Page 77 of Resilience

Georgiana pressed her lips together and took a breath.

“If you like,” she continued, a touch more brightly than before. “We might make something similar. Just something small. It helps to have one’s hands occupied, to pass the time.”

She reached for the basket of linen squares and set it between them. Lydia did not move.

A flicker of frustration–sharp and unwelcome–rose in Georgiana’s chest before she could prevent it. She felt ashamed at once, but the feeling lingered nonetheless.

“I only thought…” Georgiana softened her tone. “It need not be for anyone in particular. Or perhaps you would like to knit mittens for the tenants? We can never begin to prepare for the festive boxes too early.”

Lydia’s gaze settled upon the basket, and she trembled, as though even the thought of choosing a piece of cloth was beyond her strength. “I am tired,” she said faintly.

“Of course,” Georgiana replied at once, mortified. She should have waited for Elizabeth, but she felt compelled to help Lydia find something to do. “I am sorry. We need not–”

But Lydia was already rising, moving slowly, carefully, arms wrapped tightly around herself as though she was cold. She left the room without another word.

Georgiana sat alone with the sewing in her hands, her frustration dissolving into worry. She told herself–firmly–that Lydia would be well in her own time. Elizabeth had said as much. Even Georgiana’s brother agreed with his wife that they must trust time to do what reason could not.

Still, as night fell, Georgiana could not shake the sense that something was amiss. Lydia did not join them for dinner, sending for a tray in her room. Georgiana, Priscilla, and Fitzwilliam spoke little during the meal. The three of them were counting the minutes until Elizabeth and Darcy returned, praying that the young woman in their care did not break down before her sister’s return.

It was well past midnight when she heard it. A cry; thin, pained, unmistakably human.

Georgiana sat bolt upright in bed, heart hammering. For one dreadful moment she wondered if she had dreamed it. Then it came again; a broken cry, choked off almost as soon as it escaped. It came from across the hall.

“Lydia,” she whispered, already out of bed.

She crossed the corridor barefoot, her candle shaking in her hand, and pushed open Lydia Wickham’s door. The smell of blood reached her before she could see Lydia curled in the bedclothes, her face white, her hair plastered damply to her temples. Her shaking hands were clenched tightly in the sheets, her body drawn inward as though trying to fold itself away.

Then Lydia cried out again, and as she contorted, she kicked the bedsheets away. That is when Georgiana saw the blood. There was more than she had ever seen when she had her monthlies. Every lady woke with blood upon her sheets occasionally when she was unprepared, but she had never seen this much at once.

“Miss Darcy!” Lydia sobbed, panic flaring in her eyes. “I do not know what to do.”

Georgiana put the candle on the table and rushed to her side. “I am here,” she said, though the words felt terribly insufficient. “I am here.”

“I did not mean for this,” Lydia whispered, her voice breaking. “Just because I wished it away…I did not mean–ah!”

Understanding struck Georgiana with such force she nearly fainted. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to think.

“I must fetch my cousin. I will not leave you alone. I promise!”

Lydia’s grip tightened painfully on her wrist. “Do not leave me,” she begged. “Please, Miss Darcy!”

“I will be back in a moment,” Georgiana said. “I swear it.”

She ran. Priscilla Fitzwilliam answered her door in her nightgown, eyes already alert before Georgiana could explain.

“I can hear her,” Priscilla said quietly, pulling on her shawl. “I am coming.”

Another ear-splitting cry emanated from Lydia’s bedchamber. Louder now, and easier to hear, since Georgiana had left the door open.

Richard appeared in the corridor seconds later, wearing an expression of alarm.

“I was going to the bachelor’s corridor from the billiards room when I heard her,” he said. “What is happening?”

“You must send for the midwife,” Priscilla said. “And Mrs Reynolds.”

Richard’s face turned white as his sister turned and crossed the hall, entering Lydia’s bedroom, Georgiana following close behind.

Just over an hour later, Fitzwilliam knocked on the door. Georgiana and Priscilla left Lydia with Mrs Reynolds, crossed the room, and opened the door a crack.