Chapter 33
HOLD YOUR HORSES
Darcy and Bingley returned to Netherfield at a later hour than they had anticipated.
Bingley and Saye had remained at Longbourn until quite late; once the dancing had commenced, Bingley could not be prevailed upon to leave for anything.
Saye was equally delighted with it and reported having danced with Miss Lillian Goddard three times.
Darcy had frowned about that, but Saye had blithely told him to stick his opinions in his ear, it was hardly Almack’s, and as the highest-ranking man there, he would do as he pleased.
The late night had led to a late start, and as Tilsworth was above two hours away, and as Bingley required a meal at the nearest tavern before he could know his own mind, it had become a very long day indeed.
“So you think I have made the right decision?” Bingley asked him for the tenth time.
The horses at Chesterwood farm in Tilsworth had been as fine as reported.
Darcy had found the animals pleasing, healthy and strong-looking and handsome.
Darcy’s coachman, an excessively scrupulous judge of horseflesh, had given them his approval as well.
They were perhaps more costly than Bingley had anticipated, but the quality would prove worth it, of that Darcy was certain.
“You have made the decision I would have made for myself,” Darcy told him. “And in fact, I may return there for some horses of my own.”
“You need more horses?” Bingley asked as they arrived at the front of Netherfield.
“I might,” said Darcy, following his friend out of the carriage.
Bingley cast him a little smirk. “Planning to purchase another carriage yourself, then? They make excellent engagement presents.”
They had entered Netherfield’s front hall. Mrs Nicholls was instantly present to take their hats, gloves, and coats, and interrupted them to say, “The ladies ask for your immediate attendance.”
“I hope nothing is amiss?” Bingley asked her.
Mrs Nicholls only smiled, but in a worried way, and said she was certain Miss Bingley would acquaint him with all the particulars in due time. Darcy asked after his family and learnt that Georgiana was in the drawing room and that Saye had gone to Ashworth.
Darcy followed his friend’s long strides towards the drawing room, unconcerned for whatever was troubling the ladies.
Miss Bingley was oft in the midst of a crisis, most of which stemmed from having had too little attention paid to her that day.
He only hoped she had not distressed Georgiana about it.
They found Miss Bingley and Georgiana seated together on a couch, with Mrs Annesley seated nearby.
“Charles!” Miss Bingley cried out theatrically. “You are finally returned! I began to think you might have had an accident on the road!”
“Of course not,” said Bingley soothingly. “But we are very tired and would like to refresh ourselves—”
“We have learnt the most distressing news!” Miss Bingley reached for Georgiana’s hand, clasping it within her own. Georgiana, Darcy noticed, appeared pale and did not meet his gaze.
“I am sorry to say this in front of Miss Darcy,” Miss Bingley announced, “but the stories can scarce be contained. Miss Eliza Bennet was caught in circumstances of a most alarming nature last night—”
“What do you mean?” Darcy barked out immediately.
“She and Sir James were enjoying time alone last night while the rest of us got up some dancing,” said Miss Bingley, clearly relishing the tale. “And the last anyone saw her, her bodice and sleeve were torn half off her gown, and she was running upstairs so as not to be seen.”
He was looming over her before he realised he was even moving. “Do you mean to say that Sir James attacked her?”
“Surely not!” Bingley cried out. “He seems such an amiable fellow.”
“He had proposed to her,” said Mrs Annesley in her customary steadying tones. “And it seems no one is quite certain whether the gown was torn in passionate delight, or in…another way.”
Darcy turned in the silence that followed, taking a chair at the far end of the grouping.
Bingley remained standing. “Surely you cannot credit such gossip, Caroline,” Bingley protested, though uncertainty crept into his voice.
“It does not matter whether I credit it,” said Miss Bingley. “For the whole rest of the town does. A young lady, always cavorting and scampering about with total indifference to decorum! It was bound to come to some unseemly sort of end!”
None of it made sense to Darcy. Why would she go somewhere alone with Sir James? Surely she understood his wishes and intentions?
“How is it no one noticed them gone?” His voice sounded angry to even his own ears. “Would not someone realise if one of the daughters of the house went off? With a distinguished guest, no less?”
“B-Brother, I heard them,” said Georgiana very meekly. “When I was trying to find my shawl. I heard them speaking from behind a door, and S-Sir James seemed angry with her. He told her she ought not hold out for the highest bidder.”
Darcy clenched his jaw. “So she refused him, and he pressed his point.”
“It does not signify,” Miss Bingley insisted. “Whether she invited the liberties or not, she will have to marry him.”
Darcy felt like his head was spinning, angry, dark clouds swirling about his consciousness. Miss Bingley’s delighted horror at the situation could scarce be borne.
“We must call on them at once,” Bingley said. “Find out the truth of things.”
“Precisely right,” said Darcy, feeling relieved at the idea. “Shall we go now?”
“Now? At this hour?” Georgiana asked, clearly surprised.
Darcy and Bingley both glanced towards the mantel clock. It was far too late to call, even for Bingley.
“Brother, pray consider the implications for your dear Jane’s reputation,” Miss Bingley said, her tone becoming more urgent. “I am not sure it is wise to be connected to such a family. Such an alliance affects us all.”
“What are you saying?” Red splotches had arisen on Bingley’s face, and his eyes narrowed.
“I implore you to reconsider this engagement before it is too late. Your position in society, your future prospects, all hang in the balance.”
Bingley barked a bitter-sounding laugh. “You are mad if you think some bit of tattle in a country town will dissuade me, Caroline, and I truly hope that none of this was begun by yourself in hopes of achieving such an end.”
