Chapter 19
“Oh. Well, thank you for writing to him; it would have been unfortunate for them to come so far if we were from home.”
“Exactly.”
“And should I know where it is we are going? Am I dressed appropriately?”
“You look well, Lizzy. You are a good girl.” Elizabeth was surprised when her mother gave her a peck on her cheek. “Please go see to Kitty and Lydia. I let them know we were leaving in half an hour, but I still have not seen them downstairs, and I should like them to eat a bit before we leave.”
It was not long before Elizabeth found herself in her family’s carriage, with her entire family squeezed as usual onto the two benches.
Jane faced forward, as usual, but she held a large bowl in her hands.
She looked pale, and she was eating bites of dry toast that her mother gave her from the smaller bowl she held.
Jane was wearing one of her nicest gowns, a pale blue one that brought out the blue of her eyes.
Unfortunately, with her skin currently so pale, the blue gave her a bit of a sickly look.
Elizabeth loyally thought that she still looked beautiful—just more of an ice-queen sort of look than one would hope for.
Elizabeth had a feeling that Jane might be getting married that day. Everyone else wore ordinary day dresses, but Jane wore a gown.
If she truly was with child, it made quite a bit of sense to marry quickly and quietly. She wondered what curious neighbours would be told.
She hoped that, if her sister was with child, it was Mr Goulding’s.
She hoped many things. She hoped that her sister would not need to fill that bowl she carried. The wheels hit a rock, and the carriage jounced, and Elizabeth hoped even more that the bowl would remain clean and unused.
They did not go to the Meryton church, but instead rode to the church in Hertford. Lydia and Kitty looked thoroughly unnerved when their mother said, “Now we will see your eldest sister marry.”
“Today is Jane’s wedding?” Kitty asked.
“I am to wear this ordinary dress to my sister’s wedding?” Lydia demanded.
“My goodness,” Mary said. She looked at Elizabeth and then narrowed her eyes. Elizabeth could almost imagine the words “you knew!” forming in her mind, and she gave her perceptive sister a tiny nod .
The Gouldings looked so serious that the occasion could have been a funeral, and the only flowers to be seen was a tiny clump of asters that the parson’s wife handed Jane.
The two families took their seats, Mr Bennet walked Jane down the aisle, and it was not long before the vows had been exchanged, Jane’s finger boasted a new golden ring, and the (somewhat) happy couple signed the register.
Everyone gathered around Mr William Goulding’s brand new carriage. It was a bit smaller than the Bennet’s carriage and was pulled by just two horses. “It is so handsome, Mr Goulding,” Mrs Bennet gushed, apparently content again because Jane was actually married.
“Thank you. I will be saving for a larger carriage, as my family grows,” the groom said, grinning at his wife. Jane smiled and blushed prettily. “As heir to my father’s estate, I will have the ability to purchase several carriages for various uses.”
The bride and groom informed their families that they were off to London. Jane said, “We love you all. Thank you for coming to our wedding.”
The Bennets gathered around to hug Jane, while William moved towards the Bennet carriage to order the transfer of Jane’s luggage to his carriage.
“Why did you decide to have such a rushed wedding, Jane?” Lydia asked.
Elizabeth said, “Hush,” at the same time that Mary and Mrs Bennet said it.
But Jane just smiled as if she were the happiest bride in all the world (or the known cosmos, Elizabeth told herself with a smile), and she said, “It is simple enough, Lydia. I am the eldest, and I felt that I had the right to marry before any other Bennet daughters, even if Lizzy became engaged before I did.”
That made no sense, Elizabeth thought, but apparently it made total sense to Lydia. She said, “Oh, of course.”
Hugs and kisses were given and received, and wishes were expressed. The hubbub finally ceased when Mr Goulding very grandly handed his wife into the carriage, climbed in himself, and tapped the roof with his walking stick. The Bennets waved and then quietly returned home.
Before anyone even reached the front door of the house, Mary cajoled Elizabeth into coming into the gardens. “I have to show you something,” Mary said.
“Is it kittens?” Lydia asked.
“Is it a present?” Kitty suggested.
“No, I believe it is a weed that we should pull, but then I worried that maybe it was something deliberately planted. Do you want to take a look, as well? Come on to the back garden, if you please.”
“La! I do not wish to see a weed.” Lydia scoffed and walked into the house.
