Chapter 19 #2
“Yet Wickham must have contacts in London,” said Georgiana.
“When he learns that his identity has been discovered, or that the Post no longer accepts his articles, he may flee—and we will have lost him. No! Elizabeth should not have to bear such pain again. He is a wicked man, William. In Spain, good men died fighting for His Majesty, to keep England free from the tyrant. Wickham has no claim to mercy, or Darcy generosity. He abused our father’s trust; let it stop now. ”
Darcy took Georgiana’s hands in his. There was flint in her eyes—certainly no longer the young woman he had taken to Brighton to promenade on the Steyne.
“What do you suggest?” he asked, coming to understand that their relationship had changed.
She was his equal—not his young sister, nor his little sister.
“The Earl must tread carefully. Oh, it is so unfair! But until Mr. Williams—Wickham—is dealt with, I believe that Elizabeth should, shall we say, disappear for a time. Not to Longbourn, for Wickham certainly has intelligence of that place. Perhaps she could go on a tour, maybe ending at Pemberley?”
Darcy smiled; a smile which turned into the broadest of grins.
“Leaving tomorrow, a fast packet will take no more than seven days from London to Porto, likely less. One of Wellington’s couriers, or Mateo’s partisans, can make the journey from Porto to Madrid in the same time.
Two weeks, Georgiana! Three to be safe—then Elizabeth and you will be free from Wickham’s perfidy. ”
“You spoke of Miss Bennet, Elizabeth’s sister. I believe that Mr. Bingley is courting her. You cannot let him be misled—otherwise, he may withdraw his suit.”
“Georgiana—matchmaking? As luck would have it, I am to dine with Bingley tomorrow evening. I shall inform him of the truth—then, it is up to him as to what he does. But he has a strong heart and is very loyal to those he loves. More’s the pity he puts up with his sister Caroline’s poor behaviour, but I believe he genuinely admires Miss Bennet—all will be well. ”
* * *
“Bingley, before we go into dinner, we must talk—it is most urgent.” Darcy strode across the entry of Hurst’s house on Grosvenor Street and clasped his friend’s hand. “My apologies, but it cannot wait.”
“Of course, Darcy. I believe the study is free; we can talk in there.” Bingley led him down a poorly lit corridor. Darcy carefully closed the door after they both entered Hurst’s study—a rather dingy room, the bookshelves scarcely half-full, an empty decanter on the stained desk.
“You are being mysterious, Darcy,” Bingley said amiably. “But would you take a drink?”
“Later.” Darcy walked further into the room. “I understand you have been courting Miss Bennet—Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourn.”
“Oh, she is an angel, Darcy. I could not conceive of anyone sweeter, nor more beautiful.”
Darcy paused. Clearly, Bingley had not read the Morning Post. “Do you receive the Post?” he asked.
“The Post? Of course, Caroline certainly wouldn’t wish to miss the latest on dits and gossip.
I have not seen it today. But if you would like a copy, I’ll ask Caroline—she seems to have taken the last few papers to her parlour.
” Bingley regarded Darcy with some confusion.
His friend’s manner was agitated, so unlike his normal reserved self.
Darcy took a column cut from the newspaper from his pocket and handed it to Bingley. “This was in yesterday’s paper. I took the liberty of cutting out the offending column. Please read it—for it very much concerns Miss Bennet.”
Bingley read the article, his eyes narrowing. “Miss E.B.—Miss Elizabeth, Jane’s sister? Miss G.D.—Georgiana? Miss L.B.—Lydia?” He slumped in a chair, burying his face. “What is this about, Darcy?”
“It is slander of the meanest kind. I do not have time enough to tell you all, but I ask you to trust me, Bingley. You did not hear of it—it was kept very close—but Miss Elizabeth, Miss Lydia, and Georgiana were abducted from the Parade at Brighton—you might guess by whom: Wickham, in league with the French.”
“The French! My God, but are they safe now? Of course! Miss Elizabeth stays with her aunt and uncle at Gracechurch Street. I had invited them to dine this evening, but they withdrew, citing a slight indisposition.”
“All are safe, Bingley. The article spews falsehoods about Miss Elizabeth and Lydia—foul falsehoods. Even now, the Earl Matlock is taking the editor of the Post to task, forcibly, as only an Earl can do. The man will be lucky if he is not transported, for I have never seen Lord Matlock in such a rage. Lord Wellington, also in town, was incandescent when told.”
“Darcy, whatever is this about?”
“I was there, Bingley. I was at León when we encountered the armies of Bonnet and Caffarelli. I can tell you that Miss Elizabeth has done England a great service. I will not have her disdained! But, as I have said, you must trust me in this, that the lady has done no wrong. The Bennets are to be lauded, not slighted.”
“Darcy, you must promise to explain all to me later. But you have my word. I intend to marry Jane, whatever her sister is alleged to have done. Both she and Miss Elizabeth are true ladies—I will be proud to call Elizabeth sister.”
Dinner that evening was a considerably less cheerful affair than the Hursts had anticipated.
Candles flickered along the length of the table, throwing uncertain shadows over the silver and porcelain.
Mr. Hurst, already more interested in the contents of his plate than the conversation, was the first to break the silence.
“Pass the claret, Bingley, will you? This mutton is desperately in want of it.”
