Mr. Darcy's Daughters (35 page)

“Georgina!” This time it came out as a shriek. “You are run mad! You cannot become Lady Mordaunt, you know you cannot.”

“I can, and I have, for we were married three days ago, as soon as we came to Paris, for dear Sir Joshua had arranged everything, and the knot was tied not three hours after we arrived. Is he not the cleverest man?”

“Married! It is impossible!”

“And do not be imagining there was anything irreligious in the ceremony; you are not to be thinking that because this is France it was a papist wedding; that would be most improper. No, we had a Protestant clergyman who happens to be in Paris just now; everything was just as it should be.”

“Just as it should be! Good God, Georgina, what are you saying? Do you not know that Sir Joshua has a wife living?”

It was dusk when the chaise reached Aubrey Square, the end of a brilliantly fine day, with the sky turning to pink and orange as the sun hung huge and red on the horizon.

Windows in the houses round the square were open to catch the least promise of a breeze, and the Fitzwilliam house was no exception. Camilla sighed as she heard Letty’s carrying voice raised in some irritable protest.

Camilla had travelled abroad, had crossed into another existence, and was now, with all that had happened in her brief time away, a different person from the girl who had left London on that dawn morning. Yet here nothing had changed, and as she mounted the steps to the front door, she felt she might never have been away, might only have been out minutes or hours, on a walk, paying a call, visiting the circulating library or the shops in Bond Street.

The minute she stepped inside the house, she knew she was quite wrong. What was going on? Doors were flung open, there was the sound of running feet, heads hung over the banister.

“Belle, is that you? Is it Belle?”

“Oh, no, it is only Camilla.”

“Camilla, thank God you are come back. Is Mr. Gardiner with you?”

“Where is Georgina? Never say you did not find her?”

“Take care, Camilla, before you come in. Sister by sister we are disappearing; I hardly expected to see you back.”

This last was from Alethea, who was leaning over at the top of the stairs. Miss Griffin, looking drawn and anxious, was standing on the next landing with Letty and Fanny. Servants hovered in the background, and Pug was leaping down the stairs with happy grunts, eager to greet them.

“Why, whatever is going on?” Camilla said, much alarmed. “Yes, Letty, here I am, safe and sound; no, Georgina is quite well, and she is not returning to London. Pug, do not bark so. Let me but remove my hat and I shall explain.”

As she reached the top of the first flight of stairs, Fanny rushed forward to clasp her in her arms. Camilla could see traces of tears on her cousin’s cheeks, and felt a renewed rush of anger at what anguish Georgina’s thoughtlessness had caused. “Fanny, do not take on so. Georgina’s situation is very different from what we had imagined. She is married, married to Sir Joshua.”

Fanny gave a faint scream. “How can that be?”

“It is simple,” said Mr. Gardiner, treading up the stairs behind her. Aware of the listening servants, he led the way into the drawing room. “It turns out that Sir Joshua, whose morals are a disgrace, was never married to his supposed wife in Hampshire; she is in fact married to another man, from whom she lives apart. There can be no question of a divorce since the lady in question is a Roman Catholic. In any case, her and Sir Joshua’s liaison finished some while ago, so he coolly informed us. She stays on in his house merely as a matter of convenience, so there was no impediment to his marriage from that quarter, he said. Impudent fellow, if I were a dozen years younger, I’d have knocked him down.”

“So ruin does not after all stare us in the face,” said Camilla. “There, Letty, is that not good news? Georgina married, and living in such style!” There was also the matter of the baby, of course, but one shock at a time was enough.

Letty was looking wretched. “Alas, Camilla, it is of no avail! Disgrace, ruin, loss of reputation, nothing can save us now.”

“Oh, Letty, do stop it. There is surely no need to look and sound so miserable.”

“You say that only because you do not know.”

“Know what, for heaven’s sake?”

“That Belle is gone. She, too, has eloped.”

For an incredulous moment, Camilla stared at Letty. Conflicting emotions struggled within her, but in the end, her sense of humour got the better of her, and she had to laugh. She sat down on the sofa.

“Well, at least she cannot have eloped with Sir Joshua; at least the twins are not sharing him, even if they share a complete lack of morals.”

“Camilla! How can you be so unfeeling? How can you display such levity at a time like this? Be serious, I beg of you, for it is the worst news imaginable.”

“No, Letty, it is not. For Belle to be ill or dead, that would be the worst news. Now, pray tell me, with whom has she run away? Was she gone at dawn, just like Georgina? Where have they gone?”

