15. Mr. Darcy to the Rescue
Chapter 15
Mr. Darcy to the Rescue
M r. Darcy had everything to recommend him!
From his sharp eyes, his fierce gaze, his tall and imposing person, he left Mr. Dennison in awe. Also, since his clothing and stance displayed the status of his position in society, when Mr. Darcy stepped forward, I saw Mr. Dennison’s eyes widen and guessed he felt the power of the man.
“Your tone is most egregious,” Mr. Darcy declared. “Most unprofessional. What sort of talk is this that you bestow it upon a lady?”
“Are you a student?” Mr. Dennison sputtered.
“Do I look like a student?”
“Are you one of our patrons?”
“Do I look foolish enough to finance you, sir?” Mr. Darcy questioned, very imposing. Unable to even notice what I was doing, I smiled happily upon him. “Now, I ask you, what right have you to speak to her in such a cold manner?”
“Well…she is my subordinate.”
“Your subordinate?” Mr. Darcy echoed, incensed. “You use that as justification for such outright and shameful prejudice? This will not inherit and is unbecoming from a ‘supposed’ superior man.”
“I am a professor here!”
“And a professor always has a superior to answer to. Or at the very least, colleagues to answer to. Let us make your case to them.”
“I do not answer to you.”
I am surprised how we humans can allow ourselves to be degraded, but when another of us are, we feel our courage rise and we rally to their defense. Now that Mr. Dennison was being unkind to Mr. Darcy, I was not in the mood to suffer fools to pass.
“Mr. Dennison,” I hissed, “Mr. Darcy is a distinguished and highly respected man in the ton, as well as an Oxford Donne. Also, he comes to my defense out of compassion and consideration. I will thank you not to criticize or cast aspersions on his character for coming to my defense. Attack me as you wish, for I can assure you that it shall fall on indifferent ears that rises to the occasion of not being intimidated by you or any other. Is that understood?”
Mr. Dennison dropped my papers on the chair next to him.
“This all is highly unorthodox.”
“Take us to your colleagues, and we shall see to what degree it is,” Mr. Darcy furthered.
Mr. Hunnicutt looked over the notes that I had taken, while Mr. Dennison and I stood in front of his desk, with Mr. Darcy standing behind me.
Every now and again, I turned in his direction and gave him a look. He replied with one in kind.
At last, Hunnicutt lowered the papers and rubbed his eyes.
“What complaint do you have for the content of these notes, Dennison?” Hunnicutt asked, weary.
“I protest to the format,” Mr. Dennison responded, “the second that I see columns in my notes will be the day that pigs fly.”
“Then there will be pork soaring through the clouds by morning,” I retaliated. “Mr. Hunnicutt, if columns are so offensive to Mr. Dennison, then he need only have told me that politely, and I would never use that format again.”
“I never knew that you found columns offensive, Dennison?” Mr. Hunnicutt asked his colleague, clearly exhausted from the absurdity of this all.
“It is also a matter with her handwriting,” Dennison protested. “It is too?—”
“Female?” came a voice behind us. We turned to the doorway, and Mr. Hanley was standing there. “You mean that her writing is too feminine, don’t you?”
“Well, I stand by what I said before,” Dennison objected.
“You say many things, I gather,” Mr. Darcy interjected.
“A female notetaker can be too distracting for the students.”
“She stays,” Mr. Hanley said simply.
Dennison’s eyes narrowed.
“Hanley—”
“She stays,” Hanley stated again, so firmly that he would brook no refusal. Seeing that he was greatly outnumbered, Dennison did not relent, but merely retreated.
“Very well. Be it on your heads.”
With that, he left.
“Thank you all,” I uttered to them.
Instead of showing any sort of obligation or graciousness, Hanley didn’t even look at me. But rather, he went over to Hunnicutt’s bookshelf, took a book down and began to look through it. Still, without looking to me, he offered instruction.
“You still will be expected to copy your notes for his class, Miss Bennet.”
“Yes, sir,” I responded.
“And tomorrow, you have my class in the morning. It will be about industrial history. I shall talk slowly and am not averse to columns or particular handwriting. It just has to be clear.”
“I shall be prompt, I assure you,” I guaranteed. “I was under the impression that I could copy Professor Dennison’s notes tomorrow, between sessions.”
“Yes, you are correct. Your first day is at an end. Good work.”
“Thank you,” I replied, uncertain of why he still avoided looking at me. I nodded to Mr. Hunnicutt. “I did not desire for you to undergo any inconvenience of any kind, and I do hope that Professor Dennison will not transfer his bitter feelings toward you both.”
