Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
E lizabeth pondered the colonel’s revelation as she arrived at the parsonage. Mr Darcy’s sister had been ill-used by a fortune hunter. She thought of how indignant she had felt at Mr Bingley’s having deserted her own dear Jane, and his intentions had seemed all things honourable. How much more so would Mr Darcy have cause for ire against such a villain toying with the tender affections of a very young sister!
No wonder he hated Mr Wickham so vehemently.
Her mind turned to her beloved sister and confidante. Jane, elder than she by barely a year, had been in London since Christmastide, staying with their aunt and uncle. Elizabeth had been sure Jane would cross paths with Mr Bingley while there, but it appeared she had not. Worse, the man’s sisters had snubbed her quite rudely, and it seemed they had no intention of telling their brother that Jane was even in town.
Poor Jane. Her letters were cheerful enough, chronicling her days with her small cousins, but they lacked her usual optimism. It irked Elizabeth that one month of association with a gentleman of less character than he conveyed could affect so many months’ misery in her dear sister. For such a loving and generous heart to be thrown away on a man who could drink in her sweetness for a season and so capriciously toss it aside—it was too much for Elizabeth to bear!
Perhaps it was a paltry comparison, but Elizabeth could certainly relate to Mr Darcy’s chagrin on his sister’s behalf after her having been the victim of a careless lover.
Elizabeth doffed her bonnet and pelisse. To her surprise, awaiting her inside was a letter, the handwriting on which she did not recognise. As the Collinses had yet to break their fast, Elizabeth headed upstairs to change out of her half-boots and to read the missive in the solitude of her borrowed bedchamber.
Elizabeth’s eyes shot to the bottom of the letter to ascertain from whom it came before she could take in any of its contents. The clearly emphasised F and D in the close struck her, and she gasped.
It was from Mr Darcy.
April 14, 1812, London
My dear niece,
I Write To inform you that your aunt and I have been obliged by a leaking roof to remove to an inn until repairs are made to our house. There was No way that all Seven of us could stay, as The water has soaked through the plaster, ruined your aunt’s lovely Fox wallpaper, And created quite The jumble. And here I thought it would take an Ox to knock those walls down! As it is, our Inn is not in the most fashionable part of town, but at least it is not Clerkenwell. I hope our trial shall be over before you arrive in London, so that we might receive you comfortably. How Capital that will be!
I know we left one another on rather unhappy terms. I fail to see what I have said or done that could have cultivated in you such an ire as to abuse me so abominably, but I beg you will excuse my imperfections and attempt to forget our last conversation. It was clearly based on a series of misunderstandings. I am sure if we had communicated better, the outcome would have been a happy one.
Chief among these misconstructions is the idea that your friend W was somehow defrauded out of his due by my hand. I pride myself on acting honourably in all things. I have written proof that W received all the monetary compensation written in the contract in question immediately upon its being executed. Shortly after this, he demanded, and was granted, the value of that which he claims I so heartlessly denied him—all totalling the sum of four thousand pounds. It was only after he had squandered this (I can unfortunately imagine how) that he returned to claim that which was originally intended for him. Naturally, I declined his request. This produced a bitterness in my old friend that knew no bounds. I am only sorry he peddled his pretence to you. I know not what other falsehoods he laid at my door, but I beg you will acquit me of cruelty to him in this particular matter.
Please know it does not escape me that, despite your ill feelings towards me, you have still acted in a gracious manner for my great benefit. This I deeply appreciate and hope that it means we might still be friends.
Your aunt is agog for more news and commands me to enquire about all the goings-on at Rosings. Are the two dashing gentlemen still visiting Lady Catherine? Or have they both been obliged to leave Kent? Is there any news of Mr Darcy? And what of the colonel? I imagine he is at Mr Darcy’s disposal and follows wherever he goes. She asks how your cousin is treating you. And what of his noble patroness? Has anything changed since you two last communicated?
Please send word soon. Until I hear from you again, I remain?—
Your Fastidiously Devoted,
Uncle G
Clearly, he had inserted a message amidst the curious story he had concocted, but Elizabeth’s inner fervour at knowing his escape had been successful and that he was safe addled her brain such that she could not immediately see it. Her relief may as well have been a great wave at the seaside, for before she could read two sentences, it crashed over her and took her off her feet.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, much as she had done this morning, Elizabeth worked to catch her breath, the letter all but crushed between her hand and the mattress. When she finally willed herself to breathe evenly, she noted the cold streaks on her face where tears must have been falling.
She read it again, determined to decipher Mr Darcy’s odd capitalisations and repeated words. It was soon evident that he had hidden his return address amidst the absurd story of a leaky roof and crumbling plaster. ‘Write To No Seven The Fox And The Ox not not Clerkenwell.’
It struck her that the great Fitzwilliam Darcy had humbled himself in an almost incredible manner. He had made the effort to write to her, the woman who had so viciously accused and rejected him. He was holed up at an inn in Clerkenwell of all places, which Elizabeth imagined to be a rather miserable part of London. He had disclosed his private affairs with regard to Mr Wickham, a kindness she knew she could not deserve. He even remembered she had an uncle in London, and that his name started with a ‘G’.
Above his close, he had requested news from Rosings. Elizabeth’s mind drifted to what she had seen and heard the day before. Darcy. Gone. Sister. Bauble. Sixteen.
Mr Darcy was gone . But what about sister ? Darcy had a sister—Georgiana was her name—and did not Colonel Fitzwilliam tell her she was now sixteen ?
But the way Miss de Bourgh had spoken, it was almost as if the word ‘sixteen’ was irritating. She had drawn it out as if it were some kind of excuse for something, as if she were saying, “There were sixteen of them, Mother,” or “I was sixteen, Mother,” or “It has been sixteen days, Mother.”
Elizabeth growled—if only she had been closer! If only she could have heard more, she would be able to better satisfy Mr Darcy’s request. Did the argument between the de Bourgh ladies have something to do with Miss Darcy? Or the bauble that Miss de Bourgh was wearing? Were they arguing about Mr Darcy, about something that had changed now that he was gone? Was one of them angry he had escaped? Or relieved? Elizabeth wished she knew.
She could not shake the feeling that the secret behind this whole plot lay at Rosings.Of course, for all she was learning, she could not see what any of this could logically have to do with the attempt on Mr Darcy’s life, nor could she see how learning more would make any difference in his current plight. Her helplessness frustrated her beyond measure, but she could not discontinue what little probing she was able to do.
She refused to allow herself to ponder why she felt so invested in the matter.
The party from the parsonage was invited to dine soon, no doubt to give the appearance that nothing was out of the ordinary. Perhaps Elizabeth would learn more during supper.
Before she could reread the remainder of her letter, she heard a light knock and Charlotte’s voice inviting her to join the family for their morning meal. Stuffing Mr Darcy’s missive into her bodice, she took in a sharp breath, exhaled slowly, and stood to join her friend.