Chapter 11 #2
Elizabeth sensed that both of the ladies in the house wanted to be alone, one from shyness and the other from her reserved nature.
She had her own desire for inwardly contemplative moments, and told Mrs Lanyon to find her later.
Elizabeth, upon finding a maid at work in her own room, took her writing box to the library.
On her way, she passed a servant who wore a black armband. She suspected black would be the general dress throughout the neighbourhood. If what Darcy said about recovering bodies is true, then almost every family has lost a friend.
She kept these melancholy thoughts to a minimum as she wrote to her father to tell him about remaining at Pemberley and to second all of Bingley’s assurances that Mrs Lanyon was a respectable woman.
She cautiously wrote how pleased she was with both Pemberley and its master.
However much she fixed her heart on Darcy, it would not do to be effusive with her praise.
But in case his feelings equal mine, it might help to lay the ground if I write to my father that I no longer hate the man.
One of the doors was then thrown open, and Darcy entered, slamming it behind him. His expression was almost desperate as he charged into the centre of the room and turned in a full circle.
“Miss Bennet?” he called, shattering the stillness of the library.
She had risen when he entered, and he looked absolutely pale when his eyes finally fixed on her.
It was impossible to observe the expressive singularity in his eyes and not be struck by the alarm in them.
After staring at her for a moment, he marched towards her.
She gave a little start of surprise and instinctively stepped back, and he stopped.
Darcy raised his hands in surrender, even going so far as to take a step back himself.
He had surprised her—not frightened her—but when she tried to tell him so, he would not hear her.
“I am sorry. Exceedingly sorry.” His breath came in quick rasps as he looked her up and down before closing his eyes.
“What is the matter?”
“There is nothing the matter with me. Forgive me for alarming you.” A shudder seemed to pass through him. He then looked around the library as though he was surprised to find himself there. “I simply had to—I am going now. It is nothing.”
“It is not nothing!” He was agitated and his hands were shaking. “You are not well; sit down.”
Darcy complied, but said again, “It is nothing. I cannot stay.”
“Whatever is causing you to act this way is not an imaginary trouble. Please, take one moment to collect yourself before you leave. Can I get you something?”
He shook his head, then rested his elbows on his knees and pressed his palms against his eyes. What could explain his strange behaviour? She could only observe him in compassionate silence.
“I am distressed by some dreadful news,” he said, finally raising his head.
She wanted to tell him she would do everything in her power to make him happy and ease any suffering he had. Darcy was staring at her intently. He had entered near to trembling, calling out her name as though he did not expect her to be in the room. “Has it anything to do with me?”
“Carew, my sister’s maid, is dead.” Elizabeth felt her stomach drop, and her mouth fell open. “She was found in the stream this morning after the rain stopped.”
“Good God! She drowned?”
“No . . . possibly?” He seemed to be wondering what to say. “I think she hit her head, somehow, and died and only fell into the water. Or hit her head and drowned soon after? I do not know what happened yet.”
Elizabeth was grieved, for she had admired Carew very much. “What a terrible accident! She spoke of visiting her father in Lambton this morning. Did she make it there?”
“I shall learn soon enough. Georgiana and I . . .” he sighed, but was beginning to look and act more like himself. “I must tell my sister, and then we will both call on Mr Carew. I have already sent for his son to come home.”
His face was grim, full of pity so deep that she could see how it hurt him to think about Carew’s death and the distress it would cause her family.
“How dreadful for you. I am so sorry. I know she grew up on the estate, and even though she had a stern manner, she showed me how fond she was of both you and Miss Darcy.”
He thanked her quietly. Of course Darcy would feel grief over the sudden death of one who had shared some of his childhood experiences and who took care of his sister. But he had entered in such a fear.
“Is there anything else?” she led.
He rose and shook his head. “I must find Georgiana.” He bowed and turned to the door.
“Mr Darcy, wait.” She rose and called after him. “Your pale face and impetuous manner tell me there is more to this sad story.”
He came back to stand in front of her, not saying a word. He seemed to be settling some point in his own mind.
“Did you give Carew some of your clothes?”
