Chapter Text
⭒ Elizabeth
To belong to a community, Elizabeth thought that morning over breakfast, truly was a beautiful thing. She'd loved having all her friends together, had already made plans with them for a long hike and picnic next week, and was overall very pleased with herself over the successful luncheon. How anyone wanted to live in London, with its dirty streets, putrid smells and foul air, was beyond her.
"Gosh, how I long to be in London." Georgiana sighed wistfully. "They're putting on Artaxerxes again…"
"Did they get a man to play the role this time?" Elizabeth asked.
"No, still a woman, Mrs Vestris. They say she is 'as effective a representative of Artaxerxes as it is possible for a delicate female to be'."
"Fascinating! I saw it performed by a castrato once, it would be interesting to see the difference."
"There appears to be 'an abundance of interesting traits', even if 'there be no masculine.'"
"I always found that opera to be very melodramatic," William commented.
"Barely tolerable, you say?" Elizabeth said innocently. He shot her a look and she laughed. She'd never get tired of it.
"They're very mean about poor Miss Carew though," Georgiana continued, unbothered. "Oh brother, can we not go?"
William shook his head. "It is not a good time for you to go to London, I would not have the time to accompany you anywhere."
"I know, I know." Georgiana put the newspaper down. She was in a strange mood this morning.
"Are you done with the Morning Post?" Elizabeth inquired. She was a bit worried about Georgiana's lack of interest: the girl had always taken well to Elizabeth's insistence on following the news, but lately it seemed she barely read the arts and culture section.
"Yes, do you want it?" Georgiana passed on the newspaper without waiting for an answer.
Elizabeth was about to put it down, when her eyes caught on an article dramatically titled "Escape of Captain Davis from prison". It was the latest entry about a gentleman fraudster with gambling debts, an 'embarrassment to his many relations'.
"Have we seen Lydia yet?" she asked.
"She retired early last night, I have not seen her since," Georgiana said.
Elizabeth asked a servant to go check on Lydia and continued reading the newspaper. Half the page still described the unrest in Scotland. The royal troops seemed to be winning, but who was to say with the Morning Post. The King offered 500 pounds to any person with information on treasonable papers distributed in the neighbourhood of Glasgow. In Spain the king had been forced to accept the new constitution including universal suffrage, while the French king was establishing the Commission of Censorship following the law suspending Liberty of Press. The newspaper announced approaching trials for high treason in London too.
It worried Elizabeth, the direction Europe was going in, but she had trouble finding a specific thing to latch onto. None of these things impacted her daily life in Pemberley. Not as long as no real revolution took place, but the measures taken to prevent said revolution did not sit well with her either. It was difficult to form a coherent opinion, so far removed from London, with only the newspapers to go off and her husband and friends with the same lack of knowledge to discuss it with. She lacked crucial context.
Which brought her thoughts back again to Lydia. She wanted to feel like that situation had been resolved, like they could move forward, but there was something still gnawing at her. And where was her sister?
"William," she said, forcing herself to move to another topic. "I asked Harris to come find you this afternoon."
He looked up from his own newspaper. "The gamekeeper? Why?"
"To arrange for a hunting party. Thursday morning, I was thinking."
"But I do not want to hunt," he said, looking sad.
"I know, darling, but I am afraid you must. Your uncle expects it from us."
"It is not even hunting season!"
"It is always… something season for your uncle. And he expects certain standards from his hosts."
"I hardly have enough time to do my work on the estate as it is, with all our guests this week!"
"William," she said in the voice she knew he could not say no to, "I will be the one judged if we do not host up to the standards of Lord Fitzwilliam."
William sighed and returned to his paper, which meant she had won.
Elizabeth knew he hated hunting, but this was not up for discussion: she'd had to fight tooth and nail to be respected in her current station in life, and she was not about to ruin it by not providing Lord Fitzwilliam with everything he required. Lydia would be a hard enough sell to the family as it was.
Mrs Reynolds knocked on the door and entered.
"I apologise for interrupting, Madam, but it seems Mrs Wickham does not feel well this morning."
