Chapter 23
A beam of sunlight came through the gap in the curtains, across the floor, and to the bed on the far wall, where it fell across Elizabeth’s face and into her eyes, waking her.
With wakefulness came memory. She was in her own bed, in her own home, with all the pleasures and difficulties of life at Hunsford parsonage equally behind her.
The confrontation with Lady Catherine had been humiliating, but it was behind her now.
The carriage ride back to Longbourn, undertaken with no warning and with her emotions in a painful whirl, had been uncomfortable, but it too was over.
Mr Darcy would come soon, and when he did, all she had suffered would fade into memory, insignificant compared to the happiness of their mutual esteem.
Resolving to put the best face on her return, Elizabeth did not linger in bed, but rose and began to dress. Her ankle twinged a little, but her discipline in walking as little as possible was proving its worth. Each day since her injury had brought less pain with it, and more strength.
The first morning home brought yet more reason for good cheer, in the form of news that Mary and Mr Greene were seeing each other more and more often, in something that seemed likely to soon become an acknowledged courtship, and to end in a most welcome engagement.
Mary seemed happier than Elizabeth had ever seen her.
Mr Greene’s attentions had brought out a softness in her, as though being the acknowledged choice of a worthy gentleman at last gave her a measure of confidence and ease in herself.
As she sat in the drawing room exchanging news with her family, Elizabeth repeatedly found her attention being drawn away into calculations of how soon Darcy might come. If he had left very early in the morning, he might arrive at any moment, but certainly by the evening.
But no Darcy had arrived by supper, nor by the time they all went up to bed.
Elizabeth consoled herself by thinking that there were any number of things that might have delayed him.
He had other responsibilities and must know that she would be safe at home with her family.
Seeing to Georgiana’s safety and comfort was infinitely more important than hastening their reunion. Darcy would come as soon as he could.
On the third day, there was a very welcome distraction in the form of a supper party.
Mr Greene was invited, and his obvious fondness and respect for Mary were all that Elizabeth could have wished.
He dealt admirably well with their parents.
Mr Bennet found no reason for contempt in his good sense and obvious intelligence, and he treated Mrs Bennet’s nerves and enthusiasms with a most effective mix of gentle authority and compassion.
Mary’s likely future partner in life bid fare to prove a most ideal match.
But on that day, and the next, and the day after that, still Darcy did not come. Elizabeth told herself not to be impatient. She could not know what challenges he might face. By the time a week had passed, Darcy would be seen again at Longbourn. She ought to know him better than to doubt.
A fortnight later, Elizabeth was beginning to give up hope.
None of the explanations she had thought out could explain why he had stayed away so long.
At first, Jane and Mary had inquired into her feelings, had asked her what she knew.
Gradually, out of very welcome compassion, all inquiries had stopped.
Perhaps he had never really loved her. Perhaps Lady Catherine’s fervent opposition had been enough to convince him after all.
Day by day, Elizabeth told herself that she must learn to let go. If Darcy meant to come to her, he would have. And yet she knew, day by day and breath by breath, that her love for him could not change. If she never saw Darcy again, her heart would remain his.
Even as Elizabeth’s heart remained sore, her ankle gradually improved. The careful walks she took around the garden each day grew gradually longer. And as the days turned into weeks, Elizabeth was at last recovered enough to attempt the walk into Meryton.
All four of her sisters went likewise. Kitty and Lydia talked almost without ceasing of the militia, which was shortly to depart for Brighton.
But while they spoke of the departure as little short of a tragedy, Elizabeth thought it could not come too soon.
Mr Wickham was less dangerous now that his sins were largely known, but she would rest a little easier when he was no longer in Meryton.
As the door to the milliner’s shop shut behind her, Elizabeth saw the man himself and almost dropped her packages in the mud.
Mr Wickham did not seem to share her aversion.
He smiled on seeing her, bowed deeply, and walked over at once.
Elizabeth could not understand it for a moment, before realising with astonishment that Mr Wickham must not know the role she had played in his disgrace.
Elizabeth chided herself for not realising it before.
Of course Mr Wickham could not know that she had suspected him, nor that she had called Mr Darcy’s wrath down on him.
At the thought of that gentleman, Elizabeth’s heart squeezed with pain. She pushed the feeling away, doing her best to keep her composure. She could think of little she would like less than to explain her feelings to Mr Wickham.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr Wickham said warmly, bowing yet again. “How delightful to see you again. I believe we have not met since before you left for Kent.”
“You are quite right,” Elizabeth said. “It has been some time.”
Mr Wickham gave her a soulful look. “Likely you know that we are soon to leave. I am sorry, dreadfully sorry, that we should have so little time to renew our acquaintance before we are to be parted, perhaps forever.”
With a surge of disgust, Elizabeth realised that Mr Wickham’s public disgrace had not changed him. He was trying to charm her with all his old, deliberate manipulation.
Still, nothing could be gained from losing her temper. “You are very kind,” Elizabeth said mildly, choosing not to imply that she shared his regret. “But I hope you will find Brighton very pleasant, and that you shall meet with people every bit as engaging as those you have met in Meryton.”
“I am sure that cannot be,” Mr Wickham said, giving her another soulful look that then wandered downward, lingering uncomfortably near her bosom. Elizabeth felt her disgust sharpen. He was everything shameless.
“We have always been good friends,” Mr Wickham said.
Elizabeth wished savagely that he knew how much that was not true.
“Tell me, did you meet with trouble in Kent? I should not wish to pry, but neither do I wish to deny my sympathies when they may be warranted. Did you not return very late, and in Lady Catherine’s carriage? ”
“I did,” Elizabeth said briefly. “It was more convenient than travelling post, and considerably more comfortable. I must commend Lady Catherine on the excellence of her coachman.”
Mr Wickham looked under his eyelashes at her. “I am glad you were well accommodated. But how did it come about that you returned so late? Surely that cannot have been convenient.”
“Lady Catherine wished me to return,” Elizabeth said flatly, then regretted saying even so much.
“I am dreadfully sorry to hear it,” Mr Wickham said, his voice as smooth and sweet as honey. “How selfish some people are! I cannot bear to hear of it. But perhaps it is not entirely surprising in that family. Lady Catherine is Mr Darcy’s aunt, after all.”
At such shamelessness, Elizabeth could no longer hold back. If she had to listen to one more word of slimy, insincere sympathy, of poisoned lies about Mr Darcy, she feared she might vomit.
“Let us have no more lies between us, Mr Wickham,” Elizabeth said flatly. “I know who you really are. I know what you tried to do to the Darcy family.”
Mr Wickham reared back in astonishment and alarm. “I do not know what you mean —”
“You do,” Elizabeth told him flatly. “I know perfectly well that you do, for I know everything. It was I who revealed the truth about your behaviour, Mr Wickham. I believed everything Mr Darcy told me about you, and I thank the heavens that he told me. And when I could do no more, Mr Wickham, and was dreadfully afraid of what you might do to my sisters, my neighbours, my town, I asked Mr Darcy for help. It is due to him and to me, Mr Wickham, that your senior officers will never trust you again.”
For a long moment, Mr Wickham only stared at her, his mouth gaping open. Then rage came over her face, and Elizabeth almost feared he might strike her.
But it lasted only for a moment. “I beg you to excuse me,” he said stiffly, and hurried away.
Elizabeth watched him go, feeling a strange mixture of relief, exhaustion, and exhilaration.
She had been reckless. The wiser course of action would have been to say nothing, but she could not regret it.
The truth was out, and despite her wounded heart and aching ankle, Elizabeth had not been so happy in days.