Chapter 11
Bingley was back at Netherfield; and Darcy, forgiven for his interference, had accompanied him, hopeful of seeing Elizabeth again and passing on what he had learned.
The painting of Concetta now resided at Darcy House, hanging beside Young lady with letter.
Again and again he had studied them, tracing the shape of every feature.
Yes, there was a resemblance. The fanciulla of his first portrait could be Mario Pavan’s sister Concetta. But on balance, he was sceptical.
Darcy had considered bringing the portraits to Netherfield so that Elizabeth could compare them: her eye might be keener than his. But to arrange a viewing in privacy was risky for such a sensitive matter.
News of Bingley’s return had reached the Bennets, who were evidently delighted when he called—although less enthusiastic in welcoming Darcy.
An awkward meeting ensued in which Bingley’s eye often alighted on Jane, while Mrs Bennet spoke of her pride in Lydia’s marriage to Wickham (not announced in the right way, and such a shame that the couple lived far away in Newcastle).
During these effusions Elizabeth looked down in acute embarrassment; she said nothing afterwards except to ask after Georgiana.
They returned a few days later, and this time the company was larger and Darcy optimistic of exchanging a few words with Elizabeth.
At dinner his hopes were dashed by Mrs Bennet’s seating arrangements: Bingley next to Jane, Darcy and Elizabeth on opposite ends.
But later, in the drawing room, people circulated in small groups, and he at last drew her to a secluded corner.
‘I’ve something to tell you,’ he began.
‘I too.’ Her voice shook. ‘You first.’
He summarised his encounter with Sgaravatti and she listened anxiously, watching in case anyone approached.
‘So it fits.’ She looked resigned, as if finding herself in a trap with no way out. ‘Mario has a sister who strongly resembles me. I wish …’ She faced him, almost in tears. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Darcy. You have been so kind. Yet I wish I had not confided …’
‘You have my promise.’
‘I thought only of myself, not of my sister.’ A contorted smile. ‘Or half-sister.’
Darcy gasped. ‘You fear …’ He shook his head. ‘On my word of honour, Miss Elizabeth. I have not told Bingley.’
‘But you know, and Mr Bingley takes your opinion very seriously.’
‘I beg you, be calm.’ His hands twitched; he longed to hold her, reassure her. ‘In confidence, I have apologised to Bingley for my previous interference, and urged him to follow his heart. That is all.’
She gasped. ‘Then you think he will …’
‘It is up to him. And Miss Bennet. But I’m hopeful.’
A blush spread over her face. ‘That is such a relief. But I don’t understand. You of all people must abhor any kind of family weakness.’
‘Human frailty can affect any family.’ He winced. ‘Even my own.’
A wry smile. ‘But some more than others, and I fear that in this regard you are outmatched by the Bennets.’
‘Hmm.’ Darcy recalled the fortune he had spent on repairing Lydia’s reputation, and was tempted to express his heartfelt agreement. Instead he took a deep breath, before returning to their previous topic.
‘Human frailty aside, I still say you infer too much from what is probably a series of coincidences. We possess no proof that our Young lady with letter is Mario’s sister.
Even if she were, it would not follow that Concetta is related to you.
I imagine thousands of young women all over Europe bear some resemblance to the portrait.
Are they all Mario’s daughters? It has been alleged that he was, shall we say, of dubious morals. But there are limits!’
Elizabeth strangled a laugh. ‘You are saying, kindly, that I am being foolish.’ She breathed more easily. ‘Do you trust this dealer? Sgaravatti?’
‘Not much.’ He met her eye. ‘Would you like me to enquire further?’
‘That would be too much to ask.’
‘I would like to show you Mario’s portrait of Concetta. Next time you visit your uncle and aunt, could I invite you all to my house in Mayfair?’
‘I’d be delighted.’ She checked the room again. ‘There is something else I want to say. But father is coming over, so it will have to wait.’
‘Mr Darcy!’ Bennet approached with a whimsical smile. ‘My wife, who is always right, declares I am ignoring you. With Lizzy’s permission, may I introduce you to some of our other guests?’
As he left, with a parting bow, Darcy wondered what really lay behind this intervention.
Perhaps Mrs Bennet had seen her daughter forced to endure disagreeable company, and set out to rescue her.
Elizabeth, however, had seemed genuinely pleased at receiving an invitation to his house in town.
Perhaps his cause was not so hopeless after all.
This visitors had gone; the house was quiet. Intending to return a book and take another, Elizabeth descended to her father’s study and saw dim light under the door. She tapped and entered.
‘Lizzy!’ Mr Bennet looked up from his book. ‘Are you not tired?’
She held up her novel. ‘I thought you would be in bed.’
‘Society can be wearisome. A book and a glass of brandy help me relax.’ He pointed to another armchair. ‘Has Jane said anything? Mr Bingley was most attentive.’
‘You know Jane—too modest to imagine that any gentleman of worth would want her.’
‘I’m sorry you were left with—his proud friend.’
Elizabeth smiled. ‘He is certainly proud. But I think you will discover one day that he is not so disagreeable as we thought.’
‘Indeed!’ He put his book aside, giving her his full attention. ‘If you wish to speak in confidence, Lizzy, this is the time.’
She paused: the opportunity was too good to miss.
‘It is not what you imagine. But with your indulgence, there is something I very much wish to ask you. It concerns the matter we talked of before.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Do you remember? The artist, Pavan. Your trip to Italy.’
‘Oh?’ He frowned. ‘There is little more to say, Lizzy. I was wrong perhaps to leave your mother alone. But what’s done is done, and better not revealed, especially to Jane.’
‘I wanted to ask about someone you must have met in Venice. Mario Pavan’s sister. Concetta.’
He flinched, then stared at her in confusion. ‘How …’
‘Another painting by Mario has turned up, naming her.’
‘And why should you be interested?’
‘The ladies in the two pictures look alike, suggesting that they are both of Concetta.’ Elizabeth took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. ‘Which if true, means that Mario’s sister had a close resemblance to—myself.’
He shook his head. ‘What are you imagining, my child?’
‘I’m sorry, father, to give you pain.’ She could not control herself any more, and felt tears on her cheeks. ‘But do you not see, I must know.’
He looked away, as if in a dream. ‘A journey to faraway lands is a strange experience. Your old life feels hardly real. Then, when you return, you cannot believe you were ever gone. And yes, I did know Concetta …’ His voice trailed away.
Hardly breathing, Elizabeth waited for him to recover his composure.
‘May I offer a little brandy?’ he asked eventually.
‘Will I need it?’
He laughed. ‘I don’t know. But I cannot bear to see you distressed, and knowing your nature, I realise only the truth will satisfy you.’