Chapter 6
It was three days before Elizabeth received a reply.
It was a tense time, watching Jane gradually crumbling beneath her mother’s ruthless heel.
Elizabeth found herself growing bitter, thinking of the vain hope which she had felt when she wrote her letter.
So much for Mr. Darcy’s changed attitude for life!
He had doubtless read her request and rejected it so casually that he could not even bother to reply.
The truth was far more complicated.
Being a cautious man, Darcy was reluctant to commit himself entirely to any cause - even that of an angel. He knew as well as Elizabeth did that she was made of flesh-and-blood. He was, admittedly, resolved to help her regardless, but he wanted to be sure that he acted wisely.
Darcy was well-aware that his judgement was cloudy.
Matters had to be taken in hand, before he lost his reason altogether.
He could not allow himself to bask in the warm feelings he had for Miss Bennet, even though he was sure that she deserved it.
By investigating her claims, as she had suggested, he could act without regret.
His initial findings were satisfactory. The servants reported that Elizabeth Bennet was well liked in Meryton, and that she presented herself in a ladylike and honest manner.
She was known as a local beauty. This was a fact that had not escaped Darcy’s notice, but he told himself that it was irrelevant.
Her fine eyes demonstrated nothing about her character.
Even Lady Catherine de Bourgh had startlingly blue eyes, even if she used them to glare rather than to smile.
Darcy reminded himself that his interest was in Miss Bennet’s character. He had one question to answer: was she the gentle soul he had imagined for so many months, or had her kindness to him been an accident?
He expected cruelty. Oh yes, since Wickham, he expected it from all sides. Kindness was surely an aberration.
His sphere was filled with shallow and selfish creatures.
Men and women with full pockets and empty heads, thinking only of the next shilling and tomorrow’s conquest. The feathers in one’s hat were of more concern to those people than the plight of their servants.
When Georgiana was silenced, Darcy could only see darkness.
He looked at the people who he used to admire, and saw only their sly schemes and petty squabbles.
It was one of the things which had driven him to drink.
The world had lost all of its beauty, and the trust he had once held for his fellow man was torn away.
Only Bingley and Georgiana were good. Once they shone, but now they faded. Bingley was slowly being pulled away from Darcy through the wheedling of his sisters. Georgiana was barely alive.
Darcy shook his head, forcing his mind away from such thoughts. They were poison, he knew. Bingley was distancing himself because his friend was recovering and no longer needed his tender care. Georgiana was alive, most assuredly. He must not think of her as gone.
She would come back to him.
One day, she would. She had to.
Darcy shook his head again and looked down at the notes he had made when his servants reported to him that morning.
The Bennet family generally kept to themselves. Or, at least, they kept to their own devices. Mr. Bennet was amenable enough when he was in town, but rarely made the attempt. He preferred to withdraw into his home, where he spent the majority of his time in the study.
His wife, on the other hand, was in town too much.
She was an infamous gossip. Nothing could happen in Meryton without her hurrying from her home to investigate.
She was almost always accompanied by her two youngest daughters - silly, giggling creatures by all accounts.
As a trio, they flitted around Meryton in oblivious cheer.
Such a family! They did not seem the kind of people who would welcome help.
In fact, Darcy was sure that he would not have bothered to speak to them at all, beside a terse greeting and perhaps a few remarks about the weather.
He could not abide foolishness, nor respect a man who would ignore his family and allow them to become notorious.
But then, there were the oldest daughters. What a difference!
Jane and Elizabeth were held in high regard by almost everyone the servants had spoken to.
They and one of their friends, Miss Lucas, devoted a great deal of time to the less fortunate.
They made baskets filled with sweet flowers and herbs, lavender packets, jam and bread and anything else that might bring comfort to those in need.
They did not make a great show of these, as some ladies were wont to do, but went about their work quietly.
They also did not simply give the baskets away.
They stayed in draughty homes, or in the tiny parlours of old widows, and listened to their woes.
Their empathy did not stop there; often, they would return to their fathers and ask them for solutions to the problems they had discovered.
There was one story about Jane Bennet: a soldier was discharged from the army with an injury and had no savings to support himself in his old age.
After losing his tiny home, he was forced to sleep under a cart when he could not beg enough coin to buy shelter.
Jane Bennet sought out a local farmer, whose three sons had all enlisted and been sent overseas.
She asked him to give a sheep-shearing shelter to the old soldier, in exchange for the man keeping watch over the flocks.
The farmer had gently explained to the young lady that he did not keep sheep any more, only pigs. Quick as a flash, Miss Bennet had replied:
“Then you have no more use for a sheep shelter! What a relief. Think of how grateful Mr. Adams will be. Wouldn’t you thank a man who did half as much for your brave soldiers?”
The story had made Darcy smile. He could not imagine Caroline Bingley going within twenty feet of a beggar, much less try to coax a farmer into doing anything other than getting out of the way.
There were other stories, too. Some of them were about Elizabeth.
These were not as glowing as Jane’s. The eldest Miss Bennet was flawless, at least as far as the locals were concerned.
By contrast, Elizabeth was said to be impatient, stubborn, quick-tempered and sharp tongued.
