Chapter 6 The Beginning of Despair
THE BEGINNING OF DESPAIR
Darcy was midway through a meeting with his housekeeper when Godfrey brought him the morning’s post. Atop the pile sat a new missive from Bingley, bringing an abrupt end to his brief interlude of Elizabeth-free thoughts, which on this occasion had lasted almost half an hour.
He was in no humour to subject himself to Bingley’s raptures on all matters Bennet and particularly unwilling to learn, as he feared he might, that Elizabeth would now be sister to one of his closest friends.
He opened a desk drawer, tossed the letter in and slammed it closed again.
The rest of the post he put aside to read later and returned to reviewing the ledger before him.
It was not until later in the day, upon returning to the outstanding correspondence, that his niggling guilt was assuaged.
A reply from Colonel Forster assured him that Bingley had not written with news of his engagement after all; thus, his letter could be ignored with impunity.
Regrettably, the news with which Colonel Forster—and, he presumed, Bingley—had written was far less agreeable.
Meryton
25th May
To Mr Darcy,
My sincere thanks for your recent communication.
It grieves me to report, however, that your warning has come too late.
On Saturday last, whilst in his cups, Wickham seriously injured a young woman and left the scene without being apprehended.
By all accounts, her condition is considered very grave, and recovery becomes increasingly unlikely.
Thus, the charges against him look set to be for considerably more than assault alone.
My men have traced him as far as Edmonton but no farther. If you have any information that might help locate him, I should be grateful to hear from you, or you can pass details directly to Col. Dempsey of the Eight Regiment of the City Militia.
Lastly, I enclose a list of debts accrued in the area by Wickham up to and including Friday 22nd May, the total of which I have offset against his last month’s salary. I pass on the profound thanks of all the local merchants for your generosity.
Yours sincerely,
Colonel Forster
Friday 29 May 1812, Kent
“Mr Collins, ma’am,” announced the aged butler.
Mr Collins ducked past him and scuttled over to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, bowing as deeply as his corset allowed.
“This is most inconvenient,” she said with a sniff. “I was not expecting you until tomorrow.”
“My humblest apologies, your ladyship, but I come bearing news of a most distressing nature, which I felt it my duty to impart without delay, for it is imperative in circumstances such as these, and in particular when such cherished and venerable personages and their futures are involved, that no time is wasted that could be better spent putting into place measures that will prevent events progressing to a point at which they cannot be undone.”
“To what events and which personages do you refer?”
He thought he had just told her that. Perhaps he had couched the news in too gentle terms. “I have received word that your nephew Mr Darcy has expressed serious intentions towards a young lady other than your most illustrious daughter—that he intends to affiance himself to another!”
“That is impossible.”
“It ought to be, your ladyship, but my wife has received a letter this morning from her father. The whole of Hertfordshire is apparently alive with the news that—”
“Hertfordshire? Who is there for my nephew in Hertfordshire?”
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
An angry flush overspread her ladyship’s countenance, and she gripped the arms of her chair with both hands. “Your cousin?”
He nodded. “I suspect they formed an attachment at Easter and now—”
The wisdom of sharing this news shrivelled to a distant memory when Lady Catherine reared up from her seat and pointed a shaking finger at him.
“You have done this! You brought her here! You allowed her, a member of your own family, to come into my home and wilfully enthral my nephew under my very nose!”
Her pique reached such a pitch as brought on a fit of coughing for which Mr Collins was immeasurably grateful, for he knew not when or, indeed, whether her wrath would otherwise have exhausted itself.
“Pray, forgive me! Had I known this would be the result of her visit I would never have allowed her to come.”
“I do not forgive you!” she croaked, hauling herself to her feet. “You have no idea what you have done. But it will not be borne—not while I live to prevent it.”
Mr Collins cowered out of her path as she hobbled furiously from the room, bellowing between coughs for her trunks to be packed.
The silence left in her wake was as a vacuum, sucking the sound from his ears and the breath from his lungs.
He fumbled for a hold on the back of the sofa and, by placing hand over hand, dragged himself on unsteady legs towards the door, then all but ran back to the parsonage.
