Chapter Eight #2
Jonathan hardly knew where to look or how to think for many minutes afterward. When he could collect himself, he finally made himself consider the possibility that Miss Tilney was correct—that, indeed, his parents never would consent to their marriage.
If that proved to be true, then what was he willing to sacrifice? And how much could he ask Miss Tilney to sacrifice by his side?
Head abuzz, he wandered back into Netherfield.
By habit his steps took him toward his uncle Bingley’s study, which had become the de facto office for the investigation.
One small part of his brain, calm amid the chaos, reminded him that he owed a note to Mr. Isaac Lucas, which he should write promptly.
However, while still in the hallway, Jonathan heard his uncle speaking with Netherfield’s steward.
Jonathan went on to write the note for Mr. Lucas and handed it to a servant for delivery, almost absent any attention to what he was doing, so preoccupied was he with what he had overheard.
“There, Burton—beware the blots, and take the check to Mr. Peck immediately, and remind him that there is to be not a word of this to anyone,” said Mr. Bingley. “We don’t want Mrs. Bingley to find out, do we?” At that, Burton the steward chuckled.
Jonathan did not bother hiding as Burton walked out; and for his part, Burton simply ducked his head and carried on with his errand.
What was it that Aunt Jane could not know?
Meanwhile, Jane Bingley sat at the desk in her study upstairs, looking out over the rear grounds. She had inadvertently witnessed some manner of impassioned conversation between Miss Tilney and Jonathan, one that led Miss Tilney to flee before being wholly overcome. How very much in love they were!
Elizabeth had written very approvingly of Miss Tilney after their first acquaintance at Donwell Abbey.
(I should not say that I wished Mr. Wickham to be avenged, for surely he earned the fate he met, but what a gift it was to us to have the truth, so that there should be no undue suspicion, no unjust conviction!
Proud though I am of the part Jonathan played in this, I must admit that Miss Tilney shared in this endeavor from beginning to end.
She is a clever and resourceful girl, pretty in a dark sort of way, and best of all, she may have awakened Jonathan to the possibilities inherent in womankind.
This awakening, I had begun to doubt would ever take place—but, as ever, Jonathan finds his own path in his own time.) Another letter had come after Jonathan and Miss Tilney discovered who had been attempting to murder Lady Catherine de Bourgh at Rosings, and some kind words for Miss Tilney had appeared there, too, though Elizabeth’s sense of fun had driven her to write far more about the unlikely circumstances of Lady Catherine’s escape from a house fire.
The longest passage regarding Miss Tilney had come in the epic letter—nigh a novel—Elizabeth had written after Jonathan’s return to Pemberley after his duel.
Only after much description of his wound and his convalescence had she finally written: It is much to be regretted that Miss Tilney became mixed up in this business, as it exposes her to ridicule and censure she does not deserve.
Yet mixed up in it she is, and Mr. Darcy is convinced that her ignominy will not be of short duration.
The match between her and Jonathan was all but made, but that is over now, and for the best, for she appears to inspire him to a certain level of recklessness that cannot add greatly to his happiness and has already subtracted substantially from his health.
At least young hearts heal swiftly. Let us hope Jonathan’s wound of honor does as well.
“Young hearts heal swiftly,” Jane murmured.
So many claimed—mostly the old, who had forgotten much.
Jane, however, could not forget that she and her dear Charles had very nearly been kept apart by misunderstanding.
He had left the area, and the two of them had not laid eyes upon each other for upward of six months; not once in all that time had she ceased thinking of him as the most amiable man of her acquaintance, the very sort of man she had always hoped to marry, and perhaps the only one she would truly love.
When Bingley finally returned, and shortly thereafter proposed, he confessed that it had been exactly the same for him.
Nothing had healed their hearts save the reunion, and then the wedding that ought to have been their destiny from the start.
Elizabeth had ever been so clever, so forthright, but that did not mean her judgment was infallible. For Jane’s part, she always tried to look for the kindest possible resolution to any problem—but that did not mean her resolution was not correct.
Of course Jane had promised her nephew discretion, but what she had meant was that she would support him. Yet her support might need to take a different form than Jonathan had requested. In this matter, Jane determined to trust her own opinion.