She frequently scolded her younger sisters in public and had once been heard to admonish her own mother in church!
Darcy imagined her standing up to his aunt - for he had no frame of reference for Mrs. Bennet herself. It was an entertaining fantasy, but he stopped it with a curdling feeling in his stomach.
He did not know Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He had spent less than twenty minutes in her company. Half of that had been when he was face down in the mud. He had no right to imagine her in his life!
The man rubbed his forehead irritably and took a deep breath. The notes he had been reading suddenly annoyed him. He shoved them away, and watched the pages flutter weakly to the floor.
Elizabeth Bennet was not an angel.
She was certainly not Lady Catherine’s day of reckoning.
But she was a good person, and she needed his help.
Darcy remembered the effusions he had poured into his last letter and groaned loudly.
He had been reeling from seeing her again. For a long time, he had thought that his angel was imaginary. A vision, sent by God to guide him onto the right path.
Seeing her at the assembly rooms had shaken him to the core. His careful self-control was gone in an instant. All he could do was stare. He expected her to take wing, or to vanish. Perhaps she would fade into her flower-pot like a mythical dryad, or flicker and drift like smoke from a candle flame.
Elizabeth Bennet had done none of those things.
She had gone cherry-red, bumped her elbow on the wall when she looked around for an exit, and ran away with inelegant, thudding steps.
This evidence of her earthliness was very reassuring.
Darcy followed her at once. His words tangled on his tongue when she finally met his eyes.
What could he possibly say? ‘I thought you were an angel’?
Oh, but he had written it down. What a fool!
His heart had raced on the journey home, and his pen flew across the page in a dizzying scribble.
Slippery words had poured from him: every foolish thought in his deluded head.
He had not even thought of the intrigue he would create by asking the housekeeper to address it.
He ordered the servants to deliver it in the morning, fell into bed, and sank into dreamless sleep.
Morning had brought clarity. Cringing, logical clarity. Miss Bennet’s reply had been careful, polite, and heartbreaking. And so, Darcy’s investigation had begun.
He found out about Elizabeth and was pleased by her. However, she was not the only person he wanted to understand. Darcy found out everything he could about Jane, too.
One morning, he waited until everyone was caught up in the Sunday service and then slipped quietly into the church.
The Bennet family were sitting near to the front.
Five young ladies, their mother in a froth of tasteful grey lace, and a bored-looking man who had to be their father.
All the ladies looked stoically ahead, apart from the one with golden curls spilling out from her bonnet.
Jane was sitting beside a man in a severe black coat.
He kept inching closer to her, ignoring her obvious attempts to draw away.
His long-fingered hands sought out hers, time and again.
When the congregation bowed their heads in prayer the man did not; he took the chance to watch her, beaming indulgently, smirking when her cheeks grew red and her hands trembled.
This, then, was Mr. Collins. Darcy recognised him from Rosings. He had attended a few services with his aunt, where this man had bowed and flattered her. There, Collins was ridiculous. He had no power, and knew it. His every gesture was to ingratiate himself.
Here, he had power. It was clear that it had gone to his head - or, perhaps, he was born a bully. Jane Bennet did not like him; Mr. Collins did not care. Indeed, her signs of obvious discomfort only made his smile grow.
This was a man who liked to dominate. Now, finally, he had his chance.
All of this - and her mother encouraged it! When they left the church, Jane tried to walk beside her sister. Mrs. Bennet’s complaint echoed from the rafters; Mr. Collins swept in to seize his intended’s arm. Jane shuddered, closed her eyes for a moment, but obeyed.
Darcy was not surprised that Elizabeth was so desperate to prevent the match. Any sane person would be sickened by seeing a beloved sister treated so ill. How could her parents allow it?
By Monday afternoon, Darcy knew why. The marriage was a grim necessity. His servants had discovered details of the Bennet finances, and Darcy saw how desperate their plight was. Indeed, he had found out information that was so private that he felt uncomfortable knowing it.
He knew, for example, that Mr. Bennet was not in good health, and that the doctor attended him twice a month. It was also said that two of his daughters were sickly: Miss Mary, who was stricken with migraines, and Miss Catherine, who had a frequent cough which some whisperers called consumptive.
Elizabeth had not mentioned any of this in her letter, but Darcy now understood the desperation in her plea.
She was not just concerned for Jane, but for all of her family.
The weight of responsibility had fallen onto shoulders that could not bear it.
Jane was like to be crushed, and Elizabeth would never forgive herself for letting it happen.
Yes, she must have been desperate indeed to reach out to a stranger. Her vague idea of introducing Jane to eligible bachelors had some merit, although Darcy suspected that Mrs. Bennet would not allow it. What mother would let her daughter pass up a sure match, for the distant hope of a better one?
No. Mrs. Bennet’s sights were set on Mr. Collins, and Jane had to obey.
The solution was jarringly obvious. If ideas shone, then this one was like beautiful firelight reflecting off metal: bright, blinding, and painfully clear. It was a surgeon’s cut at the matter, hasty and breathtaking… but, by God, it would work.
Darcy did not hesitate at all before putting his plan to paper. His courier took it at once, setting off into the pink sunset, and then all Darcy could do was wait.