Pemberley to Waterloo: Georgiana Darcy's Diary, Volume 2 (16 page)

All of us--Elizabeth and my brother, Edward and I--watched the two of them drive away early this afternoon. "Will your parents mind?" I asked Edward as the carriage vanished around the curve of the drive.

At the last moment, Frank had tasked Edward with the job of writing to their parents and giving them the news that Frank had eloped with Caroline and would be bringing his new bride to meet them as soon as Frank and she were returned from Scotland.

Edward shook his head. "Not likely. They've been desperate to see Frank married and settled for years now."

I thought Edward seemed unusually quiet, though--worried, or at least abstracted, as we made our way back into the house. Elizabeth went off to feed James, who was waking up from his morning sleep. My brother went into his study to take care of estate business. And I followed Edward into the library and asked, "Edward, is something--is there anything wrong?"

"Do you mean besides the fact that I'll have to get used to having gained Caroline Bingley for a sister-in-law?" Edward's brief smile faded, though. "Nothing's wrong. Not exactly. It's just that letter." He nodded to the official-looking document he'd been reading this morning, still lying where he'd set it down on the library table. "It's from Wellington himself."

"The Duke of Wellington?" I looked up, startled. "What has he to write to you about?"

Edward took up the letter, fingering in the heavy wax seal. "He's asked me to join his staff. As one of his aides-de-camp. If I agree--" Edward glanced down at the words written in a bold, black hand across the page. "If I agree, I am to travel to Vienna, to attend him at the Congress. That is where our delegates are meeting with representatives of all the other powers--Russia, Prussia, Austria--all trying to impose some kind of order on the bloody hash Bonaparte made of Europe." Edward drew me to him, then, resting his cheek against my hair. "If I go, I'll have to leave in just two weeks' time."

Tuesday 14 February 1815

It's been weeks since I wrote in this diary. But that was by choice--I wanted to spend every moment I could with Edward, not alone writing in this book.

Edward is gone now. He left yesterday.

He accepted the place on the Duke of Wellington's staff. I suppose I never did write down his final decision--but he wrote to accept the duke's offer the day after Frank and Caroline eloped. It's a chance for Edward to help with forging the new order of the world--whatever that is to be--at the Vienna Congress. Besides which, as one of Wellington's aides-de-camp, Edward will be in a position to prevent abuses of power and corruption--like those suffered by the old veteran Mr. Mayberry.

So long as Edward is to remain in the army, it's a wonderful opportunity for him, and a great honour, besides.

I'm being completely selfish in wishing that he hadn't had to go, that he were still here at Pemberley, now.

Saturday 18 February 1815

No word from Edward yet. But of course, there wouldn't be. I suppose it will be weeks before I can expect that any letter he sends will arrive here.

This morning Elizabeth and I did have a surprise visitor--Ruth Granger, come up from her cottage to pay a call. She doesn't usually come so far in the wintertime--for of course she doesn't keep a horse or carriage--but she said she'd accepted a ride for part of the way from Mr. Smith, who was coming this way in his farm cart. And she'd walked the rest.

Ruth doesn't usually walk so far, either, on account of her health. But today she did not look any worse the wear for the exercise. She was wearing a dark-purple coloured Spencer over her gown, and the wind had whipped colour into her cheeks. And even apart from that, there was something--something different about her. A feeling--a kind of restless energy or hidden drive. I couldn't entirely describe it, even to myself. But I noticed it right away, from the moment she sat down with us in the drawing room.

She wanted to see baby James, of course. Who has grown so much since he was born I can scarcely believe it. I suppose that's what everyone always says about babies--but it really is true. James has started to smile now, too--anyone who comes to pick him up from his cradle gets rewarded with a huge, toothless grin.

Ruth held him and bounced him up and down on her knees--which earned her another gummy smile. She'd brought Pilot with her--which rather scandalised Mrs. Reynolds--but James waved his fists and made excited baby sounds at the sight of the big dog. Elizabeth and I laughed and Elizabeth kissed the top of James' head and said, "I keep forgetting how much of the world he still has to discover. He's never even seen a dog before today."

And then James started to fuss a little--which usually means he's hungry or tired or both--so Elizabeth took him upstairs to feed him and put him down to sleep.

Ruth and I were alone, then, after Elizabeth had gone. And almost the first thing she said to me was, "I'm going away."

"Away?" Even though I had noticed something altered in her, I was still more than surprised by the words. "Ruth, what do you mean? Away where?"

"To Brussels." Ruth was sitting up very straight in her chair, her hands clasping and unclasping in her lap. "I'm-- A former employer of mine has offered me a job there. Lady Denby. I was only with her about a year--this was before I came to Pemberley--and then her little girl was sent off to school. But she--Lady Denby--has kept in correspondence with me ever since. She and her daughter are now living in Brussels--a number of English families have gone there to settle, since the end of the war. Lady Denby says that society there is very fashionable and gay. But her own health has suffered in the last months, and she wishes that I would come out to her and serve as companion to her daughter Jane."

"Of course you should go, if that's what you wish," I said slowly. "But very fashionable, very gay society--are you sure that's truly what you want?"

"I want--I want a change, at least." Ruth's fingers moved restlessly against the arms of her chair. "I've been quiet so long--because of my health. But I'm stronger now. I haven't had any attacks or shortness of breath for months. And I've decided--I've decided that I don't want to be an invalid for the rest of my life. There's a whole world out there--and I've seen barely anything of it at all."