Kitty looked uncertainly from her two sisters to the house, but then she shook her head a bit and ran after Lydia.
Mary and Elizabeth ended up on Oakham Mount before Mary felt safe enough to ask, “What is going on? I refuse to believe that everything is well if Mama is giving up putting on a wedding breakfast for her ‘dear Jane.’”
“Tell no one?” Elizabeth asked.
“Of course I will not.”
“I am not positive that Jane is with child, but her symptoms resemble the ones women who are with child endure.”
“Oh!” Mary said. “That is devastating.”
“It explains why Mama was suddenly downcast despite two daughters engaged, and why we never heard any happy talk about scheduling Jane’s wedding. I wonder….”
“Do you wonder if Papa sent over a letter demanding that Mr Goulding should marry her immediately, to make it less obvious, later, if the child comes too early to be believed?”
Elizabeth laughed. “That is quite close to what I was wondering, Mary. You are always one to be adding accomplishments to your list; I suppose you will now have to add ‘mind reader.’”
“Well, now we can enjoy the more sedate approach of your wedding, Lizzy.”
As they strolled back to the house, Elizabeth thought through again her decision not to raise the spectre that the baby might not be Mr Goulding’s.
She did not feel guilty for withholding that speculation, but she wondered if she were the one not privy to such speculations, would she want to know? Would she resent being left out?
No, it would not be right to add speculation to what was already speculation. The possibility that Jane was with child explained several things very well, which became a tentative sort of evidence.
In contrast, speculation on the identity of the father would remain forever in the arena of no evidence available, unless Jane wished to speak honestly about the question.
Therefore, it should remain unspoken…other than, of course, between her and Darcy.
Because that connection would always, she felt more and more certain, include communication about anything and everything.
When Mr and Miss Darcy arrived for dinner, Elizabeth immediately conveyed the happy news that Jane had married that morning and set off for London.
Georgiana looked surprised, but when Darcy courteously congratulated Elizabeth’s parents, as if such news was quite expected, she covered her response with a smile and soft-voiced congratulations of her own.
The two of them entered into the celebratory feel of the dinner, much to Mrs Bennet’s satisfaction, and the entire evening was very pleasant, despite the fact that it did not offer even a few seconds of privacy for the couple still waiting for their own wedding.
When she went upstairs to retire for the night, Elizabeth discovered that her possessions had been moved back into the room she had shared with Jane.
She accepted that; she loved that room, and had many fond memories of it.
Still, she stuck her head into Mary’s room and said, “Are you coming to bed?”
Mary chuckled and said, “Yes, please,” as she followed Elizabeth to the larger room.
The two sisters helped each other unbutton dresses and plait hair while chatting about the momentous events of the day.
“The bed is awfully crooked to the wall,” Mary said.
Elizabeth said, "I imagine that Jones and Parker took the opportunity of having none of the luggage under the bed to do a really good sweep. We can straighten it.” She positioned herself on one side as Mary tended to the other, but when they moved the bed, there was quite a loud squeal of metal against wood.
Mary cringed and whispered, “I hope we did not wake anyone.”
But Elizabeth barely noticed the sound, because she was staring at a piece of folded paper which was somehow protruding from a small hole in the stitching of the feather bed.
Jane’s side of the feather bed had a secret note inside?
“What are you—” Mary began to ask, but then she must have spied the paper, as well.
She started to pick up the feather bed so that they could investigate, and both girls froze, silently staring at the piece of bedding.
Because there had been a distinct sound of crackling paper at a substantial distance from that hole.
“I could have sworn I was three minutes away from falling fast asleep,” Elizabeth whispered, “and yet now I cannot imagine ever being sleepy again.” She opened her sewing basket and handed a small pair of scissors to Mary and took the medium-sized pair for herself.
“Let me know if you need a needle to pick out the stitches,” she said.
The girls worked opposite sides of the seam and, once they were entirely finished, they fished four letters and three notes from the bedding.
“We are going to be so cold if we do not have this feather bed," Mary said softly. “I think we risk losing too many feathers if we wait. We should stitch it closed tonight.”
“I agree,” Elizabeth confirmed. She lit another candle, and they set to work sewing the seam with more motivation than they usually demonstrated for a sewing project.
