Pemberley to Waterloo: Georgiana Darcy's Diary, Volume 2 (10 page)

By now she'll be well on her way back to her parents' home at Longbourn. Though she departed a little later than was planned. First thing this morning she came to Elizabeth and asked whether she could take Thomas and Jack with her. The boys would be perfectly welcome at Longbourn. And, Kitty said, it had been her responsibility to look after the boys, and it wasn't fair that Elizabeth should have to take them on instead because Kitty herself had misbehaved.

She looked ... not exactly defeated. But at least more subdued and sad than I've ever seen her. Her eyes looked red and swollen, still, and beneath the brim of her travelling bonnet, she'd pulled her hair back into a plain, simple knot without any of the usual curls.

Elizabeth's eyes were red-rimmed as well. And she looked as though she couldn't decide whether to comfort Kitty or shake her. But in the end Elizabeth kissed her cheek and said that of course she could take Thomas and Jack--that they were welcome at Pemberley, but they'd break their hearts missing Kitty after she was gone and would do better with her back at Longbourn.

Friday 30 December 1814

Today was our annual open house for my brother's tenants, and we were busy all day with the families coming to pay the rents and bring apples and hams and other gifts of the season.

I offered to take Elizabeth's place as hostess--she was looking tired, especially after all that had happened with Kitty. But she wouldn't hear of it, and took her place among the proceedings as usual, greeting the tenants and their wives and children and helping Mrs. Reynolds with seeing that the supplies of cakes and spiced wine didn't run out.

Towards the late afternoon, though, I noticed Elizabeth was sitting down on one of the sofas. Her face looked pale and her breathing was a little quicker than usual. I sat down next to her and asked, "Are you--"

Elizabeth stopped me, resting her head against the cushions, her eyes sliding briefly closed. "If you succeed in being the fiftieth person to ask me today whether I think the baby will be coming soon, I will be obliged to murder you." She opened her eyes and smiled. "And that would be a shame, because you happen to be my favourite sister-in-law."

I laughed. "I'm sorry. I suppose it must get very tedious--especially in a group of other mothers like this one, where it seems the natural topic of conversation to everyone who speaks with you. I won't ask. I just thought you looked a little--"

I stopped again, this time because Elizabeth had drawn in a sharp breath, her hands resting on top of the curve of her belly. "Are you all right? Should I call for someone to help?"

Elizabeth shook her head, though. "No, it's nothing. Just a stray pain--and they've been coming for a week now. My sister Jane told me she was just the same, all through the entire last
month
before baby Amelia was born." Her eyes rested on Fitzwilliam. He was shaking hands with old Mr. Gibbons, who works as a horse trainer on the home farm. "I do hope it means this child is coming sooner rather than later, though."

Saturday 31 December 1814

If this entry is nearly illegible, it's because my hands are shaking almost too badly to write.

Elizabeth's baby really is on its way. Which is good news, of course. It's just I never imagined it happening quite this way. In the middle of a snowstorm, with my brother gone--and with the roads too impassible even to send to Lambton for the midwife.

I must go. I only stopped in my room to change my clothes and to scrawl this down. But I have to get back to Elizabeth.

Sunday 1 January 1815

It's morning, now--and the snow has finally stopped. A pale winter sun is making the icicles outside my window sparkle like crystal. I've just read my entry from yesterday. Which really is as incoherent as I thought. Elizabeth would laugh if she saw it.

A new year today--I had to stop myself from writing '1814' at the top of this page. And a new member of our family.

I'll try to tell--more comprehensibly--just what happened.

Yesterday morning, first thing, my brother's agent came in to ask whether my brother could come out to settle a disagreement between two of the tenant farmers over grazing rights. This particular quarrel stretches back generations. But the sons of the two families who've taken up the feud now are hot-tempered--and I think given to drink, though Herbert, my brother's agent, didn't say that exactly--and the quarrel was threatening to turn ugly.

So my brother said he would come. Though he hesitated to leave Elizabeth. We were all sitting at breakfast, and Fitzwilliam asked how Elizabeth was feeling.