What a strange thing for him to ask. “Oh, I let her borrow my pelisse. She had been kind to me since I arrived—in her own way—and I wanted her to have something fine to wear when she called on her father. She said Miss Darcy would give her a flower to wear in her bonnet.” She smiled sadly.
“I thought it sweet of her to want to look pretty for her father. I know he must have been proud of her.”
“She wore your purple pelisse today.”
Comprehension slowly occurred, and she fixed on him in astonishment. “She was wearing it when you found her?” He nodded. “You recognised it as mine?” she asked, disbelieving.
“You wore it almost daily in Kent, and it has been so cold and wet that you wore it here, even when we went to Bakewell. Carew has—had—light brown hair, but it was wet and appeared darker.” He briefly closed his eyes, and she knew he was remembering the sight.
He thought I was dead! “She was facedown in the water and wearing your purple pelisse. I had not seen you, nor anyone, since last evening.”
What anguish had he felt when he thought she was dead?
Even if Darcy had no romantic love for the woman who had refused him, he was not so heartless a man as to not be affected.
She felt tears in her eyes at what he must have suffered in those moments.
She brought a hand to her mouth, shaking her head.
“I did not mean to make you uneasy.”
If she judged by his complexion now, no longer deathly pale, he was embarrassed. “I am not distressed for my own sake, but for yours. The shock must have been terrible.”
He looked at her with his whole attention. “The horror of that moment . . . I was absolutely sick with horror, Elizabeth.”
She was astonished to hear her name, and scarcely dared to lift her eyes to his face. Had I not been wanting to give him encouragement? “If our roles were reversed, and I thought you were—” Her voice broke at the thought. “I could not bear it.” She felt heat in her cheeks and said no more.
What could be construed by her saying that if she had mistakenly thought Darcy was dead, she would be unable to utter a single word until she threw her arms around him to feel for herself that he was alive?
I would not mind him taking it to mean that I love him, but if his feelings are not the same it would be the worst mortification.
“Miss Bennet,” he spoke softly, “now that the shock is over, and I have assured myself that you are safe, I must go. I have to tell Georgiana, and we must tell Mr Carew without the delay of another minute.”
She agreed he ought to go at once, but he took a gentle hold of her hand. “I have much to manage in the days ahead. There is something strange about Molly Carew’s death, I have to organise the committees to recover and rebuild, and the needs of everyone who depends on Pemberley must come first.”
“Of course, you have many responsibilities; it is a trying time. I wish I could—” She gave him an earnest look that she hoped said more than she could find the words for. “You must remember that your friends wish to help you.”
Darcy gave a half-smile, her hand still in his. “Will you . . . will you speak with me soon?” He spoke low and tremulously. “Now is hardly the time, but I want to talk with you alone in the coming days.”
Elizabeth’s heart beat unusually high at the hope of being secure of Darcy’s affections. “I will give you a private meeting whenever you ask me for one.”
Now he gave a genuine smile, and his relief showed in his face. He kissed her hand eagerly, gave her a significant parting look, and was gone.
When she and Mrs Lanyon removed after dinner, Elizabeth ran up to Miss Darcy.
She had been too upset for company after learning about Carew, and having to share the sad news with Mr Carew.
Elizabeth would have stayed with her to offer what comfort she could, but Miss Darcy was tearful and silent, and seemed on the verge of falling asleep from weariness.
Mrs Annesley stayed with her, and she encouraged Elizabeth to return to the others.
“Miss Darcy’s spirits are still unequal to company?” Mrs Lanyon asked when she returned.
“They are. I think she has nearly cried herself to sleep.”
“Her brother must be as distressed, but he has a naturally calmer temperament, although that is no slight against Miss Darcy.”
Elizabeth did not disagree about his strength of mind, but the memory of how shaken Darcy had appeared in the library contrasted sharply against how calm and cool he had appeared at the dinner table.
Rather than betray her thoughts on any such subject, Elizabeth said, “Brothers and sisters often have different temperaments even though their first associations are the same. Look at Charles and Caroline, or yourself and Mr Balfour. You are reserved, whilst he—”
“Is anything but?” she interrupted with a smile.
“I was going to say talkative,” Elizabeth said, laughing. “For a man born in India and who enjoys talking, I would have thought he would have stories to share about life there.”