Chapter 15
Caroline slept fitfully, haunted by guilt. Despairing of rest, she rose as the clock struck six. By sunrise, she was on her way to Netherfield. She wanted Charles to learn about Jane from her.
“You’re back!” he cried when he saw her. The happy expression on his face made her heart clench. “Is there news? Did you speak to Jane? I’ve been a fool. Has Darcy found the maid?”
His rush of words displayed the eagerness intrinsic to his nature. How could she crush all his hopes? Yet it couldn’t be helped.
“I have news,” she said gently, “but it’s the worst possible.”
His face fell. “She’s with Wickham.”
Caroline shook her head. Her throat tightened, and her mouth grew dry. Charles had maintained his boundless optimism even after their parents’ deaths. That fact showed the strength that lay at his core. But she feared this latest tragedy would break him.
“No,” she said. “Jane refused to see Wickham. She remained ever true to you. But…oh Charles. She grew ill again, this time with a fever.”
Charles paled. “Is she in danger?” He headed for the door. “Direct my man to pack a valise. I must go to her at once!”
Caroline grasped his arm. “Charles, I’m sorry. It’s too late.”
“Too late?” He gazed at her with uncomprehending eyes. Then, his expression quickly turned to horror. “Surely you don’t mean… You cannot mean…”
She didn’t refute him. Her silence said all that needed to be said.
He crumpled and fell to his knees. “Jane!” he wailed. “My Jane! Dear Heaven, what have I done?”
Louisa came running, and Caroline told her the news. Shock filled Louisa’s features. She and Caroline tried to console Charles, but he was past help.
“It’s my fault,” he cried. “I abandoned her!”
“It’s not your fault,” Caroline insisted. “It was a fever. I’m sure the doctor did everything he could.”
But her words could no more penetrate her brother’s grief than if he were made of marble.
Once the shock had worn off, Charles insisted they call on the Bennets to offer their condolences. Caroline and Louisa changed into half-mourning colours and accompanied him.
In the frigid December air, the three-mile trip felt like a hundred. The overcast grey sky magnified the weight of grief and guilt that crushed Caroline’s chest.
Would Jane have taken ill if not for Wickham’s plot? Or had her earlier illness been a warning of things to come?
Caroline couldn’t think about it. She wouldn’t blame herself—she hadn’t meant for Jane to come to harm.
When they arrived at Longbourn, she was surprised the house wasn’t draped in black. Perhaps that tradition wasn’t practised here. Then, Mrs. Bennet greeted them with smiles and effusive civility. Clearly, something was amiss.
Before Charles could speak, Caroline interjected. “Dear Mrs. Bennet, I’ve heard some distressing news.” She took the woman’s hands. “I returned from London this morning. While I was there, I learnt that Jane was ill.”
“Oh yes, my brother assures me it’s a trifling cold. She’ll be well enough in a few days.”
“What I heard was more serious.” Doubt crept into Caroline’s mind. Surely if Jane had passed on, the Gardiners would have informed the Bennets by now.
But Caroline hadn’t misunderstood. Wickham had assuredly been told Jane had passed away.
What was going on? Had the butler lied to Wickham? For what purpose?
Her body sagged. The answer was clear. Wickham had been harassing the Gardiners with unwanted visits. They wished him to leave Jane alone, so they told him she was dead.
Now that Caroline thought about it, that would have been an excellent way for her to get rid of Wickham. But now that the card had been played, he wouldn’t be fooled a second time.
“Heavens, I feel so foolish,” Caroline said. “I believe I may have made a dreadful mistake.” How could she explain? She couldn’t say Wickham had told her. No one could know she’d spoken with him whilst in London.
She decided that truth was her best option.
“Yesterday, I went to call on Jane. As I approached the house, Mr. Wickham was at the door. The butler was clearly frustrated by Wickham’s unwanted calls.
In his desperation, he told the man dear Jane had died.
But now I think he must have done so to get rid of Mr. Wickham, and keep him from returning. ”
“Jane dead?” Mrs. Bennet cried. In a shrill voice, she continued, “Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet! Our dear Jane is dead!”
Caroline could have laughed if she hadn’t felt such shame at the pain she’d caused Jane and her family. Not to mention poor Charles, who was so pale he looked like he might faint.
While Louisa led him to the couch, Caroline tried to calm Mrs. Bennet. But the woman insisted that her entire family must go to the Gardiners’ immediately. They must find out what had happened to Jane.
So whilst the Bennets packed their bags, Charles saddled his fastest stallion and rode to London hell-for-leather.
