Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
Having finished their dinner, Darcy and Bingley took their brandy to the garden rather than stay indoors.
The summer evening was too pleasant to forgo.
Their conversation was desultory, interspersed with periods of silence, when only the twilight calls of the songbirds and the soft breeze rushing through leaves could be heard.
Leaving their drinks on a small wrought iron table, they walked among the flower beds.
Lulled into equanimity by a good meal and excellent hospitality, Darcy felt his stiff posture relax.
“Why are you here, Darcy?” asked Bingley suddenly, shattering his nascent composure.
Darcy tripped over a paving stone and stumbled to his knees. He did not rise for a moment and barely restrained himself from resting his head on the ground. Then he slowly rose, straightened to his full height, and turned to Bingley, who was watching him expectantly.
It would have to be the truth. No matter how painful it was, he owed it to his friend. He gestured back towards the chairs, and they sat.
“When I visited Lady Catherine over Easter, I encountered Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who was staying with her friend, the former Miss Charlotte Lucas. Miss Lucas lately married Mr Collins, who you may remember is the heir apparent to Longbourn. He is also the rector who has the living there in Hunsford.”
Bingley huffed. “I heard. I would have thought Miss Lucas to be too sensible for that man. I am glad that Mrs Bennet failed to force Lizzy to marry him.”
Darcy stared at his friend incredulously, then leapt from his chair and paced, both his hands on top of his head clutching his own hair. “Mrs Bennet tried to force Elizabeth to marry Collins?” he roared, circling back to Bingley.
“Aye, but Mr Bennet put a stop to it. Jane tells me that it was quite a dreadful proposal, insulting in every way.”
Darcy collapsed into the chair and put his face in his hands. “Then Miss Elizabeth has received two dreadful, insulting proposals.”
“Who was the other one?” asked Bingley, leaning forwards in his chair.
Darcy raised his head and stared at him.
“Lord, it was you? But you are not engaged… Oh. She turned you down?” Bingley was aghast. “Caroline will have kittens when she hears this!”
“I beg you not to share this with anyone,” Darcy said wearily. “She was right to turn me down.” He breathed deeply, then proceeded to share some of the language he had used, believing at the time that the obstacles of expectations he had overcome to propose to her would inspire her to accept him.
“It did not take me long to understand how horribly I had erred. She already despised me. She had been taken in by Wickham’s lies.
Not only that, she had earlier discovered my role in separating you and Miss Bennet.
We quarrelled bitterly.” He put his head in his hands again. There was silence for several minutes.
“You are in love with her,” said Bingley softly.
“She is the only woman I could ever marry. I am certain.”
“Is that why you came back here? To try again?”
“I came because one evening at the club I overheard a group of drunken imbeciles speaking loudly and ribaldly of a rumour they had heard about a young lady who had inherited an estate and a fortune. Their information was not only incorrect but wildly exaggerated, yet close enough to the truth that I sent an investigator to Meryton. He brought back the news about Miss Elizabeth and the misconceptions about the inheritance. I realised that she needed someone to protect her, to keep an eye out for danger, so my investigator has stayed here ever since. I arrived when I heard Wickham was in the area and was a threat to her.”
“So you are the one who purchased Wickham’s debts and had him arrested,” said Bingley. “Who was that young man you were speaking with? Your investigator?”
“That is Mr Galbraith, Lord Metcalf’s under-steward. I brought him here to apply to Mr Philips for the position at Haye-Park.”
“Well. You have been busy.” Bingley sipped his brandy. “And now you are hiding from her?”
Darcy shrugged. “She would be angry at my interference. She hates me. Yet I could not keep myself from intervening.”
“I have never known you to give up so easily. Jane forgave me; perhaps Lizzy will forgive you. Remember what Oliver Goldsmith wrote: ‘Success consists of getting up one more time than you fall’.”
“You? Quoting literature? Since when?” Darcy smirked.
“I am not a great reader, but that quote just popped into my head. It seemed appropriate.”
It was also what Goulding had written to Darcy in his last note. His hand went involuntarily to his breast pocket. Darcy raised his countenance to the sky and regarded the evening star. “I will consider it.”
Bingley grinned and raised his glass to Darcy. “If it is any consolation, I am also hiding. My sisters have no idea that I am no longer in Scarborough. They will not know until after Jane and I are married.”
Elizabeth handed her final report of recommendations to Mr Philips. He paged through it, nodding as he went.
“Excellent work, Lizzy. Mr Goulding would be proud of you. I am proud of you. Now you will be able to return to your ordinary life.”
She smiled, a wide smile of pride mixed with relief. Her part was done. Now she would go to Haye-Park and retrieve the keys to the dower house. She would put them away until they were needed.
Despite her uncle’s assertion, Elizabeth knew that she could not and would not return to her ordinary life. She had learnt too much; in part through her research, but also too much about how friends and acquaintances, people she had trusted, behaved differently when money was involved.
