SIX #2
“He has taken Netherfield Park,” said Mrs. Bennet immediately. “A very fine estate indeed. Only four miles from Longbourn.”
“A most convenient distance,” said Mr. Collins.
“Extremely convenient,” repeated Mrs. Bennet.
“Everything about Mr. Bingley is agreeable,” declared Lydia, glancing up briefly from her cards, “except his sisters and that disagreeable man in the bath chair.”
“Lydia,” said Jane softly.
“Well, everybody thought so at the assembly,” Lydia replied, returning to her cards.
“I thought him proud,” said Kitty quickly.
“It is not charitable to speak so confidently of a person one scarcely knows,” said Jane.
Kitty drew breath to argue, but Mr. Bennet spoke first.
“Children.”
The argument ended immediately.
Mr. Collins followed the exchange attentively before turning back to Elizabeth.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “Did I understand correctly? There is a gentleman among Mr. Bingley’s party who makes use of a bath chair?”
“Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth. “Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire. He came to Hertfordshire with Mr. Bingley and attended the assembly.”
Mr. Collins went abruptly still. The colour receded noticeably from his face, and for perhaps the first time since his arrival at Longbourn, he appeared entirely at a loss for words. He stared at Elizabeth as though uncertain he had heard her correctly.
“Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy,” he repeated at last.
Elizabeth lowered her book entirely. “Are you acquainted with the name?”
“Acquainted?” Mr. Collins echoed. “Miss Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy is the nephew of my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. His mother was her ladyship’s sister.” He stared at her still. “Good heavens. He is here? In Hertfordshire?”
“At Netherfield,” said Elizabeth. “For several weeks now.”
“Good heavens,” said Mr. Collins again.
Even Lydia abandoned her cards.
“We heard he suffered some unfortunate accident years ago,” said Mr. Bennet, closing his book at last. “Sir William mentioned as much.”
“Indeed,” said Mr. Collins, recovering himself gradually. “I know only what Lady Catherine herself considered proper to communicate.”
He glanced up then and seemed only just to realise that every eye in the room had fixed upon him.
“It was a carriage accident in Yorkshire,” he continued.
“Upon his wedding day.” He shook his head solemnly.
“He had married a merchant’s daughter, which Lady Catherine did not approve of.
She had warned Mr. Darcy against it.” He paused and shook his head.
“And almost as though by prophecy, the misfortune came to pass.”
“Mr. Darcy was married?” said Elizabeth.
The question escaped Elizabeth before she could stop it. She became aware at once of the slight shift in the room that followed.
“The lady did not survive,” said Mr. Collins quietly. “Mr. Darcy sustained very serious injuries that caused his current condition, from which he has never properly recovered.” He shook his head again. “A very sad affair indeed. To lose a wife upon one’s wedding day...”
He fell quiet for a moment.
Elizabeth sat perfectly still.
The assembly returned to her now in fragments. The bath chair. The reserve. What she had dismissed as arrogance no longer appeared quite so straightforward.
The drawing room had gone entirely quiet.
Naturally, it was Mr. Collins who ended the silence.
“I never had the honour of meeting Mr. Darcy personally,” he continued.
“The accident occurred only shortly before I accepted the living at Hunsford. Lady Catherine was greatly affected by the tragedy.” He straightened slightly.
“To hear that Mr. Darcy is again venturing into society must be considered highly encouraging.”
“It appears,” said Mr. Bennet, “that Hertfordshire has become a place of miracles.”
Mr. Collins nodded gravely. “The Lord’s providence may manifest itself in many forms.”
Mr. Bennet returned to his book without replying.
“If you will excuse me,” said Mr. Collins, rising, “I feel it my duty to communicate this intelligence to Lady Catherine without delay. Her ladyship will undoubtedly wish to hear of Mr. Darcy’s improving circumstances immediately.”
He bowed and withdrew from the room.
“Mr. Darcy has endured a great deal,” said Jane softly, once the sound of Mr. Collins's footsteps had faded entirely.
Mary adjusted her spectacles. “It confirms precisely what I observed earlier, that judgement formed upon first acquaintance is seldom reliable.”
“Nobody judged him unfairly,” said Mrs. Bennet. “I am very sorry for what he has suffered, certainly. But misfortune does not excuse a want of civility.”
Lydia declared the card game must resume immediately, and within moments the room recovered much of its earlier noise. Mrs. Bennet returned to speaking of Netherfield. Mr. Bennet turned another page.
Elizabeth, however, did not return to her book.
She found herself thinking instead of Mr. Darcy. Of the man he might once have been before grief and disappointment altered the course of his life. Of the woman he had married despite opposition. Of what sort of attachment could persuade a man such as Darcy to disregard family expectation entirely.
His words at the assembly returned to her then, though the resentment they had once inspired no longer seemed quite so easy to maintain.
There was far more to Mr. Darcy than she had first supposed, and Elizabeth found herself increasingly uncertain what to make of him.