Chapter 5
Still shaken after discovering the dreadful truth, Darcy called for his housekeeper, ordering two rooms to be prepared in the servants’ quarters, with appropriate accommodation for a young mother and an infant who were both ill.
“I trust you to do everything necessary in this difficult situation, with no concern for expense,” Darcy uttered, and the good housekeeper nodded. “The family is in a dire situation, and I take full responsibility for them.”
“Of course, sir. Do you think a wet nurse will be needed?”
“A wet nurse? Yes, probably. I know little about these matters, so I trust your decision. Porter will assist you with anything you need.”
“Very well, sir,” the housekeeper said before she left.
Darcy’s mind was still in a perturbed state, and he had little control over it. There was someone else he must inform before the family moved in, someone who would be deeply hurt. He invited Georgiana to the library, struggling to prepare for what was sure to be a difficult, painful conversation.
“Brother, what has happened? The entire household is agitated,” his sister asked with concern.
“Please take a seat, my dear. Yes, something has happened, and I do not know how to tell you as I fear you will be hurt by it.”
“How to tell me? What do you mean? Just tell me, Brother! It hurts me more to not know!”
“Dearest, I have given orders to move a Mrs Crawford, her two daughters, and her grandson into the house — into the servants’ quarters. One of the daughters is only sixteen and has just given birth to a child. She and the infant are very ill.”
“Oh…” Georgiana replied, obviously surprised. “That is a wonderful gesture and so generous of you, Brother. But why did you assume I would be hurt by your decision? Surely you did not believe I would oppose it?”
“No, not at all. I know your kind heart would help anyone in need. The problem is… The young mother is… Apparently the father of the infant is Wickham,” he said in a low voice, watching his sister carefully.
Georgiana seemed to be holding her breath, her eyes wide open, staring at him. Her face was white as if all the blood had been drained from it.
“Are you sure?” she whispered.
“As sure as I can be. Apparently, they are related to Mrs Martha Rollins, from Lambton. Do you remember her?”
“Of course!”
“Mrs Crawford and her daughters visited her last April. They travelled by post part of the way but met Wickham on the road, and he conveyed them to their destination in his carriage, then brought them back to London a month later. Did you know Wickham was in Derbyshire last April?”
“Yes…I did not meet him, but Mrs Younge mentioned it to me. She said he would like to see me but would not dare to come to Pemberley because of you.”
“You did not tell me.”
“I did not want to upset you. Please forgive me! I never imagined that things would turn out as they did — that I would meet George in Ramsgate and…”
“Dearest, please do not cry,” Darcy said gently, pained by her sorrow. “There is no need to apologise. As you said, you could not guess his future actions.”
“I should have been more prudent, Brother.”
“So should I have been. I was wrong in selecting Mrs Younge as your companion, and I was wrong in not punishing Wickham. There is something else you should know. Wickham has been in Hertfordshire since last November. He joined a militia regiment stationed in Meryton.”
“Why did you not tell me?” she whispered with apparent torment.
“I did not want to upset you,” he replied, smiling tenderly. “And I was wrong. I left Hertfordshire, allowing Wickham the liberty to spread lies about me, to insinuate himself with innocent and honourable people in Meryton, and probably to take advantage of them.”
“You always take the blame upon yourself, Brother, even when it does not belong there.”
“You are too kind and therefore blind to my flaws, dearest. I have been wrong many times and in many ways, and I did not even realise it until I was forced to look in the mirror of my soul and see the truth. I was forced to face my errors and to admit them. And now I am trying to make amends wherever possible.”
“That mirror must have been broken, Brother. You are truly the best of men — everybody who knows you admits that.”
“Not quite everybody.” He smiled bitterly.
