Chapter 7 The Comeuppance
The Comeuppance
“Darcy, I need your help!”
Fitzwilliam Darcy looked up from his book with a resigned sigh, wondering what made his friend squeak like one of the younger Bennet sisters.
He was weary of helping the man constantly while avoiding his rapacious sister.
He thought if he were married, or had more friends, he might sever the acquaintance, as Bingley was sometimes more trouble than he was worth.
“What crisis has your sister caused this time?” he asked with a resigned sigh.
“What makes you think it is my sister?”
“It usually is,” he said, his voice becoming harder.
Bingley helped himself to a glass of brandy, to Darcy’s annoyance, but at least he was unlikely to be required to carry the man out, as he would with Hurst if he had the poor sense to admit the glutton into a room with the finest spirits.
Bingley slammed the brandy down in one gulp, making Darcy wish he had filled the bottle with rotgut gin. He had no notion whether he was more annoyed by the interruption, Bingley’s latest difficulty with his sister, or the waste of perfectly good liquor.
“London is awash with rumours about Caroline,” Bingley said in a near panic, then added in a rush, “and you!”
“What do you mean?” Darcy roared, barely resisting the temptation to slam down his own glass. This would require a clear head.
Bingley grimaced and eyed the brandy decanter hungrily but desisted when Darcy growled and snapped, “GET on with it!”
“There was not a whisper out of Hertfordshire these three months, then over the course of a fortnight, the whole town is abuzz with rumours and innuendo. The gossip says Caroline left your bedchamber… several times… in the middle of the night… and not exactly dressed for company. It further asserts as undisputed fact that we left in November because her maid was obliged to let her gowns out.”
Darcy growled and lunged for the brandy.
After filling and draining a glass, he finally said, “So, the rumours suggest that I sampled her dubious charms?”
“That is about the sum of it!”
“You may as well finish.”
“The story circulating is that she left Netherfield because she missed her courses. Now every matron and debutante in London examines her figure like a naturalist with a new species, and her modiste’s business has doubled overnight, presumably with gossip hunters.”
“That cannot be all,” Darcy sighed in resignation.
“I suppose the rest is the ironclad pronouncement that I am a rake, and I abandoned my latest angel without a word when I discovered she would not yield her virtue without a ring.”
Darcy chuckled grimly. “I suppose you deserve that, since you go through angels faster than I do cravats, and you left your sister to notify the lady you would not return—if you considered her at all.”
“I suppose so, but… well, damn it, Darcy, I left her because you told me to.”
Darcy lost his temper and hurled his brandy snifter into the fire, which produced a sudden flare of flame, and bellowed:
“Blast it, Bingley! I said that her mother was mercenary, her younger sisters were nearly feral, and I could not discern any signs of affection. I watched her for one evening… in company… while you talked to her for six weeks. What did you do? Did you return and take leave of her? Did you write to her father? Has she been pining away for you for months? How was she to know you abandoned her? I suggested you be certain before you married her. I did not suggest you kick her into the ditch without a word.”
“Caroline wrote to her,” Bingley said in a whining voice that made Darcy want to strangle him.
“Yes, now I remember. She is the head of your family! She is the master of your leased estate! Oh, and lest I forget, she is always polite and truthful!”
Bingley hung his head. “It gets worse.”
“I cannot see how.”
“Caroline turned the servants out without pay or reference. She did not even pay them for the time they worked, let alone the quarter. They went to the magistrate for relief, and he would not even write to me.”
Darcy made a frustrated attempt to throw his glass in the fire before he recalled he had already shattered it and let out a growl.
“This is your doing, Bingley. You are the master of the estate. You are the head of the family. You control the purse strings. Frankly, I am tired of cleaning up your messes.”
Bingley looked as dejected as could be, but Darcy was out of patience.
Bingley hung his head with no notion of what to think next, let alone attempt.
Darcy fumed for some time. “This appears to be revenge. Simple, cold-blooded, well-crafted, well-deserved revenge.”
