CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Having departed with great stealth to avoid detection by the lurking Captain Carter, the group of four men escorted the carriage across Blackfriars Bridge, and west into Covent Garden where the couple were installed at The Silent Lassie, an ironically fitting name, they thought. Next morning, late as it was when they arose, it was decided that Bingley and Wilshere should depart for Derbyshire that day to quell any apprehensions on the part of their sisters. Darcy would remain in London and call upon the Gardiners in order to resolve the details of the marriage, where he would also stay to stand with Wickham for the ceremony. Additionally, Maitland and Gallagher were left in town to learn what they could of Captain Carter’s involvement, and potentially discover who he served as master in the scheme. Bingley noted with some curiosity Maitland’s unfettered glee at having found the couple and headed off any kind of further disaster. All that night and the following day, a smile remained glued to the young man’s face, as if he himself were the one who had been rescued. Bingley and Darcy certainly felt such a measure of relief themselves, though neither of their situations were anything approaching hopeful regarding the Bennet sisters. That being said, not even the humid gloominess of the day, in which rain showers blustered up and spat upon the house windows at arbitrary intervals, could serve to dampen their spirits.
After seeing to some of his legitimate business ventures and having a small supper, Bingley bid farewell to both his men and his friend and set off for the north in the early evening. Through the clutter of London streets and the mud of the sodden country roads, the gentleman and his steward made it only as far as Luton before stationing for the night in an inn. They rose early the following morning and took their breakfast with them on the road. After several hours of something like reflective silence between them, Bingley spake: “Are we certain Mr. Hurst is innocent?”
Wilshere looked up from the ledger he had been balancing both mathematically and upon his lap. “Of this particular indictment, I would declare it so.”
“How can we be sure?”
“He was not in Brighton,” Wilshere answered.
Bingley nodded in acknowledgement. “No, he was not; he was with us in Pemberley. Still, there is a feeling I cannot shake—”
“Your instincts have always served you well, sir, though I would caution you that we have not uncovered a single piece of evidence to suggest Mr. Hurst’s involvement beyond mourning for a friend.”
“If a man who you knew on a largely superficial level passed on, would it drive you into a nine-month barrel fever?” Bingley questioned.
“Naturally, no, but I venture to say that it would depend upon the man. Mr. Hurst has always displayed a penchant for overindulgence.”
“He has, I grant you, but the depth to which he has sunk because of it causes me to wonder all the same.”
“You must also take into account, sir, the shock that the very brutality of the act itself may have caused. There are many ways to kill a man, and the intention has from the start been to serve as a warning, and even deterrent, for the rest of the men involved in such unthinkable deeds, but to the general populace, it must be remembered that the violent deaths of noblemen and members of parliament must seem wholly alarming in both their violence and their disconnectedness. With your own eyes have you read the newspapers and how your work has caused general apprehension.”
“A completely unintended consequence,” Bingley stated.
“Of course, but we must take this response in hand as we consider the weighty imputation of a member of your own family.”
“Your counsel has, once more, proven to be very wise.”
Wilshere nodded and looked back down to the ledger spread across his knees. They rode on in relative quietude until they reached the carriage house at Kettering where they changed horses once more. The trek slogged on as the weather made a most inhospitable partner in the venture. When eventually they reached Pemberley, they were much exhausted from the trip—poor meals and nearly sleepless nights only compounding the lack of rest from the activities of the week prior—but rejoiced at the sight of the sight of the magnificent house. Bingley mulled the delightful idea of eating his own weight in Mr. Thompson’s fabulous apple pudding before climbing into one of Darcy’s luxurious guest beds and sleeping till the following afternoon. Unfortunately, his reveries were interrupted at the first glimpse of his sister who happened to be descending the grand staircase when he entered.
“Charles!” Caroline called affably before being afforded a proper view of him.
“How do you do?” he answered, handing his hat to the footman.
“You look like death warmed over,” she grimaced upon closer inspection. “And, by God, you smell like it, too.”
“Charmed to see you as well, sister,” Bingley quipped.
“I am sure having come from town that you were made aware of the most scandalous news involving the Bennet family?”
“I confess, I did hear some rumblings of a rumour, but nothing that would cause any particular distress.”
“Why should it cause you any distress?” Caroline asked with malice lurking under her contentment. “Miss Lydia Bennet eloping with George Wickham —I could think of nothing more scandalous. Truly, the entire family ought to be considered ruined now, should they not?”
“I cannot possibly imagine how one sister’s—”
“An utter disgrace—and George Wickham no less! Though I cannot with any veracity profess true surprise at hearing the news,” she continued on while he stood, hands clasped behind his back, chewing the inside of his cheek. “It is something of a self-fulfilling prophecy, is it not? I mean to say that as the most relentless tease I have ever had the…” Caroline’s voice trailed off as her eyes searched the ceiling for the best verbiage to describe her feelings toward Lydia Bennet.
“You are aware that they are married?” Bingley pronounced.
“ Married ?” muttered Caroline in disbelief.
“Out of St. Clement Danes.”
“St. Clement Danes? In Covent Garden?”
He nodded his head, moving past her toward the stairs. “Would you have Mr. Perry ask Mr. Thompson to make a large batch of apple pudding, please? Large . I shall be down after I wash and change into fresh clothes.” Caroline’s mouth gaped as she nodded, the rest of her planted like a marble statue.
