Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Elizabeth heard hardly a note after sinking back into her seat.
She was as unequal to the conversation as she was to understanding the sensations that assailed her when she peered through the glass at the gentleman Mr Bingley had mentioned.
A darkness, feelings of unease, boredom, greed, and contempt, swirled around him—through her—overtaking her sensibilities.
Had Aunt Gardiner not insisted she eat a light dinner before the theatre, Elizabeth might have swooned; as it was, the feelings simply robbed her of speech, and she could do little more than force a smile and avoid Mr Darcy’s anxious gaze.
He should be anxious! What on earth is this device he calls a quizzing glass? This is what he perceives through it?
She stared at the stage, mindless of the performance unfolding there until Aunt Gardiner’s hand squeezed hers, returning her to her company. “Are you well? Should we return home?”
Elizabeth shook her head. Much as she dreaded the supper they were to attend at Darcy House, it would provide the opportunity to speak to Mr Darcy about what had occurred.
He might wish to beg her silence, but she would push him to explain the quizzing glass and what was clearly a dark secret.
If he asked for her discretion, she was not certain she could give it.
No, Elizabeth Bennet did not believe in charms or spells or magic.
But something was very strange about that glass, and Mr Darcy was fully aware of its powers—else he would not have been so anxious to retrieve it.
If once she was amused to think he wore a quizzing glass as an affectation, now she could only wonder at its true purpose.
During supper, Darcy was chagrined to see Elizabeth was altered from the cheerful demeanour she had had when the evening began.
Although she was engaged with her aunt in regaling Georgiana about the performance, her glow was dimmed and her smiles strained.
Thankfully, Bingley had carried off his sister, returning her to Hurst’s townhouse rather than risking Darcy’s further ire at supper.
Such an act should have lightened everyone’s mood, but Elizabeth seemed hardly to notice Miss Bingley’s absence.
He wondered, as she spoke to his sister and steadfastly avoided his gaze, what she now thought of him. Whether she now distrusted him, or worse, thought him a practitioner of magic.
Or did she think herself mad? If he could speak to her, alone, and explain... Explain what exactly?
His chance arrived after supper when no one in the small party wished a separation of the sexes.
They gathered in the blue sitting room, where the Gardiners immediately engaged in conversation with Georgiana and Miss Bennet.
Elizabeth stood alone, gazing at a landscape Darcy recalled his mother particularly admired.
Coming to stand beside her, he asked, “Are you well? I apologise for earlier this evening. I would never have anticipated Miss Bingley’s actions, nor—”
“Nor mine? I was presumptuous putting your personal quizzing glass to my own eye. Clearly it was not meant for any eye but your own.”
The disturbance in her voice nearly undid him. “It has been my habit in town to carry it, but I should not have worn it.”
“I did not understand what I saw,” she whispered. “The gentleman Mr Bingley sought to introduce to you—there was more than just a man...I sensed something.”
Conscious of the others sitting across the room, he replied in a hushed voice. “His nature.”
“In those few seconds? How? The colour—”
“Was there darkness surrounding him?”
“Yes! And a feeling...of avarice, a coldness.” She turned to him, her expression troubled. “I do not believe in the dark arts, but is it a-a form of magic?”
He shook his head, and seeing a slight ease in her, felt a little relief as well. “It is not magic, but an aid to perception and understanding.”
Her nose crinkled in confusion, and Darcy realised he would need to tell her everything—all of it—but his desire to reach out and soothe that soft skin was muddling both his thoughts and his ability to speak.
Hearing a noise behind him, he glanced over at the rest of the group.
Mr Gardiner was hiding a yawn as he rose; the evening was coming to an end.
In a near whisper, he asked, “May we speak tomorrow, privately, so that I may explain it?”
She paused, and her expression shifted from perplexed to expectant. “I often walk to the small park around the corner from my aunt’s home. It provides me some feeling of the country but is close enough to Gracechurch Street that I may walk without a maid.”
They agreed to meet there at one o’clock the following day, and before Darcy could assure himself that all was well, thanks and goodbyes were exchanged, and he and his sister were alone at the window, watching the Gardiners’ carriage drive away.
Elizabeth slept poorly, her rest troubled by disturbing thoughts of the quizzing glass and the man who carried it.
Then, after a morning spent masking her unease, she was frustratingly late for her appointment with Mr Darcy.
Punctuality was something she valued; Mr Bingley’s untimely arrival at her aunt’s home and his happy volubility had delayed her, and her hurried walk to the park did little to alleviate her anxiety.
Expecting that Mr Darcy was likely early, impatiently tapping his foot as he waited for her, she was not surprised to find him a few feet away, under an ancient oak, watching her as she stepped past the gate into the park. She met his small smile with a nod.
“Miss Elizabeth.”
“Mr Darcy.”
Giving her a searching look, he asked, “You are well?”
After explaining her delay was due to his friend’s arrival at Gracechurch Street, Elizabeth spoke with anxious energy as they began walking along the footpath.
“My aunt expects me to return within the hour, so if we might discuss the issue at hand.” If she spoke with more urgency than cordiality, she could not help it.
“Your quizzing glass. I was neither drunk nor faint in the head when I peered through it, and it was—” Her eyes closed briefly as the disquieting feelings which had overcome her the previous evening returned.
“Mysterious. It has frightening powers.”
“I am sorry for alarming you,” Mr Darcy replied quickly.
“I, too, was made uneasy when I first peered through the glass. Despite having possessed it for some five years, I do not understand how it is that the glass sharpens my perception into a person’s fundamental nature.
It is a sense, an insight—” He stopped and turned to her.
“Forgive me, due to its um, unique abilities, I have never explained it to anyone.”
