Chapter 11 #9
She looked askance at him, and he added, “Neither of them is half so pleasing from behind.”
Thus, they found themselves turned to matters more agreeable to both, Jane’s queer turn put from their minds.
Nourished by naught but the stoutest love and two buttered muffins, they wandered the gardens until time would dawdle for them no longer and they were forced to return to the house and attend to their respective pursuits.
The ladies had withdrawn after dinner, leaving Mr Bennet, his two sons and a quantity of liquor of dubious origin to commune in masculine seclusion.
The occasion had proved to be one of negligible delight.
He took a swig of the pungent concoction in his glass and made a final attempt to goad his young companions into conversation, enquiring how many birds each had brought down that afternoon.
“Two-and-twenty,” Darcy said at the same time as Bingley mumbled, “Six or seven.”
“True to form, gentlemen! One has his bird in the bag afore the other has decided which to aim for.”
Neither rose to the bait, which drained all Mr Bennet’s remaining hope of finding further sport in their company. His suggestion that they join the ladies was met with universal assent.
All seemed as one might expect when they entered the drawing room.
Elizabeth and Mary were deep in conversation on one sofa.
Kitty and Lydia were draped over opposing arms of another.
Jane and Mrs Bennet were huddled together in a pair of chairs before the window, whispering about something that was having a very different effect on each of them.
Miss Bingley stalked the edge of the room, thus far unsuccessful in what appeared to be a search for another way out.
The gentlemen had not taken more than a few steps into the room when this scene of humdrum domesticity was shattered by Mrs Bennet’s voice.
“I knew it! You are with child!”
Judging by the looks on the faces of the two people best placed to know about such a development, Mr Bennet thought it very unlikely, but since his opinion rarely had any influence on what his wife wished to believe, he saved his breath to cool his porridge.
Instead, he sauntered over to claim a seat with the most advantageous view of every countenance in the room, spoilt for choice between the varying expressions of horror, vexation, surprise and complacency.
“Mama, please!” cried Jane, possessor of the horrified countenance.
“There is no need to be coy about it, Jane! We are all family here. You may as well tell everybody while we are together.”
“Mama!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her tone echoing her vexed expression. “How could you? ’Tis not your place to announce such a thing!”
“Oh, fie, Lizzy. No one else was going to!”
“Exactly!”
“Jane?” This rather feeble plea was from Bingley, presently boasting an exceedingly surprised countenance.
Before Jane could respond, Lydia, looking vastly pleased with herself, interrupted. “I know not why you are pretending to be upset, Jane. You said yourself how pleased you were to have outdone Lizzy.”
At this, Darcy’s countenance, which had heretofore displayed only vague distaste, darkened into an ominous glower.
He moved farther into the room, which, rather disconcertingly, seemed to shrink as he did so.
Mr Bennet lifted up the glass he had carried in with him from the dining room and squinted suspiciously at the sallow beverage therein.
“Lydia!” Jane exclaimed. “I said no such thing!”
“Yes, you did. You said you were glad to have done something better than ‘the flawless Mrs Darcy.’”
“Oh, Jane!” said Mary, radiating ecclesiastical reproach.
“Ignore her, Jane,” Kitty advised. “She is only saying it because, if you are not with child, she will have to give me back my bonnet.”
“I am not lying!” Lydia complained. “I know what I heard. Jane was talking about shining Lizzy down!”
“Turn around and be quiet, girl!” Mrs Bennet screeched. “Jane is not to be distressed.”
“Mother!”
“Charles, for heaven’s sake, do something!” Miss Bingley hissed, probably wishing her search for egress had been more fruitful.
Mr Bennet fancied she would have more luck requesting assistance from the potted plant next to which her brother was standing, provided he did not swoon into it first, which at present appeared to be a distinct possibility.
He turned to share the observation with his second eldest child, and it was then he truly appreciated that he had lost his Lizzy to her successor, Mrs Darcy.
She neither laughed at nor joined in nor censured her sisters’ squabbling.
