Chapter 36
Thomas Bennet sat in his study. Again. One elbow on the desk, bearing the weight of his head; his other hand trembling slightly as he reread Elizabeth’s note, already knowing it by heart.
Where was she? How could he begin to look for her? For he must know. This was his fault. He ought to have found another way than to give his favourite daughter away to an injured man in such circumstances.
The note had arrived last week, and he had recognised her hand in the direction and his heart had bounded with hope at this first communication.
Then he had broken the plain seal and his heart broke anew.
My dear Papa
I fear this note will distress you, but I need to tell you what I am doing so you know that none of this is your fault.
I am leaving Pemberley, as it is impossible to remain. I cannot tell you where I am going or what I will be doing, because I must not be found and made to return.
Mr Darcy will never find me.
I will make a new life and I will be well. Do not blame yourself, Papa.
I hope all my beloved family are well and you have new books to lose yourself in and find peace.
Know that I will always love you
Your own
Elizabeth
Bennet’s eyes misted again, despite the words being seared into his mind. How was she? Had she been able to take enough of her pin money with her? Her companion? Surely she would know how to keep herself safe?
He turned the sheet over and looked again at the franking. Whitby. Some two hundred and thirty miles away.
His Lizzy would have chosen to come home. Unless she was afraid of being found.
It would take some planning. But he would go to Whitby and find out who had posted that letter for her. She would not have done it close to where she was. And he would stop on the way at Pemberley. He would find out why she had fled.
The house was quiet beyond the thick oak door of the study. Much had changed here since Elizabeth’s departure, and he gave the note a wry smile. She would approve. But the quiet meant that he heard the firm rap at the front door, and he straightened, somehow already knowing it was a stranger.
He expected the knock on the study door. “Enter.”
Hill opened the door. “Mr Darcy, sir.”
That was not expected and Bennet frowned and rose reluctantly to his feet. Darcy had authority over Elizabeth as her husband, and Bennet would not give him cause to ill-treat her, if she was found.
“Thank you, Hill. Send in refreshments, if you please.” He examined Mr Darcy.
At first glance, the man appeared as any gentleman of wealthy, aristocratic origins. He stood tall, his face impassive, the work of his valet and tailor showing in his appearance.
But his eyes were haunted, and his self-control seemed to Bennet to be brittle, hanging by a thread. Bennet softened very slightly; he needed to know what had happened, and he must not antagonise this man. His own son-in-law; how odd.
He indicated the armchairs at the other end of the room. “Take a seat, Mr Darcy. We will wait for the refreshments to arrive before we speak.” He crossed the room to sit opposite his visitor.
The housekeeper carried in the tray herself, and Bennet waited for her to pour two cups of coffee, and nodded. “Thank you. Close the door behind you, Hill.”
There was a moment’s silence as he observed the other over the rim of his coffee cup.
Mr Darcy did not seem to notice the plates of biscuits and pastries.
He was thinner than Bennet had remembered and his features were gaunt.
Had he been like this since his accident, or was it due to what had happened with Lizzy?
The silence stretched out, but Bennet did not know whether to vouchsafe that he had heard from his daughter, or to appear ignorant of what had happened.
Eventually, Mr Darcy lowered his cup to the saucer, although he still held it, and his hand toyed restlessly with the handle.
His voice was — not hesitant, but not assured, either.
“I have little memory of that night and the succeeding weeks, Mr Bennet. I know my cousin mediated with you and your daughter about the necessity of marriage and the details of the settlement for her.” He drew breath.
“However, thanks to her courage and intervention that day, I am now recovered, and I come to you myself.”
There was another long pause, as if he knew not what to say next, and Bennet attempted to look encouraging.
Finally, Mr Darcy seemed to gather his courage.
“Elizabeth left Pemberley nearly two weeks ago, Mr Bennet. I — we — have searched extensively for her, but have found no trace of even which direction to search. I am deeply concerned for her safety.” He looked anywhere but at his host. “I have been hoping you might have heard from her.”
Bennet looked at him steadily. “Did you think she might have returned here?”
Mr Darcy shook his head. “It is too much to hope for. She could not have travelled this far without leaving some trace.”
Bennet frowned; it seemed obvious that, if she did want to come here, she would have found a way of hiring a coach from out of the Pemberley area. “Was her companion or maid a resourceful woman?”
The other man dropped his head. “She left with no one, and almost nothing. I am … am entirely to blame that she has taken such terrible risks. I must find her, must assure myself of her safety and that she has whatever she needs to be safe.”
Bennet raised his eyebrows. “Will you not take her back to Pemberley and attempt to make her happier?”
“If she would consent to it, then yes. But I would not wish to force her, sir. From the letter she left, my thoughtlessness has caused her much sorrow.” He raised his head.
“I make my profound apologies to you, sir, for it. And I will not stop searching until I find her and can apologise to her myself. Then she may have whatever she needs and wishes, wherever that might be.”
Bennet nodded to himself. He could believe it. “As it happens, I had a short note from Elizabeth almost a week ago, Mr Darcy. She does not intend to make any further connection than that for fear of being found.”
Mr Darcy straightened up. Hope brightened his eyes. “Mr Bennet, please call me Darcy. Is there anything in it you might feel able to share with me? Please.” He was leaning forward, desperately eager.
“Thank you, Darcy. I am Bennet. Perhaps you would like to read the note for yourself?” He pushed himself to his feet and crossed to his desk.
Returning with the note, he ran his thumb over the direction.
I hope you can forgive me, Lizzy. I believe he cares for you and will not force you into unhappiness now he has realised what he has done.
Darcy eagerly reached for the note that Bennet extended towards him, and began to read even as he acknowledged it. Bennet sat opposite him and watched closely. He knew from the sudden stillness when Darcy had reached the sentence
Mr Darcy will never find me.
The man stilled and long moments passed. “I need to know she is alive and protected. I would not wish her to hate me so.”
Bennet drew a deep breath. “If you feel able to, Darcy, it would help me if you could explain, even if only partly, why Elizabeth decided to leave.”
Darcy’s shoulders sagged. “I thank you for allowing me to read this. While painful, it has helped. A little.” He reached into his jacket pocket, the one nearest his heart.
“I will show you the letter she left for me. It can hardly make you hate me any more than I do myself.”
He sat in silence, fingering Bennet’s letter, while Bennet carefully read the letter Darcy had handed to him.
Then he turned back to the beginning and reread it.
He knew his daughter well and could read between the lines.
He had no doubt she might be feeling some little regret at the words she had used, although he did not doubt the deep feelings of loneliness and betrayal she felt.
He looked up. Darcy was sitting silently, apparently waiting for judgement.
“That must have been difficult to read, Darcy.”
The reply was quiet: “I did not understand what pain I was causing her.”
Bennet thought for a few minutes. He was beginning to comprehend how his clever, intelligent daughter and this equally intelligent man had managed to cause each other such unhappiness.
He folded the letter quietly and extended it back to Darcy, accepting his own note in return.