Chapter 15 #4
Wednesday 10 March 1813, Hertfordshire
“This is it, ma’am,” the footman said, opening the carriage door and indicating one of several buildings flanking a dingy-looking inn.
Jane looked up at the grimy windows set in rotten frames then down to the letter retrieved from her husband’s desk.
It was a poor quarter of Hatfield indeed, yet there was no doubting this was the place.
If anything, that only strengthened her resolve.
Gathering her cloak about her, she stepped down over the stinking runnel of slop separating the houses from the street and knocked on the door.
A stout, officious-looking lady in a pinafore and mop cap opened it.
“Mrs Pence?”
“Aye. Can I help you?”
“Is Miss Greening at home?”
“Who might be asking?”
“Mrs Bingley.”
There came two gasps—one from Mrs Pence and the other from beyond the door.
“I am afraid she is—”
“Oh, let her in, Sally,” the person inside said. “I can see Mrs Fordwich salivating at her curtains across the way.”
Jane was promptly ushered into a small, ill-lit room, and the door was closed behind her.
The gloom inside was slow to lift its veil but eventually revealed a woman heavy with child, who looked far less like her sister than she recalled.
Her chin was too pointy, her nose too large, and her eyes, unlike Elizabeth’s, had nothing extraordinary in them.
The sight affected her nonetheless, though not with jealousy as she had expected, only with crushing remorse for never having seen her sister similarly in bloom.
“You can’t stop me from goin’!” Amelia declared, all defiance.
“Going? Nay, you misunderstand the purpose of my visit.”
“Do I? Why else would you ’ave come?”
“I am come to see that you are being properly provided for.”
This was the culmination of a week’s heart-breaking reflection.
Her days of railing against the injustices of the world were done.
The candid censure of her nearest and dearest had shown her that.
It shamed her, but she had come to comprehend that her transgressions, though of a different nature, were every bit as egregious as Bingley’s.
She was resolved to put matters right. It was her dearest hope that, if she could prove she had accepted and forgiven his mistakes, he might be persuaded she was still, at heart, the woman Caroline claimed he once loved.
“Why?” Amelia demanded suspiciously.
“Because my husband took advantage of you, and neither you nor your child deserves to suffer for that.”
Of all the responses she had anticipated, contempt had not been one.
“You really are a gem, ain’t you?” Amelia scoffed.
“I s’pose you would think that, sittin’ up in your big ’ouse, with your pretty jewels and expensive gowns, waitin’ for life to be ’anded to you on a platter.
Well, the rest of us live in the real world, Mrs Bingley.
Life don’t just fall in the laps o’ girls like me.
Those of us as live ’and to mouth needs take every chance we’s given.
And in case your mother never learnt you in these things, men such as your ’usband are goldmines o’ chance. ”
Mortifying though this speech was, Jane did not miss the significance of the revelation. “He did not seduce you then?”
“I don’t know ’bout that. ’Tis devilish tricky to end up like this ’less the man’s inclined to tumble.” She placed a hand upon her swollen stomach. “You could just as easy take the blame, mind, if you’d rather the fault not lie with ’im. It was you what left ’im wanting.”
“Me?”
“No advantage to actin’ surprised. ’Twas me you sent to give ’im the note you wrote excusing yourself from your duty. Truly, what was you thinkin’, expectin’ ’im to go without on his wedding day? There are other things you can do, y’know.”
Jane closed her eyes. Her wedding day!
“Deprive a man of what ’e wants,” Amelia continued, “and you can bet your last penny ’e’ll look for it elsewhere.”
And she had deprived him of what he wanted that day, had she not? What a different light this shed on the regret expressed in his note that day!
“I s’pose you think you got your revenge when you ’ad me dismissed? But see who’s laughin’ now!”
“I do not take your meaning.”
“Seems you’ve been deprivin’ ’im too long. Your ’usband’s decided ’e prefers me, after all, and ’e’s taking me to live with ’im in Nova Scotia. An’ there’s nothin’ you can do about it.”
Her instinct was to disbelieve it, yet she could not account for Amelia knowing of those plans she had only recently discovered herself, and her hands began to shake. “No, you are lying. It cannot be true.”
“No? Look at this if you don’t believe me.”
Jane accepted the letter Amelia withdrew from the top of her stays and read it twice from beginning to end, making certain she had not missed nor misunderstood any part of it.