Instead, she rose to her feet, accepted her husband’s arm, and without another word, walked calmly from the room—showing Miss Bingley how simple a thing it could be.
Sunday 4 October 1812, Hertfordshire
Jane did not attend church the next morning.
Neither did she come down from her room when the rest of the party returned.
She sent her excuses at dinner. Afterwards, when Miss Bingley remarked that she hoped Jane soon recovered from her sudden illness, Elizabeth could no longer restrain her vexation.
“This is absurd!” she hissed under her breath to Darcy. “Jane is not unwell. She is sulking. She will be complaining of her nerves and calling for salts next!”
“It is as well that she remains upstairs. I would not spend another evening watching you pace the floor in agitation because your sister cannot keep a civil tongue.”
“No. I beg your pardon, but I can go no longer without hearing what she has to say for herself.” Before Darcy could object, she made her apologies to Mr and Miss Bingley and marched up the stairs to Jane’s room.
There was a long pause after her knock, long enough to afford reason a little latitude over her pique.
Her affront notwithstanding, she knew something must be very wrong for Jane to behave in such a way—and she had learnt the hard way the imprudence of hurling charges in anger, before being in possession of all the particulars.
By the time Jane reluctantly enquired who knocked, Elizabeth had her temper under far better regulation. “’Tis I, Jane. May I come in?”
A flash of livery and the sound of whispering at the far end of the passageway decided her. She would not stand begging for all the staff to see. She pushed open the door and entered. Her sister sat at her dressing table, unmoving. “Jane, please turn around. I would talk to you.”
“I am not feeling well,” she replied, her voice distant and severe. “Can it not wait?”
“It would have to wait a good while, for I am leaving tomorrow, and I shall not see you again for many months.”
Jane made no answer.
“That is your wish, then?”
Silence.
Elizabeth bit back an angry remark, determined to remain composed. “I do not wish it, Jane. I do not wish for us to continue in this way. I miss you.”
Her entreaty was met with more silence, though she saw in her sister’s shifting carriage that she was not unaffected. She took a few steps nearer. “Will you not speak to me?”
She would not, apparently.
“Very well. If you will not, then I shall. I do not wish to believe what Lydia claimed you said of me, but your behaviour of late makes it impossible to discredit.”
She did not deny it.
“Will you not tell me why you are in such a rage to shine me down?”
Naught but the sound of forced breathing.
“There was never any competition between us before. Why should it matter to you now which one of us is liked best? I assure you it does not matter to me if only we could like each other!” Elizabeth had never known Jane to be so cold.
Still, she did not speak or turn to face her.
Ever more certain the struggle was lost, she made one last heartfelt attempt.
“I would not be on bad terms with you, Jane, especially now. Pray, let us not be at odds at what will be such a special time for both of us.”
Jane stiffened and turned her head very slightly as though to ensure she had heard properly. “Both?”
“Aye. For I am with child also.”
There was the longest pause, and then, “Get out.”
“Pardon?”
“Leave me alone.” Her tone was implacable. Still, she did not turn around.
Elizabeth felt as though she were in a dream. “Will you at least—”
Jane stood abruptly and span to face her. “I said get out!”
The vehemence of her outburst forced Elizabeth several steps in that direction, but she was too stunned to go any farther of her own volition. She stared aghast at her sister, whose fine features were contorted beyond recognition by frightful, ugly emotion. “Why?” she enquired breathlessly.
“Because I cannot compete with you any longer! I have none of the allurements that make you so vastly appealing. I am neither a wit nor a flirt, and neither am I with child, you stupid, selfish girl!”
“What?”
“Had you not been so utterly self-absorbed, you might have grasped that Mama was mistaken and saved me your boasts! Instead, with your usual disregard for anybody’s feelings but your own, you have forced your way in here and crowed of your latest triumph.”
Elizabeth clenched her fists so tightly her nails dug into her palms. “Believe me, I wish I had not, for you have not even mustered the good grace to congratulate me.”
