Chapter Eight Fitzwilliam and Jane Darcy left their uncle’s house almost as soon as his carriage rolled out of sight. He shook out the reins, awkward and uncomfortable and unsure of how to speak to a grown sister, while she looked about the street interestedly. “We must go to the house in town to-day,” he said, breaking what seemed to him an intolerably constrained silence. He would have been very surprised to hear that Jane did not find it so. “Oh?” said Jane, patting a wayward golden curl into place. “Have I seen it before?” “Four or five times, perhaps. You will not remember it.” This judgment proved correct, though the house was so handsome and elegant and tall that Jane almost felt she had not seen it, ever, for she could hardly have forgotten it if she had. Of course, if her brother said so, she must have. A tall, spare woman, with an air of much greater authority than the other servants, hurried forward to greet them. “Jane,” said Darcy, “this is our housekeeper in town, Mrs Godber. She has served our family for many years. Mrs Godber, you remember Miss Darcy, who will preside over my household.” Jane, taken aback by this announcement, almost trembled. The housekeeper scrutinised her, then allowed herself a wintry smile. “We will be honoured to serve you again, Miss Darcy,” she said briefly. Darcy dismissed her, and with a peculiar smile pulling at his mouth – the sort of smile that usually brought a friend or relative to his rescue – said, “You must be hungry. Would you prefer to eat, or to see your rooms?” Jane chose food, which arrived with such rapidity that she supposed it must have been prepared already. Perhaps the Darcys always ate at this hour. “We are the only family here,” Darcy told her, scarcely touching his meal. “Georgiana, our younger sister, has been staying at my great-uncle Darcy’s house, just outside of town. She should be here tomorrow, with Sir James and his wife.” “I shall be glad to see her,” said she, trying to remember a sister. “Do they – do they know that I . . . ” “They have been informed of your discovery.” Their relatives arrived punctually the following day. Jane, who had unsuccessfully racked her brain for any memory of a sister, sat in considerable anxiety while Darcy orchestrated one plan for the journey to Pemberley, another for a duplicitous banker, and a third for a crippled young tenant. “Sir James and Lady Darcy; Miss D – Miss Georgiana Darcy,” squeaked a young servant, fleeing at one amused glance from Lady Darcy. Jane’s eyes instantly went to her sister, a rather tall, well-grown girl with green-hazel eyes, masses of familiar black hair, and a terrified expression. Despite her colouring, she resembled Jane even more closely than Darcy did – this much she saw, and yet she did not know her. “Jane!” cried Georgiana, eyes wide, and astonished everyone by taking several quick, impulsive steps forward before faltering. Jane’s heart immediately went out to her. “You must be Georgiana,” she said, holding out her hands with a gentle smile. “I am so delighted to meet you at last; here, you must sit with me. I want to hear all about you; we are sisters, you know.” “I – I know,” said Georgiana, astonished and grateful. She detached herself from Jane long enough to greet Darcy with her usual mixture of awe and adoration, then returned to their sister’s side. It was left to Darcy himself to perform the introductions, which he immediately did. Sir James Darcy, their great-uncle, was a judge not sixty years old – scarcely older than the nephew who had predeceased him, and over twenty years the junior of his own brother, Jane’s grandfather. His wife was about a decade younger. Both greeted her with a good deal more affection than she expected. Sir James remarked that she had something of the Darcy countenance, and her father’s hair, and hoped that she had not suffered very much. Jane, her sympathies firmly with everybody but herself, hardly knew where to look until Darcy – who had a very good idea of her feelings – smiled and said she had not been kept in a dungeon. Lady Darcy, for her part, insisted upon taking Jane to the best shops, ordering impossibly fine gowns, and hats, and slippers, and any number of other things, all to be sent to Pemberley as soon as possible. After they were gone, Darcy sent his sisters upstairs to examine the establishment they would share, and do whatever it was that ladies did to prefer for dinner. He himself went to his study to think of topics of conversations that involved neither commands nor sarcasm. Jane, thankfully, shared Bingley’s genius for