Georgiana's head snapped up. "What do you mean?"
"She is ill, Miss Darcy. Feverish, and very tired. I have sent for the doctor."
"Oh dear," Elizabeth muttered. She felt a knot of worry form in her stomach. "Thank you, Mrs Reynolds. How serious is it?"
"She is still lucid, and from what she says the fever does seem to have come down since last night - but she is clearly unwell."
Georgiana stood up. "We must see to her!"
"Ah…" Mrs Reynolds shot her mistress a look, and Elizabeth quickly stepped in.
"Better wait to hear what the doctor says, Georgiana," she told her. "If it is infectious, we cannot risk it spreading through the house."
"But…"
"We have to keep the children safe. Richie is only three."
The latest round of fevers had claimed five lives in Lambton. Elizabeth would not risk it.
Georgiana hesitated, but stayed put.
"Who did you sent for?" William asked Mrs Reynolds.
"I heard Dr Da Fonseca is checking up on a patient in the village today. He should be here forthwith."
That was good. Elizabeth trusted Da Fonseca more than the Lambton doctor, who was as close to a village quack as civilised society would allow.
"Send him up when he arrives, we will await news in the drawing room," she said.
Mrs Reynolds nodded, curtsied, and disappeared.
"Well," William said. "Well, I suppose we must wait, then."
They moved their business to the drawing room and sat together in silence, decidedly more uneasy than before.
"Mr Brooke wants me to play some Beethoven at the ball," Georgiana announced, after a long silence.
"Oh, that is lovely darling!"
"He may play some of the arrangement I wrote."
"I look forward to hearing it."
They went back to silence. Elizabeth picked up some embroidery. William started going through his correspondence, which reminded Elizabeth she still had to write to her family about Lydia. She did not know what to say now.
After a while, William visibly braced himself and turned to his sister.
"Georgiana?"
"Hmm?" Georgiana looked away from the clock, still fidgeting with her hands.
"Did you get the chance to speak to the Marshalls yesterday?"
Georgiana tensed. "I did not."
"It is only… I got the impression yesterday that Mrs Marshall knew more about your history with Mr Wickham than she let on. Is that possible?"
"Yes. I told her."
"You told her…"
"Everything."
William shot his wife a panicked look.
"When was this?" Elizabeth asked gently.
"A few years ago." She did not seem remorseful, just resigned to receiving their judgement. "And she has not told anyone since, not even after our falling out."
"Have you told more people?"
"Not yet."
"Not yet?"
"I think I will tell Lydia. Must we talk about this now?"
"Lydia?" William groaned. "My dear sister, if the story got out… I beg of you, be careful."
Georgiana stared unblinkingly at him for a few seconds. “You have never let me tell my story to anyone. Allow me the dignity of sharing it with the one person who might understand.”
She turned to watch the clock again. William opened his mouth, but Elizabeth shook her head at him. He went back to his correspondence.
The doctor finally came to find them some two hours later, led by an encouragingly calm Mrs Reynolds.
"Ah, Mr Darcy!" Da Fonseca greeted them in his beautiful accent. "How good to see you!"
"Da Fonseca, it is good to see you, too!" Mr Darcy greeted him with genuine warmth. "Despite the circumstances, that is."
"Such is the life of a doctor! But I have hopeful news. It seems Mrs Wickham's fever is not of the infectious sort: the cause is her infected tooth. The bad humours have spread to her body."
"So we can go see her?" Georgiana said.
"You can, and I am sure she will appreciate the company. She is a spirited young lady, even in her weakened state."
"Oh!" Georgiana's face softened with relief.
"Will she lose her tooth?" Elizabeth asked, who knew her sister would be very spirited indeed if such an aesthetic loss were to occur.
"She may," Da Fonseca said. "We will have to see how her condition progresses. For now it is important to let her rest and to ensure she stays hydrated. I have given Mrs Reynolds instructions on when to administer willow bark tea: tonight in particular, as the fever may come back."
"Thank you, doctor. Your help is much appreciated."
"You are welcome, Mr Darcy. I will take my leave, and come back tomorrow to see how she is doing. Some bloodletting too, once I have the equipment."
