Darcy #3
I was most startled when Anne came to me immediately after my return from our new school with news.
My concerns that Ohio would be entirely devoid of the poor and the ignorant had been unfounded.
They did not exist in the numbers seen in the cities, but there were enough to make the endeavour worthwhile, and I had a dozen children under the tutelage of the most formidable schoolmarm of my acquaintance.
Anne conceived the brilliant idea to include lunch in the curriculum, and I was not above bribing children to improve themselves.
All was as it should be in the school, and I funded this one entirely from the amount Lady Catherine had settled on me, for frankly I had no idea what else to do with it.
I could not even consume the interest; thus, in the two months since learning of the lady’s largess, I had endeavoured to double all our previous schools via the post. I supposed the American schools were already commencing the work, but knew not how long the post would take to reach England. Anne’s outburst left me concerned.
“Lizzy, I need you to listen to this calmly. Come, take some tea.”
Nothing Anne could say could increase my anxiety, but I did my best to obey.
“Mama sent me a coded message.”
Now I was merely puzzled.
“Coded message?”
“Oh, I forgot you do not know of them. When we need to discuss something confidential, she uses a book cypher. She finds the word in a book we have agreed on, and writes the page, line, and word number instead of the word. Then I look it up in the same book. It is tedious, but confidential so long as nobody guesses the book. They have been in use since at least Greek and Roman times.”
I was instantly intrigued, likely as she intended. Who would have thought Lady Catherine knew such a trick? I wondered if I would have known of it had I maintained my sight, or would I have continued in the blissful ignorance of childhood until my mother managed to engineer a marriage?
So lost in these thoughts was I that Anne’s attack caught me off guard.
“Jane is married!’
I gasped, and she took my hand and squeezed it comfortingly. Naturally, my mind panicked, for had Jane married in the usual way, a plain letter would have been entirely adequate to convey the news, and it would have been a letter to me, not a ciphered message to Anne.
“Do not keep me in suspense. Give me the bad part.”
She chuckled. Apparently, she was testing me, and I passed. She drew a deep breath before continuing in a blast, as if she must get it out before one of us exploded.
“Pray do not overreact, as all ends well, but she had a proposal she rejected, then she was attacked and compromised by my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was apparently er… unwell. Mr Darcy came upon him before any real harm to anything save her reputation and beat Richard half to death. They were seen; naturally, Mr Darcy offered for your sister and simultaneously offered to find another suitor, and in the end Jane chose Mr Bingley, and Mother says she never saw a happier couple, so really it has all worked out for the best… and then my cousin tried to hang himself… and Darcy found him in time to save him… and he got an army nurse named Charlotte Lucas to treat him and they are in a hunting lodge in Pemberley and he may or may not be cured in the end and—”
“ANNE, please stop—or at least slow down!”
The news thoroughly distressed me, but I also worried for my friend. She spoke the last half of that diatribe like a squirrel trying to expel it posthaste, and I feared she would pass out on the floor, which would both oblige me to help her and slow my eventual absorption of the distressing news.
I took both her hands and squeezed until her breathing returned more or less to normal. “Very well, let us read the letter as Lady Catherine wrote it.”
She agreed and sat to read it like a person instead of a chipmunk—a small animal like a squirrel that we do not have in England.
My respect for Lady Catherine improved even more, for she took time and patience to break the news slowly, methodically, and carefully. The letter filled at least six sheets, and Anne transposed it to three complete pages. The entire sad but exhilarating story came out in bits and pieces.
I asked Anne to read it thrice more, mostly because she needed to absorb the story. I did not, for I could recite the whole thing at my leisure any time, but Anne needed the repetition. Being blind was inconvenient, but it did wonders for my memory.
At long last, Anne was quite distressed by the whole thing and seemed fatigued, so I bade her rest, assuring her I would be fine. Once I knew Mr Bingley was worthy, and that my Jane was happy, I had not the slightest cause to repine.
The colonel worried me, and Charlotte astounded me, until I considered it.
I had lost contact with Charlotte when I left Meryton, and we had not been close for a while anyway, yet it perfectly suited Charlotte’s temper and situation.
I hoped she had not endured anything too onerous as a nurse, but that was obviously a vain hope.
She must have had some skill if Mr Darcy chose her to treat his cousin.
Since he beat him only half to death, I assumed the man wanted his cousin to recover.
As to compromising Jane into marrying the man she wanted anyway… well, I could not approve the method, yet could not grumble at the result.
When Anne left, I asked for Mr Hopkinson’s assistance. My letter to Jane needed to be done and posted within the day, and I managed to fill two pages with questions. With the war on, mail was spotty so I might get an answer in a couple months, or never.
Throughout the exercise, one question occupied my mind: “I wonder if Mr Darcy received my letter.”
Darcy
My resolution was fixed. It was a settled matter; the only thing left was the execution. I was going to kill James Fowler. It only awaited opportunity, but he was a dead man.
You may wonder why I felt the need to kill my valet, but if you find the idea reprehensible, it is only because you have never been exposed to seasickness, nor had to endure the insufferable presence of a former sailor who stoically cared for you, showing every sympathy, performing his duties perfectly day and night, day after day, through storms and shipwrecks and whatever other miseries I suffered.
It was truly quite insufferable. He kept three buckets handy for my disposal, and regularly sluiced each out thoroughly with seawater.
He suggested every remedy known to man, all with no effect.
He talked to the ship’s surgeon, the captain, even the cook, and all were at a loss to help.
There was nothing for it—the man had to go.