Chapter Thirty-One
Missing
The sun had long since set when Elizabeth heard the sound of carriage wheels once more crunching through the snow that covered Longbourn’s drive.
Her ears had twitched at every sound; her breathing quickened with every imagined shadow emerging from the long tree-flanked lane.
She had been unable to settle to any task in the long hours since Mr. Darcy had departed with Stanton, leaving without so much as a glance into the breakfast room to say goodbye.
She knew he could not do so, but how she would have cherished one last glimpse of his face before he vanished.
She had tried to pick up the novel she had taken from the lending library, but could not read more than a line before her attention drifted.
Likewise, her attempts at embroidery or trying a new air at the pianoforte or organising the stillroom were met with failure.
Papa had been gone for much of the day, and upon his return had sequestered himself in his library, citing a need for solitude; she could not even talk over her anxiety with him.
Instead, she had wandered without direction so long through the house that she believed she could see the floors change colour beneath her slippered feet, and she had chewed so much on her bottom lip that the flesh was raw.
The unease of the morning had become concern in the afternoon, then worry, and was now something akin to terror.
Where could Mr. Darcy be? The hut was not so far, nor the task so difficult that he should not have returned hours ago.
Had Lord Stanton been suspicious? Was he of a violent disposition?
Surely Papa’s hurried visit to Colonel Hastings had initiated some activity on the part of the militia.
The colonel would not leave Mr. Darcy to some dreadful fate in the interest of capturing his prey.
.. would he? Even if the commander of the Gloucestershire militia were of such a mind, Colonel Fitzwilliam would never allow it.
Or was Mr. Darcy already dead by the time the soldiers had begun to look for him and Lord Stanton?
She paced across the floor once again, gnawing at the side of her cheek, when that sound—both longed-for and dreaded—penetrated her most dire thoughts.
Was it Colonel Hastings, come to bring some terrible news?
Or was the mission completed more successfully?
She hardly knew what to think and could not bring herself to direct her feet towards the front hallway, as if by delaying bad news she might reverse it.
The bell chimed, and she could hear somebody hasten to the door.
It must be Papa, for nearly all of the staff, including the Hills, had left the house.
Then there were voices, too faint and muffled to distinguish.
Papa would be gentle in bringing her the dire report; he would comfort her even as he told her what would surely break her heart.
But hold... she might not be able to hear the words or even distinguish the tones, but she could hear the rhythms and cadences of the men’s speech. That one was Papa, she was sure of it, and the other...
Now her feet fairly flew across the floor. She cast open the door and propelled herself across the space into the entrance hall.
“Will, you’re alive!” She ran across the room and almost threw herself at him before she could think about the implications of her actions. Only at the last moment did she pull back, for they were not alone. “You’re alive! Are you hurt? Is everything well? Oh, I was so terribly worried!”
Mr. Darcy, for his part, had responded likewise to her emotional display, and grasped her hand, which he now held firmly in his own. Had they not been in Papa’s company, she felt he would have pulled her to his chest in an embrace.
“All is well, Lizzy, all is well,” he murmured into her hair as he squeezed her hand anew.
She dropped her arms and attempted to step back, to try—all too belatedly—to assume a more decorous distance between herself and this man who had grown so dear in her heart.
Mr. Darcy dropped her hand, but pulled her to himself for a quick hug before also stepping backwards.
It was too late for absolute propriety, but some condescension thereto must be made.
“Lizzy, Darcy...” Papa’s voice held a warning and a touch of humour.
“I shall forgive this display once, and once only, in light of what has been a trying day for all of us. We have no other witnesses, and I shall not speak to besmirch Lizzy’s character.
But if I observe anything even remotely similar again, I shall have demands upon you, sir. ”
Mr. Darcy blushed a deep red, but turned an embarrassed grin upon her father.
“It would be my pleasure, Mr. Bennet.” Then, in a quieter voice meant only for her, “We need to talk, Lizzy. I am too tired and too distraught over what happened today to do justice to what I wish to say. If we may find some hot tea, perhaps some bread or brandy perhaps, I should like to tell you what transpired. And then tomorrow, if you will grant me an audience...”