“Yes, but who?”
“Servants would be my guess. They are the most injured party.”
Darcy thought a few more minutes until it all began to make sense.
“It would be easy enough for servants to spread rumours, but they are usually too cautious about their current positions, especially after your sister turned them out. You or I would do the same. Those she injured could easily begin it in one or two places, but if it spread through the city so quickly, I suspect they would have required others to do it—dozens, I imagine.”
“What others?”
Darcy thought about it for a while.
“It is easy enough to make the servants’ gossip tell the story.
Anyone with ten pounds to spread around could manage it, though that is a year’s wages for a lower servant, so they are not likely to be the masterminds.
You spread the story bottom up with downstairs servants, and top down from ladies’ maids.
Most of the women of the ton search for gossip and spread it with glee, and their maids are one of their greatest assets.
Five or ten pounds spread among some carefully selected ladies’ maids and lower servants, and the deed would be done, so long as the mastermind was clever about which maids to use. ”
“You suspect someone was willing to spend a YEAR’s wages on revenge?” Bingley said with a screech that made him sound far too much like his sister.
“Not a year—a quarter, or even a month perhaps.”
“Meaning?”
“That would be about a quarter’s allowance for one of the Bennet sisters or their peers, and a month if two of them pooled their resources.”
“Not Jane!” Bingley squeaked in panic.
Darcy thought about it for some time but finally agreed.
“Probably not. She did not strike me as the vengeful sort, and I have no evidence she is clever or ruthless enough. If I suspected anyone,” he said, then stared hard at Bingley to emphasise the point; “I am not accusing anyone, mind you—”
“Of course not,” Bingley said, knowing full well casting accusations could lead to a morning walk. There was no guarantee that Mr Bennet was the ladies’ only protector.
“If you combine Miss Elizabeth’s intelligence with Mrs Bennet’s ruthlessness, and a quarter’s allowance, or even a month for two of the sisters… added to how universally detested your sisters are—it could be done… carefully.”
Both men sat in silence for a few minutes, and both eyed the brandy but refrained.
Darcy said, “It is fitting in a way… perhaps… divine retribution. Your sister used rumour and innuendo to harm her opponents for years. I suppose she deserved it. I suspect her enemies would have been only too happy to fan the flames. It would seem that Miss Bingley is reaping what she has sown.”
“I suppose it does not matter who the culprit is. What matters is what we will do about it.”
“Who is we?” Darcy asked with a grumble.
“You and me. Your name is attached to this debacle as well as mine. You will not leave me high and dry, would you? More importantly, would you allow your own reputation to suffer?”
Darcy thought about it for some time and finally came to a decision.
“Bingley, for five years I have been trying to teach you to be a gentleman and have not even convinced you to be responsible for your own estate, your own servants, and your own reputation—let alone your harridan of a sister. I will clear my reputation while slightly improving your sister’s.
She will hate my solution—as will you—but since her actions have called into question my honour, I will work to set things as right as I am able. After that…”
“Yes,” Bingley said in consternation.
“After that, you will ensure neither of your sisters is ever in the same room with me, from now until the end of time. Make her understand I will cut her direct if she ever approaches me again or tries to use my name to get invitations. I suggest you put your back into getting her married, but that is your problem. In fact, …” then he stared hard to drive the point home, “… All of your problems are YOUR problems now. It is past time you grew up.”
“All right… just …” then Bingley looked hangdog. “… just do what you can.”
“Go to White’s at five and let the jackals feast on your hide for a time. Make a crowd and a spectacle—the more the merrier. I will come an hour later and do what I can. It is not much, but it must suffice.”
Bingley nodded and left the room as if he were walking to the gallows, while Darcy sat pensively behind his desk improving his plan. It would cleanse his reputation and restore Miss Bingley’s to about what it was before.
He quickly penned a few notes, then prepared to depart.
It was all he could do—or at least, all he was willing to.