“Never fear,” Mr. Hunnicutt assured me, “we are not afraid of him.”
“Rather,” Mr. Hanley responded, still looking through the book and avoiding looking on me, “I daresay it is the other way around.”
“Quite so,” I deduced. “Well, I shall take my leave.”
“If you are amenable to my offering to escort you home,” Mr. Darcy suggested, “then would you accept my arm?”
I looked on him and smiled.
“Sir, you may.”
He followed me to the coatrack and when I got my coat, he took it from my hands. Looking down on me, his dark and penetrating eyes were softened, and there was a gentleness there that I didn’t recall seeing before. It unnerved me, and I barely could attend to my own will.
With such an intense expression, I was able to read his mind. Slowly, he opened my coat, and I placed my arms in the sleeves, and I buttoned it up. He handed me my hat as I put on my gloves and scarf. Out of the side of my eye, I noted that Mr. Hanley had finally turned to us. It was evident that he was confused about the state of our relationship, and perhaps was only apprehensive about what was the mystery that surrounded me.
When I was ready to depart, Darcy offered me his arm, I took it, and we left the hall.
As we walked along the corridors, I suddenly felt bashful. For some reason, I could not look up at Mr. Darcy. Stricken with the recollection of the letter that I had sent him, declining his offer to visit, I could not help but be aware that I had been very foolish. Or maybe I had done right. In the next second, I felt my courage rise against every attempt to be overpowered by self-doubt, and I realized that I owed Mr. Darcy my words, not my silence.
“Mr. Darcy,” I breathed heavily, “I thank you for your sudden appearance and in your wonderful ability to assist me in such a manner.”
“I had wished to join you on your first day in this hall. I feel fortunate in my time of arrival.”
I opened my mouth, then shut it again, at a loss of what to say. Feeling as if my cheeks were flushed, I grew bashful.
“Forgive my shyness,” I explained, “I am merely uncertain of what to say.”
“You are?”
“Yes,” I replied, “I thank you so very much for coming to my defense, and I am much obliged to you. I enjoyed your chivalrous attitude—I do not feel weak by others coming to my defense.” His jaw tightened and he looked ahead. “I know that such words might be a little unnerving to you—after all, compliments can be hard to hear sometimes—but you must allow these kind words.”
“I do,” he replied heavily, “Miss Bennet, you know too well of me to dare presume that I fear your kind words. After all, your good opinion, so little often bestowed, is well worth the earning. When you flatter me, I know that you do not do it falsely, nor do you do it to appeal to my vanity.” He looked down on me again and his dark and flashing eyes felt as if they were penetrating into the very depths of my soul. “I know that you do it because you mean it.”
“Indeed, I do. I pride myself on fighting my own battles where I may, but I never dismiss when others care enough to support me.”
When we exited the hall, a carriage was parked right near the entrance.
“Oh,” I laughed, “I should have known that we were not going to be walking anywhere.”
“I could not abide having you travel anywhere in any other fashion. Therefore, I opted not to ride my horse through Milton, but chose this mode of transport. I hope that I did not appear too presumptuous.”
“You have saved me from a trip on the omnibus,” I remarked, my eyes sparkling, “I shall not look a gift horse in the mouth.”
Taking his arm, I stepped into the carriage.
“I know that you are aware of where I live,” I said, in hushed tones.
“Indeed, I do,” Mr. Darcy replied, then he turned to his coachman, “to Frances Street!”
He stepped into the carriage, and we were off.
“This is most fortunate,” I began, “this way, the sooner that I get home, the sooner that I can begin to make dinner for my sisters.”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes widened.
“You cook?”
My stomach felt as if it had sunk to the floor. Feeling my face become flushed, I looked down at my lap. I had grown so comfortable between his coming to my rescue that I had quite lowered my guard.
“Yes, I do,” I replied. “You must understand, as I said in my letter, that our reduced circumstances…oh, I am tired of having to explain or feel shame! Mr. Darcy, you know our situation, so perhaps I ought to stop feeling sorry for myself and feeling as if I have to feel embarrassed over it.”
“Your circumstances are through no fault of yours,” he responded, “but rather is the reaction to the harsh ways of the world. You have nothing to feel sorry over.”
Finally, I looked up at him and once more, I saw a softness in his eye.
“Thank you, sir. I suppose that… I should have thought better of you. But you must understand that it was hard upon me, considering our history.”
Darcy closed his eyes for a second and then looked out of the window.