Dearest Lizzy, she wrote. Forgive my not having written to you sooner, but you will understand all when I tell you of the horrid event that has taken place here at Netherfield.
I do not wish to frighten you—Jonathan continues to be well and happy, and dear Bingley and I are also in health.
But the same cannot be said for my late brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, who departed for our Savior’s glory under circumstances most regrettable and shocking.
From this Jane went on to describe Mr. Hurst’s death, the likelihood of poison, and Jonathan’s determination to see to the case. Next she would come to Miss Tilney, and for once in her life, Jane Bingley did not intend to mince her words.
Juliet did not rejoin the household until shortly before dinner, at which time she discovered that Mr. Darcy had returned to Longbourn for the evening.
Having sought so vehemently to push him away, she was remarkably unhappy with the fruits of her endeavor.
Torment though it had been to hear him speak of the impossible, Juliet had also treasured the evidence that his heart remained hers.
Without him to speak to, she feared a night of isolation, or more likely, of being accompanied by Mrs. Bingley while all others ignored them.
The first part of the evening did indeed pass dully, with much conversation about persons she did not know, and teasing Mr. Bingley, who once again was finishing up a bit of correspondence, about his wretched handwriting.
“Truly, Charles,” Mrs. Hurst said, “you are even worse than Rachel, and her letters can scarce be read.”
“I do not make so many blots as my brother!” Mrs. Lofton exclaimed.
“That would be nigh impossible, my dear,” said Mr. Lofton. “Your brother is indeed worse, but that is the only defense for your writing that can be made.”
Such topics amused those present, but could be of little interest to Juliet, who had never read so much as one note written by anyone present. Was she to endure hours more of this?
However, shortly after the Brookses arrived, Mrs. Lofton proposed a musical evening. “If you do not think it too soon, Louisa. We could play only sacred music, if you consider it more appropriate?”
Mrs. Hurst, who like all of Mr. Bingley’s sisters was extraordinarily musically accomplished, had no objections whatsoever to any chance of display. “Mr. Hurst enjoyed music, and I believe he would not wish to deprive us of any chance to hear it.”
At this, Mrs. Bingley looked over at Juliet, clearly about to ask her if she was musical—but she must have sensed that Juliet did not feel equal to performance, for instead she let her young guest take a place in the corner.
I shall observe, Juliet told herself. That is investigation, too, of a sort.
And what was it she saw?
—Mrs. Hurst playing a song she proclaimed one of her late husband’s favorites with great skill and almost undue good cheer—
—Mrs. Lofton following her sister with even greater ability, the first of three times she would perform that night—
—Mrs. Brooks muddling her way through a tune like an almost untutored girl, though she joshed herself about it, how easy it was for married women to neglect their practice—
—Mr. Lofton pointing out that Mrs. Lofton spent a great deal of time at her piano, though the comparison was made in apparent good humor, and Mrs. Brooks evidently took it as such—
—Mrs. Bingley performing a simple Italian love song that nearly brought tears to Juliet’s eyes, and was to her mind lovelier than any of Mrs. Hurst’s or Mrs. Lofton’s showy display—
—and Mr. Brooks, who seemed to watch Mrs. Hurst throughout.
The thought came to Juliet as a shock; and at first she believed, but no, she must be mistaken, it could not be so—! Were not Mr. Brooks and Mrs. Hurst long past the period of life for such passions? Was Mr. Brooks even capable of passion?
And yet…Mrs. Hurst slipped out often, secretively.
What if she was doing so to either meet with Mr. Brooks, or to send him messages and receive his in return?
They had been noted as talking privately, conversations no one else had overheard.
Mr. Lofton had even made a comment about how most wives in Mrs. Brooks’s situation would have suspected their husbands, a comment that seemed more pointed the more Juliet thought of it.
I must tell Mr. Darcy, she thought, before flushing. It would not be easy to face him again, after what had passed between them. And yet, her desire to tell him of this far outweighed any other consideration, for above all else, Mr. Hurst’s murder must be solved.
Very shortly before luncheon the following day, guests began to arrive at Netherfield.