making light, undemanding conversation. They talked and shared stories over dinner; not easily – that was impossible – but pleasantly. Even Georgiana laughed once or twice at her brother and sister’s youthful misadventures. They left for Pemberley shortly thereafter. The journey was a long one and Jane slept through most of it, her golden head nodding against Darcy’s arm. “I am glad you found her,” whispered Georgiana. “You may speak normally. She will not wake up, unless her habits have changed more than, at present, seems probable.” Darcy paused. “I, too, am – happy to have her returned to us.” Georgiana smiled. Then her brow furrowed, and she said, “It must be difficult for her. I know she remembers a great many bits and pieces, but – but would it not be a terrible shock, to find out such a thing?” “Quite startling, I imagine.” “I suppose it is a great change, as well – from what she is used to, I mean.” He looked directly at her. “Yes, it is. We must do our best to help her. I have perfect faith in Reynolds’ loyalty, of course – ” their eyes met and both stifled laughter – “but I shall do my utmost to assist Jane in her new duties, while you should acquaint her with the knowledge of Pemberley, and our neighbourhood, that you possess and she has either forgotten, or was never in a position to learn.” “I?” Georgiana stared at her hands, thin and limp in her lap. “What could I . . . oh, I suppose she does not know where the chapel is, or what the servants are called, or the Miss Blythes’ Christian names.” “Precisely.” Jane stirred awake on their last day of travel, as the carriage clattered from Lambton to Pemberley. She glanced around the carriage, realised that her peculiarly dark pillow was in fact Darcy’s sleeve, and sat bolt upright. “Oh! I beg your pardon!” she cried. “How long have I been asleep?” “About thirty hours, I think,” Georgiana told her. “Not including the occasions when we stopped at an inn,” added Darcy. “That is true.” They looked at her expectantly. Jane pushed several curls out of her eyes and glanced out the window. “Oh!” She saw the great Pemberley woods, the river and the arching bridge and the wooded hills soaring behind it all like a painting, and felt as if someone had struck her. Her chest ached, and all breath seemed to rush out of her body. Afterward, she could never say how she found herself standing before the elegant mansion that was Pemberley House, her brother and sister on either side of her. “This is – I have dreamt of this place for my entire life,” she said, gazing around in disbelief. “I – it does not look the same, exactly, but – but – ” Thoughts and memories flashed through her mind, too quick and ethereal to grasp. “I lived here! I remember – ” “Of course you do,” said Darcy. “I remember all sorts of things from when I was that age,” Georgiana added shyly. Jane, tears springing to her eyes, reached for their hands. She thought not of a particular memory, but of the vague sense of calm and quiet she had clung to through the years. This was the place where, as a little girl, she had lived in elegant tranquillity with her brother and their parents, frail and doted-upon and protected from even a hint of discord. “This was my home,” she whispered. “It still is,” Darcy told her, his voice as cool and practical as Elizabeth’s. Inside, the house looked a little less splendid than she had imagined – remembered – and more elegant. Jane glanced at the polished floor, the high arching ceilings, the richly upholstered furniture, all so familiar now, and felt as if she were walking through a dream. The housekeeper immediately dispelled the impression. She was a tiny, wrinkled person of strong opinions and great loquacity who had disapproved of ‘fancies’ even as a nervous young parlourmaid. Bustling forward – she never walked when she could bustle – she greeted her master and his sisters with her usual air of resolute solicitude. “Well, Miss Darcy,” she said, as if Jane had just returned from an extended holiday, “I must say we’re all very happy to see you back home again. If you’ll follow me, I can show you your rooms.” As Jane followed her up the stairs, she felt that nagging sense of familiarity again. “I beg your pardon,” said Jane, “but – have you been at Pemberley very long?” “Twenty-four years in January,” Mrs Reynolds told her proudly. “Lady Catherine sent me to Lady Anne just before you were born, and I never went back, though I had been at Rosings ten years. I was not housekeeper then, of course.” “You were – ” Jane hesitated – “Martha?” “I declare! Fancy your remembering