“So you see, Mrs Bingley,” Amelia said, snatching it back and secreting it once more next to her bosom, “I’ve no need of your pity. I’s being very well provided for, thank you.”
Jane refused to cry. Instead, she turned and left before her heart broke to pieces all over her husband’s lover’s parlour floor.
Netherfield
10th March
To Lady Ashby,
Pray, forgive my impertinence in writing. I know in your last letter you said you no longer had the time to correspond, but I beg you would indulge me this once, for I have nobody else to whom I might turn.
I have discovered B means to leave the country and take the woman you know as ‘A’ with him.
I have seen his letter to her with my own eyes.
He wrote that if she agreed, it would be in his power to restore her reputation and raise her condition in life, that they could invent a story to explain her situation that nobody would question and that he dearly hoped she would agree to go with him to Nova Scotia, where the child might be raised without prejudice.
I would not have believed it, but I recognised his hand, and E has written separately to warn me of his plans to leave.
I know not what to do! Quite apart from the ruination of my reputation should he go, I do not wish him to! Though my head rages against it, my heart will not have it any other way than that I love him still! I long for another chance to convince him that my affections are genuine.
He is at Pemberley, or at least his letter to A was sent from there, but I know not for how long he will remain there.
According to that letter, he sets sail later this month.
I beg you would advise me as to how I ought to proceed, for the prospect of losing him forever is too painful to comprehend. Pray, what ought I to do?
Yours sincerely,
Jane
Friday 12th March 1813, Hertfordshire
It was a bright, crisp morning, not quite spring but not winter, either—just cold enough that their conversation billowed white on the air between them.
“Oh, Mary,” Jane said. “Can you forgive me for treating Lizzy so ill?”
The kindly Mrs Annesley had once counselled Mary that not everybody took solace in moralising at moments of high emotion; thus, she refrained from voicing her thoughts on the evils of jealousy and resentment and instead did what she thought Elizabeth would have done.
She hooked her arm around Jane’s and gave her a smile of the warmest sisterly consolation.
“Yes, and so will she when you explain it as you have done to me.”
“Would that were so, but I have been so awful, I do not see how she ever could.”
“Then you are underestimating her still. She will be as sorry as I am that you have been this ill-used.”
Jane winced, and Mary pressed gently for her to explain why.
“I do not want you to hate Charles,” she whispered. “I may be the biggest fool there ever was, but I believe what he said to me before he went away—that he has tried to love me. And I wish to believe—I do believe—he is only going because I have made him feel there is nothing for him here.”
“If that is your wish, then as long as you love him, I shall love him also.”
“Thank you,” she replied, yet in the next moment, let out a soft but unmistakable sob. “It will make no difference who loves him if he is not here.”
Mary had no comfort to offer that was not pure conjecture. “What did Lady Ashby say?” she enquired instead.
“That she would write to Lizzy and ask her to prevent Bingley from leaving.”
“Well, that is something, is it not?”
Jane shook her head morosely. “I do not wish him to stay because Lizzy asked it of him. I wish him to stay because I did.”
“Well then,” Mary said, giving her arm a little squeeze. “You had better ask it of him.”
“You ain’t serious?”
“I was instructed to arrange transportation,” Peabody said flatly, being careful to reveal no hint of amusement as Amelia flapped about protesting her outrage. “In the absence of further details, I took the liberty of procuring the most expedient means.”
“But I can’t travel on the mail coach in my condition! I ain’t baggage!”
He raised an eyebrow. “That is moot.”
“Why can’t I travel in one of Mr Bingley’s carriages?”
He did then allow himself a small chuckle.
That a catchpenny housemaid should think getting poisoned by the master of the house entitled her to ride in his carriage was absurd.
“Neither was available,” he said. “He has one with him, and the other, by this time tomorrow, will be transporting the mistress to Pemberley.”
Amelia whirled to face him. “Why’s she goin’ there?”
“Oddly enough, she did not see fit to confide the particulars.”
“Don’t play the fool, Mr Peabody, for it don’t suit you. I swear, if she’s goin’ there to try an’ stop me—”
“Then she will be disappointed. Mr Bingley already awaits you in Liverpool.”
“Oh, well and good, then.” Frowning, she added, “You didn’t tell ’er ’e weren’t there, did you?”
“She expressed a purpose of travelling to Pemberley. I am not in the habit of second-guessing my employer’s wishes.”