Chapter 3
“Forgive me, Charlotte. I was lost in my thoughts. I have just finished a letter to Jane. The poor dear wrote to me days ago and I failed to respond sooner. She is eager to hear from us.”
“Please send her our best regards. She is dearly missed. I hope someday she will visit us too. And I hope her spirits have improved since I last saw her. Eliza, I have wanted to ask… I know you have spoken to Mr. Darcy a few times since he arrived in Kent. Has he ever mentioned Mr. Bingley? Have you enquired after him?”
Elizabeth paused a moment before answering.
“In fact, we did speak on this subject lately and disagreed, as expected.”
“May I ask in what way?”
“Well, Mr. Darcy believes there are some objections to a further connection between Jane and Mr. Bingley.”
“Well, I trust you did everything in your power to convince him he was wrong. I have rarely seen two people so well suited to each other. Now let us go to breakfast, shall we?”
Elizabeth nodded, following her friend.
“I am pleased you are not so pale this morning, Eliza. I hope your headache is gone too. Your crimson cheeks are very becoming, I must say. Such a pity Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam will leave Rosings so soon!”
“Charlotte! If you continue to tease me, my headache might return,” Elizabeth replied with forced laughter.
The Collinses and their guests reunited for breakfast and planned the day ahead.
Charlotte wished to visit a young mother who had just given birth and take her a basket of food, and she asked Maria and Elizabeth to join her.
Mr. Collins planned to visit Rosings, though he was not certain he would be received.
Elizabeth was in no disposition for visits, but in the end, at her friend’s insistence, she agreed. Before they had even finished eating, Mr. Collins’s manservant, Dawson, entered, his expression grave.
“What is it?” Mr. Collins immediately enquired.
“Forgive me, sir, I know you wish to be informed when something happens… I heard just now that Dr Blake was summoned to Rosings, and he took with him a nephew, who is also a doctor.”
Mr. Collins immediately abandoned his plate.
“Two doctors? Is anybody ill? Somebody must be ill, of course! I wonder who!”
“I know nothing more, sir. Should I go and find out?”
“Yes, go! No, wait! I shall go myself. We must be discreet — Lady Catherine despises interruptions and values her privacy!”
“Then, my dear, perhaps you should not go,” Charlotte suggested, attempting to calm him.
“Let us wait a little longer. Maybe we shall find out the proper way. Did you not say you intended to write some letters to Papa and to Mr. Bennet? Have you done so? Eliza has one to send to Jane in London, so it would be a good opportunity to send them all together. What do you say?”
“Letters? I am not sure I can concentrate my attention on such a task now, given the news. I shall try…but my mind is too preoccupied. Two doctors at Rosings? I wonder what it could be…”
“Just write the letters, my dear. And in the meantime, we may ask Dawson to discreetly watch from a distance and try to find out more details — very, very discreetly,” Charlotte concluded.
Both men agreed, though Mr. Collins’s reluctance was clear.
Elizabeth was disquieted, too, as she suspected the reason for the doctors’ visit.
She was even more inclined to refuse to join Charlotte on her calls, but she feared she was being as unreasonable as Mr. Collins.
Eventually, the three women set out, chatting on the same subject, and Elizabeth’s turmoil over Mr. Darcy’s letter was partially replaced by other concerns; when she returned home, she would have enough time to resume her previous distress.
The ladies ended up calling on several families in the parish, and the visits lasted more than three hours.
Charlotte was caring and generous, and everyone seemed happy to see her.
It gave Elizabeth a warm satisfaction to see how her friend was slowly building a comfortable life even with such a wanting husband.
Back at the parsonage, Mr. Collins waited for them with great anticipation.
“My dear Charlotte, I have extraordinary news, though not the best, I am afraid. I am not long returned from Rosings, and I have just had time for a drink.”
“You already look flushed, my dear, and it might not be good for your health. Please try to calm down.”