“It is an elopement, a regular elopement,” said Fanny distractedly. “They have gone to Scotland, if the letter she left is to be believed.”

Nothing that the twins said or did or wrote could be taken at face value; that was one thing all this had taught her. Belle’s destination would depend on the nature of the man who had gone with her. “Who? Who is the man?”

“She writes that she has run away with Captain Allington,” said Fanny. “Can you believe it? We think that it is true, however, for I sent round to enquire, and he has not been seen for twenty-four hours; he is not in his lodgings, nor is his man there.”

“Have you questioned her maid? Dawson should have no trouble getting the truth out of her, not after last time.”

“She has taken her maid with her,” said Fanny.

“Where is Fitzwilliam?” said Mr. Gardiner. He wiped his perspiring brow with a silk handkerchief; there were rather too many women around and he felt he could do with some masculine support.

“He is gone after them. He left the minute we heard of her flight. He has gone to Scotland, to Gretna Green, to stop them.”

“Gretna Green! How vulgar,” Camilla said crossly. “How very commonplace of her.”

Since neither Fanny nor Letitia could refrain from interrupting each other, with Miss Griffin putting them right here and there and Alethea adding her own caustic comments, it was some time before the story was finally set forth in all its detail.

“It was our fault,” said Fanny unhappily. “Belle was so vexed by being kept indoors, for you know that Fitzwilliam insisted upon it, until she should be sent back to Pemberley. She threw a tantrum, claiming that it was monstrous unfair to keep her in, with Georgina and Camilla gone to France and Letty allowed to go about if she chose. She threatened to run away herself; she said she could see why Georgina had done so. Of course, I took no notice, and made it clear that, especially in the light of her sister’s disgraceful action, we really had no alternative.”

Fanny paused and sighed. “And, pray, do not mention Darcy’s name to me, for the mere thought of his rage makes me go into spasms. For what is he going to say when he learns that two of his daughters, whom he imagines still to be in the schoolroom, are married? Actually married, and in such very dubious, not to say shocking, circumstances.”

Letitia had been pursuing her own train of thought. “Georgina is not of age. Her marriage is not legal, it cannot be valid. It can be annulled.”

Camilla knew she would have to mention the fact that Georgina was going to have a baby. “Georgina is increasing. She had much better stay married.”

“Georgina increasing! Camilla, no!” This was the last straw for Letitia, who was clearly about to sink into her usual refuge of hysterics.

“Oh, do be quiet,” said Camilla. “No one has any time for you; if you want to whoop and wail, go and do it upstairs. Or, better still, have a good sniff of your smelling salts, if there are any remaining.”

“Mr. Gardiner, will you not go after Fitzwilliam?” said Letty, turning imploring eyes on him. “He requested that you do so, should you be back in time. For they may have made efforts to cover their traces, in which case another person on their trail will be invaluable.”

“From what I know of Captain Allington, any attempt he made to cover his traces would have quite the opposite effect,” said Mr. Gardiner with some asperity. “I am glad the war is over, for the prospect of such an officer having the lives and fates of his men, and of his fellow officers, in his hands is daunting indeed. No, I shall not go after them, and Mr. Fitzwilliam would be well advised to return to London. Let them be wed over the anvil if that is what they wish; they are as silly a pair as could be met with, and so I dare say they will deal well enough together.”

“Captain Allington has no money, no position, no title,” said Fanny. “He has little to offer any woman, let alone Belle, used to the comforts of life as she is.”

“I have no opinion of titles,” said Mr. Gardiner. “A man must be judged on his worth, not on how some far-from-respectable ancestress sacrificed her virtue to the king. Captain Allington appears to be a thoroughly amiable young man, despite not being so very clever. He will make her a good and affectionate husband, I am sure of it, and fifty thousand pounds will provide an adequate income for any young couple.”

Fanny heaved a great sigh. “I hope so, for it seems we have no choice but to accept him as her husband. Although let us hope that Fitzwilliam may yet have caught up with them; he was not so very far behind. He promised to send word to us this evening, Mr. Gardiner. I should so value your advice on what he has to say; will you not stay and dine with us, if Mrs. Gardiner can spare you a few more hours? She cannot have looked for such a swift return; we thought you would be away for many more days, hunting that unfortunate pair across France.”

“Now, my dear Lady Fanny, dry your eyes. Mrs. Gardiner is well used to my being away on business; she will certainly not fret if I stay away a few hours longer. I shall send round to her, just to let her know that I am back.”

