Chapter Five
The servants knew first, as they always did, and spread the tale of Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy’s curious confinement with great speed.
By the time Elizabeth returned to Jane’s room, the knowledge had already begun its quiet migration through the house, borne on whispers and glances and pauses too deliberate to be innocent.
Jane, with her bonnet securely fastened and pelisse draped over her arm, stood from her chair as Elizabeth entered. “Lizzy, you have been gone an age —”
She stopped abruptly as concern washed over her face.
Elizabeth’s hair, though hastily arranged, retained signs of its former disorder, and she could still feel heat in her cheeks.
“What has happened?” Jane asked.
Elizabeth closed the door. For a moment, she could not speak. Then, with grim clarity, she said, “I have been locked in the study with Mr Darcy.”
Jane’s eyes widened with alarm. “Locked? How could that occur?”
“I do not know,” Elizabeth said. But even as she spoke the words, she felt the first chill of doubt. The whole incident had been so strange. Had it truly been nothing more than an accident?
Jane strode to her side and fussed over Elizabeth’s hair. “Surely it can be explained.”
Elizabeth laughed without humour. “Can it?”
Jane gripped her shoulder. “Lizzy, no one who knows you could possibly misunderstand.”
Elizabeth wished she possessed Jane’s faith. “I am sure you are right. It is of no consequence.” She forced a congenial smile onto her face. “I am ready to return home. Shall we proceed to the carriage?”
They donned their pelisses and, after ensuring the room was orderly and nothing had been forgotten, proceeded to the landing.
Mr Bingley was insistent on helping Jane down the stairs and graciously offered his arm, which she took with a small smile.
The sisters bid their farewells, thanked Mr Bingley for his generous hospitality, and were safely deposited into the waiting carriage.
Only then did Elizabeth allow herself to relax. She had been dreading seeing Caroline Bingley and Mr Darcy so soon, but they were nowhere to be found at the moment of their departure. It was a small mercy, one she did not take for granted.
If Elizabeth had known the speed at which the retelling of her morning’s misadventure was travelling, she might not have allowed herself the luxury of relaxation.
Even as the Bennet sisters rode towards Longbourn, several of Netherfield Park’s servants were dispatched on various errands about the neighbourhood, taking their gossip along with them.
Swift as gossip is, it does not quite travel on wings.
They would therefore have arrived home well before the news could have had time to spread, had they not been considerably delayed on the way.
At the low speeds suitable for muddy November roads, the sudden cracking of a wheel caused no accident beyond the immediate cessation of travel, but it did make the continuation of their trip impossible.
Had she been alone, or had Jane been in good health, Elizabeth would have walked home, but under the present circumstances, nothing could be done but to wait for the coachman to walk back to Netherfield, and then to return with the other carriage.
In the end, what ought to have been less than an hour’s journey was not completed until late afternoon.
So it was that Elizabeth’s return to Longbourn, though long anticipated during her week at Netherfield Park, brought her no comfort.
The familiar gravel sweep before the house, the uneven hedgerows, and even the sight of Kitty and Lydia eagerly waiting for news at the parlour window ought to have restored her spirits.
Instead, the sight of her mama dashing out to meet them in a state of breathless animation, her cap ribbons trembling with agitation, did nothing to soothe her.
Elizabeth braced herself for the inevitable onslaught of questions.
“My dearest Jane! My sweet Lizzy! At last you have come home. How excessively anxious I have been. Though I declare, I have had no reason for unease, for such news has reached us as must make every mother in Hertfordshire envy me!”
Elizabeth, who had descended from the carriage with less ease than usual, paused at this exclamation.
“News, Mama?” said Jane gently. “I hope nothing alarming has occurred.”
“Alarming? Quite the contrary!” Mrs Bennet cried, taking Elizabeth’s arm and drawing her toward the house with proprietary delight.
“Though I protest, Lizzy, you might have prepared me a little. To hear it first from Mrs Phillips, and she from Mrs Long, and she from heaven knows whom besides! It is the most marvellous news.”
