Chapter 14. Mr Bingley’s Unhappy Day
At the end of Mr Lincoln’s visit, one that Cousin Anne seemed to particularly enjoy, Richard and Darcy rode out an hour after Lincoln’s carriage, determined to intercept Bingley’s carriage in Maidstone.
To avoid overtaking Mr Lincoln’s carriage, Darcy and Richard rode across empty meadows during their trip to Maidstone.
Zeus and Ares seemed to enjoy jumping fences this morning.
When the riders and their mounts finally settled into travel on the road, Richard asked, “What did you tell Miss Elizabeth about this morning’s trip? ”
Darcy replied, “I told her you planned to ambush Mr Bingley with a pitchfork.”
“The pitchfork again?” asked Richard, beginning to tire of the story.
“Young Henry brought one to the parsonage the next day to demonstrate how to stab an old goat. There were several bushes mangled during our walk that day,” Darcy explained.
“I thought pitchforks were to throw hay and straw, not destroy the shrubbery?”
“They are but Mr Jones felt it necessary to demonstrate to Miss Elizabeth how he would defend her from the evil Bingley,” Darcy explained. “She approved and I found myself jealous of a farm boy.”
Richard snorted and said, “If we meet with Bingley in a livery stable, I shall make certain to find a pitchfork and you may begin his education in the consequences of acting like an old billy goat.”
“Elizabeth will…,” Darcy started to say but then stopped as he imagined the conversation with the beautiful young woman where he described piercing Bingley with the tines of the pitchfork. He sounded bemused when he continued, “My lady would approve and grant me her favour. Thank you, good knight.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake, marry the girl already,” urged Colonel Fitzwilliam in a joking tone.
When Maidstone came into view, the two men separated for time, surveying the roads and taverns.
Mr Lincoln’s carriage was not found; the man was already headed toward Gravesend and then London.
They took a position along the primary street and waited with their horses saddled in case Bingley’s carriage did not stop for water for the horses.
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Charles Bingley sat in his carriage; the newspaper discarded on the seat beside him and his valet sleeping in the other seat.
‘Caroline would never allow a servant to sleep while she was awake,’ he mused. ‘Please, Providence bring a man willing to marry her soon!’
He had consulted the maps several times the night before and remembered the next town was Maidstone; then two more hours to Ashford before the final portion of the day’s journey to reach Rosings Park.
‘Mr Belmont said old Lady Catherine was desperate for money and her daughter was young. Marriage into a settled estate will move me along,’ Charles thought. ‘And a battle between Caroline and Darcy’s warhorse of an aunt might be worth the price.’
Now he sighed and thought, ‘I wish I could find a woman who loved me for me, not my fortune. Then I could be happy for the remainder of my life.’
His coachman stopped the team at a large tavern on the main street and Charles woke his valet, handed the man a few small coins, and said, “We have stopped for a rest. Refresh yourself with ale; I shall procure my own.”
Dropping to the ground from the well of the carriage, Charles stretched and then walked about, working out kinks in his legs and back. He noticed his coachman watering each horse with the help of a stable boy and nodded in the man’s direction.
Turning to head into the tavern for a pint, Charles was surprized to find his friend, Fitzwilliam Darcy and a second gentlemen, a few years older, walking toward him.
“Bingley, we need to talk to you,” the second man growled.
“Richard, not in the street,” Darcy commanded.
The three men retreated to a private room in the tavern where a girl brought them a tray with a pitcher of ale and mugs.
Richard ordered food and poured the ale as Darcy began the introductions, “Charles, allow me to introduce my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, younger son of the Earl of Matlock.”
Bingley bowed his head as Darcy continued, “Richard, this is Mr Charles Bingley, my friend from University that you have heard me mention previously.”
“I have corresponded with Colonel Fitzwilliam regarding Lady Catherine’s invitation to visit,” Bingley replied. “Mr Belmont advised me that the colonel would be making the selection of Miss de Bourgh’s husband.”
“And that is why we have come today…” Richard replied, setting aside his mug of ale. “I do not think you will be a suitable candidate for my cousin’s hand. I recommend that you not continue your journey…turn around and go home!”
“Turn around and go home?” Charles asked hotly. “May I ask why I am disqualified before the race begins?”
Darcy said, “Charles, if you ever valued my advice, I urge you to abandon this pursuit.”
