The Elizabeth Papers Read Online Free PDF

and turned to Maureen, who did not look up from her typing.
    “Where do we find them, Mau?”
    “Well, they find us usually, Mr. Haywood, which is better than them not finding us.”
    He smiled, knowing she was right. Maureen had refused to let go of “Mr. Haywood” despite repeated requests, and eventually, Charlie had let it be.
    “Well, I suppose it keeps us off the streets. Speaking of which, I had better run.”
    “Off somewhere nice, Mr. Haywood?”
    “Just meeting my cousin Peter for a drink and a catch up. He has a new girlfriend he’s bringing along. Ballerina apparently.”
    He said it almost as if he didn’t believe it to be true. It amazed Charlie that his cousin Peter was able to attract a woman, let alone a professional dancer who was presumably young and fit and…well, sexy . He was trying to think of a way to share this reflection with Maureen when Simon came crashing through the door, all geniality and clutching a Starbucks hot chocolate with all the add-ons.
    “Evening, boss. Evening, Maureen. Passed a skinny woman on the stairs. Looked like she had just won the lottery. She one of yours?”
    “I hope not, at least not in the way you mean, Simon. That was the famous Miss Carter.”
    “Oh, that was Miss Carter! Was she as barmy in real life as she sounded on the phone?”

Chapter 3
    May 22, 1860
Pemberley
    Galbraith,
    Thank you for coming to Pemberley. I am sorry not to be more in your company but hope that my son and his wife looked after you. I am afraid that my days of dining into the night and besting my friends at billiards are behind me.
    We discussed the Rosschapel matter when you were here, and maybe I was too short with you on the subject. I have since given it some thought. As you know, Victoria (who is now Mrs. Montague) does not know the truth. I do not know whether she would be able to cope with knowing the truth, and she has lived, happily, in ignorance all her life. You mentioned Mr. Montague. He is, as you know, a man whom I respect as well as Victoria’s husband. Having considered the matter, however, I can see no real purpose in reporting to him the truth of Victoria’s position. Whatever would he do with this information, and how could it ever benefit anyone, least of all her?
    I hardly need add, therefore, that when I am dead, you will be the only living soul who knows the truth. I can see no reason why you should ever need to tell anyone else, and it is my instruction that you should not do so.
    Yours,
Darcy

Chapter 4
    September 3, 1819, Pemberley
    I have missed writing this past week but so much has happened, and my mind has been so full that I hardly know where I would have found the words. It is now a full week since we learned the news, but I still cannot comprehend it. We had dined, and I was playing the pianoforte, Fitzwilliam listening with his eyes closed, his whiskey glistening in the candlelight. I believe that I heard the commotion at the main door before he did and looked up from the keyboard in alarm. A horse whinnied, far-off voices mumbled, and heels clicked on polished floors. By the time James knocked on the door of the music room and entered, it was plain that something was amiss.
    “An express has come for you, sir.”
    Fitzwilliam started then stood. He gestured to me to be seated on the stool, took the weather-beaten letter from James’s tray, and turning his back to the room, began to read. I thought of my parents and my sister Mary who is expecting her first child. I could not keep silent.
    “Fitzwilliam, what is it? Please, tell me. Is it bad news?”
    He turned steadily, his profile against the yellow of the wall and moved his hands in a way that told me he was formulating a response. He gestured to James to leave the room, and we were alone.
    “Yes, Elizabeth, it is bad news. It is from the colonel of George Wickham’s regiment. I am afraid that Mr. Wickham has died on return from duties in Spain. He took a fever and perished, as did a number