Chapter Seventeen

Late Summer 1811

G eorgiana had never been so exhausted in her life. In the Before Time, as she now thought of it, her days had consisted of practicing the piano, studying languages, working on her embroidery and riding her mare. Meals were served to her on beautiful china plates, usually with a flower on the tray. She had gowns of silk in beautiful colours and Genevieve to fix her hair. That was how she thought her life would always be.

In the Now Time, she worked from dawn until midnight, exhausted and hungry. She even had to clean Mrs. Younge's room, though she was cautioned almost daily not to pry in Mrs. Younge's drawers. As if any well-bred young lady would pry into someone else's drawers!

The same could not be said for Mrs. Younge, however, as Georgiana had learnt when she found that her nice dresses, the ones she had packed for the elopement, had been replaced by plain grey dresses and aprons made of coarse fabric.

She asked Mrs. Younge about it, cautiously. "Mrs. Younge, where are my gowns?"

"What need have you for such fine clothing, Missus Wickham? Miss Darcy wore such clothes, but Missus Wickham must work for her bread. And silk does not hold up well when one is cleaning the pots and pans!"

"But where are they?" Georgiana persisted. Mrs. Younge called her Missus Wickham to make fun of her, but Georgiana no longer reacted to her taunts.

"I sold them. And they fetched a pretty penny, let me tell you!"

Georgiana closed her eyes and looked away.

Not only was she always tired and poorly dressed, but she was dirty and her hair hung lank. George made fun of her, saying he could not believe a girl as unattractive as she had been able to convince him to marry her. She thought it had been rather the other way around; had he not had to convince her ? But, of course, that was when he had thought he would have his hands on her dowry.

There were about twenty people living in the boarding house. She learnt a little about them, simply because they were there. The room next to the one she shared with her husband was occupied by Mr. Adamson, a bricklayer. He was gone at work all day long, and came home covered in dust and dirt every day. A good deal of that dust and dirt ended up on the floor, and it was her job to clean it. Sunday was his day off and that was the one day he bathed. He had never spoken a word to her and averted even his eyes when he encountered her.

Also at the top floor was Mrs. Cartwright. She was a widow, she told Georgiana. She worked for a modiste, Madame DuBois' Fine Dresses, which paid her just enough to cover Mrs. Younge's rent and a bit of food each day. Georgiana asked what would happen to Mrs. Cartwright when she could no longer work; the woman had smiled sadly and shrugged.

Mrs. Younge's room was also on the fourth floor.

Two of the bedrooms on the third floor were occupied by the Millers, a family of a husband, wife and six children. Georgiana was all too familiar with the children, as they accounted for almost all the cleaning she had to do on that floor. The mother had taken to ordering Georgiana about as if she were the woman's personal servant.

The other two bedrooms on that floor were taken by four women, two in each room. They worked in shops, so they had to dress nicely every day. They were clean, at least compared to the other tenants. The women even spoke to Georgiana kindly on occasion; one of them explained that they were sisters, and were saving every pence they could, in the hopes that someday they could escape the city and buy a small cottage in the country.

The second floor was the "nice" floor. Georgiana had learnt that the higher the room, the less it cost. No one wanted to climb four sets of stairs every day if they could avoid it. This floor was occupied by attorneys and solicitors, and there was also a student of medicine. During her first week at the boarding house, one of the attorneys had backed her up against a wall and put his hands on her bosoms. She had screamed, which had brought the medical student running to her aid. The two men scowled fiercely at one another, but the attorney had finally left, grumbling something about cheap tarts. After that, Georgiana only went to the second floor to clean when the men were away.

Every week, George asked her the same question. "Are you ready to go to the Matlocks yet, Princess?"

And every week, she put her head down and whispered, "No." And then he pinched her arm hard, until she cried out, and then he ran out the door and slammed it behind him. She wondered if the bruises on her arms would ever fade.

But she would remain steadfast in her refusal; she would not visit her troubles, troubles she had brought on herself, on her relatives. It was likely the butler would not even let her in the front door, looking as she did.

Georgiana had had a good deal of time to think about her mistake in eloping with Wickham. She understood now that Brother had known what sort of man their childhood friend had become. Why had he not told her? The elopement had been her own doing, of course; but she could not help but feel that his protection of her maidenly sensibilities had not served her well.

Also, could he not have done something to help her? Georgiana understood that Brother could not give George money; George was a drinker and a gambler, and the money would have vanished immediately. But it would have been easy for Brother to have purchased a small house in London so that she would have a decent place to live. Or to have a few servants to help. Or even just have food brought to the house.

Why had her brother walked away from her, just when she needed him most?

***

So her life continued, day after day, and she feared that nothing would ever change for her. Except that something was already changing, as she had not had her courses this month or last. She had, very tentatively, asked Mrs. Younge if this meant she was ill. Might she be allowed to ask the medical student what was wrong with her? The woman had laughed loudly and said, "Silly cow! Do they teach you ladies nothing? It means you are with child!"

With child? She would bear Wickham's child! Perhaps this would make him kinder to her, especially if it was a boy. She knew men always wanted boys, not girls.

One day, her husband came home in a very happy mood, whistling as he found her on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor. "Look at this!" he crowed. She stood up and he handed her a newspaper clipping. She read:

We are told that a certain Miss GD from Derbyshire eloped with the son of the estate's steward! Where in the world were her guardians?

Her eyes filled with tears. She looked down, refusing to give George the satisfaction of seeing her cry. He laughed, "So much for the Darcy pride! Your brother can never show his face in town again."

She turned away, and he grabbed her arm. "Do not look away from me. I do not like it."

"Be gentler with me, George. I am with child." She kept her tone neutral. She did not want to sound happy about it unless she knew that he was happy.

His face lit up. "Are you? Oh, that is famous indeed. The Darcy princess bearing a child for the steward's son! Perhaps I should go and tell the newspapers."

She said nothing; she knew there was no point in goading him.