“I was on the point of writing to her to ask you to attend upon us the moment you returned, and telling her what has happened. I will say that you are at Aubrey Square and dining with us.”

Fanny rose with alacrity, went over to the writing table, on which lay a pen and a half-written letter, dipped the pen in the standish, scribbled a few more lines in her looping hand and sealed the sheet with a wafer.

Mr. Gardiner cleared his throat and coughed. “Since you are ringing for a servant to take your letter, may I request a glass of lemonade for us, if you will, for I have a powerful thirst upon me after our journey?”

Fanny flew to the bell and tugged it. “How remiss of me, what am I thinking of? Lemonade, or would you rather a glass of wine? Camilla, my love, you must be longing to wash your dust off and to change your clothes. Tell me, is Georgina truly married? How does she look? Is she happy? Did Sir Joshua look very foolish when you and Mr. Gardiner arrived? Such a situation for a man in his position to find himself in. He is vastly rich, you know, it is not such a bad match for Georgina after all. Do not you think your father will agree?”

“Papa will think that a man of one-and-forty had better have nothing to do with a seventeen-year-old girl.”

“Oh, as to that, age and youth, it is the way of the world, especially when there is money in the case.”

From outside in the square came the footsteps of the lamplighter, attending to his evening duty of lighting the gas lamps outside Aubrey House on the north side of the square. He was whistling through the gap made by the loss of two front teeth; he always whistled. As the flame grew from a flicker to a steady glow, the warm light touched the windows of the houses around the square, a gloss of gold against the darkness of the panes. The acrid, burning smell drifted in through the windows along with the mingled sweet and unpleasant scents of a hot London evening.

His whistle faded into the distance, only for the returning peace of dusk to be broken by the sound of a carriage rattling at a dangerous pace into the square.

Everyone in Fanny’s drawing room flew to the windows, with the exception of Alethea. She was in the middle of a sonata and played calmly on, ignoring the excited chatter from the other side of the room.

“It must be Fitzwilliam returned; oh, is Belle with him?”

“It may be a messenger.”

“Whoever it is, they are in a most dreadful hurry.”

“Is not that Mr. Wytton’s carriage?”

“Why, it is my Sophie!”

With these words, Mr. Gardiner hurried out of the room. Camilla, lingering by the open window, saw Mr. Wytton himself, having a word with his groom before following Sophie into the house.

Camilla moved away from the window as Sophie came like a whirlwind into the drawing room, her colour high, her hair loosened and tumbling about her shoulders, her eyes huge and full of rage. How pretty she was, how undeniably pretty. And there behind her was Wytton, from whom Camilla had so recently parted for the final time; to see him so soon was to open wounds that had not even begun to heal. Was she fated to meet him over and over again, so that she could never come to terms with her sense of desolation over the might-have-beens?

“Where is she?” cried Sophie. “Where is Belle? I’ll tear her eyes out; she shall not have him, no, indeed she shall not. She is a witch, a sly, scheming creature, a slut! Why can’t she be content with all the other men she has under her spell?”

Alethea, delighted with the scene, played some trembling trills on the keys.

Mr. Gardiner, who had come up the stairs at a rather slower pace, was staring at his daughter in amazement. “Sophie, less drama if you please. What is this all about? Is your mother well?”

“Mama? What has she to do with it? She had a note from Lady Fanny, and she showed it to me when I came home early from a party—I had the headache. She said that Belle had eloped. With Captain Allington!” Her voice rose alarmingly as she pronounced his name.

“Calm yourself, Sophie,” said Fanny, quite sharply for her. “There is no need for you to shout it for the whole of London to hear. Belle has indeed run away. She is gone to Scotland, but Mr. Fitzwilliam has gone after her, and we hope to have news of them very soon.”

At last Camilla steeled herself to look at Wytton.

He stood quietly, watching Sophie; then, as Sophie took a few gulping breaths, obviously endeavouring to compose herself, he moved towards her, offering the comfort of his arms.

Alethea added her own comment, playing some bars that Camilla recognised as belonging to the lovers in Purcell’s
Dido and Aeneas.
Camilla shot her a quelling glance just as Sophie sprang away from Wytton, turning her head and making a gesture with her hands to ward him off. Wytton stepped back, amazed.

What was the matter with Sophie? Why was she behaving in this odd fashion, so upset about Belle and openly spurning Wytton? Camilla had never seen her cousin so distracted.