Bingley had a bath prepared and basked in the sensation of the hot water much longer than was his usual habit. He would not allow himself the convenience of self-deceit in thinking he had not been vexed by his sister’s endeavour at gloating over the misfortunate incident involving Jane’s youngest sister, but as much as he relished his bath after a long trek, he delighted in his victory, however minute and ephemeral it might have been, after nearly a year of hearing her sneering disdain for the love of his life. When at last he looked down at his fingers, wrinkled like prunes, he relinquished his solitary leisure and proceeded to dry off and dress for dinner. As Burke assisted him in donning his waistcoat, the thought sprung to mind that this whole time he had been at ease, Caroline must have been informing Louisa of the news, and possibly plotting to further disparage Jane’s family by whatever means they could, and quite free from restraint, especially as he had been informed by his valet that Miss Georgiana was, at present, with Colonel Fitzwilliam at his family’s estate near Prestbury. Bingley prepared himself for such an encounter with the thought that simple acquiescence was his most suitable strategy for curtailing such a distasteful confabulation. And sure enough, he had hardly entered the drawing room before being ambuscaded: “Oh, brother!” Louisa pronounced. “How lovely to see you!”
“And you, as well,” answered Bingley.
“Caroline and I were just discussing the latest news from town, and she informed me of what you learned about Miss Lydia—”
“Yes, they are married,” he cut in as he approached a chair near his recumbent brother-in-law. “Mr. Hurst,” he bowed before he sat.
“Mr. Bing—hiccup—Mr. Bing…,” Hurst answered, opening a single eye in his direction.
“I see you are in lively spirits, as ever,” Bingley joked.
“As fine as wine,” came the boozy reply.
Before Bingley was even settled in his seat, Caroline began once more: “And how is it that the young couple has been wed? You must enlighten us if you know.”
“I cannot attest to the details of it, naturally,” Bingley replied with a sigh. “But it is a settled truth that they have, indeed, been married.”
“And they were married in London?” Caroline challenged.
“Yes, at St. Clement Danes.”
“Then they were chaperoned when they departed Brighton?”
“How would I know?” Bingley countered with a bit more pique than he had intended.
“We heard that they eloped from Brighton,” Louisa stated with exactly as much hubris as she had intended.
“I am not privy to such details,” replied Bingley.
“It really is shocking , is it not, brother?” Caroline asked suddenly. When he did not reply, she answered her own question. “After all that was known about Wickham—”
“And that is to say nothing of your kindly meant caution to Miss Jane Bennet about his character,” Louisa pronounced.
“That’s right,” Caroline persisted. “Of all that was known about him, I cannot imagine more care was not taken in the supervision of Miss Lydia.”
“It is as if she was left completely to her own devices, with full knowledge of her own wild inclinations.”
“I dare say you are correct, sister!”
“It is rather appalling,” Louisa continued. “It says as much about the family, as a whole, as it does about the young girl’s constitution. Obviously, propriety and caution are not proper concerns when it comes to their own daughters’ repute and even, dare I say, their chastity, to say nothing of their low connections and—”
“I am in love with her, damn it !” Bingley exclaimed, rising suddenly from his chair. Neither of his sisters could tear their eyes from him in light of the horror of his startling proclamation. “I will not be afflicted by your haughty and ignorant presumptions a moment longer! Miss Jane Bennet is the single kindest, most charming, and agreeable young lady with whom I have ever had the fortune to be acquainted. Her family is not one degree more touched in the upper works than mine, and though their situation may not be nearly as fortunate as ours, we must recall that we are but one generation removed from poverty like the Bennet family has never known. I may not marry Miss Jane Bennet, or rather, she may not marry me —and I would not for an instant hold that against her—but I will no longer tolerate such obdurate and wilfully uninformed slander against the lady who holds my heart in the palm of her tender hand. If I should ever have the honour to make her an offer and be accepted, it shall be the greatest single joy I could hope to experience this side of paradise. And should that blissful day come the pair of you will have an important determination to make: either embrace a sister or lose a brother.”
With that, he took his seat and flipped open the adjacent newspaper. Caroline and Louisa exchanged thunderstruck glares, both pairs of eyes as wide as their gaping mouths. After only a moment of awestruck silence, Mr. Dennis—Darcy’s butler—entered to announce dinner.
“Mr. Dennis,” Bingley said in as high spirits as ever, “May I be so bold as to enquire if Mr. Thompson had the time to prepare an apple pudding?”
“Of course, Mr. Bingley,” Dennis answered. “As I understand it, he prepared more than a man could consume in a fortnight.”
Bingley rose from his seat full of satisfaction and strength and all the delights of the artlessness of youth. “Sisters—shall we?”
Louisa and Caroline stood to their feet and did their best to readjust their mien and reassert their ascendency over Bingley, but they suddenly and simultaneously felt that he might have escaped their control for good. Eventually, Mr. Hurst himself came to the table, where the party ate without a single word being spoken. The sisters ruing their defeat, their brother revelling in his triumph, and Mr. Hurst shovelling venison into his mouth as if he had not eaten in a week. Then, once the main course was concluded came the pudding.