Chapter Thirteen #2
“Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy,” said Allerdyce. “No, indeed, we are not to be cheerful, but we can be companionable, and I am sure the Bingleys are glad of your support.”
“As must your son be,” Caroline said. She lowered her voice. “One must be ever cautious regarding certain…preying individuals. Jonathan is so noble-minded that he does not consider all he should take into account.”
“Those who are predatory in certain matters are indeed to be avoided,” said Mr. Darcy. “If you judge my son’s mind more noble than my own, I shall not argue the point.”
Caroline found this answer dissatisfactory, as she did the peculiar look Mr. Allerdyce then gave her.
She glanced about the room, looking for Priscilla, that she might call her over and give Mr. Darcy a chance to be charmed by her—but Priscilla was not near, and in that short instant, Mr. Darcy had made good his escape.
For the time being.
By the time Jonathan Darcy judged himself ready to question Mrs. Brooks, both wife and husband had already returned to the vicarage for the evening.
Juliet could hardly bear the chagrin. “So distracted have we been by your father’s arrival, we did not even let your aunt Brooks know we wished to speak with her. ”
“It is of no great moment,” he said wearily. “We can speak with her on the morrow.”
Juliet knew this to be true, but it did not soothe her.
She found that, were his father to bear witness, she wished to be quicker, brighter, more intelligent, more of every good thing it was possible for a young woman to be—so that he might better forget the scandal occasioned by Mr. Follett.
Still, the error was made and could not be remedied yet, so she would not compound it by failing to use the last hour of the afternoon to speak once more with Mrs. Hurst.
“How many such interviews of this sort must there be?” Mrs. Hurst demanded as she took her place. “I declare, I have scarcely spoken as much to my sisters as I have to the two of you.”
How fortunate for them, Juliet thought. “As we learn more, more questions arise, Mrs. Hurst.”
Mr. Darcy interjected: “For instance, we have learned that you went repeatedly into the laundry downstairs on the day the household clothing was being dyed for mourning.”
“Do you think I would let my best things be ruined?” Mrs. Hurst protested. “Of course most will never be fit for anything but mourning ever again, but the pelisses and spencers, those at least could be salvaged for regular wear. One of the pelisses is true China silk!”
It appeared that Mrs. Hurst believed her argument unassailable on this point. Juliet would allow her this. “Did you always speak with one of the laundry maids when downstairs, or with Mrs. Mulgrew? Or did you ever go down and find yourself alone?”
Mrs. Hurst shook her head. “No, I did not, though I might as well have done for all that they heeded me. One of my lace caps is entirely spoiled.”
“Did you ever bring anything up from the laundry room, madam?” Mr. Darcy asked.
“Why should I do that?” Mrs. Hurst asked, in evident puzzlement. “Why should I begin fetching laundry like a servant girl?”
Juliet realized he had asked that particular question not for the sake of the answer they would receive, but to observe Mrs. Hurst’s response. In this, Juliet could detect no hint of guilt or evasion. Though, as she had reason to know, murderers were often also excellent liars.
“If you ask me, which you have not, the first suspects in the death of a servant should be other servants,” Mrs. Hurst continued. “I wonder that you have not spoken to more of them.”
Mr. Darcy replied, “I wonder that you have not considered that Becky’s murderer and that of Mr. Hurst are almost surely one and the same.”
How wary Mrs. Hurst looked then! If she did not do it, Juliet thought (though far from convinced on that point), who does she think guilty?
Once Mrs. Hurst had gone, Juliet raised this point. “We have not always asked those around us whom they believe to be responsible.”
“Do you feel that we need them to guide us?” Mr. Darcy asked. His spirits were indeed poor.
“Not in the slightest.” Juliet could not imagine where Mrs. Hurst could possibly guide her that would be worth the going. “But if we wish to understand their actions, it may benefit us to understand their suspicions—for these may be more influential than we have yet realized.”
Mr. Darcy rallied then. “Of course you are correct. However, I believe we have more pressing priorities—first, speaking with Mrs. Brooks.”