“Are you upset with me for speaking so directly?” I asked. “Mr. Darcy, you have to understand that you and I have suffered under miscommunication for too long. I wish to put an end to it.”
“I am not upset with you for speaking on such subjects,” he insisted. “I am only upset with the impression that I gave you. Or rather, the reality of that impression.”
“You are referring to the letter I sent in response to your invitation?”
“Yes. I must have given you a horrid notion of my meanness toward families whose condition in life so decidedly below my own. I really did make you feel as if I was not the sort to converse with people who were beneath me.”
“I confess that you did. Since I was beneath you, and you gave me that impression so early into our acquaintance, how else was I to feel? What else was I to do? How could I get on?”
“Yes, I did express a—Miss Elizabeth?” He turned back to me.
I looked on him.
He looked on me.
I had just realized how much we both were so very alone.
We were together.
But we also were very much separate.
“A wide gap of misunderstandings,” I uttered.
“Pardon?”
“A wide gap of misunderstandings separates us, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does.”
“You once told me how I willfully misunderstood everybody.”
“And you once told me that I had a propensity to hate everybody.”
“You were right about me, possibly,” I allowed.
“And you were very much right about me,” he also confessed.
Our eyes were now locked in each other’s gaze.
“There it is,” I managed to say.
“What?”
“For just one moment, we did not feel so alone. We were in communion with each other.”
“You felt that?”
“Yes.”
“I did as well.”
Very softly, his lips cracked a little smile. This led to me smiling broadly.
“Well, this is something! You have made me quite forget how disastrous my first day of working had ended.”
“And it is time that we spoke of that. You really must be an amanuensis for that horrid fellow, Dennison?”
“Sadly, he is one of the professors that I must play scribe to. How tedious, I declare. My first day had been getting on charmingly, until he had to present himself. This just goes to show that, no matter how much one finds a happy moment, a storm cloud will enter soon after to dampen the experience. Have you ever endured such an experience?”
“Yes, I can honestly declare that I have,” he replied gravely, and there was something in his expression that cast a darker hue on his temper.
For a brief moment, I felt as if I could read his thoughts and underneath lay the memory of something horrible. And I wondered if I was right? My impertinence had been known to get me into trouble, but it was always the only way that I could ever discover the truth about things. Oh well, come what may!
“Your face dropped, and your tone grew somber,” I noted, “can I hazard to guess that a memory has befallen you?”
“Yes, you are correct. To the point of an arrow hitting the direct target.”
“Am I allowed to know why?” I asked. “Or is it a great secret?”
“You may know it,” he uttered, “because it is only a secret that we share. I was just thinking of my disastrous proposal to you.”
You may very well understand my astonishment!
To hear him refer to our painful history, so directly and so frankly, was disarming. However, I should not have been surprised, come to think of the matter, for it was always his way.
“I have upset you,” he noted.
“No.”
“I think that I must have. Your cheeks have reddened. I have aggravated you. Miss Bennet, please understand that I did not intend to corner you in my carriage and force the memory on you.”
“You startled me, that is all. And I know that you did not take me prisoner, in your company, to seek revenge on me. Nor should I have been very alarmed, for as you once told me, you believe in the absolute truth. Now how could I have forgotten that? In fact, I am happy that you have mentioned it.”
“You are?”
“Yes. This way, I need not be uneasy any longer. You really must understand that, after what we underwent, it is usually hard to be in each other’s company. I’d much rather we confront what has occurred between us, so that awkwardness can end. Or do you fear my forwardness?”
His eyes twinkled.
“I think you would know me too well, to know that I am incapable of respecting the direct approach to such matters. When last we parted in the South, you despised me. Things have changed.”
“I wish to assure you that I do not do it for any mercenary reasons, or because my unfortunate circumstances have led to me trying to cater to your good opinion only for the sake of enhancing my position in society. I do not do that at all.”
“I know that you do not do that. I would never think it of you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. When I came to Milton, I had no notion of you even being here.”
“I know. And I was unaware of your presence here as well, until I saw your sister.”
“Yes. Jane told me about that. Oh, how much that must’ve taken you aback. To turn a corner and see her there.”
“Oh, yes. I was very much insecure when facing her.”
Rather than confront him again about the fact that he separated Jane from Mr. Bingley, who would have married her, I thought it best to avoid the subject—for the moment.
“When it comes to my change in seeing you,” I elaborated, “well, the explanation is not so very simple, but it also is simple. First, time heals all arguments. And second, I was not born for ill humor, so I do not like remaining in such a state. Being perpetually angry is no way to live, and I don’t know how to live like that. Nor do I want to.”