that! – but then, you were always like the master – the late master. He never forgot a thing either.” She opened a door and sniffed the air suspiciously. “Adequate,” she decreed. “Your chambers have been shut up for nigh on eighteen years, Miss Darcy. Her ladyship wouldn’t hear of anything else, and after she died, the late master couldn’t bear to change them. Mr Darcy – well – he never did either. You see, she always meant them for you, first, when you grew old enough, and later, for when you returned home. She always said you would, someday.” Home. Jane walked past her, into the pale, pretty rooms that her mother had kept waiting for her, confident of her return, but dead before she could witness it. Even Mrs Reynolds could not drive away the ghosts here. “Thank you, Reynolds,” she said in a voice hardly recognisable as her own, and turned to look out the window. It was the loveliest view she had yet seen – indeed, Lady Anne had chosen these rooms for exactly that reason. For a long while, Jane sat motionless near the window, feeling very much loved as the silent serenity of the chamber seemed to wrap around her. She wished Elizabeth were here, to explain what it all meant, and she wished her mother and father were not dead. This was my home, she thought, and Jenny Darcy, that small, cherished child of five, seemed to cry out - and they took me away! * * * * * Fitzwilliam and Georgiana Darcy, at least, ought to have been exhausted from the days of travel; Jane’s ability to fall deeply and instantly asleep while rocked and jostled by the movements of a carriage was not one shared by her brother and sister. They were both too highly-strung and too fastidious to rest easily outside the spotless safety of their own beds in their own homes. Every night, they had stopped at an inn; and every night, Georgiana tossed and turned while Darcy laid motionless, arranging plans in between furtive glances at the corners of the room. As a matter of fact, they were tired; but their minds were far too full for immediate sleep. Georgiana spent several hours thinking that she had a perfect, lovely sister to go with her perfect, handsome brother. At first it all seemed like a gift from God; then she thought that Jane would always have been with them if she had not been stolen. Perhaps their mother would not have died, either; everybody said she didn’t care to live after they stopped trying to find Jane. Georgiana decided that she disliked the Bennets very much. Darcy, whose own dislike took the form of an indifference so absolute that it surprised even him, did not waste any decisions on them. He thought of the coming Sunday, when Jane with all her candour and delicacy would become the object of the most impertinent curiosity – in their own chapel! She could ride, he knew; perhaps he should take her around the estate before then. She would need her own horse – had not Carrington mentioned something about a fine palfrey? – and while he was speaking to Carrington, he might as well disabuse him of his notions about his third cousin’s uncle’s act – a vile, pernicious piece of work – After several hours, he was finally on the point of falling asleep, when he sat bolt upright. “Oh, Lord,” he said aloud. “Bingley.” * * * * * Two letters were sent the next day, at no expense to the recipients. The first began: My dearest Lizzy, Fitzwilliam and Georgiana and I arrived safely at Pemberley to-day. Everything is very beautiful and everybody is so kind to me . . . The other was exceedingly brief by all usual standards. Bingley: Forgive me for my delay in returning to enjoy your hospitality at Netherfield. As you can see, I am now at Pemberley and plan to remain so for an indefinite period of time. I do not expect to return south at any point in the immediate future. I have never had cause to mention to you the peculiar tragedy which befell my family and I eighteen years ago, but I expect you have heard of it. The elder of my sisters, four years and a half my junior, was stolen when we were both children. While in Hertfordshire, I discovered her living in near-ignorance of her condition – this will, I hope, account for certain oddities of behaviour while there. We have both altered in appearance somewhat and did not recognise each other for several weeks. I have since remedied the situation but feel it best to remain in Derbyshire at present. However, I am sure that she and Georgiana would be pleased if you – and, of course, your sisters, who were such great friends to her while in Hertfordshire – were to join us here. I am yours &tc, F Darcy |