“Naturally. Then, though I hate to admit it…Mrs. Hurst has given me a good idea. Accidentally, I am certain. But we need to know more of who was speaking with Becky outside of the normal range of her duties. Anyone might have reason to speak to a servant for a moment, but we may learn much from finding out who did.”
“Agreed,” said Mr. Darcy. “How I wish we could begin immediately!”
“But you must return to Longbourn,” Juliet said, her heart sinking as she added, “with your father.”
“Wish me strength, dear Miss Tilney.” He took her hand as he said it, a touch so thrilling that she found herself emboldened to ask a question that had been much on her mind since the night of their engagement.
“Mr. Darcy—though it is very forward, it is not so unusual as once it was to—” Juliet summoned her courage. “Mr. Darcy, do not you think we might, when in privacy, call each other by our Christian names?”
How the idea delighted him! “We shall have to be careful of being overheard, but I confess, it would be my greatest pleasure. My dear—my dear Juliet.”
Thrilling as this was to hear, it would be yet more thrilling to speak. “My dear Jonathan,” Juliet replied, and how glad she was, on this trying day, to have given her beloved a reason to smile.
Juliet, Jonathan thought, over and over again that evening. Juliet, my Juliet.
He would likely have been as enamored of this new intimacy under any possible circumstances, but it was also a great comfort to him over dinner at Longbourn.
Fitzwilliam Darcy had not been an overnight guest at Longbourn above three times in his life, this by the mutual consent of the man himself, his wife, and his mother-in-law.
Mrs. Bennet had never developed any great liking for Mr. Darcy, though his long-ago slights toward her daughter had been compensated for by his subsequently having married her.
His fortune and his hauteur equally intimidated Mrs. Bennet, and so in his presence she vacillated between long periods of goggle-eyed silence and bursts of her usual chatter.
As this chatter was sometimes nigh unendurable, even for persons far more tolerant of noise and nonsense than Mr. Darcy, it was to the mutual satisfaction of all that he had either stayed at Netherfield or simply hosted them at Pemberley, which had more than enough room to give all necessary space to breathe.
Longbourn offered no such spaciousness, as Jonathan was keenly aware that night while they all sat to table.
“Had you given us more notice, Mr. Darcy, we could have had partridges for you,” said Mrs. Bennet.
“Pine is terribly good with partridges. Or a turkey! There are often turkeys to be had in town, you know. Not so fine as those you have at Pemberley, and to be sure, I imagine you dine on turkey nearly every night!”
“This roast pork is more than satisfactory, Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy. “Please give my compliments to Mrs. Pine.”
As this constituted a successful conversation between the two of them, Mrs. Bennet fell silent for a while in sheer relief, though this emotion might have been felt in even greater measure by the others at table.
Mr. Bennet, never unwilling to make a bit of mischief, said, “We had the pleasure of Miss Tilney’s company a few nights ago.”
“Did you?” Mr. Darcy said, but his even tone did not deceive Jonathan.
His father was but further angered that Juliet had been introduced to Jonathan’s grandparents—under most circumstances, a pronounced show of family favor.
That was not entirely the case here, but Jonathan knew better than to argue it.
“I trust the evening was an enjoyable one.”
“Indeed, for she is a bright young woman, with some wit about her. Little enough has there been in this house since you took our Elizabeth from it.” Mr. Bennet winked. “A shame, the things people will write in newspapers without any cause whatsoever.”
Mr. Darcy said, “All aspects of the incident in London last February are deeply regrettable.”
Mrs. Bennet dearly wished to hear more of the scandalous events, but feared to ask Mr. Darcy of them.
No doubt he would be more communicative than her peculiar nephew or obstinate daughter, but the cast of his face and the tone of his voice suggested more conversation on this topic was unwelcome.
From this rare insight, she gleaned only that she must say something else, about nearly anything else, right away.
“We would have a better pudding to offer you at the end of the meal, sir, had we known you would be joining us, but we do have a sponge cake. One made with orange water—do not you remember how that was Susannah’s favorite?
And Lydia’s before her. Ah, my poor lost girls. ”
“Yes, I remember,” Mr. Darcy said softly, thinking of the child who had been so very like a daughter to him. For Jonathan’s part, he was silenced by the reminder that he kept more than one secret from his father.