“My dear Charlotte, you must not concern yourself about my health but about Miss de Bourgh’s. She was ill last night, I was told, and her physician was fetched. But do you know who arrived from town this morning?”
“His nephew, I assume, as that is what Dawson told us earlier,” Charlotte replied in a steady voice.
“Yes, yes, but Dr Rease is an army doctor too. And a surgeon. He has some famous patients in London! He must be much better than Dr Blake.”
“Mr. Collins, has Miss de Bourgh’s health taken a turn for the worse?” Elizabeth interjected.
“I do not know much, Cousin. I spoke to Lady Catherine’s butler at the door but was not invited in.”
“And have Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam departed?” Charlotte asked.
“No. I was told they called on us earlier, but I was not at home. None of us were. How impolite of us! Only Dawson was here to greet them. Such a shame.”
“I am sure they understand the family cannot stay at home all day waiting for their unannounced visit,” Elizabeth said. Her words and her tone drew Mr. Collins’s immediate disapproving glare.
“We must show all consideration for Lady Catherine and her entire family, dear cousin. This is not something to trifle with.”
“So, my dear, have you finished your letters?” Charlotte asked to change the subject.
“I have, just as I promised. As you know, I always keep my promises,” he answered solemnly, with another glare at Elizabeth.
“Do you mind if I retire to my room to rest a little?” Elizabeth asked. “Unless of course there is any way I may be of help to you.”
“Please, go and rest. I shall inform you if there are any further reports,” Charlotte assured her.
Elizabeth left the room, relieved to escape Mr. Collins’s presence. She had just reached the landing when she was approached by Charlotte’s maid.
“Miss Bennet, I took the liberty of sending your letters for you,” she said with a curtsey, while Elizabeth stared at her, dumbfounded.
“What letters?”
“Those in your room, miss. Mr. Collins asked for his letters to be dispatched to Hertfordshire, and he said you had one to send to London to your sister. It was sealed, so I sent it.”
“Oh…very well then, thank you…”
“And the one for Mr. Darcy…since he was here earlier asking about you and Mrs. Collins, I just gave him the letter.”
The maid looked at Elizabeth expectantly, evidently waiting for praise for her diligent actions.
Elizabeth forgot to breathe, her heart pounded so hard she feared it would break out of her chest, and her knees became so weak that she almost stumbled.
She supported herself with a hand against the wall, nodded, and dismissed the maid, then almost crawled to her room, locked the door, and lowered herself onto the bed.
She dismissed all thoughts in her head as she had not enough strength to even consider the horrible, mortifying situation she had unwittingly created.
In the solitude of her chamber at Hunsford Parsonage, Elizabeth found herself a prisoner to the most acute mortification she had ever known.
The letter — her letter, that unguarded effusion of shame and self-reproach, penned in the heat of her confusion and never intended for any eyes but her own — had fallen into Mr. Darcy’s hands.
The very thought sent a flush of heat to her cheeks and a chill through her frame.
How could fate be so cruel, so indelicate in its jests?
She, who had prided herself on her discernment, had now exposed her innermost vulnerabilities and could not control the consequences.
With trembling haste, she summoned the maid, her voice low and urgent once the door was safely shut.
“Pray, tell me,” Elizabeth began, clasping her hands to still their shaking, “the letter you gave to Mr. Darcy — there has been a grievous mistake. It should not have been handed to him, certainly not today and not without Mr. and Mrs. Collins’s approval.”
The young woman’s eyes widened in alarm, her fingers twisting in her apron.
“Oh, Miss Bennet, I beg your pardon! I saw only the name upon it — Mr. Darcy — and when he suddenly called, I thought it proper. I swear I didn’t read a word of the contents.
I can’t read well in any case. Forgive me, miss, I meant no harm. ”
“The letter contains nothing improper, regardless of whether you read it or not,” Elizabeth said.
“Still, your master and mistress would be most displeased, and rightfully so, if they found out. You should not have entered my room without my permission and certainly should not have taken such action without my request.”
