When Mr. Darcy called at the Parsonage some days later, all the ladies were within. After exchanging greetings, he turned his attention to Elizabeth.
“I am glad to see that you are well, Miss Bennet, and not confined to your room. I have not had the pleasure of your company on my last few visits here.”
Elizabeth did not favour him with an answer.
He shifted in his seat while continuing to look at her. “I have had a letter from Bingley.”
This news piqued her interest. “Is he well?”
“He is in health. He mentioned a…peculiar situation. As it involves Longbourn and, specifically, your father, I thought to take the opportunity to speak with you on his behalf.”
Charlotte immediately invented some business in the kitchen which she had to oversee personally, and she pressed Maria to assist her.
Elizabeth’s silent reproaches were ignored by her friend. She quickly found herself alone with Mr. Darcy.
“Do not be alarmed, Miss Bennet. I shall be the soul of propriety.”
“Of course; I expect nothing less. I trust you will not so much as touch a hair on my head.” She was well satisfied with his resulting blush, and it went a long way towards relieving some of her lingering anger at him.
“Shall we go there?” He indicated a desk in the corner. “I would like you to see the letter for yourself.”
“If you wish, though I cannot imagine what difficulty can exist between Mr. Bingley and my father, or what I can do to assist him.”
Elizabeth sat while Mr. Darcy stood at her side and spread the letter out before her. At first glance, she immediately recalled a certain conversation that took place at Netherfield. “Miss Bingley did not exaggerate when she described her brother’s penmanship. It is indeed difficult to make out this scrawl.” She leaned over the paper and examined each line. Her persistence paid off. She gathered from the letter several things that surprised her.
Mr. Darcy must have broached the subject of Jane with the gentleman. The missive clearly was a reply to one of Mr. Darcy’s own. Furthermore, it appeared that Mr. Bingley was not so easily led as Elizabeth had believed. Yes, he had stayed in London for the winter, as he had promised his sisters he would do, but he had not forgotten Jane at all. He had trusted Caroline to convey their decision to Jane by letter. That may have been an unwise choice, but it was a reasonable one, as he could not write to Jane himself. He likely knew nothing of Miss Bingley’s insinuations regarding the nature of his acquaintance with Miss Darcy.
Elizabeth reluctantly allowed her resentment to give way, for although Mr. Bingley had considered his friend’s and his sisters’ opinions, those opinions had not materially altered his own. He had determined to wait several weeks to prove to himself that this attraction was no passing fancy, as so often had been the case with him. Now fixed in his choice, he had decided to write to Mr. Bennet of his intentions—a decisive step, to be sure—and if his words, smudges and blots were to be believed, her father had not responded. This was the crux of the matter. Jane’s proximity to him, whether in Gracechurch Street or in Hertfordshire, was of little importance if he was denied permission to court her.
“As you see, he believes Mr. Bennet does not look upon him with favour.” She heard Mr. Darcy’s voice as she read the last lines of the letter. “Are you familiar with your father’s opinion? Does he object to Mr. Bingley as a suitor for Miss Bennet?”
“No, I am sure he does not, although I see why Mr. Bingley believes the opposite. He wrote to Longbourn weeks ago. My father is a dilatory correspondent at best, but such a delay is unusual, even for him.” She perused the papers again and smiled as a notion occurred to her. “Mr. Darcy, do you think Mr. Bingley’s letter to my father may have had a similar appearance to this one?”
“If you are asking me if his writing is always that untidy, the answer is yes.”
“Then I believe I know what happened. Papa, while eager to receive letters, has little tolerance for struggling to make them out. If he unfolded the first page and saw this,” she held up the paper, “he would just as soon have tossed it into the fire as not. I doubt he bothered to read the signature. He would see an unfamiliar hand and illegible script and decide the person did not care to make himself understood, and thus did not deserve his consideration.” She smiled. “That is, if the letter did not go astray. Based on what I see here, there is a good chance that Mr. Bingley wrote the direction rather ill, and the envelope sits unopened on a Mr. Barnet’s desk somewhere in Herefordshire.”
