Nameless by Julie Cooper

Chapter Seventeen

In love?Mr Bingley, with Anne de Bourgh? I looked at Georgiana sharply. “No,” I said. “That is not at all what he told me.”

She resumed staring out over the wild scenery. Her voice, when it resumed, was as hard and dry as Mr Darcy’s had once been. “We had only been married six months when I discovered it. I was very happy at first, and imagined myself in love. And then, during our Christmas visit of 1817, Mr Bingley began acting strangely. I was upset, and unsure what to do. I went to Anne for advice, and she-she told me…”

My heart froze in my chest at the thought of what she might have said.

“She told me that my brother hated her and she did not understand why but that she loved him desperately and would do anything to make amends. That she had been so despairing and ready to-to harm herself, and Mr Bingley had come upon her, had comforted her, and it had gone too far. That he had always been in love with her, and that she had arranged for his marriage to me because she wanted him to be happy, to forget about her. That in her moment of desperation and weakness, she allowed him to l-love her as he had always wanted, but never been permitted. That afterwards she had felt so guilty and broken it off, swearing to me that she would never consent to it again, on her life. I held her as she sobbed in my arms, begging that if only I would say nothing, if I would forgive her, we could pretend it never happened, that all could be put right.”

“What utter balderdash,” I said, borrowing one of Mrs Reynolds’s favourite phrases.

“Yes,” she agreed. “It could never be put right. I tried pretending, for a long while. But every time we–we were together, I could not…I could only imagine that he…that Mr Bingley pretended also. That he pretended I am her. Eventually, I could not bear it. I have not allowed him in my bed for over a year.”

“Oh, Georgiana,” I said, feeling an overwhelming rage towards Anne de Bourgh. She had played this poor girl like a fiddle, and she—and Mr Bingley too, as likely as not—had been dancing to her tune for years.

“I never told Fitzwilliam. Even though I could not feel towards Anne as I once did, I could not wish her ill, and I hoped my brother would be able to restore his marriage. He has always been a fair man, but I knew if he discovered what Bingley had done, it would be impossible to recover it. Although I do not think he has been happy, not for a long while.”

I could only shake my head in dismay. “My dear sister, of course he has not been happy. But if you believe that Mr Bingley was Anne Darcy’s only affair, you have been naïve. Furthermore, I would lay money that she seduced him, and just so that she could ruin your marriage and hurt your brother with it. He has known of Mr Bingley’s perfidy since it happened. Anne made certain he knew.”

Georgiana stared at me in open-mouthed shock. “N-no,” she stuttered. “It cannot be.”

“She carried on an affair with Mr Wickham for their entire marriage,” I continued ruthlessly. “I do not condone Mr Bingley’s actions, but I am certain he regrets them, and that love is the last thing he feels or ever felt for that dreadful woman. She was a monster. You must talk to your husband. You have been ill used, but you must not continue to be her victim. Her vicious games must die with her.”

I decided that I had said enough, and sat down on the low wall to give her time to absorb my words. I was beginning to grow truly chilled before she spoke again.

“Anne used to sit on this wall,” she said quietly. “But she sat with her feet dangling over the edge. I always hated when she would do it. I had told her long ago, you see, of a time when my brother was a very young man, perhaps sixteen years. He played a trick upon me, a horrible trick. He pretended to drop off this terrace to his death. I was terrified, frantic. But he had found a ledge beneath one section where the drop was only eight feet or so, and he had strung a rope ladder so he could climb back up—assuming he did not break his neck in the process. Papa was so very angry with him! Of course he apologised, most profusely, and never did anything like it again. And now I think…I wonder if she sat balanced on this precipice to taunt me, to remind me of the horror of that long ago, stupid, childish, prank.”

“I certainly would not put it past her,” I said.

“Oh, my poor brother,” she murmured.

How soft her heart! She had been subjected to that woman’s evil for years, and she only thought of him. He had suffered more often, perhaps, but she had not suffered less.

“Your brother’s happiness can be restored,” I said. “Once he knows you are happier, he will be so much improved. Perhaps your marriage cannot be revived, and trust is not easily earned. But perhaps you and your husband could work at…a friendship. Or would that be too impossible? I know I would have difficulty forgiving such a betrayal.”

