Chapter Eight

Summer 1811

A fter many days of travel, and a good deal of arguing between George and Mrs. Younge as to who was at fault for not knowing that the thirty thousand pounds was held in a trust, the travelers arrived in London. Georgiana spoke as little as possible, as it was clear that neither of them had any interest in anything she might say.

Apparently, Mrs. Younge owned a boarding house, and it was to this boarding house that they made their way. Georgiana had been to London before, of course, but she had never been to this part of Town.

A Mrs. Aldrich greeted the travelers at the boarding house. Evidently, Mrs. Aldrich had taken care of the lodgers during the months that Mrs. Younge was serving as Georgiana's companion. Mrs. Aldrich and Mrs. Younge immediately got into a fight – an actual fight! – as there had been a misunderstanding as to how much Mrs. Aldrich was to be paid for her services. This misunderstanding apparently could only be resolved with a good deal of name-calling and hair-pulling. Georgiana was shocked speechless.

Once the fight was over and an irate Mrs. Aldrich had departed, Mrs. Younge took George and Georgiana up to the fourth floor of the boarding house and opened a door. "Your room," she said tersely, and then bustled away.

Georgiana followed her husband into the room. It was small, about the size of one of the rooms at the inns they had stayed in. Georgiana put her little satchel of clothing on the bed and looked around her. In addition to the bed, there was a small desk and a chest of drawers, but no other furniture. There was a tiny window that let in a thin stream of sunlight.

"What are you waiting for?"

She turned to see George watching her with his now-usual sneer on his face. She tried not to look at the gap in his mouth where Brother had knocked out two front teeth. She knew George was furious that his good looks had been ruined.

"Waiting for?" she repeated, uncertainly.

"Waiting for?" he mimicked her, unkindly. "Are you waiting for a maid to come and unpack for you, Princess ?"

He had taken to calling her Princess. She recalled her father using that pet name for her, and Brother had sometimes called her the Princess of Pemberley. When Papa and Brother had said it, it had sounded like an endearment. But when George said it, it sounded like an insult.

"No," she whispered.

"Good, because there are no maids."

She did not respond; instead she opened her satchel and put her small selection of clothing into a drawer.

"I have been thinking…" George said.

She turned to look at him.

"We should go to your relatives here in Town, the Matlocks."

"Why?"

"Why?" he repeated, mockingly. "To ask for money, of course!"

"No." She shook her head.

"What do you mean, no?" He was suddenly furious. He was at her side in a moment, and shook her arm roughly.

"No. I will not ask my relatives for money."

"You will do what I tell you!"

She made no answer.

"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 – did that with 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.