Chapter Twenty-Five
It was an anxious crowd who had assembled in Pemberley’s drawing room with the first light.
Perhaps because Elizabeth could only hear them—and smell them, the sweat had a sharper, different odor to it than usual—she could feel how tense everyone was. Very little was said, though the servants kept them all provided with tea, rolls, and platters of fruits.
Those tables were always placed in precisely the same location, with the food and plates arranged in the same manner, so that Elizabeth could more easily get anything which she wanted.
Bennet ran around the room, woken by the group moving around in front of the nursery, and he had insisted on coming down. Little Anne sat in Elizabeth’s arms, not wanting to be placed down amongst so many people. She had only begun to warm up to the Bingley party over the past day.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner sat near Elizabeth, occasionally talking to her, but mostly remaining quiet and apart from Bingley’s party. Their chief fear was for what Mr. Wickham might have done, or do in the future to Jane, rather than whether Mr. Bingley would be hurt in the duel.
There were little bits of conversation amongst everyone.
Georgiana played on the piano. Mr. Hurst was telling Miss Bingley that her brother had no choice, while Miss Bingley testily insisted that no one would have thought him a coward for refusing to fight the disgraced steward’s son.
“It is all Mrs. Wickham’s fault! She should never have encouraged my brother to pay so much attention to her after she married! ”
“That is not fair,” Elizabeth said to Miss Bingley, even though she should not argue with the anxious woman. “My sister never acted in an improper way. You’ve never seen her behave wrongly.”
“She should have honored her husband better by never speaking to any man at all! Not after she married such a man. Then my brother wouldn’t be in danger.”
Elizabeth sat back down, some distance away from Miss Bingley. A servant brought her an egg and some tea, but Elizabeth could not bring herself to eat anything.
She was scared for both her sister and Mr. Bingley.
At a certain point, Bennet let out a scream as he ran across the floor as fast as he could.
Miss Bingley exclaimed to Elizabeth, “Lord! Can you not send those children up? Why must you always engage in this pretense of perfect motherhood by keeping them always about you? For once, will you not pay attention to the comfort of your guests?”
In ordinary circumstances Elizabeth would have been deeply offended by that speech.
However, in ordinary circumstances, Miss Bingley was too well educated and self-controlled to make such a speech.
That her brother could very possibly be dead these ten minutes already was a strong excuse for ill temper, in Elizabeth’s view at least. She had one of the footmen collect Bennet and handed Anne to the nursemaid, and then she sat down to wait.
And wait.
Georgiana went over to Elizabeth and whispered into her ear, “I sometimes hate that woman! How dare she say that to you.”
Elizabeth took her sister-in-law’s hand. “My dear, the circumstance excuses her. But if she should make a habit of saying such things, when matters are more favorable, then you have my liberty to think very ill of her indeed.”
“How are you always so calm?” Georgiana replied. “Lizzy, I would do anything if I could control my temper as well as you can.”
“I assure you I am not calm at present.”
“Bingley will shoot him, I am sure.” Georgiana replied.
“I do not wish for that either.”
“Oh!” came Mrs. Hurst’s shout from by the window. “I believe they are returning.”
Elizabeth’s heart leapt. ‘They’. Both of them.
Miss Bingley said querulously from a different window, “Are you sure? That is certainly Mr. Darcy from his height, but how can you tell that it is our brother? It is too far to make out any features.”
“He is wearing a blue coat, and Charles set out in his blue coat.”
“Maybe it is the surgeon wearing the same color coat by chance,” Miss Bingley replied. “He is coming with Mr. Darcy to inform us that our brother is dead.”
The passage of two minutes brought the two gentlemen walking through the park close enough that even the anxious solicitude of Bingley’s sister acknowledged that the shorter gentleman was certainly Charles Bingley.
The atmosphere of the room changed. There was laughing. Mr. Hurst raised a toast to his brother. Georgiana sat at the piano and started to play a fine rendition of The British Grenadiers.
Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner still had some anxiety, but they also laughed and lifted their glasses in the same toasts.
Elizabeth let out a long breath and walked to the window. She placed her head against the panes.
Before Darcy and Bingley entered the drawing room, Elizabeth heard a horse galloping off. And that was enough to make her guess what her husband would announce.
“Mr. Wickham was shot during the duel,” Darcy said when he entered the room. “Bingley shot into the air during the first round, but when Wickham insisted on them shooting a second round, he hit Wickham who was instantly killed.”
Thank God.
Thank God. And Jane was young enough to enjoy most her life.
Elizabeth sat in the windowsill as she listened to Bingley’s family surround him and ask him many questions. Hurst once again proposed a toast, but Bingley refused to let him make it.
Otherwise, the young man said little. She had never heard Mr. Bingley be so silent.
Darcy came up to Elizabeth, and he pulled her into his strong arms.
She leaned against him and wrapped her arms around him. She could feel that he was tense. She kissed him softly, even though he generally preferred for them to not kiss when in company.
He then squeezed her tighter.
“How awful was it?”
“Exceedingly,” Fitzwilliam replied. He pressed his face into her hair.
After some seconds Fitzwilliam placed his mouth by her ear and whispered, “It was Mr. Clarke who shot Wickham. Bingley wishes for you to tell your sister, but no one else must ever hear.”