Mr. Darcy laughed at her explanation. “I am relieved. I shall advise my friend to be very careful with his next letter, or, better yet, to forego writing and ride to Longbourn to call on your father instead. Bingley makes a far better impression in person than in print.”
“Shall you write to your friend very soon?” Elizabeth felt the stirrings of hope for her sister.
“No, I shall tell him myself tomorrow, or the following day at the latest.”
“You are to leave Kent?”
“I am for London in the morning. I have put off my departure once already.”
He gathered up the pages of Mr. Bingley’s letter and replaced them with a sealed envelope addressed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
“Mr. Darcy, I—” She looked at him, apprehensive.
He lowered his voice. “Would you do me the honour of reading it?”
After their argument, Elizabeth had been certain that she never wanted to see Mr. Darcy again. She had purposely stayed away from Rosings ever since. There was still so much unresolved between them, she knew, but she had not desired resolution, only escape.
He, on the other hand, had delayed his departure from Kent, something he never did, according to Colonel Fitzwilliam. He had written to Mr. Bingley attempting to correct his error regarding Jane. And he had written to her as well. It was only fair that she read what he had to communicate. She looked again at her name on the envelope and noted the steady, neat lines and curves of his writing. Already this missive promised to be much more intelligible than Mr. Bingley’s.
She grinned despite herself and took the letter. “I suppose I can do that much.”
“Thank you.”
They were more silent than not during the next several minutes. Elizabeth, curious as she was, could not open the letter just yet. She attempted to converse on lighter topics with little success, for it appeared that Mr. Darcy, unlike herself, had not taken the trouble of practising and still was little inclined to parlour conversation. Perhaps it was that, or the nature of their previous discussion. More likely it was the lingering effect of his declaration in Mrs. Jenkinson’s room that inhibited them.
Perhaps all that Mr. Darcy wished to say to her was written in the letter.
The return of Charlotte and Maria to the parlour was very welcome, for if they could not all talk, they could all eat, and the repast proved delicious enough to lend credence to Charlotte’s eagerness to supervise its preparation.
Part 5
“Charlotte?” Elizabeth had come down to seek out a quiet place to think and was surprised to find her friend still awake. She closed the door behind her, though she doubted any conversation here, in the drawing room, would be distinguished over the snores emanating from the master chamber.
Charlotte dropped her book onto her lap. “Eliza? Can you not sleep? Is there anything I can get for you?”
Elizabeth slid down into a seat across from Charlotte. “He will be gone tomorrow.”
Charlotte favoured her with a tired smile. “And this news keeps you from your precious slumber?”
The twinkle in Charlotte’s eye and her immediate understanding of who he was—though she knew it required little effort to puzzle out—made Elizabeth feel that they somehow had instantly regained much of the intimacy that had been lacking in their friendship since Charlotte’s engagement and marriage. “I spoke my thoughts aloud again, did I? No, the fact that he is leaving has not kept me awake; rather, it is everything else. Charlotte, what are you doing down here?”
“I cannot rest comfortably just now. It appears that supper did not agree with me.” She clasped her hands together. “Or with another, who is, unfortunately, too young to tell me precisely which part of the meal he found objectionable.” Her hand passed over her middle almost in a caress as she looked shyly at Elizabeth. “I was always told that women took ill in the morning in cases like these. It was that way with my own mother.”
“Charlotte!” Elizabeth was up in an instant to embrace and congratulate her friend, her joy checked only by the notion that the child possessed a most unfortunate father. But having such a mother might atone for it. “Are you certain?”
“I am, though I have told no one yet. I wish to wait a month or two before allowing the news to go all around Hunsford and Meryton. I have not even told Maria. She is horrid at keeping secrets.”
