Chapter 7
Elizabeth checked her reflection in the mirror carefully as she brushed her dark curls and pinned them up into a prim bun. The bruises on her arms had darkened during the night, but she was wearing a tan dress with a crimson overdress, and her injuries were well hidden from curious eyes.
Not surprisingly, she had slept poorly, plagued with nightmares.
Oddly, none were of Mr. Wickham and his attack; instead, she had dreamed of wandering a dreary, unknown forest in search of shelter, only to be met with endless dripping trees and trails leading to nowhere.
She was fatigued and circles darkened her eyes, but she could not lie in bed anymore, even though she was weary.
She was anxious about Mr. Darcy and the upcoming inquest. Her father had assured her that he would make sure all would be well with Mr. Darcy, but her father had never been a particularly diligent or active man.
Nor could Elizabeth imagine her savior lying under oath.
It was impossible for a gentleman of rigid morals.
Elizabeth walked out of her room, down the stairs, and into the breakfast room to discover only her mother, Jane, and Mr. Collins in attendance.
In the distance, she heard the pianoforte being played with some skill, which meant that Mary, as usual, had risen early to study and practice.
Lydia and Kitty were no doubt still enjoying sleep’s sweet embrace, even though it was almost eleven in the morning.
Last night, she had heard the youngest Miss Bennets twittering to one another past the midnight hour, no doubt fueled by the shocking death of the handsome George Wickham.
He had been handsome. He had also been a serpent.
“There you are, Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, though her stare was fixed on Mr. Collins.
The clergyman was sitting at the table, his face turned toward the window, his jaw working as he tore at a piece of bread, his expression strangely bovine.
Really, Mr. Collins was a most unprepossessing man, both in looks and personality.
“Mr. Collins. Mr. Collins!?” the lady of the house cried out sharply.
The rector jerked and turned in surprise. “My heartfelt apologies, Mrs. Bennet. I was thinking rather intently. What can I do for you?”
“Why, nothing, I assure you,” Mrs. Bennet returned with her most charming smile. “I merely wished to point out that Lizzy has arrived to break her fast.”
Mr. Collins promptly rose to his feet and bowed dramatically, “Good morning, Miss Elizabeth.”
“Good morning, Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth returned, making her hasty way to the buffet where various dishes were laid out. She selected a roll and poured herself hot chocolate; given the turmoil of both spirit and body, she was not inclined to eat heavier items.
Silence fell again as Elizabeth sat down next to Jane.
She took a welcome sip of the tasty chocolate, and then peered at her elder sister, who was reading a letter clutched tightly in one fair hand.
Elizabeth would not, of course, read her sister’s letter without permission, but she recognized the handwriting as that of Miss Caroline Bingley, the supercilious and haughty younger sister of Mr. Charles Bingley.
Why would Miss Bingley be writing to Jane at length?
“I daresay Elizabeth will be finished with her meal in ten minutes, Mr. Collins, and the parlor is quite available,” Mrs. Bennet said.
The man wiped his lips and shook his head, his dark eyebrows furrowed portentously.
“My apologies, Mrs. Bennet, but I fear I have changed my plans regarding offering marriage to your most charming daughter. I expect that Lady Catherine de Bourgh, my esteemed patroness, will be arriving at Netherfield within the next few days, and I would not care to make my final choice of a wife without consulting her. Of course, if she were not here, I would be forced to make the decision myself; indeed, while Mr. Darcy’s accident is a tragedy, I can only be thankful for the blessing of having Lady Catherine, the wisest, most clever… ”
“Lady Catherine is coming here?” Mrs. Bennet interrupted in astonishment. “Why would she be coming here?”
The man sat up straighter in his chair and said, “My dear Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Darcy is destined to marry Miss de Bourgh, the most remarkable blossom in all of Kent. Lady Catherine will doubtless arrive at Netherfield in short order to be certain that her nephew is cared for appropriately. Mr. Jones is, while a good man in his own way, not sufficiently skilled for Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. That is why I wrote Lady Catherine last night and sent a message to Rosings by express; I knew she would wish for all the details of this unfortunate affair as quickly as possible.”
Elizabeth managed to suppress a shudder. She could only hope that Lady Catherine did not find out the truth of what had truly happened yesterday morning. The mistress of Rosings was reputedly a most arrogant woman, and would…
Of course, that was not necessarily true, was it? Elizabeth had learned of Mr. Darcy’s perfidy, and Miss Darcy’s pride, and Lady Catherine’s haughtiness and stupidity, from the same poisonous lips, those of George Wickham. Perhaps the lady was charming, kindly, and gracious.
Her mind shifted to the nightmare of last night, of wandering a sodden landscape in search of some kind of shelter; she had always been so certain of herself, of her ability to understand the hearts of men.
She felt lost now under the weight of her poor judgment where both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham were concerned.
