“I would,” Georgiana declared, boldly. “I have seen something of the world now, you know!”
Mr. Darcy’s voice was harsh. “Then allow me to provide them for you. He is in a cell with seven other men. The room is about one third the size of this room, Georgiana, perhaps even a bit smaller. He was stripped of his clothing and clapped in irons when he entered the prison, and he lives now in that room, almost naked and manacled.”
“Really, Darcy, I think that is enough,” Mr. Bingley protested, rising from his seat.
“If Georgiana wants to hear the truth about the world we live in, then let her hear it. Wickham is given almost no food, as he has no money to pay for it; he receives perhaps a small hunk of dry bread each day. I would be surprised if he lasts until Easter, as his cell is quite damp and he has always had a weak chest.”
“That is debtor’s prison?” Georgiana whispered.
“Yes.”
“I see.” After another long silence, she whispered again. “I begin to see why you did not want to act against him.”
Mr. Darcy passed a hand over his face. “He was our friend, Georgiana. I hoped and hoped that he would change his ways. But clearly it was a forlorn hope, and it is no excuse for my failure.”
“Should anyone have to endure such a terrible fate?” she asked.
Mr. Darcy eyed her. “You want to hear something of the world, Georgiana? Listen, then. There are, today, untold thousands of men and women – yes, women as well! – in various prisons for debt. Some of them are able to afford better circumstances, usually paid for by a spouse or friend. Those who have no money must live in the conditions I have just described to you.”
Georgiana covered her eyes with her hands and wept. “The world is a terrible place,” she choked out.
“It can be, yes,” her brother agreed.
Mr. Bingley rose, saying. “I think that is enough for now.” He rose, offered his hand to his wife, and escorted her upstairs to her room. The mistress’ room had escaped Caroline’s attempts at redecoration and was done in a very pretty rose and cream. It was, he thought, perfect for gentle Georgiana.
Once inside, he took his trembling wife into his arms and held her close. Stroking her hair, he murmured softly, “It will all be well, Georgiana. Rest now, dear one. Rest.” He helped her into her bed and sat beside her until she fell asleep.
***
In the library, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Fitzwilliam sat in silence for what seemed an eternity. Finally, Mr. Fitzwilliam said, “You did well, Darcy.”
“Did I? I am not certain. I think Georgiana need not have learnt about debtor’s prison. Did you see her face, how she went pale? Richard, what am I to do? If I protect her, I leave her open to harm. If I do not protect her, I am bringing her misery. What am I to do? What is any gentleman to do?”
“Perhaps a little misery is not such a bad thing.”
“You cannot be serious!”
“I am. Of course, I am. I have never quite understood the general belief that women are weak and must be protected. You should see what the women who follow the drum are able to endure.”
“Oh, really, Richard? So you would acquaint your Miss Bennet with the grim realities of debtor’s prison? Perhaps take her to Fleet Street Prison for a picnic luncheon that she may enjoy while listening to the helpless, hopeless cries of those in the cells?”
Mr. Fitzwilliam winced. “Point taken, Darcy. No, I would not. I think she could never forget such a sight, such a sound. Though I think your Miss Elizabeth is made of sterner stuff.”
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Mrs. Bennet was in seventh heaven, planning the great feast that would be Christmas dinner on the morrow. Her beautiful Jane would sit beside her betrothed, Mr. Richard Fitzwilliam, owner of Chestnut Creek!
Mr. Darcy – and here she frowned, as she was not certain how matters stood between her second daughter and her suitor. It seemed that things had not gone well when Mr. Darcy was here yesterday. She would nonetheless sit the two together, so that they might work things out.
The youngest girls had spent all of the previous day decorating the house. Longbourn was all but alive with greenery. Lydia had even managed to wind holly around the banister of the staircase, clever child! The Yule log had been placed in the fireplace in the parlour, ready to be lit.
She and Cook had reviewed the menu again this morning. They would start with roast beef, venison and goose, accompanied by potatoes, squash, brussels sprouts and carrots. She had a family recipe for stuffing, which was always praised, so the goose would be stuffed. Of course, there must be a Christmas pudding, with its thirteen ingredients. She had a family recipe for that as well, but she had been forced to admit that Cook’s version was superior, so she had allowed herself to be talked into serving Cook’s recipe.
After dinner, there would be games in the parlour. Buffy Gruffy was a favourite, as was Steal the White Loaf, though Mr. Bennet would prefer the more intellectual games, like Riddles and Charades. Lydia would clamour loudly for Snapdragon, but surely that was too plebian for these superior guests; Lydia would just have to do without.
Mrs. Bennet commandeered the attention of her two eldest daughters after breakfast. “Let us discuss tomorrow’s dinner,” she began.
“Oh, Mama, whatever you think is fine,” Jane said hastily, hoping to avoid yet another lengthy discussion of her mother’s menu.