“I am not sure,” she said. “Nothing is as I thought. It does seem to me that, now I consider it, he has tried more diligently of late to earn my notice. Since Anne died, I suppose. Perhaps she did hold it over him, in whatever ways she could. And of course, it is certain that what I have been doing has not brought me anything but grief. I have been so lonely.”

I stood and reached to press her hand. “You have a different sister now. I promise you my friendship, whether or not you reconcile with Mr Bingley. Let us remove ourselves from these disturbing rooms and your unhappy memories, and ask Mrs Reynolds to bring us tea in the library. It is my favourite room in the house, to be sure.”

“Fitzwilliam loves it too. Oh, I am so happy he married you, dear sister! I did not know…I never realised how he has—”

“He did not want you to know,” I said softly. “He has a habit of deciding in favour of the happiness of others at all costs to himself.” I remembered what he had said of Bingley’s lack of confidence in himself, and taking her arm, led her back towards the stairs. “Just a thought, however—I believe your husband looks to you for guidance about how it shall be between you. Never wait for him to do or say or remember what you like—tell him. Men, I have learned, are seldom very good at guessing a woman’s true feelings. Be bold.”

I opened the door to the servants’ stairs and locked it from the other side.

“Is that what you do?” she asked. “Are you…bold?”

“Only when it matters to me,” I replied. “Which is, possibly, rather more often than your brother would wish.” But I laughed, and, after a moment, she joined in.

* * *

At dinner that evening, I was pleased to notice a difference between Mr and Mrs Bingley. For one thing, he was much more attentive to her—and she, in turn, tried harder to be a part of the conversation. Of course, I saw that Mr Darcy observed them both carefully.

I suggested to Georgiana that we retire to the music room after the meal, as her brother claimed her most expert at the pianoforte—although in their previous visit, she had not touched it once. After only a slight hesitation, she agreed, and I asked for the tea tray to be brought there.

“I once loved to play,” she murmured, after we had departed the gentlemen, “but I have not in ever so long. Years, I think.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“I am not really sure,” she replied, as we entered the music room. “Following…my um, experience with Wickham, I lost interest. Brother purchased this instrument for me soon afterwards, hoping to encourage me. I took it up again after my marriage but…”

It was a magnificent pianoforte, truly the loveliest I had ever seen. I imagined him having it made, giving his attention to the details of woodwork and ivory, longing for his young sister’s spirits to heal, with no real way to make that happen. How hopeless he must have felt! No wonder he had not wished to dance and mingle with strangers in Meryton! Yet he had asked me to dance at Mr Bingley’s ball. It seemed more meaningful now; he had not danced with anyone else beyond his own party. And what had I done? Taunted him with his supposed injuries to Wickham! He had hinted, of course, that I did not understand the whole situation, but I had not listened, believing my evening spoilt by Wickham’s absence. Blaming him for it. How was it, I wondered, that he had remembered me with any fondness at all?

I was startled out of my reverie by Georgiana’s playing. She had begun with the sheet music that was on the instrument, something that I—an indifferent musician—had been stumbling around in my usual lackadaisical fashion. She began slowly at first, and then with more confidence, until she was playing the difficult piece with beauty and power. The gentlemen re-joined us with gratifying speed, and Mr Bingley immediately went to his wife to turn her pages. Her music was joy, delight; happiness given substance. No wonder she could not play when she was miserable.

Mr Darcy seated himself beside me and took my hand in his strong, warm one. He appeared completely enraptured with his sister’s playing but his thumb rubbed softly against the back of my hand, capturing almost as much of my attention as the lovely music.

When she finished the piece, Mr Bingley bent his head to murmur something in her ear. Georgiana blushed. Within the hour, the Bingleys had retired to their rooms, while Mr Darcy followed them with his eyes, a look of wonderment upon his face.

When they were gone and the servants dismissed, he turned to me. “Do you know what has changed between them?”

I hesitated, but only briefly; there had been far too many secrets at Pemberley. I wished the truth would not hurt Mr Darcy so deeply, however. As surely it must.

I told him what lies Anne had administered to Georgiana, as well as what truths I had revealed to her. I knew he would not like her knowing he had been cuckolded, and I was prepared to defend my decision.