Elizabeth said--as shortly as she's capable of saying anything--that she was perfectly fine and wasn't an invalid. But then she smiled and said apologised for being in such a bad temper. And said that my brother should go and take full advantage of this opportunity to get away from her, if only for the morning.

But then, just as my brother was about to take his leave, Elizabeth followed him to the doorway.

My chair was closest to them, so that l heard Elizabeth say, as she caught my brother's hand, "Darcy? Is there anything wrong?"

I hadn't noticed it until Elizabeth spoke--but my brother did look ... not troubled, exactly. But preoccupied. Or at least tired, as though he'd not been sleeping well.

Fitzwilliam shook his head though. "No, nothing. I'm just wishing I didn't have to ride out in this filthy cold weather to play nursery governess to a couple of overgrown schoolboys, that's all." He glanced at the window, and the skies that looked still more leaden and heavy than the day before. "It looks as though we'll have snow before nightfall, and this particular property is close on five miles' ride from here."

And then, before Elizabeth could answer, Caroline came sweeping into the room.

Frank had been unusually silent up until then. But at Caroline's entrance he sprang up and gave Caroline an engaging grin. "Miss Bingley. May I offer to get you some toast--or some cold ham from the sideboard? Your wish is my command."

I thought Caroline turned a shade paler and she pressed her fingers to her mouth. But then she drew herself up and said, in a frosty tone, "Thank you, but no," turned her back on Frank, and asked where my brother was going.

Fitzwilliam told her about his errand. And Caroline said, "How excessively fortunate! I was just wishing to go into Lambton to the apothecary's to buy some hartshorn. I've not been sleeping well at all, and I was wondering how I was to procure anything for my relief." She gave Darcy a smile. "And now you can take me with you, and leave me off in Lambton on your way."

My brother agreed--there was really very little else he could do. Though before he followed Caroline out the door he stopped and kissed Elizabeth on the mouth. "I should be back by dinner time."

Caroline hadn't so much as glanced in Frank's direction again. But Frank had been watching her all the while; I'd seen him. I think Edward had, too--for I saw him looking at his brother closely and he said, "Miss Bingley doesn't seem entirely enamoured with you, Frank."

I thought something crossed Frank's gaze, swift as a shadow. But then he smiled and said, "Hard to credit, isn't it? Still, it's only a matter of time before she succumbs to my sterling character and sparkling charm." Frank pushed back his chair and stood up. "I'll see you all this afternoon," he said. He bowed to Elizabeth and me and said, "I've a mind to ride into Lambton for a while."

Edward went to his room after that, since he said he wanted to write letters as promised on behalf of Mr. Mayberry, the destitute former soldier he met in London. Elizabeth took up some sewing and I sat on the window seat and sketched.

But when Elizabeth had run the needle into her thumb for the third time--I could tell by her exclamations of annoyance--she set the baby's gown she was embroidering aside and said, "Who on earth ever decided that fancy work was an agreeable way to pass the time?"

I looked up from the drawing I was making of Edward as he looked when he arrived at Pemberley, in his red-coated army uniform. "Don't look at me. I loathe sewing."

"At least
you
do it well, however."

I laughed. "Well, and so do you." Elizabeth does sew beautifully--when she cares to.

Elizabeth sucked a drop of blood from the pad of her thumb. "Not today, apparently." She folded the infant's gown away. "And unless this poor child wants a dress with equal parts bloodstains and embroidery for decoration, I think I'd better give up for now." She rubbed the base of her spine. "My back's been hurting all morning, and I'm just--"

Elizabeth shook her head and then stood up with sudden decision. "Will you go and find Edward and ask him if he'll take us for a ride in the phaeton? Darcy and Caroline"--I thought her voice altered slightly on the words--"will have taken the carriage. But I'd love some fresh air--and it may be our last chance if Darcy is right about the snow."

I found Edward sitting at the writing desk in his room. He wasn't wearing a jacket or tie, and his sleeves were rolled up. And he was rubbing his forehead as though it ached. But he smiled when I passed on Elizabeth's request and said that of course he would oblige, he'd nearly finished the letter in any case.

