Chapter 42 Bursting with Joy
BURSTING WITH JOY
In our room, I loosened my dress-tie, eased the dark cloth off my shoulder, and adjusted the looking glass.
My collarbone was decorated with shallow cuts from our drake’s claws: three vertical slashes from his right foot, and two from his left with its injured toe. I dabbed at them with a handkerchief, then reached over my shoulder, feeling for the cuts from his rear claws.
Jane’s fingers took the cloth. “You are always hurting yourself.” The cloth wiped, gentle but shaking.
I was afraid to speak. Afraid my voice would break the spell of normalcy.
The cloth touched again.
“How do you feel?” I said.
“I had a bad dream. Lydia was drowning in darkness. Silver light burned the darkness away, but she was gone.”
Strange. Was another Bennet sister imbued with unusual skills?
The bloodied handkerchief fell to the floor. “There. It is better.” Her fingers, once so deft, fumbled trying to refasten the tie.
“I shall do it,” I said. “Would you like to come down?” She nodded, and we went down together.
Our household was long past worrying about Jane appearing in her nightgown. Mamma settled her in a chair, fussing for tea to be made, while Kitty’s bright voice chattered of a new fashion they must try. I watched them pretend that all was fine and fought to keep my eyes from spilling.
The doorbell chimed. Our housemaid rose from fixing Jane’s hair, but I said, “No, Sarah. I shall go.” I doubted a mob of torch-wielding fanatics would ring, but if they did, I would rather they met me than a maid.
At the door, I swallowed my tears, settled myself to be presentable, and realized the shoulder of my dress was shredded. Oh, well. I opened the door.
Mr. Bingley, his curly hair handsomely messy from riding, looked at me in surprise. His blue eyes crinkled into a delighted smile.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet! I did not expect you. What on earth has happened to your park?” A blue haze of smoke still hung in the air behind him.
Both my hands were over my open mouth.
His smile became charmingly self-conscious. “Is your sister Miss Bennet at home?”
Running feet passed me, and Jane’s nightgown-robed figure thumped into Mr. Bingley. Her arms wrapped his neck. Her face burrowed into his shoulder. A single muffled word, “Charles,” emerged over and over from somewhere in his jacket.
Hesitantly, protectively, he wrapped her stick-thin figure in his arms. His hand patted her shoulder. “I am back,” he whispered.
“But you are in America!” I burst out.
We had moved to the parlor. Mr. Bingley was seated at one end of our settee. Jane, wrapped in a dressing gown, was… well, cuddled against him.
“I was in America,” Mr. Bingley replied. “It is a grand story.”
Mrs. Hill interrupted. “Miss Bennet. Would you not prefer a seat with more room?”
“But she is so wobbly,” protested Mr. Bingley. “I am afraid she will…” I watched him struggle to invent a dire risk. “Tip over,” he finished, a little unsatisfactorily.
“That is quite right,” Mamma spoke up. “She could strike her head.”
Mr. Bingley appeared distressed by that. His arm encircled Jane’s shoulder.
“Why America?” Jane asked softly.
I was still surprised when Jane joined the conversation. She was as frail as ever, but her eyes were brighter than they had been in weeks. Months.
Mr. Bingley, of course, thought answering questions from Jane was normal.
“I was an utter fool,” he said bitterly.
“Convinced I had deluded myself and—” He stopped, suddenly aware of his audience of intrigued ladies.
“I have not the words to say everything I wish. But my return all came down to Darcy. He sent an extraordinary letter. That was during your visit to Pemberley, I believe, Miss Elizabeth.”
“That cannot be more than five weeks ago,” I said. “I thought the post to America was ten weeks. Each way!”
“By post, perhaps. But this was a ship that sailed from Liverpool with the sole purpose of finding me. An astounding new schooner of an innovative American design. They have not even settled on a name for the class of vessel. I gather it may be called a clipper.”
I was still struggling to believe he was here. “But how did you return so quickly?”
“The same way. The ship was sent to scoop me up and bring me home. The crossing was astounding! If I had not been sick as a dog half the time, I would become a sailor this moment. We flew over the waves, full canvas rigged even in the highest winds.”
“You cannot mean that Mr. Darcy hired a ship?” The cost of a crossing was immense.