His voice trailed off, but she was nodding so hard he could hardly mistake her meaning.
“Whose carriage was that which brought you here?” she now had the sense to ask. “Should we invite anybody inside to join us?” She began to move towards the kitchens where she would find a kettle and whatever foods they needed for their repast, sensing the men follow behind her.
“Colonel Hastings drove the carriage, but he was on his way to visit the magistrate and then Colonel Forster. My cousin is already at Forster’s offices, and they will confer there.
I declined the invitation, preferring greatly to be here.
” Although she could not see his face, she felt the import of his words.
Lizzy put the kettle on the fire and began to prepare the pot for tea.
As the water came to a boil, she found some rolls and cheeses and cakes, and for a while they sat at their tea in silence, before Mr. Darcy found the strength to speak.
His face was white, and his hands absentmindedly rubbed at the back of his neck and at his temples as he spoke.
His distress at the events of the day was written on his strained face.
His account was broken by gasps of dismay and exclamations of disbelief and horror until the entire tale was told.
“This man planned for long to have you attacked in London and nearly slain at his front door, all in the interests of convincing you to throw your talents towards his cause?” Papa sounded as shocked as she felt.
“And Mr. Bingley—what of him? Can you believe him innocent?”
“Innocent of everything except for wanting to let an estate at a good price. He is too guileless to maintain any sort of deceit. His only guilt was in taking Netherfield as suggested by his man of business. I cannot blame him.”
Mr. Darcy rubbed at his forehead again, and Lizzy was shocked at how pale he looked in the flickering light.
“I am afraid I am not good company right now,” his words slurred.
“My mind is still awhirl, but the ordeal of the afternoon and the long meetings I had with Hastings have quite done me in. I’m not feeling quite the thing.
I do not know if I shall sleep, but I feel the need to retire.
Would you so excuse me? And tomorrow, Miss Elizabeth, we shall talk. ”
She had hardly opened her mouth to respond when the dogs in the stables began barking and once more, the sound of carriage wheels could be heard from the drive.
“Oh dear,” Mr. Darcy grimaced anew. “That sounds like Hasting’s carriage. I suspect he has more to discuss with me.” He rose and bowed and stumbled to the entrance hall. Lizzy heard him mutter, “Yes, it is Hastings...” but then new sounds reached her ears.
That was not Colonel Hastings’ voice, nor was it that of Colonel Forster or Colonel Fitzwilliam, but rather, it was her mother’s!
“Mr. Bennet, Mr. Bennet!” The anguished cry was unmistakable, as was the sound of Jane’s calming coos, Mary’s posturing and Kitty’s whining. “Oh, Mr. Bennet,” Mama wailed, “We are all undone! It is too terrible!”
Papa had followed Mr. Darcy towards the front door, and Lizzy was only steps behind.
She now saw her mother, her face white and her eyes red, waving some piece of cloth—Lydia’s fichu?
—with one hand, whilst gesticulating madly with the other, all the while sputtering words and phrases that made little sense.
Mary stood in one corner, her hands white as they clasped the small Bible she so often carried with her, and Kitty stood just inside the door, her eyes almost as red as her mother’s with a look of guilty misery upon her face.
“I didn’t mean... I didn’t know...” Lizzy heard her whimper, as Jane stood at her side, looking from weeping sister to flailing mother, seeming quite unsure where her assistance would be most needed.
Papa took a glance around his hapless family and with a decisive blink, strode towards his wife.
He pulled her kerchief away from her wringing hands and began an attempt to calm her, just as the door flew open once more and Colonels Hastings and Fitzwilliam pressed through the doorway and into the hall.
“Two colonels! This is an unexpected honour.” Lizzy saw her father roll his eyes heavenward. “Am I to expect that matters are doubly dire?” Oh, why did he have to make everything into a joke? Could he not see that something quite untoward must have happened?
“Mr. Bennet, this is not good news.” Colonel Hastings’ face was grim, his brows low over his eyes and his mouth a straight line across his face. He held his hat in his hands and stood rigid, a soldier at attention.
“Where is Lydia?” Papa now noticed his youngest daughter was missing. “Is she still at the Forsters?”