Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
E lizabeth woke up with a start, terrifying dreams of murderous magistrates and assassins in disguise having marred any sleep she had managed the night before. She looked over to see the window cracked and heard the sweet melody of birdsong wafting in. The sun had broken through the trees hours before, it seemed, for her room was bathed, not in the dappled light of dawn as usual, but in the full brightness of day.
How can the birds sing when there is such treachery and evil on the earth? How can the sun keep shining when such darkness lurks in the hearts of men?
She did not need to recount the events of the previous day; she had relived them over and over throughout her waking hours almost from the moment Mr Darcy had ridden away from the Scarletts’ cottage. A dread had lived in her stomach that those two men had gone after the stagecoach, caught up with it, and apprehended Mr Darcy even despite his elaborate disguise. Had she done enough? Could she have made him less recognisable? Could she have said something, done something, gone somewhere to better his chances of escape?Should she have gone with him?
That question plagued her heart, though it was the easiest one for her mind to answer and disregard. Of course she could not have gone with him. That would mean ruin for her reputation and marriage to a man she had heretofore despised. How could she even contemplate such a thing? Could she sacrifice so much for the sake of a man’s life? She did not think she could. Surely, the efforts she made had been effective, had they not?
And perhaps , she concluded after several minutes of such back-and-forth, I am in a better position to find answers right here at Rosings.
She made her way downstairs just as the Collinses and Maria were taking their first bites of breakfast. She had done what she could to bring herself to rights, but not even all her talents could take away the redness of her sleep-deprived eyes and the dark circles that plainly showed below them.
“My Eliza, you do look ill this morning,” Charlotte said with concern. “No wonder you stayed abed so long.”
“I am well. I just suffered some unpleasant dreams last night. I am sure breakfast and a brisk walk in the fresh air will revive me.”
“How fortuitous that you are awake and desiring a walk, Cousin, for I have been summoned to call upon Lady Catherine this morning, and I am certain you, along with my dear wife and sister, would enjoy a visit with Miss de Bourgh while I attend my esteemed patroness,” Mr Collins said by way of a not-so-subtle order.
“Fortuitous, indeed,” Elizabeth answered, glad to have an excuse to visit the great house and indulge her curiosity so soon after Mr Darcy’s departure.
Breakfast ended quickly, and the ladies donned their bonnets and followed the parson across the lane which separated the park from the parsonage, then up the half-mile gravel road towards the manor. When they arrived, their knock was swiftly answered, and they were led into the grand entryway and through the sitting room which was nestled between the front room and Lady Catherine’s preferred parlour.
Their steps were halted, however, by voices ringing out from that very room. Lady Catherine’s shrill disapprobation was clearly discernible, and Elizabeth watched as her cousin made a slight bow and began backing out of the sitting room, as if Lady Catherine could even see him. Charlotte and Maria took this ridiculous pantomime as an injunction that they retreat as well, apparently to give Lady Catherine and the hapless soul she reprimanded their privacy.
Elizabeth, however, stayed close and strained to hear all she could. But she only caught single words: “Darcy,” Lady Catherine said. She then heard the words “gone…sister…bauble,” but she could not make out who was speaking.
Next, she heard Miss de Bourgh say with surprising vexation, “Sixteen.”
“Cousin Elizabeth!” Mr Collins cried out in a loud whisper when Elizabeth failed to follow immediately. Elizabeth did not look at him, but it was apparent that the ladies of the house had heard, for their conversation ended abruptly.
“Mr Collins,” Lady Catherine’s voice rang out imperiously. “Is that you? Shall you come into the drawing room, or do you expect me to escort you in myself?”
Mr Collins rushed past with Charlotte and Maria in step behind him. Elizabeth watched the procession with her usual humour, but such fled when she herself entered and saw the high colour of her hostess and the smug look on the face of Miss de Bourgh. It was clear that, whatever they were arguing about, this was a conversation the two had had before, and Elizabeth wondered at the composure Miss de Bourgh displayed.
Her eyes fell to Miss de Bourgh’s neck where one of her thin hands caressed a shimmering pendant hanging from a delicate gold chain. When she set her hands in her lap, Elizabeth was able to get a good look at the piece. It was two rubies, one larger than the other, each surrounded by a halo of smaller diamonds, and it was ravishing.
Was this the bauble Lady Catherine had referred to in her argument a moment before? Perhaps to a grand lady such as herself, a piece like that might be considered a mere bauble, though Elizabeth would never have referred to it so.
Elizabeth attempted to attend to the banal conversation Lady Catherine was directing, but she felt Mr Darcy’s absence keenly. She wondered where he had ended up and if he had made it there without incident. Had he taken her advice and avoided Mayfair and Bow Street? Did he have enough money? For he could certainly not just have the shop owners send any bills to Darcy House. Her lip quirked up at the thought of him attempting to dress and groom without his faithful valet to strop his razor and button his waistcoat. These musings were interrupted by the appearance of Colonel Fitzwilliam in the doorway of the drawing room.
He looked as well put together as ever, though the darkness beneath his eyes could not be disguised by any amount of finery or pomade. No doubt he was as anxious for Mr Darcy as she, for he had made the effort to search for him the night before, and the concern in his countenance had been evident. She wondered whether she might have a moment alone with him so as to inform him of what they had done to ensure Mr Darcy’s escape. With Lady Catherine holding court, she did not believe she would.
“And has there been any news, Fitzwilliam?” Lady Catherine enquired significantly.
“No news, my lady, but I am making enquiries, so hopefully we will know more soon,” he answered, clearly agitated to be asked such a thing in company.
“Does this have to do with Mr Darcy?” Elizabeth could not help but ask. “Were you able to locate him last evening after all?”
The eyes of the de Bourgh ladies shot towards her in horror.The colonel just flashed her a nervous-looking smile before answering, “Something entirely different, I am afraid. Darcy is well. I had just forgotten that he had made plans to ride into Tonbridge yesterday. He should be back within the week, depending on whether he extends his journey into London. He left a note assuring me that he would write to inform me one way or the other.”
Lady Catherine and Miss de Bourgh let out a collective breath. Mr Collins loquaciously lamented the absence of such a dignified figure as the nephew of his most illustrious patroness. Charlotte listened to her husband’s effusive adulation with her mouth in a grim line.
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s evasion gave Elizabeth pause. It occurred to her that, as someone so close to Mr Darcy, should the colonel not have been riding out in search of him? Why should he still be at Rosings? Until she felt more sure of his blamelessness in this matter, Elizabeth would keep her peace regarding her activities of the night before.