“No, Lady Catherine promised a fair and equitable selection process,” Bingley argued. “Her letter was explicit, and I shall take you all to court if you fail to provide me with the opportunity to court Miss de Bourgh.”
“Her letter?” asked Darcy before he glanced toward the colonel who listened closely to their visitor. Bingley nodded though he continued to frown.
“You believe the contents of a letter are binding?” Darcy asked his friend.
“Yes, the courts will side with me if you send me away,” Bingley growled. Darcy took a deep breath as though accepting an uncomfortable truth before motioning toward the chairs around a table. The three men sat in silence for a moment.
“Very well, Mr Bingley, I have a few questions,” Richard stated.
Waving one hand dismissively, Bingley said, “Certainly, Colonel. Ask your questions and I shall endeavour to answer.”
“I understand that you leased an estate in Hertfordshire last fall. You took possession at Michaelmas but abandoned the place before Christmas. What are your plans for the remainder of the lease?”
“I paid off the lease earlier this summer,” Bingley replied. “The farms needed too much work…too much attention…”
Darcy kept his face blank, but he was dismayed to hear his friend spent funds without any hope of return on the investment. Richard’s face registered his disdain to hear a man dismiss laying out several thousand pounds for a lark; Bingley had played the part of a landowner for only three months.
“Rosings Park will require the attention of the master,” the colonel insisted to which Charles motioned toward Darcy and said that his friend had employed a proven steward to manage the estate.
“And the company in Hertfordshire? What was it like?” asked the colonel, changing the subject.
“The ‘company’?” Bingley asked. “I do not understand your question.”
“The society; the families you met at gatherings,” Richard explained. “There were suppers and dances, were there not? I hear that you are a gregarious fellow.”
Bingley grinned and replied, “There were pleasant families and beautiful ladies. We danced and flirted. The gentlemen shot pheasant and hunted fox.”
“I understand you found one young lady particularly appealing; a Miss Jane Bennet,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said.
Bingley’s smile grew wider if possible as he said, “Ah…Jane is an angel. She is a beautiful woman who strolled everyday among the clouds and calmed my soul.”
“I believe everyone in the neighbourhood observed you court Miss Bennet.”
Now Bingley’s face grew less animated, and he replied, “We enjoyed each other’s company for many weeks. But I was not looking for a wife.”
He grimaced and added, “My sister Caroline made my life a misery when she thought I might offer for Miss Bennet.”
Darcy interrupted and declared, “Charles, you told me that you wanted to marry Miss Bennet!”
But Bingley waved away his friend’s statement with a single negligent wave.
“Mr Bingley, did you ask Miss Bennet to marry you?” asked Colonel Fitzwilliam.
“A gentleman says things in the heat of the moment that he does not mean,” Bingley replied, again waving away the question. “What is your meaning asking about Miss Bennet? I have not heard of her since leaving Hertfordshire.”
“Miss Bennet had expectation of marriage with you, Mr Bingley,” the colonel continued.
While Bingley said nothing and took a drink from his mug of ale.
Colonel Fitzwilliam pulled out a folded sheet of paper and addressed their uncomfortable guest, “Bingley, I hold a letter that you wrote and gave to Miss Bennet in which you ask her…beg her to marry you. You state that the wedding would occur before Christmas.”
“Where…” Bingley asked as he held out his hand for the letter. When Richard would not hand over the paper, Charles rose and walked around the table to view the letter held in the soldier’s hand.
“Miss Bennet was in love with you, and she kept the letter.”
“It is just one letter,” Bingley said nervously, backing away and returning to his seat to once again drink from his mug of ale.
“But earlier you threatened us with the courts based on a single letter from Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” Richard reminded the man. “Based on the letter you wrote and gave to Miss Bennet; I believe her father would have a case in court against you.”
“Against me?” Bingley rose and stalked about the room for a moment before spitting, “One letter…with the right lawyer I shall not be convicted.”
Then Richard Fitzwilliam pulled out the entire pack of letters and said, “Seventeen letters in all, each one swearing eternal love, and several promising marriage.”
“God’s teeth…” Charles swore. “What do you want? Must I marry the girl? She is lovely but her family is horrid.”
“Charles, Miss Bennet is dead,” Darcy stated bluntly, not caring if he caused the man any pain.
“Jane is dead?” Bingley asked and the horrible truth of the matter gave him pause.