Chapter 19 Such Accounts as to Puzzle her Exceedingly
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SUCH ACCOUNTS AS TO PUZZLE HER EXCEEDINGLY
By the next morning, Elizabeth had already begun to feel somewhat sheepish about her reaction to Mr D’s compliment in the art gallery. Her feelings that day had been incited at least in part by her dismay for Jane and her broken heart.
But it was Jane herself who truly provoked abashment within her, for after receiving Elizabeth’s letter, Jane replied, saying,
Yes, Lizzy, I have had all the satisfaction of engineering my own heartbreak.
I have applied the sins of most men to the head of the most amiable gentleman I have ever known simply because I was too frightened by my growing attachment to him and my certainty that no good could come of him.
Was I only accelerating an inevitable conclusion?
Perhaps I was, or perhaps I robbed myself of something that might have been wonderful.
It seems I shall never know, but pray, do not follow in my foolish footsteps.
All that he did, Elizabeth reminded herself, was compliment your eyes. Ninny.
She was still sitting at breakfast with her tea and Jane’s letter when Miss Darcy came from Matlock House next door to ask her to accompany her on a walk down the canal in St James’s Park.
“It seems you enjoy walking,” said the girl in a shy manner.
“I thought we might come to know one another a bit better.”
Elizabeth smiled at her. “I would like that.”
What she did not say was that she had a growing curiosity about the younger lady’s brother and whether he was the mysterious Mr D as she suspected he was.
After a brief pause to don the necessary attire for the outdoors, the ladies set out, accompanied by Miss Darcy’s maid who lagged behind at a respectful distance.
“Is Mrs Annesley feeling ill?” Elizabeth enquired.
“She has gone to her son for a few days. They have a new baby in the house, and Mrs Annesley was quite mad to go and meet the little one.” Miss Darcy smiled wistfully. “I hope we can see them sometime. I just love babies.”
“I do, too, although the notion of having my own seems a distant prospect indeed.” Elizabeth chuckled as she said so.
“Anne tells me you have a great deal of attention at the balls. Surely an offer, maybe more than one, will come your way by the end of June?”
“Oh, I hardly know,” Elizabeth said, not wishing to delve too deeply into the subject of her prospects. “What about you? Does seeing all this rushing about to this soirée and that make you long to be out?”
“No.” The word was released in a gasp of a laugh.
“Quite the opposite in fact. I am more a creature of comfort than excitement. The notion of attending all these balls and parties…it seems exhausting! I would much prefer to meet a man in a quieter surrounding, somewhere I could really come to know him.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I do wonder how one is meant to know anyone in the midst of such revelry. It seems some of these ladies get engaged after a dance or two!”
“Everyone just wants to have someone,” said Miss Darcy. “It seems quite risky to me. I think it is why I…”
When the sound of her voice died, Elizabeth looked over at her.
Miss Darcy’s countenance was troubled, and she looked pensively at the ground.
Very gently, Elizabeth said, “It seems something troubles you, and if you would like to speak of it with me, I would be honoured to hear it. You may be assured of my strictest confidence in the matter.”
“Of course.” She flashed a quick smile in Elizabeth’s way. “There is just something about you, Miss Bennet. I feel as if I know you much more than I actually do, and in fact I…I long to confide in you…even if…even if you did not think as well of me afterwards.”
Elizabeth linked her arm through that of the younger girl. “I assure you that whatever it is you wish to say will not make me think one jot less of you.”
“But even if you do,” she said determinedly, “I would wish you to know that…that all of these things they say of my brother, they are not true. He is truly the best of men, Miss Bennet, and he does not deserve any of this which has befallen him. He rescued me, you see, from a terrible, ridiculous error in judgment last summer. He has taken all the blame when it ought to be heaped on my head alone.”
Last summer when she was…fifteen? Elizabeth felt her chest tighten with sympathy for the girl’s obvious distress. “We are all of us capable of poor judgment, particularly when we are young.”
“I nearly eloped,” Miss Darcy said bluntly, with a darting look at Elizabeth to see how she bore it. “With a…a reprobate. A Mr Wickham whom I had known since my girlhood but had no idea how bad he had become.”
She gave a quick sketch to Elizabeth of her acquaintance with Mr Wickham who was, she admitted, quite handsome and had grown up himself at Pemberley, as his father was Pemberley’s steward.
“He had all the appearance of goodness, but I am afraid it was only that. He wanted two things: my fortune and revenge on my brother. Another day and his plan would have been complete, and I would have been lost to my family forever.”
