Page 90 of Lizzie’s Spirit
The streets of Derby were awash with revellers celebrating the King’s Birthday; the chaise came to a standstill, blocked when attempting to navigate a narrow bridge over the Markeaton Brook—further progress was impossible.
Exiting the carriage, Darcy and Georgiana made their way to the courthouse on foot.
The interior was lit by tall glass windows depicting scenes of saints, kings, and the coats of arms of Derbyshire gentry.
Darcy had no interest in searching out the family crest—its long history would die with him—he had no desire to sire an heir unless by Elizabeth. And that was impossible.
“All stand.” Darcy moved to the scuffed floor before the judge’s bench, having led Georgiana to the front row of the gallery. She deliberately distanced herself from Lady Matlock and Felicity. The presiding judge gazed down from his bench.
“This is most singular, for ‘tis the King’s Birthday. I am not sure we should be holding a session of the Court of Chancery on such a day.”
“Pardon me, my lord, but my client, Lord Matlock, was granted leave for this special court by Lord Eldon.” Darcy turned towards Matlock’s barrister, the voice familiar—indeed, Mr. Ellis Bent.
Matlock was turning all the screws he could—knowing that Bent held a grudge against Darcy, however unwarranted.
“Very well, let us continue,” said the judge.
“I need to return to my estate no later than noon—my wife has recently delivered, and this session is a great inconvenience. Before we start proceedings… Bailiff, it is a very hot day, and the courtroom is overheating. Pray open the doors to allow air to ci rculate, else we all expire.”
He looked towards the two barristers standing on the floor. “And you are?”
“Mr. Ellis Bent, representing Lord Matlock, the plaintiff. And my esteemed colleague is Mr. Darcy, the defendant, representing himself.”
“Darcy. You are Judge-Advocate for New South Wales?”
“Indeed, my lord. I assumed the position when Mr. Bent retired due to ill health.”
“Ah, there is some history here; both of you gentlemen are returned from New Holland. But let us proceed. In my court, facts are to be presented—not hearsay, supposition, or speculation. Do I make myself clear, gentlemen?”
Darcy and Bent murmured their assent. The circus had begun. Mr. Bent walked to the centre of the floor and began to lay out the facts of the case. His was a strong, eloquent voice, which belied the infirmities that continued to plague him. Concisely, he summarised the case thus—
“It concerns the custody of the infant Miss Georgiana Darcy, now aged seventeen years. Under the terms of her father’s will, her brother, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, was appointed as testamentary guardian.
” He paused, taking in the lords, ladies, and gentry seated in the gallery.
An actor, well able to move the crowd to his point of view.
“I refer to Eyre v. Shaftsbury in 1725 . In that matter, the decision of the court is aptly stated by Blackstone— The lord chancellor is, by right derived from the crown, the general and supreme guardian of all infants… In case therefore any guardian abuses his trust, the court will check and punish him; nay sometimes will proceed to the removal of him, and appoint another in his stead .”
“I am familiar with the citation. Please state your case against the defendant, Mr. Ellis. ”
“With your leave, your lordship. We contend that Mr. Darcy is not a proper person to be the infant’s guardian.”
Darcy’s megrim was intensifying; he found it difficult to concentrate. What was he doing here? Prolonging the agony—having lost Elizabeth, he was now to lose Georgiana. Reluctantly, his attention was brought back to the proceedings. Bent was speaking,
“There is no doubt that Mr. Darcy is a good lawyer—indeed, he is a Doctor of Laws—yet it does not necessarily follow that he is a proper governor to attend a young woman to her coming out, or for her presentation to Her Majesty, which the niece of an earl should expect, or to her education as a woman of quality.”
“It has long been established that the court will act for the benefit of the infant , as clearly stated by the Lord Chancellor in Morgan v. Dillon (1724) ; further, Smith v. Smith (1745) says the child’s best interests are to acquire as much rank and fortune as possible.
Scott v. Tyler (1788) urges that the parent assigning guardianship must make provision for the infant to live in the world suitable to that rank to which their birth entitles them.
A woman can only maintain such rank through the connections of her husband, and for her to marry such an elevated person requires she move in the highest society.