“What do you accuse me of?” Miss Bingley cried out.
Bingley walked several paces to stand over her. “I am saying if I find out you had anything to do with this jumble—”
“We have been quiet at home all day,” Georgiana asserted. “We have not spoken to anyone.”
“Then how did you learn of it yourselves?” Darcy asked quietly.
Miss Bingley answered a fraction of a second too late. “My maid told me.”
“Let me be quite clear,” said Bingley. “I am not going to throw Jane over, not even if I find out she herself kissed Sir James. Your time will thus be best spent refuting any such nonsense you hear because, like it or not, these will be your relations too.”
No matter the time, Darcy and Bingley rode to Longbourn with vain hopes of being admitted.
Mrs Hill told them that the house was mostly abed and that those who were not were not presently receiving.
Very mildly, she added, “I am not certain how it works in town, but here in the country, we generally do not receive callers at half-past the hour of nine.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Bingley with a placating smile. Darcy only nodded, looking up at the windows, wondering which belonged to Elizabeth. With his luck, he would likely climb a tree and find himself in Mr Bennet’s rooms.
Bingley seemed to understand what he was thinking and placed a hand on his arm. “It was a fool’s errand to begin with. No doubt Elizabeth is retired for the evening and certainly Jane is. We will see them at church tomorrow.”
Darcy nodded and allowed himself to be led away.
After a night of much too much port and multiple rounds of three-man screw in Bingley’s billiard room, Darcy felt bleary-eyed and peevish approaching the church in Meryton.
His mood was not improved by what he found: clusters of Elizabeth’s friends and neighbours murmuring and whispering, their attitudes and aspects suggesting they were not reflecting on anything pertaining to the Sabbath. The Bennets were nowhere in sight.
As they neared the building, the whispers of those around them grew in number and volume, with various snippets of conversation being easily overheard.
“…permitting him liberties right out in the garden. Quite shameless…”
“…would do such a thing right in the midst of their parent’s own party…right under her mother’s nose!”
“…no, no, it is he who refuses to marry her! Indeed, who in their right mind…”
“…those girls have always been above themselves…”
“…always believed herself so witty, but not so clever as to avoid such a scrape…”
“Keep walking,” Bingley advised beside him. “There is no sense in confronting people.”
The Bennets were not present within the church, and Darcy thought he understood it well enough having come through the yard. They wished to hide away, and who could blame them?
He, Bingley, and Miss Bingley took their seats, and slowly the small church filled. Mr Collins sat on the pulpit beside the parson, and Darcy hoped it did not portend one of his ridiculous sermons. He had surely heard enough of those in Kent.
The Bennet ladies entered just as the first verse of the opening hymn was concluded.
Mrs Bennet led her daughters to their usual pew, her head held high.
Miss Bennet and Elizabeth followed her, both of them with their heads bowed, as was Miss Mary’s behind them.
It did not seem that the two youngest Miss Bennets were present.
Elizabeth stood rigidly between her two sisters in the Bennet family pew, her head still lowered. Darcy could not tell, but she did not seem to be singing the hymn with the rest of the congregants. She did not look round, nor did she look up when she took a seat at the conclusion of the hymn.
When Mr Collins rose to deliver his address, he bore an air of unctuous self-satisfaction.
His eyes swept over the congregation before settling, unmistakably, upon Elizabeth.
“My text today is to be found in Deuteronomy,” he intoned theatrically, his voice tremulous with false piety, “to remind us of the importance of a woman’s purity and what we must do to those whose virtue is in question. ”
A collective intake of breath rippled through the congregation. Elizabeth’s head jerked up to look at him.
His discourse was, at first, predictably rambling and meaningless, and Darcy relaxed a little.
One could always depend on Mr Collins to betray his own ignorance.
At length, however, he came to the point he wished to deliver and began speaking on how a father and mother must be prepared to defend their daughter’s virtue.
Darcy saw Elizabeth tense a little as her cousin wandered into this territory.
“But what,” said Mr Collins, “of a daughter who has indulged in her base desires? A daughter who has proved a disappointment to not only her husband but to those who raised her?”
After passing a look over his listeners—who gave him attention such that he had not likely before seen—he continued, reading from his Bible.
“‘Then they shall bring out the damsel to the door of her father’s house, and the men of her city shall stone her with stones that she die: because she hath wrought folly in Israel”—here Mr Collins looked up again, this time to look directly at Elizabeth—“to play the whore in her father’s house.’”
Elizabeth rose from her seat and, without a look or syllable uttered to anyone, hastily left the church. Darcy moved to stand, but Bingley put a hand on his arm. “You may make it worse for her,” he murmured. Surprised by Bingley’s unusually decisive interference, Darcy paused.
Would he make things worse for her? Likely he would if he so obviously ran out of the door after her, but if perhaps he waited five minutes or so and followed her? What then?
After what seemed an interminable hesitation to him, but was likely only a few minutes, Darcy rose.
Mr Collins had continued to natter on, now speaking about generalised sexual immorality, but no one paid him any mind.
Elizabeth’s exit had fed their wagging tongues, and the hissing whispers filled the church.
Darcy exited and began to walk towards Longbourn. Elizabeth was nowhere in sight, not within the church vicinity and not when he reached the wider lane towards Longbourn village. He walked faster, hoping to see her, but was unlucky in that regard.
He went the whole way to the place where the path split into the drive leading to the front of the house.
Elizabeth was not to be found. She must have gone elsewhere, but where?
He could think of a number of places he might find her but also recognised he might spend the entire day roaming about the countryside and still not meet her.
I will wait and call later. She will have to return home at some time.