Page 80 of Lizzie’s Spirit

“The Grosvenor —moored at my wharf?”

“I came for Lizzie. She was… should have been… onboard.” Once again, tears overwhelmed him. Darcy slumped in the chair, uncaring that Mr. Gardiner would see him so d istraught.

Then a soft voice, so similar to Elizabeth’s, drew his gaze. His eyes jerked open, hope surged.

“Lizzie was your wife?” Mrs. Gardiner looked to her husband. “Edward, is it Lizzie, our Lizzie? Mr. Darcy, what has happened?”

Darcy struggled to maintain his composure. He gripped the trembling teacup with a fierceness that threatened to shatter the delicate porcelain.

“She’s lost. They struck a rock during a fearsome storm. Swept into the maelstrom, together with a young girl.”

Mrs. Gardiner clutched her husband. Tears filled her eyes, ran down her cheeks, her face flushed with grief. She leant into his comforting arms, her distress magnified by that of the gentleman staring blankly into the uncaring flames.

They sat for above an hour. Darcy roused himself, looking forlornly about the drawing-room, decorated as Elizabeth would have—understated, elegant. Unsteadily, he arose from the chair, his voice rougher than he expected.

“My apologies, Mrs. Gardiner. I’ve imposed too long.”

“Certainly not. Please, it is we who seek your forgiveness—there is much we don’t understand. Is it our niece, Elizabeth Bennet, to whom you refer? Are you married, for we know nothing of it?”

She looked to him with such hope that it was another who had been lost in the storm. He met their anxious eyes, and in that moment, knew he must shatter their solace.

“We’ve been married these past three years and a half, since May ‘10. We wrote of the news, Elizabeth and I, but the letters were aboard the Cato , which was lost. We never knew.”

Mrs. Gardiner’s grip tightened in her husband’s hand. So, their Elizabeth was gone, not just over the seas, but swallowed up .

He was persuaded to remain the night—Darcy was family .

There was much to learn, to discover how their niece came to marry the gentleman.

And tomorrow, Mr. Gardiner would seek out Captain Coxon and learn of Elizabeth being on the vessel, the storm, the coast on which the ship struck… Was there hope she had survived?

***

Mrs. Gardiner regarded the gentleman sitting opposite on the backward facing bench.

His eyes were closed, but she knew he wasn’t asleep.

Such a fine, handsome countenance, now lined with sorrow.

How much could one man endure? To have lost his brother in such an egregious way, then his father just two months ago, and now his wife—he had loved Elizabeth with such passion.

To be loved by such a man! Their Lizzie—he spoke about her, of their time together in New South Wales.

An image grew of a woman who had risen far above her origins as the second daughter of an insignificant squire in Hertfordshire.

Here was a lady who cared deeply and had become, in so short a time, the respected and admired midwife to the regiment, matron of the orphanage, warden of the female school, and vice-regal hostess at Government House.

There were none whom Mrs. Gardiner knew who had ascended so high from such modest origins and not yet attained their majority.

“You think of her? I can tell when your face becomes wistful, you’ve a smile on your lips. ‘Tis best to remember the happy days, for they support you on the road ahead.”

“Ah, Mrs. Gardiner… Madelaine, you know me only too well.” Darcy smiled—genuine, reaching his eyes.

“Please, William, more of those smiles, for then I can see how our Lizzie came to love and then to marry you. ”

Darcy leant forward. “Kept close in here,” he touched his heart, “is a promise to myself that she survived. Elizabeth was an excellent swimmer and would stay underwater for so long I would worry for her safety. Oh, the minx, always teasing.” Again, that wistful smile, his eyes crinkling with happy memories.

“But my real hope is that Bumper had the right of it. When he jumped ship and swam to shore, somehow he knew our darling girl was waiting for him. There is an instinct in dogs that transcends our understanding. Some may call me a fool for putting my faith in a mongrel hound, but Bumper was always true and never fickle in his affection.”

The coach slowed as it came to the posting inn and turned into a busy courtyard, closely followed by the Gardiners’ carriage with their children and maid.

“With your permission, Madelaine, on the next stage, I thought to read to the children. In Lizzie’s sea chest, I found two of her favourite books, Little Goody Two-Shoes and Tommy Thumb’s Pretty Song Book.

She read them to little Henry and Beth on the journey out and also to the young girls in the orphanage.

Oh, how she could make the stories come alive. ”

The coaches wound through Pemberley woods, descended the hill, crossed the arched bridge, and drove to the entrance of the great house.

Mrs. Gardiner was awed by its stately grandeur.

Having lived in the nearby village of Lambton as a child, she had never dreamt of visiting Pemberley, certainly not as a guest—now, the Master of Pemberley, Mr. Darcy’s aunt.

A tall, fair-haired girl descended the steps to greet them.