It was bitterly cold outside--and of course the phaeton is an open carriage, that we usually only use in summer. Elizabeth and I were wearing pelisses and bonnets and both had fur-lined muffs for our hands, and thick rugs over our laps. But my toes were still tingling with cold and my cheeks felt numb before Edward had even driven us past our gatekeeper's lodge.

Elizabeth bit her lip and shifted on her seat every time the phaeton hit a bump or a rut in the road. And before we'd gone more than two miles, she touched Edward's shoulder and asked him to stop. "I'm sorry. I know this was my idea--but maybe it wasn't such a good one after all. Do you think--could I get out and walk, just for a little while?"

Edward told her gravely that she was officially exempt from having to apologise for anything, drew up on the horse's reins, and swung himself out of the driver's seat to help Elizabeth down. I got down with her and we walked for a few hundred yards, with Edward driving the carriage slowly behind us.

A few flurries of snowflakes were just starting to swirl through the air. And cold as it was, it was good to be out-of-doors. Or at least it was until I heard Edward give a sudden shout, and I looked round--and then we were hit by a sudden, moving wall of snow.

That really was what it felt like. I've never known a snowstorm to come up so fast--but this one did. One moment the snow was so light as to be barely noticeable. And the next Elizabeth and I could scarcely see more than a few feet ahead of us.

Edward vaulted down from the seat again and said, "We'd better get back to the house--quickly."

But Elizabeth didn't move, only gave a sudden sharp gasp and caught hold of my hand. At first I thought she was frightened because of the storm. But then I looked down and saw that her skirts were wet, and that her free hand was clutching the swollen curve of her belly. "Oh, dear heaven." Her eyes were wide with panic under the brim of her bonnet. "The baby--it seems to be coming
now
."

Edward was wonderful. Without missing a beat, he simply picked Elizabeth up in his arms and carried her swiftly back to the phaeton. He turned to help me in, too, but I shook my head and scrambled in without any help. "I'm all right. Let's just get back to the house."

The snow was coming down hard and fast, though--so fast that in what seemed like no time at all, we couldn't even see the road ahead of us. Road, fields, pasture--it all blurred under the thick covering of endless white. And the horse was starting to panic, half-blinded by the snow; it tossed and turned its head and tried to kick at the traces until Edward finally got down from the driver's seat again and took hold of the reins.

He settled the horse, talking quietly to it and rubbing its neck and ears. And then he came back to Elizabeth and me.

Looking at Elizabeth on the seat opposite mine, I realised I'd never seen her truly frightened before--any more than I'd seen her upset before the other night at the ball. But her eyes were still wide and panicked-looking, and beneath the colour the wind and cold had whipped into her cheeks, her face looked white.

Edward gave her a quick glance, then came over and spoke in an undertone to me. "There's nowhere nearby we could take shelter, is there? Nowhere closer than the house?"

I shook my head. "No. There's old Mrs. Bates' cottage--but that's nearly a mile from the main road, and I don't promise I could find it in all this snow."

Edward nodded. Elizabeth seemed not to have heard us. She was breathing quickly and clutching her middle again, her eyes squeezed tightly closed. Edward leaned over the side of the phaeton and took hold of her hand. "Listen to me. It's going to be all right. We're not more than a mile from Pemberley House. I can lead the horse that far."

A little of the terror seemed to ebb from Elizabeth's face. She gave him a shaky nod, and Edward let go of her hand. "All right. You just sit tight back there and I'll get you home. I promise you."

I would have moved across to sit next to Elizabeth, but I didn't want to throw off the phaeton's balance; the wheels were having a difficult enough time finding purchase in the snow. So I stayed where I was on the seat opposite and held Elizabeth's hands. The labour pains must have started, because every so often her fingers would clench hard around mine. But once she smiled a little at me and said, "That's quite a man you've chosen to marry, you know."

And I smiled back and said, "I know." We hit another bump in the road then and Elizabeth gasped--and I told her, "If Edward promises he'll get you home, he will."

I didn't doubt he would--not really. But I don't know how he kept his sense of direction. I would never have been able to find my way back to the house--and I've lived here my whole life and travelled that stretch of road more times than I can even begin to count.