Chapter 7
Elizabeth could not pretend she was calm and composed after the encounter with Mr. Darcy, but she did not know how to describe her state, not even to herself.
It was a particular exhilaration, combined with concerns — new, different, strange, distracting — all caused by Mr. Darcy.
It was there, growing within her, and could no longer be denied.
What was happening to her? She had suffered such a change of mind and feelings that it all felt impossible to master.
The anger and disdain that had once burdened her every thought of Mr. Darcy had dissolved, leaving in their place a tentative esteem, mingled with something softer, more disquieting — a fluttering awareness of the man beneath the reserve.
It was not love, she told herself firmly, yet neither was it indifference.
The memory of his rare smile in the soft morning light, the warmth that had stolen into his dark eyes as they spoke of Jane and Mr. Bingley, stirred an unwelcome tenderness in her breast, one she hastened to attribute to mere relief at having been proved wrong in so many particulars.
How singular a transformation, that the proud gentleman she had once declared the last man in the world she could be prevailed upon to marry should now occupy her thoughts with such persistent gentleness!
She had hurt him again with her presumptions; why did she so easily assume the worst about him? Even now, when her opinion had improved. She had not been reasonable at all in her response to him, not since the beginning of their acquaintance.
She thought also of Dr Rease — his easy manners, his gallant defence of her nocturnal habits, and the quiet bravery hinted at by his limp.
So, he was an old acquaintance of Lady Catherine’s family?
She chose not to reveal that particular detail to the Collinses, for how could she explain the source of her knowledge?
She could not possibly reveal the private walks and conversations that had lately become so dear and so enlightening to her.
No, she could not speak of anything that had transpired between her and Mr. Darcy.
Charlotte, dear sensible friend though she was, might discern more than Elizabeth wished to admit even to herself.
The afternoon provided Elizabeth more reasons for delight, in the form of a letter from London that chased all heavier thoughts away.
It was from Jane, whose words danced across the page with unaccustomed joy.
Mr. Bingley had called unexpectedly upon the Gardiners, declaring with the utmost sincerity that he had only just learnt of her presence in town from Mr. Darcy himself.
He had stayed above an hour, his company as pleasant as ever, Jane said, and Elizabeth believed that her sister’s heart, so long wounded, was on the very brink of healing.
So Mr. Darcy had kept his word, and Mr. Bingley had proved worthy of Jane’s loyal affection. What more could she hope for?
Elizabeth pressed the letter to her bosom, thrilled beyond measure for her dearest sister and filled with a gratitude towards Mr. Darcy that warmed her deeply.
She resolved to thank him at the first opportunity, though when, or indeed whether, that opportunity might arise, she could only hope, not foresee.
The rest of the day passed with the usual activities, and the next morning, Elizabeth indulged herself in her favourite habit again.
She set out for the grove with expectations she scarcely acknowledged.
The familiar path took her to her favourite spot, which was empty.
Still not discouraged, she waited for quite a long time, gazing about, waiting, startled by every sound.
To no avail, though. The spot and her heart both remained empty.
Disappointment settled heavily within her, and she carried it back to the parsonage.
She was fully aware Mr. Darcy had not mentioned another encounter; she had no reason to expect him, and her disappointment was unjustified.
At that moment, the truth struck her with startling force: she had been delighted to meet him, to converse with him, to witness the gradual softening of his reserve.
She missed him. The revelation stunned her, returning her to a state of turmoil, though of an altogether different and more dangerous sort than before.
What strange power had this gentleman gained over her peace?
But how could she complain, given that he must have suffered an even deeper and more painful torment, loving her ardently all those months.
Ardently. And how hurt he must have felt by her refusal, since she was disappointed by his mere absence.
Would this torment ever end? Would her relationship with Mr. Darcy ever be deemed ordinary or usual?
But what sort of relationship did she wish to have with him?
Around noon, Mr. Collins returned from his daily visit to Rosings in a state of agitation, his face transfigured by a mixture of importance and dismay.
“My dear Charlotte! Maria! Cousin Elizabeth!” he cried so loudly that the windows shook, scarcely pausing to catch his breath. “This is a tragedy, a tragedy indeed!”
“What is it, my dear? What tragedy? Are you hurt? Is someone injured?” Charlotte replied in panic, while Elizabeth and Maria gathered around them.
“I would gladly accept the worst injury rather than such a tragedy! Lady Catherine is distraught, distraught indeed! And angrier than I have ever seen her! I tried to help, but she sent me away! And I cannot blame her! If I could only take on the turmoil myself on her behalf!”
“Lady Catherine? Did something happen to Miss de Bourgh? Surely she did not die!” Charlotte insisted.
“Her death would have hurt Lady Catherine less!” Mr. Collins replied, and Elizabeth stared at him in disbelief, while Charlotte’s eyes widened in amazement.
“I am sorry, but you speak nonsense, husband! Nothing is worse than death!”
“It is, Charlotte! Miss de Bourgh departed for London this very morning, accompanied by Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Dr Rease, in direct opposition to her ladyship’s wishes!
She disobeyed her mother! Can you imagine?
She is to stay at the house of Lord and Lady Matlock, though Lady Catherine forbade it! ”
Elizabeth breathed in relief, then she sat, trying to soothe her racing heart. The news, though not entirely unforeseen, left her dumbfounded. So Mr. Darcy was gone? That he had taken his cousin to London was good news, but then, what was that grip in her chest?
“Mr. Collins, I beg you to calm down,” Charlotte said, gently touching his arm.
“Here is a little wine — sip it and breathe! It will not do for you to suffer an apoplexy! You must stay calm so you can comfort Lady Catherine until she sees reason. I am sure Miss de Bourgh went to town simply to seek advice from the doctors there and to improve her health. There is nothing wrong with that!”
