Chapter 18
Elizabeth awoke uneasy after a restless night disturbed by strange dreams. Then the memory of her meeting with Mr Darcy returned, and with it her agitation increased.
She would have given anything to be at home or with Mrs Gardiner, able to speak freely with someone.
It was not advice she needed, but conversation, by which her thoughts might gradually become clearer even to herself.
There remained an hour before breakfast. She was impatient to go downstairs, to see him, and at the same time, she felt wholly unprepared to stand before him again.
It was unlikely they would have the opportunity to be alone together again.
Still, a few words may always be exchanged even in the most crowded company.
Yet in truth, she scarcely knew what she expected from him, or from herself. Even the fact that she had spoken of her father’s death in so direct a manner astonished her.
She dressed in haste and made her toilette, then considered going down to the library, but such a step would have been too bold.
Courage she did not lack, but she had changed, and now attempted to do what her father had always urged upon her—to think before acting or speaking.
And that morning her inner voice, new and touched with the inflections of Mr Bennet’s own, told her that she could not go down to the library.
At that very moment, a light knock upon the door fulfilled her most ardent wish. Mrs Cooper entered cheerfully, already dressed and, above all, prepared for conversation, without suspecting that there was far more to be said than merely what had occurred while they had been together.
The maid knocked also, having come to assist with Elizabeth’s hair, but Mrs Cooper dismissed her at once.
“Allow me to help you.”
There was such warmth and friendship in the gesture that Elizabeth’s heart filled with happiness.
Exactly thus it would have been at Longbourn or in London after an evening of adventures.
Home no longer existed for her, London was far away, and yet there in Derbyshire she had found someone who behaved as her dear Jane or Mrs Gardiner might have done.
“I am exceedingly curious to know what you think of everything that occurred,” chirped Mrs Cooper gaily.
Elizabeth smiled, persuaded that her story would astonish her.
“I have much more to tell you. Last night I went down to the library in search of a book.”
“Do not tell me that—”
“Yes!” cried Elizabeth almost aloud, before continuing in a whisper, “Mr Darcy was in the library.”
“You found yourselves alone, face to face.”
“Precisely so. But not for one moment did I think of leaving; indeed, before anything else, I told him about Papa.”
The astonishment upon Mrs Cooper’s face altered Elizabeth’s spirits at once, giving her a small degree of confidence, a feeling long unfamiliar to her. It was indeed an extraordinary occurrence.
“My agitation must have been profound indeed, to forget that he lived only a few miles from Derby.”
“It is perfectly understandable, my dear. But your meeting was all the more intense because you did not expect to see him. Come, do not keep me waiting. Tell me what you discussed.”
“How profoundly we may deceive ourselves regarding people?” said Elizabeth instead of continuing her story.
Mrs Cooper made no reply; the question was plainly addressed to herself, and the answer could come only from her.
“I believed him merely arrogant and full of himself, intoxicated by the social consequence of his family. That was all I believed him to be.”
“Far too little. No one possesses only the face intended for society.”
“Exactly. Yet that was all I thought of him, without attempting to understand further. The man who cared for his sister as a father, the man who directed an estate like Pemberley from an age when most young men think only of amusement; these things I either failed to see or did not value enough. Even his relationship with Colonel Fitzwilliam resembles mine with Jane or Mrs Gardiner—”
“And with me too, I hope, very soon.”
“I have already,” said Elizabeth sincerely. “From the first moment I felt with you as though among family.”
“Come, do not wander from the story,” implored Mrs Cooper.
“It was intense. Yes, that is what I may say. Mr Darcy understood the immensity of the tragedy and behaved as a friend. Some among our friends did not know how to confront our misfortune, and however they attempted it, they were awkward, or excessively compassionate, or simply fell into embarrassed silence.”
“And he?”
“He was perfect. Horrified, compassionate, very honest, yet in that manner by which conversation itself does one good. Yes, it did me good to speak with him.”
“Did you speak only of what occurred in Hertfordshire?” asked Mrs Cooper, attempting not to reveal too plainly her great desire to hear of them speaking of themselves, but Elizabeth, too deeply absorbed in reflection, did not perceive it.
She shook her head lightly.
“Yes, I believe we spoke only of me, and strangely, the conversation with him did me a great deal of good. Perhaps also because he has, at least in part, endured a tragedy resembling mine. He told me that his mother had been to him what Papa was to me, the centre of his universe.”
“A great lady.”
“So you knew her.”
“Certainly. Lady Anne came to Lambton sometimes. She was the absolute model every girl my age must have. I was twenty when she died, and I remember it as the most touching tragedy of those days.”
“Yes, that explains why he knew what to say to me.”
“Am I to conclude that Mr Darcy is no longer upon your black list?” asked Mrs Cooper with a touch of irony.
“Precisely. You may strike him from it.”
And together they went downstairs to breakfast.