Chapter 35
Thirty-Five
TO CONFESS THE TRUTH
“Jane! What has happened?” Elizabeth questioned, taking her sister’s hands in hers.
They were icy. “You are cold. Come, sit by the fire, and I will build it up.” She led her to the hearth, seating her where she and Darcy had been so comfortably situated only an hour or so before.
Once the fire was fortified, she took Jane’s hands again. “Tell me what is wrong.”
Jane gave a huff of laughter, but it sounded bitter and very unlike her usual placid tones.
“Do you know, I have been trying to discover that very thing. ‘What is wrong with you?’, I ask myself, that Mr Bingley cannot make up his mind whether or not to pursue you? And I believe I have come upon an answer. I have always tried, very hard, to see good in everyone.”
“It is one of your most admirable traits,” Elizabeth assured.
“Do you think so? Well, perhaps it would be, if it were true charity that guided my motives. But it is not. No, what I want is peace at any cost; I want to avoid difficulties. I want all decisions and outcomes to be easy. I have turned myself inside out, trying to escape what is directly before my eyes.”
“No one wants trouble, Jane,” Elizabeth tried to mollify her.
“No one wants it, but Lizzy, when you saw what our uncle did to Neddy, you faced it, you dealt with it. You did it by yourself. I told myself that because Neddy’s behaviour is sometimes annoying and often difficult, it was unrealistic to expect our aunt and uncle to feel the same way as we do about him.
Neddy was barely three years old! I saw those bruises on his cheeks, and somehow found a way to excuse Uncle Philips, so that I could remain a ‘daughter of Longbourn’, so that I could stay safe and warm and untouched by scandal.
I let you take all the trouble for Neddy’s safety and peace upon yourself. ”
Elizabeth could not think of anything to say in reply. She had been disappointed in Jane’s lack of righteous anger…but not surprised. Jane had always been afraid of reproach.
“Mr Bingley has not come in four days now. It is the longest we have been separated…it feels like four years. This morning, Mama began complaining, wailing that I had lost him. And Mr Philips said no, I had done nothing wrong…that the reason Mr Bingley no longer visits is because of you, living out here practically alone and scandalising the neighbourhood. I knew it was a blatant falsehood meant to stir Mama up to the boughs about you having Neddy. I would have heard if you had been the subject of new and noisy rumour. Caroline would have said something, at the very least.”
“Thank you for defending me,” Elizabeth soothed.
“That is the problem,” Jane sobbed. “I said nothing. I sat there and allowed it, accepting that you would be defamed and your character slandered, all because I was afraid of having their ugliness turned upon me. I cannot stand myself any longer. Why should Mr Bingley love me? I hate myself. I could not even bring myself to confront Mama or my uncle. After I packed my things, I wrote them a letter, a cowardly letter, saying they are all horribly behaved and that my father would be disgusted by them and that I thank the heavens he did not live to see how awful they are to his most beloved daughter and his cherished son. Mr Hill promised to have someone bring my trunk over, if you will have such a spineless, selfish sister as me to bear you company.”
“Oh, Jane,” Elizabeth said, torn between laughter and tenderness. “Come and wash your face—I brought in fresh water from the well this morning. I thank you for your support of me, by letter or otherwise. Everything will work out, I promise. I have much to tell you.”
Before she could say any more, however, there was a loud rap at the door.
Elizabeth opened it, only to see the last person in the world she wanted.
Henry Philips stood upon her step, looking both annoyed and pompous.
His waistcoat, she noted, was pulled tight across a belly that was no longer kept in check by his apparel.
“I knew it was you who had a hand in influencing your sister to such shocking behaviour,” he snapped at Elizabeth, in lieu of a greeting.
He pushed his way inside. “Jane Bennet, you have sent your mother to her sickbed. It was callous and insensitive. Come home at once and apologise, and when you have dried your mother’s tears, we will discuss what is to be done with this situation.
Your sister has stepped upon one too many toes, at last.”
“I-I will not apologise, not for anything,” Jane said, white-faced. “Elizabeth has done nothing wrong.”
“We will discuss it at home,” Mr Philips replied. “Come with me, now.”
“No. I will not.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You will do so, or I will push your mother to assert her rights and bring her son home. She is upset enough to agree, finally, and Goulding is in no position to stop us from his sickbed.”
“You will take Neddy over my dead body,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “You will not touch him. Get out of our home, now!”
“Your heedless lack of discipline and control is not to be borne. I am the master here, and I will do as I will.”
“Longbourn belongs to Neddy!”
“He is an idiot, and everyone knows it. I already have the papers prepared, and my solicitors will take up the case in Chancery. I shall be his guardian soon, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. I shall be closing Fox Hollow, and you may beg on the streets, for all I care.”
She would not allow him to upset her; he did not have that power.
“Already people are talking about what a great pretender you are, how you have tried and failed to step into my father’s shoes,” Elizabeth said gravely.
“Instead, you take what is not yours and try to bully everyone into following after you. It will not work. You are the master of nothing, not even of yourself.”
He stalked towards her, glaring, fists clenched. She would not back down. Jane stood and ran to Elizabeth. “Stay away from her,” she cried.
“Out of my way!” he shouted.
“What the devil is going on?” came a voice from the open doorway. Darcy had returned, hatless, his usual pristine appearance uncommonly dishevelled.
Mr Philips stepped back, and his furious tone subsided into an unctuous one. “Why, Mr Darcy! This is a surprise!”
“What are you doing here, Philips?” Darcy demanded harshly.
“Well, I am here to escort my niece home,” he said, adopting a pretended dignity.
“I will go nowhere with him!” Jane asserted.
“Mr Philips was just leaving. Alone.” Elizabeth folded her arms and smiled sweetly at her uncle. With some satisfaction, she saw the anger he was forced to swallow.
He looked at her, and then at Darcy with sudden suspicion. However, he did not have the courage to ask what Netherfield’s most illustrious guest was doing there. “Jane, I will be back,” he said instead.
“Do not bother,” Jane replied—bravely, Elizabeth thought, for she watched Darcy with some wariness. “I am living here now.”
Mr Philips, his face red with fury, turned on his heel and stormed out of the house.
Darcy was regarding her sister with an equivalent curiosity. “Living here?” he murmured.
Elizabeth, however, required answers to more important questions. “Did you locate your sister?”
Immediately, his visage darkened, and she saw equal parts frustration and concern in his eyes. “Not as yet. I went to the top of Oakham, saw nothing, and decided to swing back by to see if she returned. Since, plainly, she has not, I had better go to Netherfield for help.”
“What is it?” Jane asked. “Who needs help?”
But at that moment the sound of voices from the yet open door heralded yet another interruption. All three turned towards the newcomers.
It was Mr Hill, a trunk carried atop one burly shoulder, along with Mr Bingley, leading his horse. He greeted Darcy, who stood in the doorway half-blocking it, with a smile.
“I say, Darcy, what are you doing here? I called at Longbourn, but Mr Hill, here, told me that everyone was at ‘Fox Hollow’, and offered to lead the way. We passed Philips on the way over, but he appeared as though he ate something that disagreed with him, poor fellow! Why, this is a pretty little place!” He peered around at the spotlessly clean interior, his gaze landing upon her and Jane.
Elizabeth saw how his smile broadened at the sight of her sister.
“Good morning to you, Miss Bennet. And…Miss Elizabeth, is it not?”