Elizabeth went still. Then she nodded.
Fitzwilliam greeted Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner a minute later as they came over to join him and Elizabeth. “My apologies that such a matter has interrupted your visit.”
“It certainly is not a matter that you deserve any blame for,” Mr. Gardiner replied.
Elizabeth sat down on the window seat again.
She took a deep breath. She should ready herself to play the hostess once more.
A thought made her smile. It seemed that her husband had finally decided that honesty was not always the best policy.
A little less than an hour after Fitzwilliam and Bingley had returned, Jane was brought into the drawing room. Elizabeth started to walk towards her sister, feeling around with her cane to ensure that no one had moved a chair away from where it should be.
Jane hurried to her and threw her arms around her. She whispered to Elizabeth, “Is it wrong? Is it wrong that I am happy?”
“No. I am.”
“I had only sworn to love him while he was alive—I did my best, but it was not so much as it ought to have been.”
“Jane, my dear Jane.”
Her sister cried on Elizabeth’s shoulder. She heard at some point Fitzwilliam insist to everyone that they be left alone. “I must tell you something. Let us go to have some privacy.”
Jane did not say anything, but Elizabeth pulled her along. They went out of the drawing room to Elizabeth’s own sitting room.
Upon their entry, Sarah, who was tidying up, exclaimed, “Mrs. Wickham! My—I was sorry to hear.”
Jane did not reply, and Elizabeth said for her sister, “Thank you. Can you make sure no one comes in for the next while.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Jane helped Elizabeth to her chair, though that was unnecessary, as it was always kept in the same place.
“I need to tell you,” Elizabeth said when Jane sat next to her, “I do not know if this is something that you wish to hear, or if it shall matter in any way, but I have been charged to tell you something; but you must first understand that it is information that cannot be told to anyone else.”
“Yes.”
“It was not Mr. Bingley who shot your husband, but Mr. Clarke.”
“Mr. Clarke!” Jane exclaimed. Then she said in a hushed voice, “I know. I must not say anything aloud. Servants can hear. But how?”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Fitzwilliam did not say.”
Jane took a deep breath. “No, no. I understand. I think I understand it all. That brave, brave man. He was a fool to fight, but he is brave.”
“Do you mean Mr. Bingley?”
“Yes. Yes. I think I know how it went. So, Wickham is dead. I will not forget what you said. But it really makes no difference. I am glad for Mr. Bingley. I am glad for him. Let us go down and—but Lizzy, can I remain here?”
“Yes, of course. You need not return to the drawing room unless you are ready to face others.”
“I mean at Pemberley. I cannot bear to return to that house. I have been unhappy there. Besides, I think it no longer is mine to live in.”
“You can always stay here with me, until you find a place that you would choose to go.”
“I can hardly think about it without guilt—if I had never spoken to Mr. Bingley. If I had known…”
“Never spoken to Mr. Bingley? Do not be absurd, it was an acquaintance that existed more than a year prior to your marriage. And until yesterday Mr. Wickham was on friendlier terms with Mr. Bingley than anyone else who has resided in Pemberley these five years.”
“It was because we always…I knew that he thought of me in such a way. And I confess that I liked it. Not that—I never, ever imagined him in the place of my husband. And had anything been spoken by him, I would have discouraged Bingley from seeing me in such a way—I tried to hint upon the matter once. But…I liked to talk with him.”
“I would be the last person in the world,” Elizabeth replied, “who could despise another for enjoying too much the conversation with another person when in a situation filled with some difficulties.”
“But I should not have. I see that now. I did not honor him. I should not have allowed myself to enjoy the conversation of any man more than my husband—the blame is mine.” Jane paused.
“Mr. Bingley could have been killed. I was in terror the whole morning, until Mr. Darcy’s messenger arrived to inform me what had happened. ”
“You would have felt far more unhappiness if your husband returned after having killed his man.”
“Immeasurably more so. I learned that of myself last night. I tried—Lizzy, you must believe that I tried to love him. I thought love could be an active thing, a verb rather than a feeling. I so wished to make it so that I had not lied when I made the wedding vows. I think… I had some belief deep inside that if I did not struggle to make it true you and everyone else I loved would suffer for it.”
“Is this due to the memory of what happened before the fire?”
“Yes, yes. You will tell me that it is absurd. That the Almighty does not work in such ways. That—oh, I do not know what you will say.”
“Then,” Elizabeth replied, smiling, “let me say it. But what I think is that the ways of Providence are mysterious and beyond human understanding. But I also believe that Providence is kind, that Providence is forgiving, and that the Almighty will reward those who act as best they can, and who acknowledge their errors and try their best to go forth and sin no more. I do not think we are expected to not sin further—but we must try. And you certainly have tried. And I believe that we all will receive a just award for our efforts, if not in this life, then in the next.”
“You must know that I believe all of that as well.”
“Then look at what mistakes you have made, decide to do better, but after that, my dear Jane, please adopt some of my philosophy.”
“And what is that?”
“To think only on the past as it gives me pleasure.”
Jane was quiet for a while. Then she took Elizabeth’s hand. “You have been the best of sisters, always.”
“And you as well. My dear, dear Jane.”