“He wished to marry you?”
“He pressed me to elope with him. I thought it was romantic and exciting, and I believed, truly I did, that he would be accepted in society with me by his side. Or that even if he was not that we would be happy off in the country somewhere.” She shook her head miserably. “Foolish, foolish child that I am.”
Their arms were still linked together, and Elizabeth pulled her closer in a hug. “I have often said that young ladies ought not to be as sheltered as we are. How could you possibly imagine such a man as that would come after you? Particularly in the guise of a friend!”
“You are too kind to me.” Miss Darcy drew in a shaky breath.
“The family were already angry with my brother for refusing to marry Anne, but it only got worse for him after my escapade. They blamed him, which was particularly dreadful because he blamed himself for not taking good enough care of me. They removed me from his care; that is why I live with them. There was talk that they would not even permit me to see him! As if it were he who led me astray!”
Elizabeth closed her eyes a moment. How terrible it was to bear the burden of family guilt! She had had but a taste of it herself, seeing her family lose everything they had and knowing she might have prevented it.
Miss Darcy continued to speak. “I sometimes want to scream at them, ‘Blame me! I did this, not him!’ And yet all anyone says is that it is not my fault, that my brother failed me, when he did not, most certainly he did not. And yet everyone, including my brother himself, continues to blame him. I sometimes think the guilt he felt over last summer’s events wounded him more deeply than anything else could have done.
He set such store by my safety and happiness, you see.
To feel he had failed me in any way—it was agony for him.
But he had not failed me, Miss Bennet. I failed myself, and him. ”
They walked on a few paces before she spoke again.
“When at first it happened, he devoted all of his time to me. He cancelled engagements, refused invitations, even neglected his estate business. We went to Pemberley and spent our days walking and riding and playing music together. He never once mentioned what had happened unless I raised the subject myself, and then he listened with such patience, such understanding.”
“He was devoted to your recovery it seems,” Elizabeth remarked.
“He was. I was in a dreadful state. I…I allowed myself to be seduced by Mr Wickham. Do you know what I mean, Miss Bennet? And naturally was quite worried about the consequences of that.” She shook her head. “Just like Persephone save for the fact that I went willingly with Hades.”
A recollection pricked at her mind. She had talked of Persephone with Mr D that night at the Merry Fox, and he had grown angry. Was this why? She resolved to consider the memory later and turned her attention back to Miss Darcy.
“I do know what you mean, and I am very thankful you did not face any consequences of that.”
“And of course I was devastated by knowing the truth of things. I really did think he loved me. To find out he only saw my fortune…” She heaved an enormous sigh. “It truly did break my heart.”
The two ladies walked in silence for a few steps more until Miss Darcy continued.
“After the month had elapsed, my uncle and cousin came to Pemberley. Colonel Fitzwilliam has shared guardianship of me, you see, and although I do not think he supported the decision, they had come to remove me from my brother’s care, into their own.
My brother was…deeply injured by it, I know, and it was only his own guilt that provoked him to send me with them.
It was terrible to leave him there, but happily his friend Mr Bingley had just let a house and invited him to be one of the party there. ”
With a jolt, Elizabeth made the connexion between the events.
He had come to Hertfordshire amid family turmoil and crushing guilt and worry and fear.
Her mind went back again to that small, dark room at the Merry Fox.
Can there be any doubt? Mr D must certainly be Mr Darcy, and his behaviour that night—abstaining from the party, being somewhat foul-humoured, even suspicious—suddenly makes a great deal of sense.
“Only imagine if you had met him then,” said Miss Darcy wistfully.
“Then you would know how wonderful he truly is. Though I must tell you, he is reserved and oftentimes people mistake it for haughtiness. But with those he loves, he is all warmth and generosity. He gave up so much to raise me after our father died—he was only two-and-twenty, Miss Bennet! He might have travelled, enjoyed his youth, but instead he devoted himself to being both brother and guardian to me.”
Elizabeth’s throat felt tight. “You are very fortunate to have such a brother.”
“I am,” she agreed warmly as the ladies walked on.
These differing accounts puzzle me exceedingly, Elizabeth mused as the conversation turned to more mundane subjects. Who is this man? A man who devotes himself so entirely to those he loves, who shoulders guilt so keenly, who could be wounded by the thought of failing in his duty…
It made one thing very clear to her. Obviously, Mr Darcy had never felt in the least a duty towards Anne. Had he been bound in the least, she did not doubt he would have done as he was obligated to do. There never had been an obligation, no matter what Lady Catherine had to say about it.