“Nothing wrong? Everything is wrong! Lady Catherine said Mr. Darcy took her to London but refused to marry her! And Dr Rease betrayed her confidence and supported the shameful scheme! And her brother, Lord Matlock, is to be blamed too! Even as we spoke, her servants were packing her luggage so she might follow them without delay!”
Mr. Collins paced the room, mumbling, “What should I do?”
“Do? What do you mean, my dear?”
“I cannot let Lady Catherine go alone! I offered to accompany her, but she banished me! She is so furious that she cannot think properly! I should follow her to London regardless. She might need my assistance in town.”
Elizabeth stared at him, incredulous at such a suggestion, equally stunned as she had been when Mr. Collins introduced himself to Mr. Darcy back in Hertfordshire. For a clergyman, Mr. Collins was everything unwise and unreasonable, and his judgment was utterly faulty.
“My dear husband, surely you cannot consider such action!” Charlotte replied in a grave voice. “Going to London? All of a sudden? Intruding upon Lady Catherine, though she refused you explicitly? It would be most presumptuous!”
Mr. Collins turned upon her with uncharacteristic heat. “Presumptuous, madam? When her ladyship stands in need of every comfort and counsel?”
“If she needed it from you, she would have asked! You know that too well! Acting against her express wishes would anger her even further and might affect her whole opinion of you! If she requests your presence, I shall be the first to prepare your luggage.”
Mr. Collins seemed ready to argue; his eyes narrowed with rage, and he muttered something about the trials of a dutiful clergyman. After a while and two more drinks, he calmed down slightly but continued to speak absently about people’s lack of loyalty.
Despite Charlotte’s efforts, Mr. Collins was not to be kept in the house; he hurried back to Rosings, while the ladies remained to discuss the matter at length.
“I really do not see why this is such a scandal,” Elizabeth said.
“Miss de Bourgh — healthy or ill — decided to go to London and spend some time with her uncle. Just as I decided to visit you and spend some time with you. What I find distressing is Lady Catherine’s response to her daughter’s decision.
After all, Miss de Bourgh is older than Jane, is she not? ”
Charlotte shrugged, poured them both a little sherry, and sipped from her glass.
“You cannot express such thoughts to Mr. Collins, or, God forbid, to Lady Catherine, but I agree with you utterly and completely. I find Lady Catherine’s insistence on keeping her daughter at Rosings strange and unreasonable. But who am I to tell?”
“From what I heard, Miss de Bourgh is her father’s heir, so the entire family fortune belongs to her, as well as the estate itself. She might do as she pleases with it, even sell it,” Elizabeth said, after she took a few sips from her own glass.
Charlotte looked at her in horror.
“Dear Eliza, do not say such a thing! Surely you know what a tragedy that would be for us! And how do you know that she now has control of it all? Does Lady Catherine not have a say?”
Elizabeth immediately regretted her indiscretion.
“I apologise. I spoke nonsense. I am sure Miss de Bourgh has no intention of selling Rosings. I just said that to make a point.”
“But how do you know it is hers to sell?” Charlotte insisted.
“I heard Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam talking about it, but I might be mistaken. Regardless, a mother cannot impose her will upon a daughter who is of age — that is my point.”
The afternoon passed with further discussion on the subject until Mr. Collins finally returned. He reported that Lady Catherine had left for London with Mrs. Jenkinson and Dr Blake.
“I tried to speak to her, but she would not have it. And she addressed Dr Blake quite angrily, too, I can tell you! She must be furious with Mrs. Jenkinson, as well, for not taking better care of Miss de Bourgh, and with Dr Blake for bringing his nephew to Rosings.”
Elizabeth held back an incredulous gasp, while Mr. Collins continued to rant.
“Anyone knows that a man who has been in the war cannot be trusted to act rationally! Dr Rease should not have been allowed anywhere near Lady Catherine and her daughter! So what if he was introduced at St James’s? He is still more a soldier than a gentleman!”
“Come, my dear sir, it is dinner time, so let us eat, and we shall discuss the matter further while enjoying your favourite dishes,” Charlotte said in a comforting tone, which had the desired effect.
During dinner, Mr. Collins ate quite a lot and drank several glasses of wine while still blaming everyone for upsetting Lady Catherine.
Eventually, the drink overcame him, and he retired early.
Elizabeth also excused herself, grateful for a little bit of peace and quiet.
Later that night, with Mr. Collins soundly asleep, Elizabeth went for another stroll.
The moon and the stars were bright, but everything else was dark around her. There were no windows glowing at Rosings, and somehow, the entire house, silent in the night, looked less impressive.
She remained close to the parsonage, reflecting that only a few days had passed since she had seen Mr. Darcy’s candlelit turmoil and Miss de Bourgh’s collapse.
Also, it had only been a week since she had received a marriage proposal from the last man in the world she had expected to address her in such words.
In truth, she had never imagined that Mr. Darcy might ever use the words ardent love, let alone that he might have such feelings for anyone.
And certainly not for her, the barely tolerable woman with whom he refused to dance.
What an amazing twist of fate! How her life and Jane’s had changed in just a few days! Dear Jane, how happy she must be! Elizabeth dearly missed her eldest sister, the one who had always been her comfort.
How she longed to speak to her, even if she could not reveal most of the things that burdened her soul.
As she walked back into the house, Elizabeth found herself wondering what she was still doing there, in Kent, listening to Mr. Collins’s annoying complaints, which would probably not cease any time soon.
She should be with her sister Jane, with her uncle and aunt and her dear cousins. In a corner of her heart, a timid voice whispered that she longed to be in the same town as Mr. Darcy, that Kent had lost its charm without him. But that voice, Elizabeth quickly silenced.