Mr Darcy had dealt with such situations since he was a boy. His poor sister was almost ruined for her fortune. How does one live like that? Never knowing whether any person truly wished to be your friend for your company or for your money and connexions.
“I still need to visit Mrs Neeson.”
“If you would like, you may ride with me to Haye-Park. I want to meet with Mr Galbraith again, now that he has returned from Kent. I do not believe you have been introduced, have you? After that, I will take you to Longbourn.”
Elizabeth agreed, not quite ready to go home and return to the life of a genteel young lady with no prospects.
When they arrived at Haye-Park, Mr Philips went towards the steward’s office and Elizabeth went to find Mrs Neeson. The housekeeper opened a locked cupboard and took the dower house keys from a rack.
“Perhaps it would be wise to keep one set of the keys here, Mrs Neeson,” said Elizabeth. “In case of any emergency situation.”
“That seems prudent, miss. Would you like to walk through the house? I can take you on a tour.”
“I would enjoy that. I have never been inside. Though perhaps we should wait until my mother can join us. She says she once visited it when Mr Goulding’s grandmother lived there.”
“Oh, that was a long time ago,” said the housekeeper with a smile.
“My uncle awaits me at Mr Galbraith’s office. I have not met him yet.”
Mrs Neeson nodded. “He has made a good impression so far. Several of the tenants met him earlier, took stock of him, and asked many questions. He visited the tenants with the largest leaseholds. It was generally agreed that he will do, though the proof is in the pudding, you know.”
She continued. “Before Mr Philips takes you home, please come back to my office. I have more items that Mr Goulding wanted to send to Longbourn. During his last days, he would ask Reese or Annie or Anthony to fetch him items that had belonged to members of his family, especially from his mother’s jewellery.
He was still making gifts, you see, almost up to the end, that were not mentioned in the will.
When he became too weak to hold them in his hands, he would ask for them to be held up so he could see them, and he would tell us to whom each item should go.
When he slipped into his coma, they were forgotten.
While we were cleaning his room, I came across them again.
I will put them in a box for you to take home. ”
Elizabeth made her way to the steward’s office and knocked.
The door opened slightly, enough to see that no one was inside.
Her uncle’s coat was there, so she assumed they had just stepped out.
Moving to take a chair and wait for their return, she noted an orderly profusion of papers on the desk.
Mr Galbraith seemed to have immediately immersed himself in the affairs of Haye-Park.
One paper, partially obscured by others set on top of it, caught her eye.
Elizabeth caught her breath and froze. It appeared to be a letter, written in a hand now as familiar to her as her own.
After glancing at the door, she moved closer to the desk, needing to examine it more closely to be sure.
As she neared the desk, she heard her uncle’s voice, then the sound of footsteps approaching.
Quickly, she moved back to the table and took a seat in one of the chairs set around it.
Just as she sat down, the door opened and Mr Philips entered with another man.
“Ah, Niece, here you are. May I present to you Mr Walter Galbraith, our new steward. Mr Galbraith, this is my niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who was also Mr Goulding’s godchild.”
Mr Galbraith bowed.
“Welcome, Mr Galbraith. I hope you have found Haye-Park to your liking.”
“I thank you, Miss Bennet. Indeed, I have. Mr Hargrove, my predecessor, has left everything in immaculate order. Mr Philips and the tenants have also proved to be extremely helpful. I have moved into the cottage, and it is quite comfortable. My only regret is that I wish I could have met both Mr Hargrove and Mr Goulding.”
“Where were you living before you heard of the position here?” Elizabeth had been curious before she saw the letter, but now she was almost wild to know.
“I was under-steward for Lord Metcalf’s estate, Hartsfield, near Westerham in Kent.”
That was all the information she needed. Lady Catherine had mentioned a friend, a Lady Metcalf, who lived somewhere near Rosings Park. That is where she had heard the name.
Mr Darcy? Thoughts and memories jostled for space in her mind. It seemed so very unlikely. Their vehement quarrel had been only a few months before. He must still be angry. He must detest her.
Yet Mr Bingley had returned. Mr Wickham had been arrested and removed. A candidate for the steward’s position had appeared almost before her uncle had sent out the advertisement. And where had those two unsolicited letters come from? It was inconceivable.
She could hear Mr Goulding’s voice as if he were there before her.
Truly, child, I believe he still loves you.
He had said that after he read Mr Darcy’s letter.
Once I became better acquainted with him, I thought he could be a great friend to you.
Or even perhaps a match. Would he do this—protect her, assist her from afar, in secret? Why would he do this?
Truly, child, I believe he still loves you.
Was it even possible that he could still love her? How had he known what she needed? Was he somewhere near? A feeling of warmth washed over her. Suddenly she wanted to see him, to tell him that everything, for her at least, had changed.
“Lizzy.”
She blinked. It was her uncle, peering at her; Mr Galbraith also looked a bit concerned.
“Yes, Uncle?” she said, blushing.
“If you have concluded your business with Mrs Neeson, I will take you home.”
“Mrs Neeson was getting a parcel ready for me. I shall fetch it and then we can go.”