Chapter 29 #2
“Oh! Of course, of course!” Mrs. Bennet fluttered like a preening hen.
“My Lizzy must look the part of a great heiress. Perhaps something with feathers? Lady Metcalf wore the most extraordinary plumage at Sir William’s last ball, and she is merely a knight’s wife, not the mistress of Pemberley, as my Lizzy. ”
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, summoning patience from reserves she had not known she possessed. “Mother, nothing has been definitively established regarding my—”
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Bennet waved a dismissive hand. “Anyone with eyes can see the truth. My Lizzy has always had the bearing of nobility. I often remarked to Mr. Bennet that she seemed too refined for our humble circumstances. Darcy blood will tell!”
The pronouncement rang through the corridors with mortifying clarity. Elizabeth caught sight of a footman attempting to suppress what might have been either a cough or a laugh, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks.
“Perhaps,” Caroline interjected, “we should continue this discussion somewhere more private? We shall adjourn to my chamber to examine the possibilities. The occasion demands something particularly appropriate for a young lady of… ambiguous origins, making her first appearance in society.”
Elizabeth did not miss the slight emphasis nor the barely veiled insult, but allowed herself to be swept along. The corridor leading to the guest wing seemed to stretch endlessly before her, offering no opportunity for escape.
Lydia skipped alongside her, full of breathless enthusiasm.
“Lord, Lizzy, isn’t it grand? All these fine gowns and jewels.
Will there be officers at the assembly? Wickham looked so handsome in his regimentals—though I suppose he’s in disgrace now, since Mr. Darcy glares daggers whenever his name is mentioned. ”
“I expect many local gentlemen will attend,” Elizabeth replied noncommittally, her mind still troubled by the morning’s encounter with Wickham and the mysterious Rumsey.
Caroline’s chamber had been transformed into an impromptu modiste’s salon, with gowns arrayed across every surface. Ribbons, feathers, and various ornaments covered the dressing table, while a lady’s maid stood ready with pins and measuring tape.
“Now then,” Caroline said, assuming command, “I believe we must consider what theme best suits Miss Eliza’s… unique position.”
“Theme?” Elizabeth echoed.
“All Hallows’ Eve is traditionally a masquerade,” Mrs. Hurst explained with exaggerated patience. “One chooses a historical or mythological character to portray.”
“Perhaps a queen?” Mrs. Bennet suggested eagerly. “Mary Queen of Scots? Though she lost her head in the end, which seems a poor omen.”
“I was thinking rather of Diana,” Caroline said, her smile sharp-edged. “The goddess of the hunt—how very fitting for one who pursues her rightful place with such… determination.”
The implication was not lost on Elizabeth. Caroline was casting her as a predator, a fortune hunter.
“I hardly think I qualify as a huntress,” Elizabeth said carefully. “I merely seek answers about my parentage, not conquest.”
“Of course, my dear,” Mrs. Bingley replied. “Though the distinction may appear academic to some observers. Every detail of your appearance will be scrutinized tomorrow evening. You must make precisely the right impression.”
“And what impression would that be?” Elizabeth asked, though she suspected the answer would prove illuminating regarding the Bingleys’ true agenda.
“Why, that of a woman who has found her rightful place,” Mrs. Bingley replied smoothly. “One who understands the responsibilities that accompany elevated station.”
Lydia, who had been examining ribbons with the focused attention of a cat stalking prey, looked up with her usual directness.
“But Lizzy’s station hasn’t changed, has it?
She’s still the same Lizzy, only with a different name.
Though I suppose being an heiress must be vastly more comfortable than being merely a gentleman’s daughter. ”
“Names can matter a great deal,” Mrs. Bingley explained, “as can the connections that accompany them. The Darcy family has been most… generous in their treatment of certain individuals over the years.”
Something in the older woman’s tone made Elizabeth’s attention sharpen. “Generous in what manner?”
“Oh, in various ways.” Mrs. Bingley settled herself in a chair positioned to command the room’s attention. “My dear Benjamin often remarked on the Darcy family’s sense of duty toward those connected to past tragedies. Quite admirable, really.”
Elizabeth studied Mrs. Bingley’s composed features, sensing concealed knowledge behind her careful words. “You seem well-informed about the family’s affairs, Mrs. Bingley. Might I ask the specifics on their admirable sense of duty?”
“Most certainly.” Mrs. Bingley’s expression grew thoughtful. “Although one always wondered about certain details. The official reports seemed rather… incomplete.”