Only when that was done did the two sisters spread out all of the letters and notes. “I am trying not to read any portion of the messages,” Elizabeth whispered, “since I assume they are private, but I just want to confirm that they were meant for Jane.”
“I do not see any name on this one. No direction, no name, no signature from the sender.”
Speaking in a low voice that barely rose above a whisper, Elizabeth said, “This one might be from Mr Bingley. I have heard Mr Darcy and Mr Hurst tease him about his messy handwriting and excessive blots.”
“Would it not be shocking for Jane to receive notes from Mr Bingley?” Mary murmured. “They were never engaged.” She frowned and picked up one of the short notes and said, “This is Mr Wickham’s handwriting. I recognise it from the one he sent to Lydia.”
“Let us sort these by handwriting,” Elizabeth suggested.
There were three letters in what might be Mr Bingley’s hand, three notes in Mr Wickham’s hand, and one letter in a third hand.
None of the letters were addressed to Jane, and none of them were signed, but the singular letter, which had unfamiliar handwriting, was addressed “To J” and signed, “all my love, W.”
“That clearly is to Jane, from Mr William Goulding,” Elizabeth whispered.
“I agree.”
“So let us assume that these three are letters to Jane from Mr Bingley, and that those three are notes to Jane from Mr Wickham.”
“That seems like the best assumption.”
“And we are assuming that, given the evidence that otherwise seems inexplicable, Jane is with child. I will tell you now, Mary,” Elizabeth paused and decided that even her lowest voice might be too loud for this next revelation.
She switched again to a whisper: “…these are the three men I speculated might be the baby’s father. ”
“Oh!” In Mary’s shock, she spoke at an almost-normal volume. She instantly reverted to whispering, “I apologise. But I never thought that anyone other than….”
“I know. It is upsetting. But I am wondering why Jane would keep letters and notes from three different men. She tried to hide them, but then she left them behind. None of it makes any sense.”
Mary said, “I suppose leaving them behind was just a mistake. Jane could have ordered the feather bed be included in her luggage, but that order was forgotten or disregarded.”
“I cannot think of a better explanation. As for why she would keep what could be scandalous evidence of communicating secretly with three different men…. Well, I wonder if Jane was worried about scandal—worried about marrying, and so she kept the letters and notes as evidence…in order to force someone’s hand. ”
“Marry me or I will show my father your scandalous love letters?” Mary whispered.
“Maybe.” Elizabeth shuddered and said, “Mary, we have been close to Jane our whole lives. We will always be her sisters.”
Mary stared at her but slowly nodded to all of that.
“And I do not wish whatever is written here to get in the way of our feelings for Jane.” Elizabeth said the words, aware that they intimated that those feelings were purely loving rather than a seething cauldron of confused emotions.
Mary nodded more vigorously but protested, “But I hate the idea of destroying something of Jane’s that she tried to keep, and I also hate the idea of giving her a little pack of letters, saying ‘Look what we found!’ And keeping them hidden anywhere has its risks.”
“Precisely. But there is someone I trust with my life. Someone who knows two of these men very, very well. Someone who already does not think very well about Jane, but who has demonstrated great compassion for her, and protectiveness of her, whether for my sake or because he would show the same for any woman.”
“Mr Darcy.”
“Yes. I believe that we should give him the letters and notes, explain where we found them, and ask him to read them in order to ensure that the best decision can be made about what to do with them.”
Mary gave the idea careful consideration and then nodded. “I believe that there is nobody as trustworthy,” she said.
“And if Mr Darcy believes that they should be kept, he would have the knowledge and the means to safeguard them. He has at least one banker who keeps Darcy documents and property in a fireproof lockbox, far from Pemberley; he explained it when he was speaking of his investments. In addition, Mr Darcy has referred to several different solicitors and attorneys who are entrusted with other sorts of documents, wills, and deeds. And I am positive that all good bankers and attorneys live and die by their promise of discretion.”
“I agree, Lizzy. Speaking of discretion, how can we discreetly give him the letters and notes?”
“In a book?” Elizabeth chose the largest of the books stacked on her bedside table, and the two sisters carefully placed each letter or note between pages.
“Now,” Mary murmured, “we ought to try to get some sleep.” Elizabeth felt reasonably certain that sleep would elude her most of the night, but thankfully she dropped off very easily.