Of course he had not. Who would believe it?
“If it does as you say, it is akin to dark magic, seeing the worth of others.” Elizabeth struggled to comprehend what he was saying, even as she knew what she had sensed through the glass.
“Not their worth, their character.”
“Their character,” she repeated doubtfully. “With one peek, you understand their essential nature?”
“Each of us shows a face to the world, in good moments and bad, but our essential character is what the glass allows me to see, to protect myself and others.”
“It can be used ill.”
“I would never use it for nefarious purposes.”
She could not like that he sounded affronted—the man had relied on it for years, apparently, to ascertain the character of everyone he met. “I would not presume so, but I fail to understand why you, a gentleman esteemed by society, would carry such a device. Why do you have it?”
He lifted his hand, tugging at his hat, securing it, as a strong breeze blew past, before glancing down at her.
“It was my father’s. I discovered it in his study after he died five years ago.
It belonged to his father and grandfather before him,” he said quietly, and, she thought, reluctantly.
“Although neither my housekeeper nor my steward is aware of its powers, each attest that my father at times relied on it to help manage his properties and fortune.”
“Relied on it to manage others, to judge them as you did last evening, with that man whom Mr Bingley tried to introduce?” Once again, the murky vision swam in her thoughts. “Does it affect those you gaze on with it?”
“Good god, no.” Mr Darcy spoke quickly, as if the speed of his reassurances would overcome the truth of his reliance on what seemed dark enchantment. “The quizzing glass, as you saw last evening, gives a sense of whether the character of a person is to be trusted.”
“And Mr—?”
“Tremblay. Truly, I am sorry you had to see it. When Bingley said the name, I had a vague memory that he was attached to a fraudulent scheme some years prior and felt compelled to use the glass to confirm my recollections and protect Bingley’s interests.”
It was an admirable use of the quizzing glass, but Elizabeth was plagued by the question of fairness.
“The gentleman was proved dishonest as a businessman, but what of him as a husband? A father? Did your glass discern the entirety of his character before you passed judgment and advised Mr Bingley?”
Mr Darcy looked at her sharply before turning his head from side to side as if ensuring they would not be overheard. Only an elderly man was within sight, distractedly scolding his dog to cease chasing a duck.
“I do not know the face he shows to his wife or children. The glass provides the understanding I require to protect myself and my interests. I am constantly besieged by those wishing to make my acquaintance, be it to dance with their daughters or to invest my fortune.”
Tucking away her incredulity as best she could, Elizabeth flashed a tight smile before turning towards him. “You allow, nay require, a magical quizzing glass to determine your way through life and avoid the tedium of making new acquaintances?”
He shrugged. “I am not intent on making friends everywhere I go, neither are many of those interested in me beyond whatever benefit I can bring them.”
Such as Miss Bingley! Does he tolerate her company because her covetousness is so openly read? Elizabeth could not understand the gentleman at all. Lauded by his friends at Netherfield, but such a sad, terrible life he must lead elsewhere! Although gentling her tone, she could not but admonish him.
“What genuine hand of friendship can be offered to a man who wields a charmed bauble and disregards those who do not meet his standards of behaviour and goodness?”
Mr Darcy stopped, then strode a few paces ahead before spinning round to face her. “Have you never seen a fault in anybody? Are all the world good and agreeable in your eyes?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “My sister Jane, who is as perfect as a person can be, sees everyone as agreeable. I am known for the perverse delight I take in teasing and arguing with others—whether or not I make it known to them.”
“Yes, you are accomplished in finding amusement in the words and actions of others, but I pray you do not find too much fault with me.” His eyes moved away from her, and she felt an irrational need to shake him.
“I find you puzzling,” she replied. “A man who has been blessed with wealth, education, and privilege should be capable of looking upon others fairly, without need for artifice, and determining their decency and worth as they do him.”
Elizabeth heard him inhale sharply, but he said nothing in reply. Impatient with his taciturnity, she nearly stamped her foot. “I cannot help but wonder, do you always prefer to judge character through a glass lens, sir, rather than the ordinary way—by conversation?”
“I do not like performing to strangers.”
“Ah, you prefer to judge people properly at first, saving yourself the trouble and time of ever having to revise your opinion. It is admirably efficient.”
“Why should I not utilise a device which allows me to ascertain, without damage to myself or others, the quality of a man’s character or a lady’s goodness?”
“You might learn the same by conversation!”
“Might I? Hours and weeks in company, and a friendship established, only to learn a man is a reprobate or a lady a liar?”
Elizabeth startled, despite understanding the insult was not meant for her. “I do not envy your society.”
“Pardon me, I speak too harshly of others.” He winced and shook his head.
“I have not the ease of those such as you and Bingley in conversing with new acquaintances and understanding the tone of conversations. Many men in town rely on a wife or sister to assist them at balls and parties, but I have neither a wife nor a sister of an age to be out in society.”
A faint flush touched Mr Darcy’s cheek, and had she not remained wary of the quizzing glass and his purpose in using it, she would admit it was a rather becoming sight. Before she could respond, he continued his defence.
“I assure you, madam, it is not my habit to use the glass to judge others for sport. It requires more effort than some men deserve to find that glimmer of goodness or common interest.”
My acquaintance with you has certainly taken effort, she thought with some exasperation. “Perhaps you should find new company to keep rather than censuring others through a glass lens.”
“Although I would wish not to be hasty in censuring anyone, I am constantly approached with schemes for investments or to meet an eligible young lady, and if I choose to use a device that makes it easier for me to determine the worth of my time and of another’s character, then I shall.”
“And you do not see that reliance as weakness in your own character?”