"Could you not stay a little while longer? I had been meaning to discuss this vaccine business in London with you."
"A fascinating topic, Sir! Unfortunately I have other engagements. Do you have time tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow I will be riding around the estate, I am afraid."
"How about next week?"
"Next week I am in London!"
Elizabeth and Georgiana exchanged a look, and silently made their retreat while the men discussed William's intention of spending time with the children.
When they got to the room, Georgiana immediately rushed to Lydia's side. Elizabeth paused in the doorframe and took in the scene before her first. Lydia was laying under a mountain of covers, hair plastered over her pale face. She looked so small, so vulnerable.
Suddenly Elizabeth was eleven again, watching from a doorframe as her mother sobbed over Lydia's frail body. By that point, Jane and Elizabeth had been pretending everything was fine for weeks. They had distracted Kitty and Mary, consoled their father. Had even taken over the household as their mother grieved a child not-yet-dead. But Elizabeth remembered vividly that moment in the doorframe, watching six-year-old Lydia shivering in her bed, when it hit her that her sister truly may die.
Lydia, this present Lydia, turned to face Elizabeth, a weak grin on her face, and said: "Finally! I thought you had forsaken me!"
Lydia had not died back then, and had been all the more spoiled for it.
Elizabeth stepped into the room, sat down on the bed, and picked up a wet rag from the night stand.
Lydia would not die now either.
She pressed the rag to Lydia's forehead. "How are you, sister?"
"What do you think?" Lydia moaned. "I am miserable. Miserable!"
"How is your tooth? Does it hurt?"
"Oh no, the tooth is fine," Lydia said, suddenly appearing a lot less miserable. "The doctor said it is almost dead, so I do not feel anything anymore."
That did not sound good. "Almost dead? What did he mean?"
"Do I look like a doctor? Ask him."
Elizabeth decided to worry about the matter later, and set about figuring out the symptoms she did understand. Her sister was shivering. She felt warm to the touch, but not to a worrying degree. Her skin was clammy from the sweat. But she did seem lucid, and spirited, and that gave her hope.
While exchanging Lydia's pillow for a fresh one (a whole operation, given how weak Lydia was), Lydia started babbling about witches.
"What was that?" Elizabeth asked, once it was done.
"I have been cursed, Elizabeth!" Lydia told her. "Cursed, I tell you, cursed!"
Elizabeth hummed in agreement.
"Cursed?" Georgiana giggled.
"Do not laugh at me! Do you not see my sorry state?"
"I see your sorry state, and yet I doubt it was brought on by a curse."
"I think it was that Mrs Marshall of yours," Lydia said. "She was shooting me dirty looks all evening."
Elizabeth and Georgiana exchanged a quick glance.
Lydia continued, unbothered: "Is that why you fell out? Because she is a witch? You should have known not to anger a witch, Miss Darcy."
"Witches are not real."
"Not real! Not real?! Can you believe her, Lizzie?"
Elizabeth shrugged. She combed the hair out Lydia's face.
"Tell that to my neighbour in Newcastle," Lydia prattled on, with an ever weakening voice. "If that woman wasn't a witch I don't know who is. One day I woke with some dirty twigs beneath my pillow, and who do you think was standing before my window, at the end of a day of misfortunes?"
"Your neighbour," Elizabeth and Georgiana said dutifully.
"My neighbour Mrs Danforth." Lydia closed her eyes. "Bitch."
Before Elizabeth had decided whether to scold a sick person on her language or not, Lydia was fast asleep. She looked so young, all of a sudden.
"I think she will be alright," Elizabeth told Georgiana.
Lydia woke again an hour later. She quickly masked her relief at seeing them by rolling her eyes, and Elizabeth allowed her the pretense.
"How are you, Lyddie?"
"Lyddie," Lydia muttered. "No one has called me that in ages."
"You did not like it, it was too similar to Lizzie."
"I may reclaim it. You do not go by Lizzie anymore, do not think I have not noticed."
Georgiana forced Lydia to drink some water and helped her get rid of some of the covers.