"I can understand that," I said. And then I hesitated. Ruth is such a very private person--and I didn't want to pry. But something still made me ask, "Ruth, are you leaving because ... does this have anything to do with the letter from--the letter I found?"

"Giles' letter." Ruth's voice was expressionless. "It's all right, you can say his name. And--" She let out her breath and her hand moved mechanically from Pilot's collar to stroke his ears. "No. Yes." Her shoulders moved. "Maybe a little. It's just--" Ruth broke off, her eyes focusing on a point in the middle distance. "It's just that ever since you showed me that letter I've been ... reminded, I suppose. Of what I used to want for my life. The plans I used to have. Not Giles, I don't mean. He was never ... was never anything I planned on." The words came out in a rush. "But I used to want to travel. Accomplish things. I--" Ruth stopped again, her eyes refocusing on me. "It's not that I haven't been happy here. And I'm so grateful to your brother for giving me the chance to stay when I needed it, four years ago. But I think it's ... it's time for me to move on, now."

I told her that I understood, and that of course she should go if she felt that way about it. But that I would miss her. And I will, very much. And Ruth asked whether my brother might help her with finding a tenant to rent her cottage--for she wishes to keep possession of it, even though she'll be living in London. And I told her that of course I was sure he would.

Just as she left, though, she hugged me--and I felt I had to ask, "Are you ... should I be sorry that I ever brought that letter to you? Would you rather I had just put it back in the trunk and never told you it had been found?"

Something flickered briefly across Ruth's face--something sad, lost-looking, that made her look for a moment younger and far less certain than she usually does. But then she shook her head. "No. Don't be sorry, Georgiana. I'm glad the letter was found--and that you were the one to bring it to me. It's just--" She stopped and rested her hand on Pilot's neck, and then shook her head again as though trying to push something away. "I don't feel I can stay here any longer, that's all."

Monday 27 February 1815

I had a letter from Edward today at last! He is arrived in Vienna--and writes that the Congress progresses slowly, due to the acrimony the various powers' delegates bear for one another. And the fact that the ambassadors and princes--Prince Metternich of Austria, Prince Karl August von Hardenberg of Prussia--spend a great deal of time trying to outdo each other in the lavish balls and entertainments they host. Edward says that he has spent more time dancing than practically anything else.

And then at the close of the letter he wrote,
Will it sound like something from a bad romance novel if I write that I am counting the days until I can see you again? Romance novel or no, I am.

Tuesday 7 March 1815

I have had two more letters from Edward since my last entry--dated one day apart from each other, though they arrived at the same time.

Edward sounds well. A little tired, perhaps. But otherwise fine.

So why have I been sitting here, staring at the emerald stone in my ring, turning it round and round my finger? Maybe it's just that Vienna seems so incredibly far away right now.

I am lucky this journal cannot talk, or it would ask why I neglect it for weeks and then take it up again only to complain.

I did have another letter, too--this one from Caroline, writing from Frank and Edward's family seat at Drayford Hall. She sounds so happy as to seem completely unlike herself. She and Frank were married in Scotland, just as planned. And Frank's parents have been everything kind and charming to her in welcoming her to their home.

And to end on another happy note, here is a drawing of Elizabeth and baby James, who are sitting together in a chair nearby mine. Elizabeth makes faces at him, and James pats her cheek and coos. And then they stare at each other and smile.

Wednesday 15 March 1815

I am sitting curled up on the window seat in my bedroom, watching a March gale beat against the windowpane outside. And writing this because there is nothing else I can do. I can't scream. I can't cry. Or rather, I could, but it would not do any good.

Napoleon Bonaparte has escaped from his exile on the Isle of Elba. Word of it is spreading like wildfire all over the district--all over England, I am sure. Mrs. Reynolds had been into Lambton to do some shopping and brought the news home. At first Elizabeth and I thought it must be false, or only some exaggerated rumour. But old Mr. Herron came to call on us this afternoon--very worried that we should have heard the news and been upset by it. He heard it himself from his son, who lives in London and is a member of the Prime Minister's cabinet. So it really is true.

The former Emperor Napoleon has escaped from Elba, regained control of the French army, and is even now marching on Paris, intent on evicting the His Royal Highness the King of France from the throne. He may even have conquered Paris by now; news from the Continent can take weeks to reach our part of the country.

I have not heard from Edward yet--though of course he must know of Napoleon's escape. Everyone is saying that Wellington is sure to be recalled from Vienna to face the threat.

Because Napoleon tried to conquer Europe once, and no one doubts that he will again. Which will mean another war.

Thursday 6 April 1815

Finally, a letter from Edward. It was brief, stiff. Just a scrawled note, really.

The Duke of Wellington has been recalled from Vienna and is to travel to Brussels; I suppose he may even have arrived in Brussels by now, since Edward wrote the letter before they departed.

Edward is to accompany the duke, of course. As one of Wellington's staff.

Edward did not say anything beyond that. Nothing of what will happen when they reach Brussels, or what the end result of all this will be. But the newspapers are all filled with news of Napoleon's advance into Paris and beyond. The latest reports put him on the border between the United Netherlands and France, backed by an army tens of thousands of men strong. Our troops are to be strung out along the border. No one knows where or when the French army's invasion may occur--only that Napoleon will invade, and our troops will be called on to fight.

I wish I could write more. I wish I had something else to write, if only because it would distract me.

I never finished my drawing of Edward in his army uniform. I'll complete it and paste it in here.