Jane laughed somebody else’s laugh, her smile twisted into a bitter sneer. “Congratulations then, Lizzy. You have now trounced me in every possible way.”
“Trounced you? Think you I got with child to outdo you? Can you not conceive that Darcy and I might have had other inducements? The world does not revolve around you!”
“There is nothing of which I am more aware!” Jane all but screamed back. Tears had begun to roll freely down her face, though she did not sob. They seemed to fall quite independently of her ire. “It revolves solely around you—only you are too rapt with your own existence to see it!”
“Listen to yourself! You are all resentment and bitterness!”
“And you are all coquetry and satire!”
Elizabeth gaped in furious disbelief. “And you wonder why I am loved better than you?” Before she had closed her lips on the last word, Jane’s palm landed hard across her face. Searing pain bloomed over her cheek, and she staggered several steps backwards in surprise.
Either time slowed or Elizabeth’s heart sped up alarmingly as she met the gaze of the stranger who had struck her.
Jane’s eyes widened, and she stared in apparent horror at her open hand, yet no apology was forthcoming.
Slowly, deliberately, ignoring her shaking hands, Elizabeth turned her back on her sister and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.
When, after an hour, Elizabeth had not returned from her sister’s room, Darcy sent her maid to fetch her.
When the maid returned to say Elizabeth was no longer with her sister, Darcy swore and went in search of her himself.
She was in the first place he looked, furiously pacing the only area of floor still lit by the library’s dying fire.
Unsure what manner of comfort she might require, he stood at the edge of the hearthrug, crossed his arms and waited.
She saw him on her next turn. “Do not tell me I ought to have listened to you and stayed away,” she said, continuing to pace. “I am in no humour for sermons.”
His eyebrows rose. “Nor I for preaching, I assure you.”
“And do not scowl at me so! I shall not harm the babe by walking.”
“No, but you might harm it if you do not calm yourself.”
“Regrettably, Fitzwilliam, not all the world is as unexcitable as you. You may be able to sit calmly and write long letters when you have been insulted, but the rest of us like to fume and pace!”
Thus, it was confirmed that Jane Bingley had indeed insulted her yet again.
“I am as disposed to pace as to write letters,” he replied evenly. “As well you know. You have teased me for both.”
Elizabeth stopped abruptly, clenched both her fists and huffed an exasperated growl at the ceiling. “And now I am reduced to insulting you because I am too vexed to think sensibly.” She rubbed her temple with the heel of her palm and added in a subdued voice, “Forgive me.”
Darcy unfolded his arms and stepped forward to wrap them around her. “I have told you before, I am not afraid of you.”
Her frame was taut with anger, and it was some moments before she relaxed into his embrace. “Dearest Fitzwilliam, your arms could cure a thousand ills. What would I do without you?”
“Go for long solitary walks and hum to your heart’s content, I should imagine.”
She gave a small breathy exclamation and clung to him more fiercely. “I ought to have listened to you and stayed away.”
“You ought to have returned to me instead of coming here alone. You are well though, I trust?” He dipped his head as he enquired, attempting to catch her eye but she would not meet his gaze.
He lifted a hand to her chin and tenderly but firmly tilted her face up.
She resisted at first but then yielded with a sigh and allowed him to see her countenance.
When he did, cold fury flooded his gut. “She struck you?”
“Aye.” Her flat tone spoke volumes as to her bitter disillusionment.
“What the devil possessed her?”
“I told her I am with child. And she is not, and she despises me for it.”
Darcy felt a vein in his neck throb. “She did this knowing you are with child?” Elizabeth nodded.
He could not immediately respond, so livid was his rage.
Not until he felt able to speak without cursing did he unclench his teeth and say, “We will be leaving at first light, we will not be returning, and you will not be seeing your sister again before we depart.”
Elizabeth wrapped her arms about herself and turned to the dying fire, its dwindling light just enough to set aflame the tear that ran down her cheek. “You will hear no argument from me.”