The same day, London
Knightsbridge
29th May
Darcy,
Received your note. Your father must be turning in his grave. Thank God this violent streak did not reveal itself around Georgiana. Not that I am not sorry for this other girl, but still, she is not dear to us.
Rest assured, Wickham will be found. You did well to put Jameson on the hunt.
Needless to say, my boys enjoy a good chase.
Have allowed a few to take up the scent.
Between both our men and Forster’s, the bugger will be in irons in no time.
I should not bother with the Runners. They will not touch this while the army and the militia are involved—nothing in it for them.
Not at all surprised that you have managed to assume culpability for the whole affair. I shall not waste His Majesty’s ink attempting to persuade you otherwise, though I trust you can guess my opinion.
Keep me informed. I shall do the same for you.
Fitzwilliam
Darcy put the letter aside. Regardless of his cousin’s opinion, he knew nobody would have been harmed had he only deigned to warn people of Wickham’s depravity sooner. It pained him to think Elizabeth must know this also and despise him for it.
The sound of voices in the hall brought a welcome interruption to such wretched reflections.
He pushed himself out of his chair, happy for the reprieve of a visitor—and a familiar one, given the absence of a calling card.
His surprise was great indeed when Lady Catherine de Bourgh swept into the room.
“I am relieved to find you at home, Nephew,” said she, enthroning herself in an armchair. “A report of an alarming nature has reached my ears. I could not rest until I had your word that it was without foundation.”
Darcy suppressed a sigh. “Good afternoon, madam.”
She blinked at him, her countenance reddening slightly. “Yes, yes, good afternoon.”
“And what is this report you would have me refute?”
“A vile rumour has spread all the way from Hertfordshire…”
The mention of that place set Darcy’s heart to racing. He ignored it. Hertfordshire was a large county, and reason would have it that not every piece of news to travel thence must pertain to Elizabeth.
“…that you are very soon to become engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet!”
Reason was overrated.
“Where have you heard this?”
“From Mr Collins. His wife’s family would have it that in Hertfordshire it is widely expected you will soon make your addresses.”
He rolled his eyes. “You have met Mrs Collins’ family. Can you truly credit any report from Sir William as being grounded in truth?”
“I can credit him with knowing every rumour there is to be known.”
“What that man imagines he knows and what the rest of the world believes are highly unlikely ever to coincide. I have not been in Hertfordshire for many months. Why should this particular rumour be circulating now?”
“Do not be obtuse. Miss Bennet clearly set her cap at you after her time in Kent and has begun the rumour herself in an attempt to entrap you from afar.”
Darcy almost laughed. Little did his aunt know how willingly he would submit to any such entrapment. “I assure you, there is no possibility Miss Bennet might invent such a tale. This report is nothing more than fanciful conjecture, likely spurred by my friend’s return to the area.”
She peered at him for a moment, as though deciding whether to believe him, then sighed overly loudly.
“Thank heavens! Such an alliance would have been a disgrace! But then I knew it could not be true. You would never connect yourself to a woman of such inferior birth, of no importance in the world. You know your place.”
Darcy clenched his teeth against rising indignation. “I am very sensible of my place. Do you know yours, though, I wonder?” Her eyes widened in outrage, but he pressed his point. “Do not presume to instruct me on whom I may or may not wed.”
She seemed torn between fury and alarm. “Surely, you cannot mean to tell me you do have intentions towards this girl?”
“You are mistaken if you believe you are in any way entitled to know my private concerns.”
“But she is nobody! She has nothing to recommend her! She is a tradesman’s niece, a parson’s cousin—”
“Lady Catherine, I have said nothing of my intentions, but whatever they may be, Miss Bennet is a gentleman’s daughter and an exceptional woman whom I hold in very high esteem. I will not hear you disparage her.”
She looked at him aghast. “Have you lost the use of your reason?”
“Quite the contrary, I am more master of myself than I have ever been.”
“Her arts and allurements have drawn you in!”
“I believe I made clear my wish for you not to speak ill of her. She is quite without art and deserves no censure of yours.”
“You cannot be serious!”
He only glowered silently at her.
“You are infatuated then.”
When still he gave no answer, she threw a hand in the air and cried, “Heaven and earth, can you not find a half-decent incognita to relieve you of your fascination?”
“You forget yourself, madam!”