“Of course, I would not wish to offend my fair cousin Elizabeth,” Mr. Collins continued, pulling her attention away from her own miserable thoughts. “I would be honored to spend the next hour in the drawing room reading Fordyce’s sermons to her and discussing certain extracts...”
Elizabeth could only stare in horror at her cousin and was most relieved when her father, who had entered the room a minute earlier, said, “Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth turned and looked gratefully at Mr. Bennet. “Yes, Father?”
“Kindly join me in the library when you are done with your meal. I have a new book which you will probably enjoy.”
“Yes, Father.”
***
Fifteen minutes later, Elizabeth hurried into her room and rapidly changed into a warmer dress.
Her father, far from wishing to consult her regarding a novel, intended to visit Mr. Darcy at Netherfield to discuss the upcoming inquest and Elizabeth was to come along to keep Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst occupied.
Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth had discussed bringing Jane as well, but decided against it as the eldest Miss Bennet did not know, and hopefully never would know, the details of what had happened between Elizabeth and Wickham and Darcy the day before.
Jane was the most trustworthy of mortals, but Elizabeth, who knew her sister’s tender heart, did not wish to burden her with the knowledge of Wickham’s true nature.
Nor was Elizabeth’s silence entirely for her beloved Jane’s sake; she was still reeling from how close she had come to ruin, and did not feel capable of discussing the matter with her elder sister.
Elizabeth opened her bedroom door and jumped in surprise; Jane was standing in the corridor outside, her hand raised as if ready to knock.
“Jane! How you startled me!”
“I am sorry, Elizabeth,” her sister replied, her usually placid face oddly flushed. “May I speak to you?”
“Of course, though I … I am to accompany Father to Netherfield shortly.”
This provoked a surprised look, followed by, “You are to go to Netherfield? May I inquire why?”
Elizabeth hesitated and then gestured for Jane to enter her room, whereupon she closed the door.
After a few seconds, she collected herself and said, “Father wishes to speak to Mr. Darcy to ask how he is doing, since he was injured on Longbourn land, and also desires to tell Mr. Darcy about how his stallion Phoenix is faring. He asked for me to accompany him because it would be best if Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley are occupied while the gentlemen speak. I am eager to leave because I do not wish to spend more time with Mr. Collins. I hope you do not mind.”
“I do not, of course,” Jane responded, and held out the letter Elizabeth had observed earlier. “But it seems that the ladies and Mr. Hurst have departed for London, and Mr. Darcy will soon follow. What do you think of this?”
Elizabeth took the elegant paper and read it rapidly.
My dear Jane,
By the time you receive this, Mr. and Mrs. Hurst and I will be in London, where we intend to stay through the winter.
I do not pretend to regret anything I shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your society, my dearest friend; but we will hope, at some future period, to enjoy many returns of that delightful intercourse we have known, and in the meanwhile may lessen the pain of separation by a very frequent and most unreserved correspondence. I depend on you for that.
When my brother left us yesterday, he imagined that the business which took him to London might be concluded in three or four days; but as we are certain it cannot be so, and at the same time convinced that when Charles gets to Town he will be in no hurry to leave it again, we have determined on following him thither, that he may not be obliged to spend his vacant hours alone.
Many of my acquaintances are already there for the winter; I wish that I could hear that you, my dearest friend, had any intention of making one of the crowd – but of that I despair.
I sincerely hope your Christmas in Hertfordshire may abound in the gaieties which that season generally brings.
As you know, Mr. Darcy was tragically attacked yesterday by the base George Wickham; indeed, all his friends can only rejoice that the vile rogue did not kill Mr. Darcy, who is currently recovering at Netherfield.
I am confident that as soon as he is well enough, he will follow us to London.
He is impatient to see his sister; and, to confess the truth, we are scarcely less eager to meet her again.
I really do not think Georgiana Darcy has her equal for beauty, elegance, and accomplishments; and the affection she inspires in Louisa and myself is heightened into something still more interesting, from the hope we dare entertain of her being hereafter our sister.
I do not know whether I ever before mentioned to you my feelings on this subject; but I will not leave the country without confiding them, and I trust you will not esteem them unreasonable.
My brother admires her greatly already; he will have frequent opportunity now of seeing her on the most intimate footing; her relations all wish the connection as much as his own; and a sister’s partiality is not misleading me, I think, when I call Charles most capable of engaging any woman’s heart.
With all these circumstances to favor an attachment, and nothing to prevent it, am I wrong, my dearest Jane, in indulging the hope of an event which will secure the happiness of so many?
With tender farewells,
Miss Caroline Bingley
Elizabeth frowned with a mixture of confusion and disgust. “My dear Jane, I really must go as Father is waiting for me, but I assure you that Miss Bingley is … well, I cannot believe Mr. Darcy will depart any time soon, given that Wickham is dead, and he is a witness. And Mr. Bingley is such a good friend to Mr. Darcy; he would never leave him alone. As for Miss Darcy – this is nonsense! Pray do not worry, my dear sister!”