“Very well,” he said. “Let us see if I can change your mind about that.” He left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Soon after, Mrs. Younge came into the room without knocking. “Come along, Georgiana.”
“Where are we going?”
Mrs. Younge said, “If you will not get us money from your relatives, then you have to be useful around here.”
***
Mrs. Younge’s idea of being useful was for Georgiana to help clean the boarding house, every day. Georgiana had no idea how to clean a house, of course, so Mrs. Younge taught her, with a good deal of sneering and the occasional slap.
Georgiana learned how to clean the floors. Rugs had to be taken outside, hung over the back fence, and beaten with a broom. The rugs were heavy and beating them with the broom made her arms and back ache. Furniture had to be dusted every single day.
She was also made to help Mrs. Younge prepare the evening meal for the boarders. She knew nothing whatever about food preparation, of course, but she soon learnt how to wield a knife to peel vegetables. Eventually, she was able to do so without cutting herself. She also had to clean the dishes after everyone was done, a process that involved sand and lye. Her hands bled every day for weeks; at night, they hurt so much that she cried over them, but when she realised that George enjoyed seeing her cry, she forced herself to stop.
Every day was a repeat of the day before, filled with exhausting, back-breaking work. But as she reminded herself, again and again, she had no one to blame but herself.
Her husband was gone most of the day, coming back at night to eat with the boarders. Sometimes there was enough left over from that evening meal for her to eat something the next day but, more often than not, there was just one meal.
Every night, no matter how angry George had been with her, no matter how long he had been gone during the day, he slept with her and did – didthatwith her. The first few times, it had hurt. Now it no longer hurt – at least, not unless he was in a particularly bad mood – but it was just one more thing she had to do to try to make him less angry.
But no matter what they made her do, no matter how they humiliated her, no matter how hard the work, she would not go to the Matlocks to beg for money. She was a Darcy, through and through, and no matter what else Darcys did or did not have, they had their family pride.
Chapter Nine
Fall 1811
The next morning, Mr. Darcy’s gloomy ruminations on Georgiana’s fate were interrupted by the happy sight of Miss Elizabeth alone in the breakfast room. There were not even any servants in sight. “Good morning, Miss Elizabeth. I trust you slept well?”
She shook her head. “Good morning, Mr. Darcy. I confess that I did not sleep much; I spent most of the night trying to cool Jane down with wet cloths.”
“Was there not a maid who could help you?”
“There was, yes; Martha was by my side for many hours, bringing cool water up from the kitchen, but I sent her off to sleep.”
“Why could she not continue on and let you sleep?”
“Because I have the luxury of being allowed to rest today if I need to do so, while Martha would not be given that same privilege.”
“It speaks well of you that you are concerned about her.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Areyounot concerned for your servants, Mr. Darcy?”
“I am, of course; but I rarely meet a lady in my circle of acquaintances who feels the same.”
“I would say that you need better acquaintances,” she said, crisply, and she rose to leave.
“No, please –“
She paused, one eyebrow raised enquiringly.
“Can you not stay just a bit longer?” He could not believe that he was importuning her in such a way, but he could not seem to help himself.
She hesitated and then sat down again.
He went on. “I know I should apologise for speaking so freely with you last night in the library; in truth, talking with you made me feel so much better, so much less…” And he found himself bereft of speech.
“Do you not have many friends, Mr. Darcy?”