“I am so sorry, miss. So very sorry! I never thought…I was such a fool! Please forgive me! I do not want to lose my job…”
“I believe you had good intentions, and I shall protect you from any reproach. But you must not tell a soul. Not a whisper, if you value your place here. As you know, Mr. Darcy, as well as Lady Catherine de Bourgh, despises indiscretion and gossip. If any rumour—”
“Oh no, I won’t tell a soul! And I shall never enter your room again without your permission. But you must know, the master sent me to fetch the letter for your sister. I’d never have done it otherwise…” she explained tearfully.
“I understand, and I am ready to consider it a mere accident. Let us not speak of it again. I know Mrs. Collins is content with your service, so let us preserve her good opinion.”
“Thank you, miss.” The maid curtseyed deeply, murmuring assurances, then hastily withdrew.
Left alone once more, Elizabeth paced up and down, her thoughts in wild disarray.
Even with the secret kept from the Collinses, the danger was still present.
What would Mr. Darcy think of her now? A foolish, impulsive creature, pouring out her heart in a document she had not even the sense to conceal properly.
Would he laugh at her presumption? Or worse, pity her?
The notion was intolerable. Furthermore, the colonel had been with him when the maid had handed him the letter.
What did he think of it? Did he know it was from her?
Did the colonel know that Mr. Darcy had written to her first?
What a horrible situation! She must find some means to speak to Mr. Darcy, to explain the mishap and reclaim what little dignity remained to her.
Yet how? He and Colonel Fitzwilliam were expected to depart Kent at any hour; the roads to London would soon carry him far from Hunsford, and she would remain alone with the consequences of her misjudgment and countless errors.
She had not much time for musing as she was soon fetched for dinner, and this time she could not refuse. When she met the family in the dining-room, the conversation was animated, Mr. Collins red-faced from agitation, speaking with the air of one bearing tidings of great import.
“My dear cousin, come, sit down! I was just telling my dear Charlotte and Maria that I have just returned from Rosings, where I contrived to learn the latest intelligence. Miss de Bourgh keeps to her bed — a most concerning development — yet Dr Blake and his nephew hold out hopes of a swift recovery. Lady Catherine is, as one might expect, most attentive to her daughter’s comfort.
Such devotion in a mother! She has great confidence in Dr Blake as he has been the family’s physician for twenty years! ”
Elizabeth listened with divided attention, her relief at the news of Miss de Bourgh’s improving prospects mingled with fresh anxiety over her own affairs.
“We shall all pray for Miss de Bourgh,” she said. “Lady Catherine must be deeply distressed. Does she have the comfort of her nephews’ company, or have they already left?”
“Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were still at Rosings when I called, but I have no knowledge of their plans.”
“Poor Miss de Bourgh,” Elizabeth whispered with a sigh of genuine concern. She could not help wondering whether there was a particular reason for the young woman’s health suddenly worsening.
Dinner passed in a blur of Mr. Collins’s effusions and Charlotte’s gentle management, but Elizabeth tasted little and spoke even less.
When at last the house grew quiet and the Collinses retired, Elizabeth’s agitation remained. Despite the previous wakeful night and her obvious tiredness, sleep proved as elusive as ever. Her mind, still perturbed by the day’s revelations and the misadventure with the letter, would not rest.
The April night was cool and refreshing, the scent of fresh greenery wafting through the open windows.
Thus, drawing back on her gown and wrapping herself in a shawl, she slipped out once more into the moonlit grounds.
She knew she was playing with fire and Mr. Collins would clearly forbid her such escapades if he discovered her, but till then, she would take advantage of her freedom.
She remained on the familiar paths, close to the parsonage, walking absently.
From a distance, she noticed many windows lit by candles at Rosings, including those she knew to belong to Mr. Darcy and Miss de Bourgh.
Lost in her musings, her steps faltered when a tall figure emerged from the shadows, holding the reins of his horse. She startled, a gasp escaping her lips.