Elizabeth felt a sensation, cold and unwelcome, fill the base of her throat. “I do not know to what you refer,” she said carefully.
Mrs Bennet stopped short and stared at her, astonishment yielding immediately to indulgent amusement.
“How charmingly modest you are! But there is no use denying it now. The entire neighbourhood is already acquainted with the circumstance.”
Jane looked from one to the other with evident unease. “Mama, pray explain yourself.”
Mrs Bennet lowered her voice, though not so much that Hill, who lingered in the doorway, could not hear every syllable.
“You were discovered, Lizzy, alone with Mr Darcy. Locked together in the study at Netherfield. And for such a length of time, too! It is quite impossible that matters should remain as they were.”
Elizabeth stopped walking.
She had known, in some abstract and dreadful way, that the incident must give rise to talk, yet she had not prepared herself for its having outrun her entirely, for its having arrived before her to take possession of her home. It was quite unfathomable.
“It was a mere accident,” Elizabeth said, with more firmness than she felt. “The door was fastened without our knowledge.”
“My dear child,” Mrs Bennet replied, with a smile of superior wisdom, “such distinctions signify very little now. The essential point is that you were found together. Everything else is immaterial.”
Elizabeth could not immediately trust herself to speak. She became suddenly conscious of Hill’s attentive stillness, of Kitty and Lydia whispering behind their hands, and of Jane’s anxious gaze upon her face.
Mrs Bennet resumed her progress into the house, drawing Elizabeth with her.
“You must not be distressed. You ought to rejoice. Mr Darcy is a man of consequence, and though he may be proud, he has shown himself perfectly sensible of his duty. Mrs Phillips is quite certain that he will call within days.”
“Why would Mr Darcy call?” she asked.
“To settle matters, of course,” Mrs Bennet said in tones of cheerful certainty. “There can be no question of it now.”
Jane spoke up at once. “Mama, you must not presume. Mr Darcy has made no declaration.”
Mrs Bennet waved away the objection. “Men of honour do not require to be prompted. Besides, the thing is universally understood.”
It was only then that Elizabeth began to understand the true nature of her situation.
It was not merely that an unfortunate incident had occurred.
The world had already interpreted it and decided upon its meaning; it would not now be easily persuaded to relinquish its conclusions.
Her own understanding of what had passed, her own innocence, weighed nothing against the simple, visible fact of having been alone with Mr Darcy.
She withdrew from her mother’s grasp. “I believe I am fatigued,” she said. “If you will excuse me.”
Her mother was too elated to take offense. Mrs Bennet therefore assented readily, and Elizabeth escaped upstairs with Jane close behind her.
∞∞∞
The truth of Elizabeth’s circumstances soon became painfully clear.
Where once she had walked through Meryton with easy familiarity, she now found herself the object of scrutiny.
Open conversation was replaced by gentle enquiries, delicately phrased; acquaintances who had formerly greeted her with unaffected warmth now displayed a politeness too careful to be comfortable.
It was at Lucas Lodge, however, that Elizabeth first fully understood the extent of the alteration.
The supper had been long-planned. Mrs Bennet insisted on their attendance, declaring that nothing could be more proper than appearing in society at such a time. Though reluctant, Elizabeth could not refuse without exciting further speculation.
Elizabeth had attended many evenings at Lucas Lodge; indeed, so many that she could not have counted them had she tried.
At first, the supper offered some comfort in its familiarity, with the same guests and the same menu as so many times before, as reliable as a calendar.
Under ordinary circumstances, Elizabeth would have attended with moderate pleasure and come home with two or three observations worth keeping.
Under the present circumstances, she would have given a great deal to stay at Longbourn with a headache and a book.
They arrived at seven. The house was warm and well-lit and full of people Elizabeth had known all her life, which meant full of people who had known her all her life and were now looking at her with the bright, careful attention of those who believe they are about to witness something interesting.
Charlotte met her in the hallway and pressed her hand. She said nothing, but the pressure communicated more than words could have, and Elizabeth was grateful for it.