"Do you know who I dreamt of last night?" Lydia asked Elizabeth, nestling into her rearranged bed.
"No sister, I am afraid I am no witch."
Lydia huffed out a laugh. "Well, I know you aren't. I dreamt of Penny! Little Pen Harrington. She used to call me Lyddie too. Whatever happened to her?"
Elizabeth's hand stilled on her embroidery. "You do not know?"
Lydia too went still. "What?"
There was no hiding it. "She died, Lydia. A few years ago."
Georgiana took Lydia's hand in hers before the thought even occurred to Elizabeth.
"Died?" Lydia said, voice hoarse. "How?"
"In… In child birth. I am so sorry Lydia, I thought mother would have told you."
"When?"
"1816, I believe." It occurred to Elizabeth that Pen was not the only one to have died that year: 1816 had been hard on everyone. Lydia herself had asked for money quite often back then.
Suddenly Lydia's hands shot out from under the covers, grabbing Georgiana and Elizabeth by the arm with unexpected force.
"I am going to die!" she screamed.
"Lydia, no!" Elizabeth hurried to her side. "You are not going to die."
"I dreamt a dead woman beckoned me to join her," she cried. "It was an omen! I am cursed and I am going to die!"
Lydia started trashing under her covers, wailing out. Elizabeth tried to calm her down, to soothe her, but felt herself slowly join in her sister's despair. She hated seeing her like this, hated hearing her cry, hated seeing little Lyddie suffer.
Suddenly Georgiana jumped on the bed, and in one fell swoop pinned Lydia down. Lydia and Elizabeth both froze in shock.
"You are not going to die," she told Lydia, calm and steady.
Lydia looked up at her in wonder.
"And you are not cursed," Georgiana added. She sat down again on the edge of the bed, seemingly surprised at her own actions.
"Alright," Lydia whispered, after a long silence. "If the lady so wishes."
"The lady does wish."
The whole interaction had only taken a few seconds, and in those few seconds Georgiana had made everything right again. Lydia was calm. Elizabeth was calm. And they continued on as they had before.
Lydia dozed off from the exertion, but did not truly sleep again. From time to time she'd startle awake, frantically look for Elizabeth and Georgiana, before lying down again.
At some point she expressed interest in food, and Elizabeth arranged for lunch to be brought.
"I must say, sister," Lydia said as she slurped down down the last of her soup, "if this is the food you offer your guests, I worry for your standing in society. You said you were expecting a lord?"
"Worry about regaining your health, will you?"
"Give me more willow bark first."
One of the servants cleaning up lunch approached Elizabeth, and shyly inquired about her plans for the afternoon.
And just like that the fog in Elizabeth's mind lifted, the fog obscuring everything but her worry over Lydia. Elizabeth remembered she had duties to fulfill, that she had not seen her husband since breakfast, that she had not seen her children all day, and that she had a kitchen full of leftovers to deliver before they spoiled.
"We were going to feed the poor this afternoon," she said out loud. Georgiana looked up, as surprised at the reminder as Elizabeth had been. "The vicar expects us at two."
"Must you?" Lydia whined. "One could argue I am poor too."
Elizabeth hesitated. Lydia clearly did not want to be alone.
"Let me get you something to read, I would have you well entertained."
"Read? Do you not see me dying, sister? I can hardly open my eyes!"
"Go," Georgina said, amused. "I will read to her."
𖤓 Lydia
When Lydia woke again, Georgiana was still there. She appeared to be hiding almos: hunched over a book by the window, trying her best to become one with the curtains.
Then Georgiana looked up. The light from the window hit her just so, a relieved smile appeared on her face, and suddenly she appeared to Lydia almost an angel.
Lydia felt a pang in her chest, unrelated to her illness.
"You are awake," Georgiana said. "How are you feeling? Do you need anything?"
She held out a glass of water without awaiting a response, and Lydia drank from it dutifully.
"You should stop giving me water," she complained. "I do not see myself capable of walking to the chamber pot right now."
The small distance seemed insurmountable. Even sitting up seemed like too big an effort.