But he did not argue it, though he dropped my hand to run his through his hair, his own gesture of frustration. “I ought to have spoken to her long ago. I have only increased her suffering by hiding the truth. When will I learn that I know nothing?” Leaning forward, he buried his face within his hands.

I moved closer to him, rubbing his broad back with soothing strokes. “If it helps at all, I do not believe the truth would have done much good at the time. She was so terribly hurt, and it is likely…” I trailed off.

“Say what you think,” he demanded. “You believe Anne would have twisted it into something still worse, even.”

“She certainly was a master manipulator,” I agreed. “It would have taken a concerted effort to break free of her machinations and likely she would have found many to believe her version of events if you had repudiated her, as you feared. Perhaps she would even have found a way to ruin Georgiana utterly.”

“And perhaps I was a coward, and only feared she would,” he said bitterly. “Why not confess to you the worst of it? Except for my sister, for whom my feelings were impossible to hide, I withdrew from every member of my family. I only saw my cousin, Matlock, on the most infrequent occasions, and then kept the knowledge from her. She demanded I accept the earl’s invitations, but I always made my excuses, telling her I did not like any of them and could not be bothered. If I wrote to them, I wrote privately, and asked for any return letters to be sent in care of my man of business. I separated from all my friends, except for Bingley—and of course, there was already a rift between us.”

“Cowardice? Is that what you call it when you strive to protect those whom you cherish most?”

“Do not forget—I protected myself, and my reputation, most of all,” he retorted. “I have never been an amiable man. It was not too difficult to remove myself from amusements, clubs, and the people who frequent both.”

I looked at him almost helplessly, certain that this disavowal of his family and friends had come about gradually. It was simply that he could see it all now, how she had increasingly isolated him from his peers and relations by playing upon his fears for himself and others. Until he was alone—utterly, mercilessly alone.

Again, I could have asked him then how she died, but in that moment, I did not care. I was, simply, glad she was gone.

I moved closer to him, placing my hand upon his cheek. “You must adopt my attitude—remember the past only as it gives you pleasure, and greater perception for the future. As you do, you will remember that you did protect them. You were successful. She was never able to make victims of other members of your family, correct?”

He nodded curtly.

“And even though you could not protect Georgiana to the extent you wished, neither do I believe the damage permanent. To at least some extent, Anne was held in check. She chose to preserve what hold she had, rather than causing more destruction.”

He looked at me for a long moment. “Will you wait here for a few moments, my dear? I shall not be long.”

I thought perhaps he was going to ask for the tea to be freshened, since none of us had touched any of it, but instead of ringing for a servant, he left the room entirely. He was gone perhaps ten minutes, and when he returned, he again seated himself beside me. “I would like you to have this,” he said, withdrawing a small velvet box.

Inside was a beautiful gold ring featuring a large rose-cut diamond surrounded by two rows of smaller diamonds with more on either side of the shank. I was so surprised, for a moment I could only stare. He misinterpreted my silence.

“This was my mother’s betrothal ring. You need not wonder if Anne wore it first. She never even knew of its existence.”

“It is beyond lovely,” I breathed, slipping it onto my finger. It fit perfectly.

He took my hand and kissed it. “I hoped to give this to you on the perfect occasion, on a perfect day of nothing but perfect memory, but I find I cannot wait another moment to see my ring on your finger. I could not obtain it before the wedding as I wished, so I had my man of business retrieve it. I traced a ring of yours on paper so he could have it sized. When lately in London, I reclaimed it, and also brought back pieces for Georgiana. I dared not give them to her before—I figured Anne would, somehow, manage to manoeuvre them into her own possession.”

I watched the reflected brilliance of the ring, admiring its sparkle upon my finger. “When Mrs de Bourgh leaves, I am going to have her daughter’s things packed and removed to her Ramsgate property with her,” I said at last. “In the normal course of events, I would suggest they be distributed to those who could use them, but her mother is obsessively attached to it all. Despite your demand that she stop—and until her recent, er, malady—Mrs de Bourgh continued to refresh the flowers in Anne’s rooms daily and lay out a new négligée each evening. I went upstairs again, to see if it was so,” I continued, hearing his sharp exhale, and shook my head in remembered disbelief. “She is taking hair from Anne’s hairpieces to place in her brushes. I would not mind it, truly, if rearranging Anne’s belongings brought her any peace. Plainly, it does not. If she is insane, it is the sort of madness that is most dangerous—an infatuation with her own hatred and grief. She is like a wilful child whose favourite toy has been taken away. I fear her tantrums might eventually be dangerous to someone other than herself.”