Elizabeth sat down again, and the two women lapsed into an easy silence. Charlotte picked up her book and marked her place before putting it on the table with an unsteady hand. “I thank you, Eliza, for your sincere good wishes. I do value them, especially in light of the circumstances.”
“And what might those circumstances be? That someday there will be children by the name of Collins instead of Bennet running around Longbourn House? It was always to be so, as I have no brother.”
“Eliza, you know very well it is a subject I dare not mention. I should not even have alluded to it.”
“Charlotte, you were my friend first, long before…” She waved her arm in a dismissive gesture.
“But still…”
“You know I could never hold the consequences of the entail against you. I am not my mother.” Their simultaneous smiles eased the tension. “If a Bennet cannot inherit our family home, it could be in no better hands than those of my dearest friend.”
“That is kind of you to say, but there is something that I must discuss with you.” Charlotte sighed. “I know you possess a generous heart, Eliza, and I am glad of it. However, my children and I will not be the only ones to…settle in Hertfordshire some faraway day.” Charlotte fidgeted in her seat. “My husband’s conduct of late has been inexcusable. I must apologise to you for it, as it is clear that he never will. I have tried in vain to make him reasonable, but he refuses to hear my opinion. It is very wrong of him to cast aspersions upon your character for any reason. You are his own relation, and you have done nothing to deserve such treatment.”
Elizabeth had formed a playful reply, but she saw that her friend truly was troubled by Mr. Collins’s behaviour. “I shall not argue with you, Charlotte. I am not pleased that my cousin thinks I sought to entrap a respectable gentleman with my ‘arts and allurements’, as he is fond of saying. And yet…I find that he is right, in a way. It was never my intention, but I do seem to have drawn someone in all the same. Although it is very likely that nothing will come of it.”
“But you think it possible that something may come of it?”
“I do not know. No, that is not entirely true.” She did not know before he called her by name and caressed her hair and declared he could never hate her. And wrote to her, most kindly, to put her on her guard concerning their mutual acquaintance, concluding the letter with a charity she did not deserve after the harsh words she had flung at him. She spoke decisively. “Yes. Possible, but not probable.”
“Do you not trust the gentleman to be constant in his affections?”
“It is my own mind that is undecided on the matter. I don’t love him, Charlotte. I do not yet know if I can like him. Besides, he has not declared himself, and he may never do so.” He had only revealed his feelings, not his intentions.
“It would be a splendid match, you know.”
“For one of us, perhaps.” They were talking of something that may never be, something Elizabeth never expected to consider.
“For each of you. It will be to the advantage of both. He is your equal, and you know it. He certainly knows it. Eliza, you simply will have to grow accustomed to losing half of your arguments instead of none.”
Elizabeth laughed. “How apt. I will have you know, it was an argument that started all this.”
“Truly? I cannot imagine how. After all, the whole of Meryton is aware that you have admired Mr. Darcy for his tall form and handsome face, not to mention his superior manners, from the very beginning of your acquaintance.”
They both laughed until Elizabeth recalled the contents of her letter. “There is something rather serious that I discovered today. At first I did not know what to make of it, but after thinking on it for several hours, I have to take Mr. Darcy’s word over Mr. Wickham’s.”
“You talked of Mr. Wickham? I had thought you were discussing Mr. Bingley.”
“We did not exactly talk of Mr. Wickham.”
“Then how…That paper in your hand…Mr. Darcy wrote to you?”
“Shh! Please do not tell your husband. I myself shall not breathe a word of it, or he will throw me out of the Parsonage well before my planned departure on Saturday next.”
“He must mean to marry you, Eliza! Why else would he break with propriety in such a way? My, my! Lady Catherine will be most seriously displeased.”
“I believe his purpose in writing was less romantic. He sought to warn me that Mr. Wickham is not the hapless victim that he claimed to be. I will show you part of what he says. Here.” She handed Charlotte a page of the letter and indicated the relevant portion.