"Doctor's orders." Georgiana shrugged. Then, softer: "We will help you, of course."
Lydia stared at her, lost in thought.
"I am sorry about your friend," Georgiana whispered. "Were the two of you close?"
Lydia looked away. "I… Yes. " They had been close: Penny and her sister followed Lydia around everywhere. But her friend's devotion had annoyed her in equal measure, and that was difficult to explain. She had never missed Penny as much after leaving as she did now.
"It was complicated," Lydia said.
Georgiana gave her an encouraging nod.
"She did everything I told her to do," Lydia said. It was true, and something Lydia had appreciated at the time, but it felt unfair to reduce all she had been to that. Lydia tried again: "She was up for anything, but she was such a stickler about the way we did it. Always had to do everything properly, even if the thing we were doing was stealing ribbons from Jane."
She giggled at the memory of Penny's elaborate schemes. If it had been up to Lydia they would have just burst into her sister's room and ran away, but Penny always wanted a proper heist. So they orchestrated distractions with Kitty, mixed up ribbon boxes by accident, and Penny made sure the ribbon was returned in the exact same state.
"One time we dressed an officer up as a woman," she told Georgiana. "Borrowed a dress from my aunt, spent a day putting his outfit together. I was happy with just the dress, but Penny insisted on continuing. Did some magic with his make-up, had him shave his arms, filled up his corset and told him how to behave. He liked it too! Came up with a name for himself and everything. He looked just like a girl, no one knew." She smiled at the memory, and then stopped once she remembered the rest of it. "Not even Wickham."
Georgiana did not even flinch at the name. "And now you dress up as a man?"
"Now I what?"
"The breeches, in your luggage."
"Oh, that. No, that is just something I did back when Wickham was away. The city is not safe for a woman alone, so I'd walk around dressed like him."
Lydia squinted her eyes. Georgiana looked entirely too fascinated by the anecdote.
"What was it like?" Georgiana leaned forward.
Powerful. Freeing. It was the ability to go anyhere, to do anything. To run, to jump, to curse, to spit. To walk into any bar without issue. Lydia had only been found out one time: when she walked into a whorehouse out of curiosity. Those women immediately knew what was up. But she'd still been there, had seen what it was all about, and gained a new perspective on the world.
Lydia was not about to tell all that to a potential revolutionary.
"Men are disgusting," she said. "And don't you get any ideas! I know you, you little seditionist. You are a mad, mad girl."
"I am not mad!"
"Was was that yesterday, then? Telling your friend Mr Brooke about your political opinions?" She tsked, for good measure. "Mad, I tell you."
"I thought he'd react differently," Georgiana said quietly.
"Whyever would you think that?"
"I… I thought he cared for me."
"He does, he clearly adores you."
"How can he adore me if he does not know me?"
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Oh, give it up already. It is impossible to know someone fully. I do not even know myself that well."
"You know what I mean."
"Your brother does not know about your sedition, and he too adores you."
Georgiana conceded that point. "It is only… Recently I talked about these matters with someone new, someone who cared to hear what I thought, and it was so… fulfilling to hear new perspectives."
It took Lydia a bit to catch her meaning. "You mean me?"
"Yes, Lydia. You." She patted Lydia's bedcover, amused. "My friends… Well, you saw them yesterday. They are moving on. I do not have anyone else to talk about these things with."
"Is that what happened with Mrs Marshall?" Lydia asked, suddenly making the connection. "She got married and left you to mount your revolutions on your own?"
Georgiana shot her a calculating look. "No… Mrs Marshall did not leave her beliefs behind. I think she is even involved in the Female Reform Society in Derby."
"So what then?"
Georgiana sighed. "She just wanted to get married. To have children and a family. And she chose well! Mr Marshall is a great man. A reformist as well, and an outspoken abolitionist." Georgiana sighed again. "She just left… me."
Georgiana glanced at Lydia as if looking for something, a reaction, but Lydia did not know what. She was starting to get tired again.
"Well," she said, "if I were a witch, I'd curse that Mrs Marshall myself. What nizzie would ever leave you?"