“Then…you do not wish to talk of that most painful day?”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Do you wish to?”
“I feel that I need to. If we do not, then we shall be avoiding issues that ought to be discussed. And that will do no credit for either of us.”
I thought on the matter and saw the logic of it.
“Very well, you are correct. First, we must speak of my sister, and your view on her.”
“Yes, it would be best.”
“You said that you did everything in your power to separate Mr. Bingley from my sister.”
“Then this will give me the chance to elaborate on the matter.”
I was reserved and was prepared for anything—as well as being prepared for debating everything.
“Mr. Darcy, I do not deny that this brings my past feelings back to the surface. I am feeling the resentment that I felt before.”
“I beg you would give me leave before those emotions overtake you.”
“Very well, I am prepared. But I warn you in advance, that I will argue, when I see the occasion for it.”
“I suppose that is fair.”
“More than fair,” I replied, saucily.
“When I separated Mr. Bingley from your sister, it was not done primarily due to our difference in situation.”
“Was it not?”
“No. My main problem with the match was that I did not believe that your sister loved my friend.”
My eyes widened.
“What?”
“I paid close attention to them whenever they spoke together, and I noticed that his affection was much deeper than hers.”
“How could you access that?”
“Because, as an outside observer, it is true. While Miss Bennet did receive Bingley’s attentions, with pleasure, it was also in so subdued a manner, so sedate a fashion, that she gave no indication of having any particular regard for him. It led me to believe that her heart was not likely to be touched. I thought she liked him, but I did not believe that she was in love with him. I didn’t want Bingley to attach himself to a woman that did not possess his same feelings of attachment.”
“Mr. Darcy, you are mistaken. She felt so very deeply for him, to the point where she was taken with him from their very first meeting at the assembly.”
“Miss Bennet, I mean no offense when I ask this, but I must…do you speak as an objective observer, or as the person who favors her sister and wants her to make a fortunate alliance?”
“Sir, you offend me.”
“I do not wish to. Please understand, I speak as a man who wants to protect his friend.”
“And that alone is what is having me refrain from my temper being ignited. In the service of a friend is always a genuine excuse. But as you wonder if I do things by being blinded by my loyalty to Jane, you can also be blind to your loyalty to your friend.”
Suddenly, I had a thought! As soon as I had it, Charlotte Lucas’s face came to my mind. It made me start and grab my waist to steady myself.
“Are you ill?” Mr. Darcy asked me.
“No, pray, it is not that. It is just…sometimes, you experience the effects of having your thoughts and views too quickly overturned.”
I tapped my hands against the windowpane, seeing Milton roll along past us.
“Could it be…” I began, bare under the weight of revelation, “that we both might have been blind in some way? Do you remember my friend, Charlotte Lucas?”
“Of course. Miss Charlotte of Lucas Lodge.”
“Yes. I can repeat her words because they are in her favor. When we began to see that Jane and Mr. Bingley preferred each other’s company, she advised me that Jane’s disinterested manner would not be beneficial. She said that if a woman conceals her affection from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of fixing it. In nine cases out of ten, it would be better to show more affection than she felt, and not less, if she was to secure him. She noted that Bingley liked Jane enormously but would not do more if she did not help his admiration on. For very few of us have the ability to be really in love without proper encouragement.”
“She spoke thus?”
“Yes, she did.”
“She was right, Miss Elizabeth. Miss Lucas was very much correct. For, having watched them, I discerned no particular regard, and since Charlotte Lucas noticed this, evidently, I am not alone in this matter.”
“No,” I admitted, “you are not. At the time, I said that Jane did help Bingley on, in the best that her character could allow. I thought that, if Mr. Bingley did not perceive her adoration of him, then he was a fool. But maybe, indeed, I was looking through the lens of a lady who knew her sister’s nature and forgot that others did not.”
“Then…you are beginning to understand me?”
“Perhaps I am. Logic would have me so. However, as the sister of the woman who you had separated from your friend, will you at least own to the fact that I am more acquainted with her character than you shall be? She cares deeply, but with great strength of feeling, she lets her emotion rest in her soul and doesn’t often speak of it. But she speaks to me. Her bashfulness perhaps does render her indifferent in appearance, but I promise that still waters run deep with her. She was in love with Mr. Bingley, sir. She still is.”
Mr. Darcy scratched his chin and then he tapped his finger against the glass of the window.
“You do not know what to say, do you?” I asked.
“No, I do not.”
“I do not either.”