Bingley obliged, though rather absently, and glanced at Darcy.
Darcy had barely touched his food, his brow drawn, his lips pressed into a thin, uncommunicative line.
Miss Bingley, her eyes bright with a mixture of anticipation and something rather more calculating, was quick to seize the opportunity.
“Mr. Darcy,” she began, her voice taking on a tone of some delicacy, “I wonder if you have seen yesterday’s Post? There is such a—well, I hardly know what to call it—an unfortunate item concerning a certain young lady of our acquaintance.”
Darcy did not raise his eyes from his plate. “I do not make a habit of reading such things,” he said, his voice cold and distant.
“Oh! But you must allow me to tell you,” Miss Bingley persisted, feigning reluctance even as she pressed forward, “that it concerns none other than Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I daresay you will be as shocked as I was—though perhaps not as surprised, for she has always had a way of attracting notice, has she not?”
There was an uncomfortable shifting of chairs. Mrs. Hurst, who had read the news with avid interest over her chocolate, gave a little sigh of pleasure at the prospect of renewed gossip. Mr. Hurst, on the other hand, merely grunted and returned to his dinner.
“What is it you mean to say, Caroline?” Bingley asked, his tone sharper than usual. “If you have something to communicate, I wish you would do so plainly.”
Miss Bingley’s smile grew a shade more self-satisfied. “I am so sorry to distress you, my dear brother, but it is in all the papers. It seems Miss Elizabeth has been rather free with her favours, though I cannot imagine it myself—with a Frenchman, it is said.”
“And the paper, did it name Miss Elizabeth?” Darcy said, finally looking up, his eyes burning with a quiet fury. “I think not. This is precisely why I despise the newspapers. They print initials, and leave it to the prurient minds of society matrons to draw their own conclusions.”
Miss Bingley was not to be dissuaded. “But surely you must admit, Mr. Darcy, that such conduct is—well, at least unfortunate, likely scandalous in the extreme. One cannot help but wonder what her family must be thinking. Or perhaps they do not think at all.”
Bingley’s face flushed. “I beg you will not speak so of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s family, Caroline. You forget that I am courting her sister.”
There was a silence at this, the kind of silence that seems to thicken the air itself.
Miss Bingley’s expression faltered, but only for a moment.
“Of course, Charles. But it is precisely because you are to be so intimately connected with them that I must speak. One cannot be too careful of one’s associations. ”
Mrs. Hurst, emboldened by her sister’s lead, added, “It really is most distressing. I had thought better of Miss Elizabeth. I think, Charles, that you should discontinue the acquaintance. At least until the matter resolves itself. As they say, where there is smoke, there must be fire.”
She and her sister sniggered. Finally, they had found a way to separate Charles from Jane Bennet, whose family had no connections; nothing to recommend them; indeed, their relations were vulgar—a country solicitor, an uncle in trade.
“That will do,” Darcy interrupted, his voice so low and controlled it became more menacing than any outburst. “Enough has been said. I will not sit here and listen to the character of a gentlewoman I respect be torn to pieces by idle speculation.”
“Respect?” Miss Bingley repeated, her tone tinged with disbelief. “I had not realised you held Miss Elizabeth in such high esteem, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “I have always found Miss Elizabeth to be a person of the utmost integrity. I do not believe she would act in any way that was truly improper. If the Morning Post wishes to sell more copies by slandering her name, that is their shame, not hers.”
Bingley, who had been twisting his napkin in his hands, looked up with a sudden fierceness. “And I refuse to believe anything against Jane’s sister. I know their family, and I know Elizabeth. There must be some mistake, or else—”
“Or else what, Charles?” Mrs. Hurst prompted, her tone both curious and mocking.
“Or else,” Bingley said, his voice trembling, “there are people in this room who take pleasure in destroying the happiness of others. I will not listen to it.”
Darcy nodded, his expression softening for the first time that evening. “You are right, Bingley. We do ourselves no favours by entertaining such talk.”
Miss Bingley, seeing her opportunity slipping away, made a final effort. “But, Mr. Darcy, you cannot deny that appearances are important. Can Miss Elizabeth be blameless? The allegations are very specific. You must think of your own reputation.”
Darcy’s reply was swift and unequivocal. “I have long since ceased to care what the world thinks, Miss Bingley, when it comes to matters of principle. If I were to value the opinions of every gossip and scandalmonger, I should never act at all.”
He looked down the table, his voice so cold and menacing that even Hurst felt the chill.
“The Earls Matlock and Wellington have issued a statement—which will be printed in The Times tomorrow—giving their unequivocal support to the Bennets. Miss Lydia is a woman of exceptional character; Don Mateo, together with Lord Wellington, fights to liberate Spain from the tyranny of Napoleon’s spineless brother, Joseph; Miss Elizabeth is to be welcomed into Lady Matlock’s home as a dear friend—nay, as a daughter, just as my sister Georgiana is welcomed into the family. ”
Darcy stood. “My apologies, Mrs. Hurst. You set a fine table, but I fear something has upset me; perhaps I do not have the stomach for such rich conversation. Bingley, mayhap we can meet at the club—Thursday would suit. Mrs. Hurst, Miss Bingley, Mr. Hurst, good night to you.”
* * *