Chapter Sixty-Eight

M rs. Bingley was pleased to find that her cousin and her husband were at the breakfast table, but her brother was not. Both gentlemen rose and bowed as she entered the room. Her husband beamed at her, as he did every morning. What a happy disposition he had! What a pleasure it was to see his smile each morning!

"Good morning, Charles," she said, smiling at him.

"Good morning, Georgiana. I trust you slept well?"

"I did, I thank you. And you?"

Mr. Bingley hesitated.

"Oh, Charles! Is something distressing you?"

"Well, to be frank, I cannot like the way Darcy treats you. It is my place to protect you, and I think I should say something to him. Fitzwilliam, do you not agree?"

"I wish you would not," Georgiana said, anxiously, before her cousin could respond.

"And why is that? You are his sister and his hostess; he owes you courtesy and respect," Mr. Bingley insisted.

"I do not want to hear him tell me how badly I have behaved."

From the doorway, Mr. Darcy said, quietly, "Georgiana, it is I who have behaved badly."

Georgiana gasped and almost dropped her teacup. "Brother!"

"I have come to understand that I scarcely deserve the title, Georgiana."

"But it was I who –"

Mr. Fitzwilliam interrupted them. "Perhaps this conversation should be held somewhere more private."

Georgiana glanced at the two footmen in the room; their eyes were trained on the ceiling and they were doing their level best to pretend deafness. She nodded and rose. "Perhaps the library," she suggested.

The four of them made their way to the Netherfield library. Mr. Darcy noted that a few new volumes had been added to the sparse collection. Georgiana's novels, he surmised.

Once everyone had found a seat, Mr. Fitzwilliam commented, "You look terrible, Darcy."

"I did not sleep."

"Not at all?"

"No; but that is unimportant. First, let me admit full out that I have been very angry, Georgiana. I could not understand why you would run off. Not just with Wickham, but with anyone! I felt you had been given everything anyone could possibly want – music, books, clothing. You had but to express a wish to have it granted. What more could you possibly want?"

Georgiana nodded vigorously. "Yes, you have described my upbringing perfectly. And so when Wickham showed up, I thought my next wish – Prince Charming! – had just been granted as well. I had lived in a fairy tale, Brother. I had no experience with anything that was evil or even just bad. I do not think I was ever even given a strawberry that was not perfectly ripe. I certainly did not think people such as George and Mrs. Younge even existed in the world!"

Her brother spread his hands. "What should I have done, Georgiana? Should I have taken you to the slums of London to show you the reality of life?"

"Perhaps, yes." Tears made their way slowly down her cheeks.

"But that is not how young ladies such as yourself are brought up. Please do not misunderstand me; I am not trying to excuse my own negligence with respect to Wickham."

Mr. Fitzwilliam interrupted. "Georgiana, are you quite comfortable with this conversation? I do not wish you to be in distress." He made a vague gesture to Georgiana's abdomen, which she correctly interpreted as concern for her child.

Mr. Darcy said, "Of course, I do not wish to cause you any difficulty, Georgiana, but I would like us to fully explore this matter, if you feel you are able to do so."

"I think we must, Brother, if we are ever to have amicable relations again. I know how young ladies are brought up. I know that we are considered too delicate to hear anything that is not good and pure, but that is not how life really is!" She was crying in earnest now. "When I was trying to find Matlock House, no one would even talk with me unless I paid them! All I wanted was directions to Grosvenor Square, and I could not even – and no one would – " And she broke off, hiding her face in her husband's cravat.

"See here, Darcy –" Mr. Bingley began.

"No, no, we must talk!" Georgiana raised her face. "I never knew, I never knew people were so unkind, so mean! One person – one! – was kind to me without being paid. In all those months, one person!"

"Who was that?" Mr. Darcy asked.

"Mrs. Cartwright; she told me to run out the back door of the modiste's shop and find my relatives. I asked Aunt if Uncle could give her some money, and she told me that an annuity had been arranged."

"Good; I am glad she has been rewarded."

"But, Brother, do you understand? Only one person was kind! Why are people so bad? Why did I not know that people are wicked and cruel?"

Mr. Darcy opened his mouth to reply, but his sister cut him off. "Wait! I have more to say. Why did you not help me ?"

Mr. Darcy could only stare at her.

"You left me with him! Knowing who he was, what he was, you walked away from me as if you and I were complete strangers! I understand that you did not want to give him my thirty thousand pounds, but there was more you could have done. Did you ensure that there was enough to eat? No! Did you take steps to find me? No! What did you do? Nothing!"

Mr. Darcy opened his mouth to protest that he had indeed tried to find her, but he recalled then that this effort had been Richard Fitzwilliam's doing.

Georgiana continued. In the grip of a rage that had simmered for months, she could not stop. "All those months with George, I wondered again and again, why you had done so, why you had thrown me away as if I were last night's stinking fish! And the more I wondered, the angrier I became. And then – and then! When I finally escaped to our uncle's house and you came to see me, you saw that I was with child and you – and you –" her voice now rose to a shriek. "You ran outside to vomit! I do not know that I can ever, ever forgive that!"

Mr. Bingley had remained silent throughout the discussion, but now he levelled a glare at Mr. Darcy that burned with rage. "I had not heard that little detail before," he said, his voice unusually harsh. "Really, Darcy?"

"Wickham's child! My poor, innocent, baby sister – defiled by that monster!" Mr. Darcy protested.

"Defiled by that monster because you did not protect me!" Georgiana hissed. "And what of Mrs. Younge? How is it that you were taken in by her? I know her references were false; they were, the two of them, happy to tell me, again and again, how they had taken in the great and mighty Fitzwilliam Darcy! He was too busy being Lord of the Manor to check the references of his sister's companion!"

She stopped and took a deep breath. She felt good , she thought, lighter than she had felt in many months.

"I have failed you grievously, Georgiana." There were tears in Mr. Darcy's eyes. "I have no excuse, nothing to offer except the full acknowledgement of my own utter failure. I have had his debts for many years and have done nothing; had I had him locked up in debtor's prison years ago, as I should have, he would not have been able to injure you."

"Is that where he is now?" Mr. Bingley asked.

"Yes. Would you like the details?"

"I think not," Mr. Bingley said, hastily.

"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."