in!"

When Mr. Bennet entered the room a few moments later, she came to her feet with a wide smile on her face to say, "Welcome to Pemberley, Mr. Bennet!"

"Why thank you, ma'am," he replied, "though why you would particularly welcome me escapes me. Nonetheless I have no objection to such a warm reception, quite the contrary! I take it that Mrs. Darcy is presently unavailable?"

"Yes, Mr. Bennet, she and my brother are from home at the present time," she answered, eyeing him thoughtfully. She was reasonably certain that it would be necessary to bring him into her confidence, and in fact, his advice might be helpful. She asked regarding Mrs. Bennet and Elizabeth's sisters and their husbands; Mr. Bennet answered cordially enough that all seemed to be well, but so tersely that some might see it as bordering on discourtesy. Georgiana knew enough not to be offended, however, and by the time they had adequately covered that topic and the uneventfulness of his journey to Derbyshire, and a kitchen maid had brought the tea service upon a tray, she had made up her mind.

"I presume that you have come for the purpose of visiting your daughter, of course," she began, "though perhaps there was some particularly urgent matter that you needed to deal with, that brought you at this time," --she did not say "without prior notification," but he understood it-- "in order to speak with Lizzy or my brother?"

"No, Mrs. Wickham," he answered. "I had told Lizzy I would surprise her by dropping in from time to time, and I suppose I am hoist by my own petard, surprised by her absence as she should have been by my presence. I do hope the famous library of Pemberley has not taken a similar notion to pack up and leave on a journey in order to avoid me, as I have long desired to make its acquaintance. How long are Mr. and Mrs. Darcy expected to be away?"

The maid was obviously (though discreetly) agog to hear the answer, but Georgiana thanked her and dismissed her back to the kitchen, asking that Mrs. Reynolds be sent to her when it should be convenient. As the door shut, she poured a cup of tea and turned to offer it to her visitor, then, as she prepared one for herself, said, "You have asked what is a surprisingly difficult question to answer, Mr. Bennet. I believe Fitzwilliam and Lizzy have spoken to you of Mrs. Kenton?"

"Yes," Mr. Bennet responded. "They did tell me of her. I have no doubt of their sincere belief in that story, nor do I disparage or contest their belief, but I am still having trouble accepting it for myself as truth."

"Yesterday, Mr. Bennet, my daughter, Anne Elizabeth …" Georgiana paused, momentarily overcome by her emotions, though her face remained calm, "my Annie disappeared. We found, next to the fountain in the garden maze, a shoe and stocking, as if she had wandered in there, taken off her shoe and stocking as she sometimes does, and then disappeared. We supposed, of course, and hoped, that she had looked into the fountain and been transported to the other Pemberley. After consulting with my brother and sister, I planned to go after Annie, taking with me Ellen Ingram, Lizzy's personal maid, who knew Mrs. Kenton well and whom you may have met at Netherfield before the wedding. However, when we looked in the fountain, nothing happened. A few moments later, however, Fitzwilliam and Lizzy looked, and simply," she made a vague gesture with her hands and continued speaking in a steady, matter-of-fact tone of voice, "vanished from before our eyes. We were unable to follow them: it would seem that the fountain chooses whom to allow through, and when. Thus we know not when they shall be able to return, but can only wait for it to happen."

She was silent, contemplative, for a moment. But she had spent enough time with her new sister to add, with a slight smile, "One never knows, of course, but I fully expect to find the library where I last left it, and do not doubt that it will be glad to make your acquaintance as well, sir, and to entertain you until my brother and sister return."

Mr. Bennet was chuckling appreciatively over this sally as Mrs. Reynolds entered the room, and, after consulting briefly with her, Georgiana said, "When you have finished your tea, Mr. Bennet, I would be glad to escort you to the room we have readied for your use. There is something else I wish to show you, which may help convince you of the existence of Mrs. Kenton's world."

Georgiana and Mrs. Reynolds accompanied him to a small (by Pemberley's standards) but well-appointed guest suite, and introduced to him Enderby, who should look after his needs, and who indeed had already supervised the placing of Mr. Bennet's trunks. "Please bring Mr. Bennet to the Mistress' sitting room when that is convenient for him, Enderby," said Georgiana. "Would half an hour be an appropriate time, sir?" she addressed the question to Mr. Bennet.

He allowed as how it would, and she agreed to await him there. When Enderby delivered him to the sitting-room door, she was seated on a small sofa within, attended by Ellen, whom she made known to Mr. Bennet before inviting him to sit in a nearby chair. Then she said to him, "Mr. Bennet, did Elizabeth speak to you of Ellen having been acquainted with Mrs. Kenton?"

"I believe that she did tell me something of the sort," he responded, "though I do not recall the details."

"Tell him about Mrs. Kenton, Ellen," Georgiana urged her.