Charlotte read it and handed it back to her. “Remarkable. And all this time Mr. Wickham had us believing he was treated unfairly. The Darcys were more than generous to him, both father and son.”
“Very true.” It was good to speak of it to someone. She had resigned herself to waiting until she was in Gracechurch Street with Jane again, but tonight it seemed natural to talk of this to Charlotte. “But do you think I should make Mr. Wickham’s character known among our acquaintance? I wonder if Mary King has discovered his true nature, or if she is about to lose her ten thousand pounds to the gaming tables.”
“Did Mr. Darcy give you leave to speak of it publicly?”
“No; neither did he forbid it, not this much, at least. There are other, more insidious charges against Mr. Wickham which I am not at liberty to relate, and there I must and will keep his confidence. I wonder if these lesser faults are enough to change the minds of all those ladies who have fallen for a handsome face. And it is a very handsome face, at that.”
“Do you still favour Mr. Wickham?”
“I can hardly do so now, can I? Truly, I do not believe he touched my heart very deeply, though I admit I was pleased with his attentions.”
“He is a very charming fellow.” Charlotte thought for a moment. “Have you any objection to my sharing this news with Maria?”
“Why? Was she half in love with him, too? Kitty and Lydia certainly were.”
“No more than most, but I have other reasons. I shall not tell her everything, just enough so that she will write to my mother, or Miss Long, or perhaps even Miss Swarthmore, who is an intimate friend of Miss King, and tell her that some of Lady Catherine’s family have accused Mr. Wickham of less-than-gentlemanlike behaviour. No one will know that it is you who told me, or Mr. Darcy who told you. Maria will assume that my information came from Colonel Fitzwilliam or even from Lady Catherine herself.”
“That might be wise. I should hate to see Miss King suffer for her choice.”
They sat in silence for some minutes.
Elizabeth yawned. “Are you well enough to retire now, Charlotte?”
“I believe so.” She and Elizabeth walked to the door. “I still think it would be a splendid match, Eliza.”
Elizabeth only smiled, and the two friends parted company at the top of the stairs.
Part 6
“Lady Catherine feels so dull as to be very desirous of our company today.”
Mr. Collins had walked early to Rosings with the intention of seeing Mr. Darcy off, and he returned as the others were finishing their breakfast. “Mr. Darcy’s carriage departed at sunrise. Such a pity that I did not have the opportunity to speak with him before he left, but I am certain Lady Catherine will convey my apologies by post. My dear, we must hurry ourselves! Maria, Miss Elizabeth, you are to come as well. We must console Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh for the loss of their relation’s society. They expect us at any moment.”
Within the hour, the four of them were seated in the drawing room at Rosings, listening to Lady Catherine expound on the pleasures of this most recent visit from her nephew. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s brief stay seemed entirely forgotten by her.
“He remained with us several days longer than usual,” said Lady Catherine, referring to Mr. Darcy, “and was sorry to leave us at last. His attachment to Rosings certainly increases.”
Mr. Collins appeared ready to interject his usual allusion to Mr. Darcy’s attachment to his cousin, when Elizabeth forestalled him.
“And did you see much of him, then, in these last few days?”
“No; strange you should inquire, Miss Bennet. I did not see him as frequently as I had hoped. He dined with us, of course, but he spent much of his time above stairs, writing letters of business, I understand. He works too hard for such a young man. If he had a steward like my Matheson, he might have more leisure for visiting. It is unfortunate that Mr. Wickham died when he did; he was an excellent steward to Mr. Darcy’s father. If the son, young George Wickham, had not turned out so wild, he could have taken his father’s place, but that scalawag might be capable of bankrupting even an estate as grand as Pemberley.”
Charlotte and Elizabeth looked at each other with widened eyes and suppressed smiles. It seemed Maria now had plenty of gossip to carry back to Meryton, and her quiet gasp confirmed her interest.