” Bent paused—again for dramatic effect.
“While Mr. Darcy is a gentleman and holds the rank of lieutenant governor of a penal colony”—oh, well done, demeaning my commission—“he is not titled, nor does he come from a line of titled ancestors. Whereas Lord Matlock is an earl, active in Parliament, and one of the most distinguished peers of the realm. Who could renounce the unqualified support of such a patron and his wife? All must agree that his connections are vastly superior to those of Mr. Darcy. ”
Could he defend against such arguments? It was true—he would be a bachelor gentleman, never to marry, hiding away from society. Georgiana needed to mingle with like spirits, such as Felicity, who truly was a delight. What could he provide that Lady Matlock could not?
It was time to end this farce; time to approach the bench and let Matlock, the devil take him, have his way.
Georgiana turned away, tears in her eyes.
She knew he was defeated, succumbing to his doubts and his guilt.
Oh, she would stay with him to the end. But both of them needed to let go their dream of Elizabeth being the solution to their cares and worries—a delusion, a chimera.
Suddenly, a great hullabaloo from the street; the clatter of iron-shod hooves on flagstones. Startled, Darcy looked to the open doors of the courthouse.
Only a few paces from the building, a shining black landau came to a shrieking halt, the coachman pulling determinedly on the leather brake.
Six matched horses—two on the nearside held firmly by postilions—were snorting and stamping their hooves, expressing raw displeasure at being driven hard and then pulled up so peremptorily.
Two footmen sprang from the rear platform.
One opened the side door of the carriage, and the other assisted an exceedingly elegant lady to the pavement.
She wore a dress of delicate blue cambric muslin, her demi train held gracefully in her gloved hand.
Diamond pins sparkled in the sun, a cabochon sapphire set on a delicate necklace of interleaved pearls and diamonds adorned her bare neck.
Her hat of azure blue satin was turned up in front and low on each side, complemented by her understated drop sapphire earrings.
Chestnut curls framed the most beautiful countenance Darcy had ever seen.
The lady stepped into the courthouse, looking directly forward, neither glancing left nor right—as if she owned the place.
A wigged footman in full livery walked ahead; the crowd, who had come to see an earl, hurriedly parted as the lady—a marchioness, a duchess?
—never wavered in her direct traverse through the hall.
She came up to the floor where Darcy and Bent were standing.
“Mr. Darcy,” she curtseyed, then turned to the bench. “Lord Rushton, how fares your wife and child?”
***
A great silence descended. Who possessed the temerity to interrupt the court’s proceedings so impudently? Who spoke to a presiding judge with such insouciance?
“Ah, you are that Mrs. Darcy. They are well, ma’am, very well indeed.”
Elizabeth turned to look at Darcy. His face was furrowed, gaunt, but his countenance was now alive with a beaming smile, which spread from dimple to handsome dimple—oh, how she had missed him. She wished to run to him, fall into his arms… safe.
“What is this, this theatre?” Mr. Bent’s outrage broke the silence; the crowd in the gallery and in the hall began to whisper amongst themselves, a whisper that rose to a roar. This was the best entertainment on the King’s Birthday they had ever known.
The judge stood, beckoning to the bailiff to quiet the throng. Soon, the whispers ceased, and order was reestablished in the court.
“Mr. Bent, you wish to speak?”
“Indeed, my lord. This woman, this… actress,” Darcy growled.
No one demeaned his Lizzie so. Bent sniggered, “…this person—who is she? We know Mr. Darcy is unmarried, but now there is a woman none have seen before who claims to be h is wife—you ask for facts , my lord, but all we have been presented with is charlatanry!”
Hear, hear! Darcy heard Matlock pounding the rail at the front of the gallery.
“Mrs. Darcy,” Lord Rushton spoke benevolently but firmly. “Perchance, please stand by the witness box, for the court and many others wish to understand what all this brouhaha is about.”
Elizabeth’s smile was as though the sun had burst through the windows, illuminating the hall, the galleries, the tables, and benches without being dimmed by the dust, the cobwebs, and the dull, coloured glass of the saints and kings. She stepped gracefully to the podium.