Chapter 22
Bingley stumbled into the Fox and Hare, the exertion of his rides catching up to him.
He threw himself into a booth and called for a bourbon, then the whole bottle when the first glass did not numb his mind quickly enough.
He drank through the night, his feelings of maltreatment percolating and growing stronger with each swallow.
Around noon the next day, the innkeeper lost his patience for the man’s disjointed sobs and demanded his payment.
Bingley drunkenly emptied his pockets and found that he did not even have a shilling on his person.
Having recognized the man as a friend of the Darcys, the innkeeper sent one of the grooms to Pemberley to request assistance.
When Darcy appeared an hour later, he was appalled at his former friend’s lack of discretion. Bingley was nearly comatose and lay half slumped on the table and moaning his wife’s name periodically. Shaking his head in disgust, he approached the innkeeper and paid for his liquor.
“If you would allow him to sleep off his inebriation, I would be much obliged,” Darcy winced at a particularly loud release of air from the direction of his friend.
“I shall leave the funds to feed him, but I do not want him to have more than a single tankard of ale with his meals. He needs to sober up enough to continue on his way.”
The man was pleased to assist Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and stuck out his chest as he offered his hand for a shake. Darcy took it with a grim smile then handed over a heavy purse which pleased the man even more and he signaled for two of his men to carry the now snoring Bingley upstairs to a room.
Bingley woke late the next morning with a splitting headache and gratefully accepted a bowl of thick soup and crusty bread as well as a glass of some sludge which he was assured would settle his head and his stomach.
By the time he had finished, he had decided that he was the wronged party and that surely Jane, who was the most forgiving and kindly woman ever, would understand that he had made a misjudgment, but that the fault was not his.
He ate and went back to bed for the rest of the day.
He woke up late in the afternoon and ate once more before requesting his horse, his own as the Pemberley grooms had worked miracles, and began the ride to Ivy Well.
Rather than return to Pemberley to take the short cut, he petulantly determined to travel the road.
He had traveled nearly two hours, almost half way, when his horse began to stumble and limp.
Bingley threw up his hands in frustration and cursed the heavens, and Darcy, and his life in general.
He slid to the ground and stomped his feet like a child to relieve his feelings of persecution.
Even his mount looked upon his tantrum with a judgmental eye, and he cursed at him as well, as he lifted his left foreleg to find that he had thrown a shoe.
He nearly cried at the thought of the long walk back to Lambton or forward to Kympton as either way was going to be long.
In the end, he did not like the thought of retracing his path and so Kympton was chosen.
An hour later, with tired feet and dust covered breaches, he arrived at the blacksmith to discover that the local farrier had traveled to Lambton to assist his counterpart with reshodding a large herd and had taken the blacksmith’s entire supply of horseshoes.
He contained his desire to pout, but only just, and went for a drink at the inn to wait for the blacksmith to create a shoe and hopefully the farrier would have returned by then, as the man was not pleased with the condition of the horse’s hoof and felt that it would be better for the animal to wait for a man who was trained to evaluate and physic the beast. Could nothing go his way! Bingley fumed.
The farrier did return, but not until late and Bingley was forced to use a goodly sum from Darcy’s borrowed purse to bribe the man to work a little longer.
He did not feel the need for the lecture on equine care which he received as the man was of the opinion that the crack in the hoof wall was from misuse rather than a loose shoe.
Bingley frowned as he droned on until finally, he was able to take the reins and hurry on his way.
It was very late when Ivy Well finally rose up from the gloom of the overcast night, he could only be grateful that the rain had held off; one small spark of light in this otherwise torment of a day.
There was not a light to be seen in the windows, it was obvious that his wife had not expected, nor likely wanted, him to return, but he was determined that she would hear him out.
Surely, she would understand that he had been a victim of circumstances, just as much as she.
He knocked for what felt like forever, but no one came to admit him.
With a huff, he remounted, not wishing to walk even so far as the stables, choosing to burden his tired horse instead.
He shook awake the stable boy who was sleeping in the hay at the front of the barn and demanded that he see to his horse before stomping toward the kitchen door where he was able to rouse the scullery maid who slept on a palate beside the warm hearth.