Elizabeth trusted Mr. Darcy even more now that his account had been corroborated by his aunt’s words. Wanting to test whether or not the aunt’s opinion only mirrored that of the nephew, she boldly ventured, “Lady Catherine, it must be a great comfort that your nephew confides in you regarding his business affairs.” Elizabeth hoped that her ladyship had grown accustomed to her impertinent ways and would not take offence.
Far from resenting the comment, Lady Catherine responded to it eagerly. “Darcy? He tells me almost nothing. He values his privacy, a trait which shall serve him well when…” Her voice trailed off as she favoured her daughter with a fond glance. “Yes, he is most discreet. I took it upon myself to inquire about those closely associated with Pemberley when last I was in Derbyshire.” She turned back to Elizabeth. “I journeyed there for the reading of the elder Mr. Darcy’s will. I anticipated becoming Georgiana’s guardian, of course. It would have been for the best. Anne and Georgiana might have grown quite as close as sisters these five years.” She smiled briefly. “I was quite put out to find that responsibility left to Darcy and Fitzwilliam.”
Lady Catherine raised her head even higher. “Even more shocking, I found that my brother had bequeathed young Wickham one thousand pounds! I could not imagine what had obliged him to do so—the boy is merely the son of a servant—so I inquired all about Lambton to find out as much as I possibly could. There was not a soul to whom I spoke who held him in any esteem there, and there were several who had good reason to dislike him—debts, debaucheries…oh, the rumours! I shall not pollute your ears with them. Darcy has done well to distance himself from George Wickham. I still find it deplorable that my brother meant to foist that man upon his neighbours and tenants as their parson. One’s reputation is of the utmost importance in that profession.”
Mr. Collins humbly concurred and expressed his gratitude to Lady Catherine for her patronage. Elizabeth took the opportunity to dwell upon all she had heard. She was indebted, for once, to Lady Catherine’s propensity to meddle in the business of others, though she credited her ladyship with slightly more selfish motives than those of simple familial duty in her particular attention to the financial affairs of Pemberley. After all, one thousand pounds given to Wickham was one thousand less for the future Mrs. Anne Darcy.
As Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine talked on, Miss de Bourgh displayed signs of fatigue, which were noted by the others, and after Mrs. Collins gave a few gentle hints to her husband, the party rose to leave. All afternoon, Mr. Collins, Mrs. Collins, Elizabeth and Maria spoke of little else than Lady Catherine and her surprising revelations.
Mr. Collins’s behaviour to Elizabeth improved in proportion to her lack of potential suitors; thus, the latter’s final week in Hunsford was far more pleasant than the previous two. Charlotte did not raise the subject again—further apology would have been absurd, as she herself was not to blame—but it was apparent she felt much more at ease now that her husband once again behaved civilly towards both their guests.
Invitations to Rosings were as frequent as before the gentlemen’s visit. Two days before Elizabeth and Maria were scheduled to leave Kent, the last of these invitations was issued and accepted. Elizabeth performed again at Lady Catherine’s request and was privileged to hear that her ladyship’s opinion of her abilities had risen. Such good fortune did not shield her from criticism, however.
“Miss Bennet, I understand that you have not been to Mrs. Jenkinson’s room very frequently of late.”
“That is correct, your ladyship. I have been somewhat busy at the Parsonage, attending Mrs. Collins and preparing for my departure on Saturday.” Charlotte had taken ill several days that week, and Elizabeth, being the only one who knew her true condition, had spent a great portion of her time nursing her friend and seeing to her comfort. The others were under the impression that Mrs. Collins had eaten something peculiar, and the Collinses had endured lengthy lectures on adjusting their daily menus.
“That is all very well, but on no account should you neglect your practising. You see that even a small amount has enhanced your performance.” Her face brightened with a condescending smile. “When you return home, you will instruct your father to engage a music master. There is no reason you should not continue to improve yourself. Your talent should not be wasted. With your father’s estate entailed, you cannot have much in the way of a dowry, so you must be careful to make the most of every accomplishment. If Mr. Bennet requires a recommendation, have him write to Mr. Collins and I will happily provide him with the names of one or two persons in London who might suit.”