“How did you enter?” he asked. “How did she?”

“I simply took the keys from the drawer beside your bed,” I said, “and tried each one until I found one that fit. I expect Mrs de Bourgh has other copies. I wished to show Georgiana how cracked she is, and so I took her there this morning. She will tell Bingley. The servants already know it. Word will spread eventually, so that no one will believe a word she says in the future, at least hereabouts. In this instance, she overplayed her hand.”

He only shook his head at me, equal parts resignation and indulgence. “You are mistress here. Do what you like with Anne’s things. I do not care. The worst moments of my life were spent in those rooms, and redecorating cannot fix all that I hate. Someday, you and I will decide together what is to be done with them. For now, I ask you to keep them locked, and to stay away from them. The servants may go in and clear them, and then stay out except for a monthly cleaning. Am I unreasonable? Will that be acceptable, Mrs Darcy?”

“Of course. I trust Mrs Reynolds to supervise the clearing. However, I shall probably wish to review any jewellery with you. I imagine most would be locked away elsewhere, but I would not want to send off any Darcy heirlooms to Ramsgate.”

“Most of the baubles up there are gifts from her lovers or things she bought for herself. Of heirlooms, she possesses none.”

“Not the gold and diamond ring to match her costume at the last ball?”

He rolled his eyes. “Hardly.”

“Truly? Not even from the early years?”

“I bought her a betrothal set, which was buried with her. I purchased her some jewellery in the beginning. It can all go. I…I could never bear to give her anything of my mother’s. At first, I supposed parting with it was difficult due to excessive sentiment. But later, when I realised her character, I had to admit to myself it was exactly the opposite. A part of me had always rejected Anne’s right to be Mrs Darcy, but since that part was a heart to which I coldly refused to listen, I deserved all consequences of the neglect.”

“That seems excessively harsh. You could not have imagined how dreadful she would be. I cannot believe she failed to ask for the family jewels outright. It seems like something she would do.”

He appeared a little embarrassed. “Oh, of course she did, eventually. I have always thought myself an honest man and yet I went to a great deal of trouble to conceal such valuables from her. She pressed me for them, and first I hesitated and then I resorted to deceit. I told her my father had sold all of it during a brief period of financial distress, except for a few pieces that were designed for Georgiana and of lesser value. Thus, their concealment far from Pemberley and London.”

I was excessively weary of discussion of his first wife, but it was a poison he needed to exorcise. I judged that enough of it had been released for one evening, however.

“I believe that your sister will be thrilled to have the pieces,” I said. “And I would not be surprised if Mr Bingley does not add a diamond or two to the collection very soon.”

He took my hand again in his, playing with the ring on my finger, and he spoke again almost absently. “When I asked you to marry me, I was fairly certain you would refuse. You looked so surprised, so alarmed even. There are more jewels for you,” he added. “I would not like you to wear a style you do not care for. You may have any of it reset, if you wish. I-I know my mother would be happy for you to do with it as you will.”

If I had not been fairly certain that I had his entire attention, however little he showed it, I might have believed him nonchalant. But I knew, somehow, he cared very much about my response.

“You may show me anything you wish, and I can safely promise to love it, if this ring is any indication.” I kissed his cheek. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I shall love it all. Tonight, I wish to show you exactly how grateful I am for what I have already received. Shall we retire now?”

He stood so quickly I was almost startled. He held out his hand to help me up; I took it, and together we slowly walked up the stairs in silent anticipation.

Anne was, after all, a stupid woman. When she could have had him in her bed, and his love, and his jewels, I could not fathom why she had so deliberately ruined it. But then, she would always be a foreign creature to me, like some rare specimen at the London Zoo. So completely different from myself, a dull little country girl with a mostly undistinguished lineage.

My ring caught the light just then, with a blinding flash. And I smiled.