P. James - Death Comes to Pemberley

Wickham gazed at him with a flash of his old confidence. He said, “I am not so new to the world, sir, as not to know when a lady has a name which can never be smirched by scandal and a reputation which is indeed sacred, and I also know that there are women whose lifestyle helps to safeguard that purity. My sister was one. But let us return to the matter in hand. Happily my sister’s wishes provided a solution to our problem. Now that Louisa’s sister had refused to take the child, somehow a home had to be found. Eleanor dazzled Louisa with stories of the life he would have and Louisa agreed that on the morning of the Pemberley ball Eleanor would arrive at the cottage with me to collect the baby and take him with us to London where I would be looking for work, and she would care temporarily for the child until Louisa and I could marry. Of course we had no intention of providing my sister’s address.

“And then the plan went wrong. I have to admit that it was largely Eleanor’s fault, she was not used to dealing with women and had made it her policy not to do so. Men were straightforward to deal with and she knew how to persuade and cajole. Even after they had paid over their money, men were never at enmity with her. She had no patience with Louisa’s sentimental vacillations. For her it was a matter of common sense: a home was urgently required for Georgie and she could provide one far superior to that of the Simpkinses. Louisa simply did not like Eleanor and began to distrust her; there was too much talk from Eleanor about the necessity of her having the thirty pounds promised to the Simpkinses. Louisa finally agreed that the child could be taken as planned, but there was always the risk that when it came to actually parting with her child she might prove obdurate. That is why I wanted Denny with us when we went to collect Georgie. I could be confident that Bidwell would be at Pemberley and every servant would be fully occupied, and I knew that there would be no problem with my sister’s coach being admitted through the north-west gate. It is astonishing how a shilling or two can ease these small difficulties. Eleanor had previously arranged a meeting at the King’s Arms at Lambton with the colonel for the night before in order to inform him of the change of plan.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “I had not, of course, seen Mrs Younge since the time when we interviewed her as a governess. She charmed me now as she had then. She gave details of her finances. I have told Darcy how I was convinced that what she proposed would be best for the child, and indeed I still believe it would have been best for Mrs Younge to adopt Georgie. After I made it my business to call at Woodland Cottage while we were en route to investigate the shooting, I then thought it right to tell Louisa that her lover was Wickham, that he was married and that he and a friend were missing in the woodland. After that there would never be any hope that Mrs Younge, Wickham’s friend and confidante, would be allowed to have the child.”

Darcy said, “But there was never any question of Louisa being able to make a choice.” He turned to Wickham. “You had it in mind that if necessary you would take the child by force.”

Wickham said with apparent unconcern, “I would have done anything, anything, to give Eleanor possession of Georgie. He was my son, it was his future which mattered to both of us. Since we came together I have never been able to give her anything in return for her support and her love. Now I had something I could give her, something she desperately wanted, and I was not going to let Louisa’s indecision and stupidity stop that.”

Darcy said, “And what life would that child have had, brought up by such a woman?”

Wickham did not reply. All their eyes were on him and Darcy saw, with a mixture of horror and compassion, that he was struggling to compose himself. The previous confidence, almost insouciance, with which he had told his tale, was gone. He reached out a trembling hand for the coffee, but his eyes were blinded with tears and he succeeded only in knocking it from the table. But no one spoke, no one moved until the colonel bent down and, picking up the coffee pot, replaced it on the table.

At last, controlling himself, Wickham said, “The child would have been loved, more loved than I in my childhood, or you in yours, Darcy. My sister had never borne a child and now there was a chance that she could care for mine. I have no doubt she did ask for money, that was how she lived, but it would have been spent on the child. She had seen him. He is beautiful. My son is beautiful. And now I know I shall never see either of them again.”

Darcy’s voice was hard. “But you could not resist the temptation of confiding in Denny. You had only one old woman and Louisa to face but the last thing you wanted was for Louisa to become hysterical and refuse to hand over the child. It all had to be done quietly if you were not to alert the sick brother. You wanted another man, a friend on whom you could rely, but Denny, once he understood that you would take the child by force if necessary and that you had promised to marry her, would have no part in it, and that is why he left the chaise. It has always been a mystery to us why he was walking away from the path which would have taken him back to the inn, or why he didn’t more reasonably remain in the chaise until it got to Lambton when he could have left without explanation. He died because he was on his way to warn Louisa Bidwell about your intentions. The words that you said over his dead body were true. You killed your friend. You killed him as surely as if you had run him through with a sword. And Will, dying his lonely death, thought he was protecting his sister from a seducer. Instead he killed the one man who had come to help.”

But Wickham’s thoughts were on another death. He said, “When Eleanor heard the word “guilty” her life was over. She knew that within hours I would be dead. She would have stood at the foot of the gallows and witnessed my last struggles if that could have given me comfort at the end, but there are some horrors which even love cannot endure. I have no doubt she planned her death in advance. She had lost both me and my child, but she could at least ensure that, like me, she would lie in an unsanctified grave.”

Darcy was about to say that surely that last indignity could be prevented, but Wickham silenced him with a look and said, “You despised Eleanor in her life, do not patronise her now she is dead. The Reverend Cornbinder is doing what is necessary and requires no help from you. In certain areas of life he has an authority denied even to Mr Darcy of Pemberley.”

No one spoke. At last, Darcy said, “What happened to the child? Where is he now?”

It was the colonel who answered. “I made it my business to find out. The child is back with the Simpkinses and therefore, as everyone believes, with his mother. The murder of Denny caused considerable concern and distress at Pemberley, and Louisa had no difficulty in persuading the Simpkinses to take the child back and remove him from danger. I sent a generous payment to them anonymously and as far as I know there has been no suggestion that he should leave the Simpkinses, although sooner or later there may be problems. I have no wish to be further involved in this matter; it is likely that I shall soon be employed on more pressing concerns. Europe will never be free of Bonaparte until he is thoroughly beaten on land as well as sea, and I hope I shall be among those privileged to take part in that great battle.”

All were now exhausted and no one could find anything more that needed to be said. It was a relief when, sooner than expected, Mr Gardiner opened the door and announced that Mr Cornbinder had arrived.