“Thank you, your ladyship.”
“Now, if you stay another month entire, I shall take you to London myself in the Barouche and introduce you to Georgiana’s former teacher.”
Elizabeth tactfully talked her way out of imposing on Charlotte for another month simply to ride to town in luxury. She did, however, accept her ladyship’s final invitation to practise before leaving the country, and she excused herself to do so while Lady Catherine directed Maria in the proper method of packing her gowns.
Mrs. Jenkinson stopped her before she exited the room. “I am glad you are going up again, Miss Bennet. I believe you left something in the room.”
“I did?”
“Yes, by the pianoforte. It is a packet of some sort with your name on it. I took it to be newly purchased sheet music.”
“Oh. Yes, that.” Elizabeth gave her what she hoped passed for a genuine look of understanding. “Thank you. I had quite forgotten it. And thank you again for the use of your room and your instrument.”
“You are very welcome.”
Elizabeth had not been in the room since that day, and she was certain she had left nothing behind. What was this packet Mrs. Jenkinson had seen? Her feet fairly flew up the stairs as she wondered what she would discover. She reached the room and closed the door behind her.
The wrapping indeed had her name on it: simply ‘Elizabeth Bennet’ this time, without the ‘Miss’. She recognised the handwriting immediately. “Is he mad? What if someone else had opened this? What if his aunt had seen it?” She peeked inside. It was indeed music, and looked innocent enough, until she found the unaddressed letter tucked inside one of the folded sheets. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, you are a heedless, reckless man! What am I to do with you?”
His previous letter, grave and painstakingly thorough, spanned several pages and detailed Wickham’s history with the Darcy family: old Mr. Darcy’s support of his godson at school; the legacy of one thousand pounds; Wickham’s refusal to take orders and his subsequent request for, and acceptance of, three thousand pounds in lieu of the living he was promised; Wickham’s repeated attempts to claim the living at Kympton once his money ran out; and the worst of it all—the reprehensible scheme to elope with young Miss Darcy last summer in order to gain her fortune of thirty thousand pounds.
This letter, unlike the other, consisted of a single page, and was all lightness and exuberance.
Dearest,
I beg you to forgive my presumption in writing to you yet again. Having flouted propriety once in this manner, I could not resist the temptation to repeat the offence. Please accept the enclosed selections as my thanks for the privilege of hearing you play and sing. I hope to relive that pleasure as soon as may be, and as often as you will permit it. Will you promise to indulge me if I should happen to meet with you again in —shire?
Your Devoted Servant
Are you now convinced that I am far from despising you?
Elizabeth’s fingers shook. She folded the letter and hid it on her person. “I do not believe it. I do not believe it!” She paced the room, trying to sort through her anger, confusion, and this irrefutable evidence of Mr. Darcy’s feelings. How could he risk a scandal by leaving this package and this letter where anyone might see? True, he had not addressed the letter, nor had he penned her name or his. He had hidden it well in a package clearly marked for her, in the room of a servant. He had been careful, in his way. But, oh! She did not share his confidence in their safety. She was relieved that Mrs. Jenkinson had not shown the parcel to Lady Catherine or her daughter. Had she done so, they would have drawn their own conclusions, and Elizabeth had no doubt she would now be leaving Kent in disgrace.
Recalling that she had come to play, she sat down again, lest someone should seek her out and inquire about the lack of music coming from the room. Then she recalled that the only person who had ever sought her out before was no longer in residence. None of it mattered, as her unsteady fingers refused to cooperate in any case.
Anxious to be doing something, she examined her gift and selected a piece at random. She recognised it as the same one that had concealed the letter.
It was a song of love.
The music did not appear overly difficult. Nevertheless, she slowly returned it to its place, gathered the papers together, and walked back to the drawing room.
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