She curtseyed ever so elegantly, blushed when Mr. Darcy introduced her as his beautiful, charming sister, and exclaimed with delight when the children tumbled from their carriage.

“Come, we’ve cakes and lemonade set out in the drawing-room. A little elf told me that you like lemon tarts and shortbread. We must go quickly, otherwise my brother, William, will eat them all, for they are his favourites also.”

She gathered them up and swept them into the house.

Darcy had seen the sorrow on her face when she had first greeted him.

Caring for the little ones would hold off that dreadful moment until they could fall into each other’s arms, seeking comfort for having lost Elizabeth.

He had so often spoken of her, of his admiration and love.

Georgiana felt the loss as though it were her own—she had imagined a future with Elizabeth, a beloved sister, intimate confidante, and close companion.

***

“Mr. Winthrop, please close the door; I need to talk to you and Mrs. Reynolds in confidence. None of what I say can be disclosed to the servants.” Darcy stood by the fire in his study; he wouldn’t ask them to sit, for he knew they would refuse.

“You’ve surely seen the sea chest that was carried to the mistress’s rooms. It is…” Darcy paused; tears of their own volition came to his eyes. He wiped them away. “It is there because it belongs to my wife, Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy.”

Mrs. Reynolds gasped and a hand went to her mouth. Mr. Winthrop grimaced—he suspected as much from partially overheard conversations at the House in London—but, dear God, what more must the master endure. Darcy continued,

“Mrs. Darcy and I were married in May ‘10 in Sydney. In February last, when I took the Swiftsure to return to England, she remained to settle our affairs. In April, she departed Sydney on the Grosvenor . My journey to London was to meet the ship, to reunite with my beloved Elizabeth. But she was lost, washed overboard on the African coast!”

His tears could no longer be wiped away so easily.

Impulsively, Mrs. Reynolds grasped Darcy in an embrace, her arms about him.

“Oh, you poor, poor man, Master William.” Then, realising the impropriety of a servant hugging the master, she stepped hurriedly back.

But she was wiping tears from her own eyes.

“My very heartfelt condolences, sir,” said Winthrop, his emotion was no less than Mrs. Reynolds’s.

“Until word comes from the Cape, we must trust that she is living. My Lizzie… Mrs. Darcy, has an indomitable will. If anyone can survive such an ordeal, it is she. My guests, Mrs. and Mr. Gardiner, are her aunt and uncle—they are to be given all the consideration of family.”

He paused and walked to his desk. “The chest is all that I have of her; it contains her wedding gown and other personal items. Mrs. Reynolds, please hang the gowns in the dressing room to be brushed as though she were to ask for them at any time. Mr. Winthrop, my father bequeathed my wife the Darcy sapphires—in this box. Please have them placed in the desk in the mistress’s sitting room, preferably in a locked drawer.

Then the room itself must be secured; none but yourselves may enter. ”

Had he made a mausoleum? No! Lizzie was safe—Bumper had the right of it.

“My marriage must remain a secret. Lord Matlock wishes me to marry Lady Felicity. If he knew of it, he would have my marriage annulled. That shall never happen! When you meet Mrs. Darcy, you will find her the most handsome, the most graceful, and the kindest person of your acquaintance. My mother, Lady Anne, was a wonderful woman—Elizabeth is, most certainly, her equal.”

***

Christmas at Pemberley was all that Darcy had dreamt of with Elizabeth as mistress.

How could one be unhappy when seated on the floor in the drawing-room playing with the Gardiners’ children?

Building castles with coloured blocks, taking tea in tiny porcelain cups, moving tin soldiers across the battleground of the Persian rug, its intricate patterns serving as forests, rivers, meadows, and mountains.

Glancing up, he saw Gardiner and his wife looking towards the group—their children, Georgiana, and himself. Tears also clouded the eyes of Mrs. Annesley, sitting in the chair by the fire, watching them play. Oh, Lizzie, that you could be with us now!

Later that evening, as he lay on his empty bed, Darcy felt a seed of doubt stir within him.

Initially, it was only a passing worry, which was easily pushed away.

Now, after an evening of good company, the doubt grew larger, its insatiable appetite feeding on his fear for Elizabeth and his guilt for leaving her alone to settle their affairs.

Master of Pemberley—Georgiana, the household staff, outdoor servants, cottagers, tenants, and the villagers in Lambton and Kympton—all depended on him.

Oh, the pretence that his despondency was nothing more than the loss of his father and brother.

Yes, of course, he missed them. But his heart had long ago been given to someone else.

Could he continue to believe that Bumper had the right of it—that she would return to him?

He must busy himself—estate business, the judiciary committee, searching out the truth behind Rosings' debt. He would lose himself in such activities and ignore that dark pit containing naught but guilt, doubt, and recrimination.