Chapter Nineteen
“So let me get this straight,” Mr. Gardiner asked Colonel Fitzwilliam, “this idiot boy encouraged his friend Bingley to abandon my niece Jane, all because he was panicked over his feelings for Elizabeth?” He waved in the general direction of Darcy, who had fallen soundly asleep on a divan in the corner after consuming the best part of a bottle of rather good brandy.
Fitzwilliam winced, topping up Mr. Gardiner’s glass. “When you put it that way, it sounds quite appalling.”
“I should say so! Poor Jane has been moping around my house these two months together, quite broken-hearted. Though,” Mr. Gardiner paused with glass in hand, “considering what my wife told me about the ill-bred behaviour of the sisters, it seems Jane might have had a lucky escape. They would have made her life a living hell.”
“I’ve met them,” Fitzwilliam shuddered, “and I wouldn’t inflict those two on any poor woman as a sister-in-law.
They’ve set their sights on Darcy’s younger sister Georgiana as a prospective bride for Bingley — all part of Miss Bingley’s plan to get Darcy for herself — and as Miss Darcy’s co-guardian, I can tell you I’d never approve the match, for all Bingley himself is a decent enough chap.
” He lifted his own glass in a toast. “To the divine Miss Bennet, who deserves better.”
He didn’t notice Mr. Gardiner giving him a very shrewd look before tipping up his own glass.
“Miss Bennet!” Darcy suddenly roused, making them both start. “Yes! Must make amends,” and he scrambled to his feet and left the room, leaving the other two men looking at each other in bemused silence until Mr. Gardiner said;
“You’d better go and make sure he doesn’t do something else idiotic to complicate this mess even further, Colonel.”
Fitzwilliam found Darcy sealing a hastily scribbled note in his room. “And what’s that?” he asked as Darcy handed it to his valet.
“A letter for Bingley.”
“I’m not so sure that’s the best idea you’ve had lately, even for you.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Darcy demanded indignantly.
“I owe Bingley a debt, Fitz. I deliberately concealed Miss Bennet’s being in Town from him, and denied him a chance at happiness!
Jane Bennet is a truly good woman, and I have been unfairly cruel to both of them, for no better reason than my own foolish pride! ”
Pressing his fingertips to the bridge of his nose, Fitzwilliam realised ruefully that he had perhaps drunk one too many brandies to engage in debate with Darcy about the merits of his plan at the present time.
“Could this not wait until morning?” he asked hopefully. “Perhaps we could consult with Mr. Gardiner about the wisest course of action?”
“You mean that you intend to argue me out of it,” Darcy said astutely, “and you will not, I will not have it. Off with you, if you please,” he gestured to his man, “find an express rider, I want that in Charles Bingley’s hands before midnight.”
Fitzwilliam watched dismally as the man departed. He had the terrible, sinking feeling that Darcy had just set yet another series of events in chain that would prove to be utterly disastrous. With a demoralised sigh, he turned and headed for his own room.
Fitzwilliam was awakened the following morning by his valet shaking him lightly. “Begging your pardon, sir, but the doctor from Hunsford is here to see you. Says it’s urgent-like,” his valet said when he roused.
“Five minutes,” Fitzwilliam muttered, shoving himself upright.
He found Dr. Trent waiting for him in the private parlour downstairs, pacing back and forth, brow creased anxiously.
“Miss Elizabeth?” was Fitzwilliam’s first question.
“Quite well, I assure you. She passed a restful night according to Mrs. Collins, who I spoke with before leaving Hunsford this morning.”
“I am gladdened to hear it. What, then, brings you here so early, Doctor?” He gestured the other man to a seat at the table.
“Yesterday, Mrs. Collins and I spoke with a neighbour, and with my housekeeper,” the doctor began, “and I called at the Parsonage yesterday evening to check up on Miss Bennet.” He went on to tell Fitzwilliam about the missing spencer, and how Charlotte’s finding it had solidified their suspicions that Elizabeth had been attacked at the Parsonage.
Fitzwilliam only nodded attentively as the doctor spoke. “And are there any suspects?” he asked finally.
“The Collinses do not have a manservant, as you may know, Colonel; Lady Catherine sends down workmen from Rosings for any work that needs to be done, and Mr. Collins keeps his pony and gig at the farm along the lane. Mrs. Collins thought that it might be a tradesman who came to call, but I asked a few questions in the village yesterday afternoon and everyone who I might have possibly suspected capable of such an act was accounted for at the time of the incident.”
“Damn,” Fitzwilliam blew out his cheeks and slumped back into his chair. “Nobody saw anyone in the lane?”
Trent looked down, became very occupied with the brim of his hat held on his lap suddenly. “Only Miss Bennet and, a little while later, when the rain had finished… Mr. Collins.”
Fitzwilliam froze, staring at Trent. “What exactly are you saying, man?” he asked carefully.
“That I myself saw Mr. Collins leaving the Parsonage — and that it has to have been shortly after Miss Elizabeth was seen running towards Rosings, and before you returned with her.”
The two men looked at each other in silence for a long moment.
“Mr. Collins was in the Parsonage when Miss Elizabeth was attacked,” Fitzwilliam said, hardly able to believe it himself.
“And the fact that Mrs. Collins found her wet spencer — undamaged — also in the Parsonage seems to indicate that Elizabeth arrived back there, removed it, was attacked and then fled. And that her attacker stuffed it in the hall cupboard in an attempt at concealment.”
“He’s a clergyman,” Fitzwilliam said in tones of utmost incredulity. “A puffed-up, pompous bore of a clergyman who listens far too much to the words of my aunt and pays too little heed to those of the Almighty, but… a clergyman.”
“Miss Elizabeth’s cousin, no less.” Dr. Trent looked no less repulsed than Fitzwilliam felt.
“But the facts are incontrovertible. I went through it again with my housekeeper once Mrs. Collins left. Elizabeth was seen hurrying to the Parsonage, in the rain. A few minutes later, shouts were heard, and she was seen running from the Parsonage, without her spencer. About ten minutes after that, I arrived home myself. While I was upstairs changing into dry clothes, from the window of my bedroom I saw Mr. Collins leaving the Parsonage, heading for the western lane towards Rosings.”
“The western lane,” Fitzwilliam said thoughtfully. “That is a slower route than the one I found Miss Elizabeth on.”
“Much drier, though, with a stony base. Mr. Collins knows the lanes well, would know that the other would have been muddy after the rain. He’s a fastidious sort.”
“The letter,” Fitzwilliam said suddenly. “That’s how he had Darcy’s letter!”
“Letter?” Trent looked at him blankly, and Fitzwilliam realised he was treading on dangerous ground. He hesitated before deciding that they already trusted Dr. Trent with several dangerous secrets.
“Mr. Darcy gave Miss Elizabeth a letter that contained some information known to very, very few people. Miss Elizabeth was… somewhat distressed, and we believe she hurried straight back to the Parsonage.”
Trent only looked puzzled.
“The letter, we discovered, came into the possession of Lady Catherine. My cousin Anne told us that Collins gave it to her.”
“And he could only have come into possession of it if he saw Miss Elizabeth,” Trent said with dawning realisation. “That is damning evidence, indeed.”
“A clergyman, her cousin, a married man under whose protection she was residing,” Fitzwilliam said with utter disgust.
“Under whose protection she is still residing,” Trent pointed out.
They looked at each other with sudden horror before both lunging to their feet and rushing for the door.
Which opened just as they got there to reveal an unexpectedly furious Charles Bingley.