He did not apologize for his appearance, instead snatching away her candle and pounding up the servant’s stair to the family floor.
He did not bother quieting his steps as he stomped down the hall toward the mistress’s room; it was an affront that Jane would sleep while he was so entirely undone.
He threw open the door, allowing it to bang against to wall but his pique was irrelevant as the counterpane was undisturbed and the fire, though lit, was banked.
He was confused for a moment until a picture appeared in his mind, unbidden, of the look on his steward’s face as he turned to follow his wife into the house— it spoke of affection and something he could not quite name, but it seemed warm.
His heart dropped to his feet. Surely Jane would never betray her vows! How dare she treat him so shabbily!
He had worked himself into quite a lather only to jump nearly to the ceiling when his wife’s maid appeared and demanded to know what he was about, skulking in her mistress’s room in the dark.
“I was looking for my wife,” Bingley declared with injured dignity, “only to find that she has turned light skirt!” He pointed scathingly at the bed.
“You dare!” she cried, puffing up like a hen.
“Madame Bingley is a lady, sir! She has not slept! Not since you and your harlot arrived and attempted to murder her enfant; she has not slept a moment! Unable to leave mamsel’s side.
You are a sale cochon! ‘Ave you even asked after your daughter before accusing your wife of your own improprieties?”
Bingley slunk away, face burning in mortification, unwilling to hear yet another person’s opinion of his personal deficiencies.
Feeling the weight of her disgust, he mounted the stairs once more to the nursery, but the room was cold and empty, though there were signs of recent use.
Obviously, Jane had chosen to move their daughter to some other room.
Knowing her as he did, he assumed one close to her own chambers.
He dragged his leaden feet down the stairs once more and began peeking into rooms on the family floor as he passed.
The third door he tried creaked open to a disturbing sight after his former jealous thoughts.
Mr. Yates was sat in a rocking chair before the fireplace, holding a tightly wrapped bundle on his chest, clad only in his waistcoat and lawn shirt.
The man’s eyes narrowed at the sight of his former employer, and he remained seated with a derisive glare.
“I came to check on my child.” Bingley declared haughtily.
Mr. Yates hummed disbelievingly and continued to rock, remaining stubbornly silent otherwise.
“Is er— she, well?”
“You did not even bother learning her name.” It was not a question.
“You cannot blame me!” Bingley exclaimed, though it came out as more of a whine. “I was kept in ignorance.”
“Hmmm”
“Are you going to tell me?”
Mr. Yates stared at him until Bingley began to squirm before he finally gave in. “This is Miss Elizabeth Ursula Bingley, aged three months and six days.”
So old? He bristled at the judgmental tone. “Well, I am here now. You may put her down and return to your own house.”
He rocked back and forth and back again, “No.”
Bingley puffed out his chest. “How dare you keep my child from me! I may have been tricked out of my estate but in this the law is on my side!”
“Are you going to try and take her from me?” Mr. Yates purred dangerously.
“Mrs. Bingley has been so traumatized by you that she was only convinced to retire when I promised to not let Miss Ellie out of my arms, no matter the provocation. Though that lovely black eye and swollen beak suppress my more aggressive urges.”
Bingley eyed him warily. “How long have you been in love with my wife?”
The man could not help the smirk, “It matters not, for Mrs. Bingley is completely unaware and is too pure of heart to realize my devotion is to her, rather than the estate.”
“You are fired!” Bingley sputtered, nearly yelling.
“I do not work for you, thankfully, and I shall remain as close or as far as my mistress will allow no matter your wishes.”
Bingley cried out in frustration and woke the babe, who began to cry earnestly.
Mr. Yates rose and shushed her, patting her back and bouncing her with practiced ease while he waited for the wet nurse to appear.
He greeted her and carefully handed over the babe, allowing her to step behind the screen while he remained between them and the room in a protective attitude.
“You cannot have my family!” Bingley hissed, angrier than he could ever remember being in all his life. “Jane would never betray me!”