"Very well, ma'am. Sir, I do not know what you were told, and so do not quite know what to tell you. There was indeed a woman who mysteriously appeared here at Pemberley this past December, expecting a child and apparently believing that she was married to the Master, and knowing all manner of things about many of us, myself included, in a most uncanny way. For a brief time she called herself Mrs. Elizabeth Bennet, but almost immediately changed the name to Elizabeth Kenton and we knew her as such for most of her stay. However, I once saw a scrap of paper on which she had written the words 'Elizabeth Darcy' and 'Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy' repeatedly. I took it to show that she had not let go of the idea that she was in fact Mrs. Darcy. I tended her for two weeks while she was with us, and grew to very much appreciate her kindness and her merry ways. She and the Master were often going out to the maze, " (here Ellen gestured out the window, from which indeed the entrance to the maze was visible) "together or alone, apparently to check on something; Mrs. Kenton sometimes seemed pleased afterwards, other times discouraged. After two weeks, on Christmas Eve, Mrs. Wickham came here to us, and that same night Mrs. Kenton disappeared, as mysteriously as she had come. The Master almost immediately began speaking of plans to journey to Hertfordshire to visit his friend Mr. Bingley and his family, and we left but a few days later. It was there that I met your daughter --early this year, it was, by then. I was amazed that she was not Mrs. Kenton, for the two of them were exactly alike except that, of course, your daughter was not carrying a child. As you know, my Master married your daughter soon afterwards, and I have been privileged to be her abigail and personal servant. At first I marvelled at how it seemed as if Mrs. Kenton were with us again, but of course by now it is your daughter whom I know better, and my memories of Mrs. Kenton are of someone very like my own Mistress. Mrs. Darcy explained to me about the other Pemberley and how Mrs. Kenton had travelled here through the maze. Mrs. Wickham and I were with her and the Master, yesterday, when little Annie had disappeared, as I believe Mrs. Wickham has told you," whereat Georgiana gave a confirmatory nod. "Mrs. Wickham and I were hoping and expecting to be taken to the other Pemberley, in order to bring her back, but it was the Master and Mistress that disappeared instead. Some time afterwards we left the maze to return to the house, but I heard someone behind us and returned to see who it was."

"Mr. Bennet, permit me to introduce to you," said Georgiana Wickham, "Ellen Ingram, from the other Pemberley."

Mr. Bennet's jaw dropped only slightly, and his eyes did not bulge entirely out of their sockets, as Ellen-from-there stepped through the door from the Mistress's dressing-room, curtseyed to him, and moved to stand on the other side of Mrs. Wickham from her counterpart. He looked back and forth between the two Ellens, and he swallowed, but gamely rose to his feet and bowed to Ellen-from-there, before sinking again into his chair.

"I see," he commented, finally. "Miss Ellen, then," looking to Ellen-from-there, "if I understand all this correctly, you came here yesterday from the other Pemberley. Did you see my daughter there?"

"Yes, sir," she answered. "She and Mr. Darcy arrived there a short time before I was brought here. They were both well, as is little Annie. They tried to return here with her, but the fountain in the maze seems to choose for itself who it will allow to cross and when. My coming here was as great a surprise to me as to anyone else."

"And now," said Georgiana, "the way is blocked, the maze is grown solid with hedge, so that she cannot return, nor, at least apparently, can they do so. Yet if all works as it has previously, the way will open when the time is right. Such, at least, is our hope."

"Did you see the other Darcys as well, Miss Ellen --well, of course you did: you live with them, is it not so?"

"Yes, sir, I do. And they are well. Although my Mistress is now within days of ending her confinement. I very much fear I shan't be able to be with her when her time comes, but I keep hoping it will let me return in time to assist her. Your Mrs. Darcy," she spoke now to Georgiana and Ellen-from-here as well as to Mr. Bennet, "looks now just as mine did when she disappeared for two weeks, back in December, from our Pemberley."

"Yes," said Ellen-from-here, "she is just about as far along as Mrs. Kenton was when she came here."

"And you from there were trying to come here, but were not able to, at least at first?"

"Yes, sir, that is what happened."

"And the maze was not grown over at that point, but now is."

"Yes, that is correct."

Mr. Bennet walked over to the window and looked out. It was difficult to see, as the central part of the maze was hidden under the trees, but he thought he could see a large area of pure hedge without any pathways lacing it.

"So, all we can do now is to wait for the maze to open a pathway and allow someone through its portal?" he asked.

"Yes, I believe that is the essence of the current situation," said Georgiana.

"In that case," Mr. Bennet suggested, "perhaps I might request the opportunity to acquaint myself with the other to whom you offered to introduce me, Mrs. Wickham."

Georgiana's mind scrabbled for a moment before she remembered with a smile and nodded her head. "Very well, Mr. Bennet, if you would step this way I should be glad to perform the necessary introductions."

Within a few minutes Mr. Bennet was happily examining the admirable offerings of Pemberley's library, although a significant part of his mind kept wrestling with the problems of the situation. He was at last convinced well past the point of certainty of the existence of the other Pemberley, and accepted that his daughter and son had travelled there. He was as far as ever from understanding how this could be, nor did he undergo any revelation regarding what might, much less what ought, to be done. So, in the meantime, he would soothe his soul in the extraordinary delights of this library, relegating all other issues to the background of his consciousness, where his mind could methodically ruminate upon them.