He turned back to me.
“We make a fine pair, don’t we?”
“Yes, we do.” I chuckled.
My sudden reversal of temper made his eyes soften again. That was a good thing.
The carriage stopped and we arrived at Frances Street.
Now that we were home, I grew apprehensive all over again.
“I thank you, Mr. Darcy,” I rushed out, “I appreciate your kindness.”
“Miss Bennet,” he voiced, “we must talk of your letter to me.”
I felt my body stir, filled with internal confusion and consternation.
“Yes?”
“Your point was appreciated because you did not disguise your feelings. You are afraid to invite me in, because you are worried about how I will view your reduced circumstances—especially since I did once rail at the importance of your connections and the status of your family.”
“Yes. I never apologized for my family’s position in society, and never will. However, when you see our home, I fear that your past preferences will waken and you… I don’t want you to be prejudiced of me because of my life now. We are learning to become agreeable to each other. I fear anything that would set us backwards.”
“Miss Elizabeth…”
“I do not mean to be so forward in this manner, but it is better for you to know what I feel.”
“I would rather you did tell me these truths,” he overrode me. “I do prefer us to be honest with each other on such matters. You were not ashamed of your family’s situation when your parents were alive, but now, you feel the shame of how you have fallen.”
“I am, somewhat. I cannot help it.”
“And I do not deny that, once, I was guilty of such a way of thinking. But it is not your fault how your lives ended up, nor will I hold it against you. Your home is your home, and I will not object to it. This will give me the chance to put my new way of thinking to the test. If you invite me inside, then I can prove myself. Miss Bennet, let me do so.”
Seeing that there was nothing for it, I agreed.
“Very well,” I said, smiling. “Far be it from me to not give you a chance.”
He stepped out of the carriage and then helped me down.
Just in that particular moment, dirty chimney sweeps, and factory workers were walking to their homes and Darcy got a wide view of this dirty and filthy street. No one on the street was particularly clean and that was how things were.
Seeing Frances Street made Mr. Darcy even colder in his look, but his whole position and status made him appear like a duck out of water.
Not wishing for him to suffer being such a definite object for all to gawk at, I went to the door, unlocked it, and invited him inside.
Mr. Darcy’s eyes were still wide, taking in the destitution of the street for which I now lived. And if his face was any indication of how he felt…he was not happy. Not in the slightest.
“Hullo, Miss Elizabeth!” Mrs. Boucher called from her doorway. She had one of her children in her hand, and her hair fell down the sides of her face, stringy.
“Good day, Mrs. Boucher!” I called back. “I’ve got an extra side of pork that I’ll bring around later.”
“Thank yer!” she called, taking a look at Mr. Darcy before she went back into her house. Mr. Darcy watched her progress.
After the second time of me calling his name, Darcy came to, and then he entered my home.
“Mrs. Boucher has six children,” I explained. “They never have enough food.”
Since it was later in the day, and the sun was setting, and dusk was on the horizon, my house was dark.
“Forgive me,” I said, “but I must light some candles.”
“Very well,” he said, barely paying attention to me. Moving around the room, I brought enough light for Mr. Darcy to see myself and the house in clarity.
“Well,” I finalized, trying to be very inviting. “Welcome to my humble abode. The home that has reluctantly become such. I apologize that we do not have enough candles or a parlor and…”
I trailed off when I saw his face. It appeared as if someone had slapped him on the cheek. He moved along the furniture and scrutinized every aspect of what lay before his observations. While he did not say a word, his face said it all. He took in the walls, our attempt to conceal the plain floor with our rugs, the smallness of our lodgings, and the bright-colored upholstery to mask the drabness of every other aspect of our home.
If I had not gathered my courage, indeed, I would have been humbled. At last, he turned back to me, horrified.
“This is how you live?” he asked.
“We must. But we have done our best. We are proud of our attempts. This is all we have.”
“If you had married me, you would not have had to suffer this!”
This declaration made me entirely overcome. I had not expected him to speak so.
“If you had married me, I could have spared you of this fate,” he continued on, much like a runaway cart. “I could have saved you and your sisters.” He took a step toward me. “And I wouldn’t have to see you all so unhappily ruined!”
“Mr. Darcy,” I uttered, and that did the trick. He blinked and recovered. Remembering himself, he immediately began to grow ashamed.
“Forgive me,” he apologized. “Forgive me! I will not remain here now and torment you. Or torment myself, for that matter.”
With that, he left my house eagerly. I went after him, but he climbed into his carriage with alacrity and drove off before I could say farewell.