Chapter Five #5
Then, with a brief, almost brotherly inclination of his head, he released her and followed Mr. Bennet to the drawing room. Georgiana was wrapped in Lydia’s blue cloak and looked appropriately pale and unsteady, leaning heavily against Elizabeth.
“Miss Darcy,” Jane said gently, moving to her other side. “Let us help you upstairs. Your chamber is ready.”
They guided her slowly up the stairs, Georgiana's steps faltering convincingly. By the time they reached the landing, she was breathing shallowly, her hand pressed to her temple.
How Very Confusing
Mary found her mother in her dressing room, resting with a compress on her forehead.
“Mamma, you must come downstairs at once. Papa has a visitor.”
Mrs. Bennet sat up, the compress falling to her lap. “A visitor? Who calls at such an hour? I am not dressed for company.”
“It is a Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mamma. A military gentleman. He has brought his young cousin with him—she has taken ill on the road, and the Colonel recalled Papa's acquaintance from Oxford. He seeks refuge for her whilst she recovers.”
“A Colonel!” Mrs. Bennet was on her feet immediately. “A young lady under his protection? Mary, why did you not say so at once? Ring for Hill. I must change my cap. Where is the Colonel now?”
“In Papa's study. The young lady remains in the carriage—she is quite unwell from the journey.”
“In the carriage! Good heavens, the poor child. We must bring her in at once.” Mrs. Bennet was already pulling a shawl from a wardrobe.
“Have Hill prepare the blue chamber. It has the best prospect and the warmest fire. Tell Cook—no, I shall tell Cook myself. We must have dinner for our guests. Mary, stop standing there and go!”
Mary fled.
Mr. Bennet performed the introduction. Mrs. Bennet, still pink with agitation and importance, received the Colonel with a fluttering curtsey.
Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed with every appearance of gratitude, then hesitated.
“I must explain, ma’am, that Miss Darcy’s brother will be most anxious when he learns of her illness. We had arranged to meet at the King’s Arms in Hatfield, but when my cousin was taken ill, I was obliged to deviate from our planned route.”
“Naturally, naturally,” Mrs. Bennet cried. “The poor child could not continue.”
“Indeed. I sent word to the King’s Arms, but Mr. Darcy had already departed, when we did not appear as expected.
He may believe we might have stopped at Welwyn—there is a most comfortable inn there, where we had intended to break our journey.
Unfortunately, we had passed Welwyn before Miss Darcy’s indisposition became acute, so we were not there either. ”
Mrs. Bennet’s brow furrowed.
“Then where—”
“I sent a second message to Welwyn, but by that time my cousin had moved on to Stevenage, supposing we might have gone ahead. Meanwhile, I had ridden back towards Hatfield, thinking to find him there, only to discover he had left for Stevenage. So I pursued him to Stevenage, but he had already departed for Ware, having received some intelligence—erroneous, as it proved—that we had been seen upon that road.”
“How very confusing,” Mrs. Bennet said faintly.
“It has been most vexatious,” the Colonel agreed.
“I believe he may also have made enquiries at Hertford, though I cannot be certain. The landlord at the Bull spoke of a gentleman answering to his description, but whether it was Tuesday or Wednesday, I could not discover. In any event, I have left word at both The George and the White Hart in Meryton, as well as the posting house at Hoddesdon, though I am not sure he stopped there. It is possible he went on to Bishop’s Stortford, though that would take him somewhat out of his way, unless he imagined—”
“Yes, yes, to be sure,” Mrs. Bennet interrupted, her eyes slightly glazed. “What a tangle of missed messages. But you believe he is in Ware now?”
“I do, ma’am. I left word there this morning before coming here. I must return without delay, to inform him that his sister is safe, and in your care.”
“Of course, of course.” Mrs. Bennet rallied at once, relinquishing all pretence of following the itinerary. “What of Mr. Darcy—he is unmarried, I collect?”
The Colonel blinked at the sudden change of direction.
“He is, ma’am.”
“You yourself, Colonel? I do not see a ring.”
“I am a second son, Mrs. Bennet,” the Colonel said, with a slight, good-humoured smile. “My prospects are not such as to support a wife in the style she might reasonably expect.”
“Oh, but surely—” Mrs. Bennet cast about for encouragement. “Your connexions must be very good. You mentioned an Earl?”
“My father, yes. But the estate will belong to my elder brother, and I am in the army. My income is modest.”
Mrs. Bennet’s interest cooled a little, though she persevered.
“Mr. Darcy? Sir William mentioned he has a fine estate.”
“Pemberley is indeed a considerable property,” the Colonel said.