“Incomplete in what sense?” Elizabeth pressed, ignoring Caroline’s attempt to redirect attention to costume selection.
“Well, for instance, the matter of dear little Elizabeth Rose. They never found her body, you know. Some of us wondered if perhaps…” Mrs. Bingley let the implication hang delicately in the air.
“If perhaps she had survived?” Elizabeth’s heart hammered, though she kept her voice steady.
“It seemed possible. After all, Mrs. Wickham was quite devoted to the child. And the Darcy family showed such particular concern for her welfare in subsequent years.”
“What sort of concern?” Elizabeth’s breath caught sharply.
“Oh, various kindnesses. Estate ledgers can be quite revealing about such matters—all those payments to Rose Cottage over the years. Such a generous provision for a simple tenant.” Mrs. Bingley’s smile grew more pointed. “One wondered what inspired such… loyalty.”
“Payments?” Elizabeth squeaked, hoping her voice sounded steadier than she felt.
“Indeed. Quite substantial ones, from what Benjamin understood. Though I suppose William Darcy felt an obligation to provide for Mrs. Wickham because of her husband’s faithful service.” Mrs. Bingley’s tone suggested she found this explanation less than convincing.
Elizabeth’s thoughts whirled. If William Darcy had been making payments to Martha Wickham, what did that suggest about his knowledge of Elizabeth’s survival?
Had he known all along that his brother’s daughter lived?
Perhaps he’d arranged for Martha to take Elizabeth to Longbourn.
After all, Mrs. Winters reported a fancy carriage departing with loaded trunks.
“And these payments continued after Mr. William Darcy’s death?” Elizabeth asked, struggling to maintain her own composure.
“I believe they did, though to what extent I do not know.” Mrs. Bingley leaned closer, lowering her voice confidentially. “One does wonder why Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was so accommodating about Mrs. Wickham’s tenancy all these years, only to evict her now. Quite the coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
Elizabeth felt as though the floor had dropped away beneath her feet. If Mrs. Bingley’s implications were true, if Darcy had known about these payments—had continued them himself—while pretending to doubt her identity…
“Ladies, you simply must see this emerald silk!” Caroline’s voice cut through Elizabeth’s tumultuous thoughts. “I believe it could be adapted perfectly for Diana’s hunting costume.”
“Green would not do at all,” Mrs. Bennet objected. “Lizzy has always looked best in blues and purples. Royal colors for a future mistress of Pemberley!”
“Mama, please,” Elizabeth said automatically, her mind still reeling. “Nothing has been determined regarding my claim.”
“Nonsense! With proper witnesses, the matter will be settled immediately.” Mrs. Bennet turned expectantly to Mrs. Bingley. “You and Mr. Bingley will testify to Lizzy’s identity, will you not? As old family friends, your word would carry such weight!”
“My husband has, unfortunately, passed away. However, I would certainly be willing to provide more… reliable testimony than Mrs. Wickham’s,” Mrs. Bingley agreed smoothly. “Naturally, we would wish to be certain of the facts before making such declarations.”
The emphasis was subtle but unmistakable. There would be a price for her support—likely Charles’s continued pursuit of Elizabeth, forgetting about his earlier preference for Jane.
“How generous,” Elizabeth replied, unable to keep a hint of irony from her voice. “Though one wonders why such testimony was not offered earlier, when it might have spared considerable confusion.”
Mrs. Bingley’s smile remained unchanged. “Timing is everything in such delicate matters, my dear. One must be certain before proceeding.”
“The white silk would be perfect,” Caroline suggested in an effort to move away from her mother’s insinuations. “With a silver belt and these pearl accessories, it would be stunning.”
Elizabeth hardly heard her mother and sister engaging with Caroline about their possible costumes.
Her entire attention was focused on Mrs. Bingley, who knew far more than she was openly stating.
The carefully weighted phrases, the deliberate pauses—it was a dance of hints and evasions designed to communicate without committing.
If William Darcy had indeed paid Martha Wickham to keep Elizabeth’s survival quiet, it would explain so much: Martha’s long residence at Rose Cottage, her sudden eviction now that she had broken her silence, and the Bingleys’ timely appearance in Hertfordshire.
A cold knot formed in Elizabeth’s stomach.
If Darcy’s father was indeed the villain of this piece, what did Darcy know? Was this the reason he proposed marriage? To safeguard the inheritance he knew he would lose?
She hated to doubt him so, and indeed it pained her. But a young lady without connections and means had to live by her wits. As her mother liked to say, Darcy blood will tell!