Mr. Bingley laughed. “You are not thinking like a Darcy! He purchased a ship. The captain had never seen such a transaction. Three hours, done, and Darcy was turning for his carriage. But the captain insisted he rechristen the ship before he left. Some tradition, I gather. These seafarers are all superstition. And you should hear their language! It would make a Londoner blush. Before I knew it, I was shouting the occasional ‘drat!’ myself.”
“Mr. Bingley!” My mother’s brows furrowed. Apparently, a gentleman embracing Jane in our parlor was acceptable, but oaths were another matter.
“I assure you, drat is nothing by their standard.” He gave me an amused smile. “The ship had your name, Miss Elizabeth.”
I was sitting in stunned silence at the idea of Mr. Darcy purchasing a ship and returning to Pemberley, all in less than a day. I had thought he posted a letter.
Mr. Bingley’s words sank in. “Named for a queen, I should think,” I said primly. “Elizabeth is popular for ships.”
“Ah. But the ship was named Lizzy!” My face exploded scarlet as he continued, “The crew enjoyed the name greatly! We were battling through a squall, and they were up in the rigging, shouting, ‘Turn, Lizzy, you sea bit—’ ” His lips snapped closed mid-word.
In the pause, Mrs. Hill tried again. “Shall we lay out your clothes, Miss Bennet?”
Jane shook her head, but Mamma stood. “Come, Jane. You must be presentable.” She drew Jane away. “I am sure you can wait, Mr. Bingley. We shall be down promptly.”
“I am at your service,” he said gallantly, and Mamma and Jane vanished toward the stairs.
I rose to follow, but Mr. Bingley said, “Miss Elizabeth. I wonder if we could have a word?”
His tone was serious, and I realized how critical this visit was. Here I was listening to stories and blushing like an idiot when all that mattered was Jane. Her life was at stake.
“Shall we step outside?” I said. That was proper for a private conversation.
We went out the front door. Mr. Bingley did a slow revolution, admiring the scorched earth and trampled flowers.
When he was done, I began. “For Jane’s sake, we must be frank. Your return is remarkable and most welcome. But you did not say why you have come.”
“Darcy wrote that Jane was dangerously unwell. And he expressed great remorse for… a disagreement he and I had before I left. It would embarrass him if I explained. But if it is important, I will do so.”
That would be Mr. Darcy’s false claim that Jane was not in love with Mr. Bingley. “He has told me already. Did he explain the nature of Jane’s illness?”
“He said it was aggravated by my departure. And that I should speak to you and believe every word you said. I confess I have missed Jane desperately since I left. It was wonderful to hold her again. But she is wasted away to nothing.”
They had embraced before, then. That, and the ease with which they called each other Jane and Charles, revealed that more had passed between them than I knew. But that was good.
“I will be extraordinarily blunt,” I said. “If saying this offends you, all is lost in any case. Jane’s health will deteriorate until she marries and binds. Time is short. It may be counted in days.”
He gave a nervous laugh. “I admit I had a hint of what you might say.” He fished in his pocket and drew out an official document. “When we landed, I was met by a message from Darcy. He included this. A special license for marriage.”
Another miracle. English law required calling the banns for three Sundays before the wedding. But the Church could issue a special license to expedite a ceremony. The Bennets had neither the funds nor the influence to acquire one, but a Darcy was another matter.
Mr. Bingley bit his lip and furrowed his brow, becoming quite determined. “Your bluntness is welcome. I wonder if Miss Bennet has returned.”
“Let us see,” I said, and we went in.
We found Jane, prettily if hastily dressed, sitting with Mamma and Kitty in the parlor. We joined them.
Expectant silence fell. I tried to think of an excuse to leave Jane and Mr. Bingley alone. But I need not have bothered.
Mamma rose. “I must check if tea is prepared. Kitty, Lizzy, I require your assistance.” Mamma and I tugged Kitty into the kitchen, ignoring her loud questions of why three ladies were required to check on tea.
In less than five minutes, there was a hesitant tap on the doorway. Mr. Bingley and Jane stood together with radiant, embarrassed grins.
Jane rushed in and hugged our mother. “Oh, Mamma. I am so happy!”
Mr. Bingley watched them embrace with a huge smile, then surprised me with a hug. “We are decided, Miss Elizabeth. I only regret that I left in the first place.”
“I am very happy for both of you,” I said. I was bursting with joy.
“I must speak to Mr. Bennet!” Mr. Bingley announced.
I had not known one could be brimming with grief and joy together. I took a long breath, searching for balance before I explained.