“Ten thousand a year, Sir William said.”
“I am not acquainted with the exact figure, ma’am, but Pemberley is an estate of some consequence.”
“A very considerable estate,” Mrs. Bennet repeated, her eyes brightening again. “And unmarried. How old is Mr. Darcy, Colonel?”
“Seven-and-twenty, I believe.”
“Seven-and-twenty! And never married? Well. Some gentlemen are excessively particular, I suppose.” She cast a significant look towards Jane, who sat near the fire with her work, serene and lovely despite the anxieties of the day.
“My Jane is two-and-twenty, you know. Such a sweet-tempered girl. Everyone says she is the handsomest girl in the county.”
“I can quite easily believe it,” the Colonel said politely.
Elizabeth, standing a little behind her mother, caught his eye. There was a flicker of amusement there, quickly suppressed. The corner of her own mouth curved in answer.
“Accomplished too,” Mrs. Bennet continued. “She sings quite delightfully. My Lydia—she is only fifteen, but so lively and spirited. Quite the belle of every assembly.”
Lydia, listening from the corner, straightened with complacency.
“I am persuaded they are both most engaging,” the Colonel replied. “But I really must depart, Mrs. Bennet. My cousin will know no peace until he is assured of his sister’s safety.”
“Yes, yes, you must go at once,” Mrs. Bennet agreed, though she made no move to release him from the conversation. “But you will return to-morrow with Mr. Darcy?”
“I shall endeavour to do so, madam.”
“You will both stay to dinner? I shall have Cook prepare something particular. Perhaps a haunch of venison. Does Mr. Darcy like venison, Colonel?”
“I am certain whatever you provide will be entirely acceptable,” the Colonel said, edging discreetly towards the door.
Mrs. Bennet floated along in his wake.
“There will be music after dinner, of course. Jane’s singing is much admired. Mr. Darcy must hear her perform. Does he enjoy music, Colonel?”
“I believe he does, ma’am.”
“Excellent, excellent. We shall have a few friends—a very small party. Quite intimate. Miss Darcy will be so happy to see her brother again. Do you think Mr. Darcy would object to a little party, Colonel?”
The Colonel looked momentarily hunted. Elizabeth took pity.
“I am persuaded Mr. Darcy will have thought of nothing but his sister for many days, Mamma,” she said mildly. “He may not be in humour for a party immediately.”
“Oh! No, to be sure,” Mrs. Bennet said, checked, though only for a moment. “We shall see. A family dinner, at least. We cannot have such guests in the neighbourhood and do nothing to show civility.”
“I am quite sure my cousin will be sensible of any attention you are pleased to pay him,” the Colonel said. “I will faithfully deliver your message, that Miss Darcy is treated as one of your own family.”
“Yes, yes, be sure you tell him that,” Mrs. Bennet cried. “Tell him she shall want for nothing whilst she is under our roof.”
The Colonel bowed again and, at last, effected his escape, though not before Mrs. Bennet had drawn from him a promise to convey her best compliments to Mr. Darcy, to assure him of his sister’s excellent treatment, and to confirm that they would both dine at Longbourn on the morrow, if it lay within their power.
When he had finally departed, Mrs. Bennet returned to the drawing room in the highest spirits.
“Such a pleasant gentleman,” she declared, settling herself by the fire.
“A Colonel! And his cousin worth ten thousand a year! What an occasion, girls. Jane, you must wear your blue muslin to-morrow. It brings out your eyes to admiration. Lizzy, pray be as agreeable as you can manage. I know you love to have your own way in argument, but gentlemen do not care for too much cleverness in a wife.”
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Jane. Jane’s look held affectionate warning. Elizabeth’s, a suppressed mirth that spoke of long acquaintance with their mother’s schemes.
“So we have taken in the granddaughter of an Earl without knowing it,” Elizabeth said, quietly. “Pray do not let Mamma hear of that particular, or she will never forgive us for not discovering it sooner.”
Jane’s eyes shone, but her answer was steady. “It would have made no difference, Lizzy. We should have done the same if she had been a tradesman’s child. She was cold and frightened, and it was our Christian duty to help her.”
“I know,” Elizabeth replied. “Only let us remember it, when the neighbourhood begins to speak of consequence and connexions. We cared for a young woman in distress, nothing else.”
In the Blue Chamber
Mrs. Bennet did not content herself long with directing arrangements from below. Once Hill had carried up broth and hot bricks, she declared that she must see with her own eyes how the poor child went on, and proceeded to the blue chamber.
Georgiana, propped against the pillows in Jane’s night-rail, started when the door opened, then relaxed a little at sight of familiar faces.