∞∞∞
The butler admitted Mr. Darcy into the Gardiners’ drawing room around midday. A maid at her side, Elizabeth sat embroidering. She looked beautiful in the glow of the firelight.
As he was announced, she rose and went to him, a bright smile on her face. She took his hands. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.”
Her sweet welcome warmed his heart. He spoke in gentle tones to avoid alarming her. “I thought you should know. I sent word to Miss Bingley this morning—to correct the misapprehension she shared with me last night. Unfortunately, she’d already left for Hertfordshire.”
“Oh, no!” Elizabeth cried, looking stricken. “What if word gets to my family?”
He held up his palm to allay her fears. “I sent a messenger to Netherfield and Longbourn to reassure them Jane is alive.”
“Thank you.” Lizzy’s cheeks pinkened, and she let out a sigh. “I apologise for causing so much trouble. I wouldn’t have taken such an extreme measure, had I not feared Mr. Wickham might kidnap Jane.”
“Understandable.”
Indeed, Wickham might have done far worse than kidnap her.
Darcy gazed at Elizabeth deeply, concerned at the wear he saw in her features. Her face was drawn, her eyes dull, her skin pale. “We should sit. You look tired.”
Instead, she paced. “Jane had a restless night. I barely slept. To be honest, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since I got to London. I’ve been so worried about her.” Elizabeth’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“Of course you have.” He embraced her and kissed her forehead.
She laid her head on his shoulder, her body sagging against him. He had a powerful urge to put her to bed and lay beside her as she slept. But that was impossible, at least for now.
“Your sister’s fever hasn’t returned?” he asked.
She stepped back. “No, nothing like that. Physically, she’s improving. But each day of silence from Bingley weighs on her more. I can’t fathom how he can continue in this belief that she betrayed him.”
Darcy thought about Bingley’s letters. They ranged wildly from hope to despair and back again in a single paragraph. “He doesn’t know what to believe. I’d wager that Miss Bingley has been prying open every crack of doubt he has.”
“I believe it.” Her features grew hard, unlike herself. She could laugh off anything except harm to Jane.
The cuckoo clock announced the hour. Darcy wished he could kiss away all of his sweet Elizabeth’s cares. Better yet, he wished he could do more.
“If I were at Netherfield,” he said, “I could counter Caroline’s arguments. But as things stand, I can only do so by letter. Unfortunately, my work here is more important. Time is of the essence, before Minnie’s trail grows cold.”
Elizabeth straightened, her movements stiff, almost prim. “Perhaps so, but that doesn’t excuse Bingley. Should he not be held accountable for hurting Jane? For her broken heart, the breach of contract, the loss of her reputation?”
He eyed her, not sure how to respond. “Of course he’s not blameless. But in what way would you hold him accountable? Take him to court?”
In an icy tone, she said, “You could demand satisfaction.”
He stared at her blankly, unsure what she was suggesting. “Of Wickham, you mean?”
“Of Bingley. Challenge him to a duel.”
Darcy’s bewilderment only grew. He searched her face for some sign of levity. He found none. “You want me to kill my best friend?”
Her jaw hardened. “I want you to defend my sister’s honour. She has no brother to do it. Her father and uncles are past their prime.”
“I can’t kill my best friend.”
She placed her hands onto her hips. “I don’t mean for you to kill him. Fire into the air.”
“And risk Bingley killing me?” His lips quirked up into a wry smile.
She let out an exasperated sigh. “Do whatever gentlemen do, to settle matters of honour without actually killing anyone. Cannot your seconds negotiate a strategy?”
“Elizabeth,” Darcy murmured.
“What?” she replied petulantly.
“I’m not going to challenge Bingley to a duel.”
She pouted. “You would if you loved me.”
He laid his hands on her shoulders and kissed her temple. “Not true. Because I do love you. But you’re not yourself. You’re sleep-deprived and half delirious with worry.”
Tears overflowed the rims of her eyes. Her voice was taut. “He broke Jane’s heart. She suffered the pain and humiliation of his rejection. Should he not suffer as well?”
A commotion outside drew their attention to the door: a man’s voice calling for a groom, then the sound of heavy boots on the front steps.
Darcy followed Elizabeth towards the foyer to discover the source of the noise and spotted a familiar figure through the sidelights. Elizabeth flung open the door before the butler could reach it.
Bingley rushed inside. “Jane!” he cried, eyes wide with alarm.
“She’s well,” Elizabeth assured him.
He sagged with relief. Leaning against the wall for support, he offered words of thanks to Heaven.
Swishing skirts came into view on the stairs. Bingley looked up, and his face transformed.
“Jane,” he said, wonder in his voice.