Page 75 of Resilience

Another man spoke, more roughly. “We do not say she bears his guilt. But to see the name Wickham sheltered at Pemberley of all places. Feels terrible hurtful, Mr Darcy. Feels as though the pain he caused is forgotten.”

Darcy’s gaze was steady. “It is not forgotten.”

Elizabeth stepped forward. “I believe you must meet my sister,”

The group stilled.

Darcy murmured in her ear. “Perhaps this is not the best time.”

Elizabeth ignored him and turned to the footman who had lingered near the doorway. “Ask Mrs Wickham to join us,” she said calmly. “Tell her only that I require her presence.”

The footman hesitated, startled, but bowed and disappeared within. The tenants exchanged uneasy glances.

“We brung no pitchforks, ma’am,” Mrs Brewer objected. “Only came to be heard.”

“You shall be,” Elizabeth replied.

Several minutes later, the door opened again. Lydia came out slowly, her eyes wide in terror.

She was dressed simply in pale yellow muslin, her hair neatly arranged. There was more colour in her cheeks than there was when Elizabeth found her in Newcastle, but she remained painfully thin, her eyes shadowed. Lydia stopped when she saw the gathering. The fear in her expression was immediate and unmistakable.

Elizabeth moved to her side at once. “Come,” she said softly. “You are safe.”

Lydia’s gaze drifted across the unfamiliar faces. She swallowed.

Darcy addressed the tenants gently. “You wished to speak of her presence here. She stands before you. You may say what you feel.”

There was a long, painful silence.

Mrs Brewer stared at Lydia, and something in her face changed. The anger drained first, replaced by shock…then shame.

“She’s… Why, she’s jest a child,” she gasped.

“I am not,” Lydia protested faintly, though there was no defiance in it. Only weariness.

Mr Blackwell removed his cap entirely, gripping it in both hands. “Forgive us, miss. We thought…we believed…we…we were mistaken.”

One of the women turned away, her hand pressed to her mouth.

Mr Brewer bowed his head. “We came seeking justice,” he said hoarsely. “We did not know we were bringing cruelty instead.”

One by one, the tenants bowed awkwardly, ashamed.

“We beg your pardon Mrs Darcy…Miss…er…Mrs Wickham,” Mrs Bell said. “Truly sorry, we are.”

Darcy spoke then, firm but gently. “Mrs Wickham has been as harmed as anyone. She remains here under my protection, just like every family who has been hurt by George Wickham. Not as indulgence, but as duty. To her. To you. To all who were harmed by the same man.”

Mr Shelton inclined his head. “Then we thank you, sir.”

The group dispersed quietly soon after, subdued and chastened. Lydia remained on the steps, staring after them.

“They were not angry with me,” she said softly.

Elizabeth squeezed her hand. “No. They were only hurting. And we know what it is to be hurt by him too.”

Lydia’s voice shook. “I thought I deserved their hatred.”

Elizabeth turned her gently back into the house. “You deserve to grow strong again.”