CHAPTER 12
For nearly ten minutes, Mr. Darcy endured the silence. He stood rigidly, his gaze fixed upon the opposite wall, though he had long since ceased to see it.
Elizabeth's words had lodged themselves in his mind, each one returning with renewed force.
His nostrils flared as he struggled to contain the indignation rising within him.
Darcy had endured insult before, and from her especially, but there was something about hearing her judgment of him spoken so plainly, here, in their present circumstances, that made it impossible to dismiss.
Indeed, Darcy told himself to let it pass, but he failed. A flash of, what he deemed, righteous anger surged through him, and Darcy turned around to start at Elizabeth’s back. However, she heard his sudden movement, and Elizabeth could not help but look behind her; their eyes met.
He took a deep, fortifying breadth, as she stared at him, with those piercing eyes. “So this, then, is your opinion of me, Miss Elizabeth?” his voice controlled but edged with unmistakable hurt. “That I am proud, and consider myself above the company in which I find myself?”
She heard the unmistakable frustration of a man who had spent a little time pretending he did not care what she thought of him.
In truth, Elizabeth was tempted to answer with another sharp remark, but held her tongue, attempting to keep a cool, neutral voice, but kept her chin lifted instead.
"Mr. Darcy, since your arrival in the neighbourhood, I have observed your manner, and I confess it seems to me that you consider yourself superior to nearly everyone you meet, excepting, of course, Mr. Bingley and his family. "
He was silent a while, weighing his answer. "I do not converse so easily as Bingley. His manners are light and pleasing; he can charm any room he enters. That has never been my particular talent."
She looked momentarily towards the ceiling, then back at the man in front of her, "How is it, sir, that Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, a man who has seen a great deal of the world, and studied it besides, should find himself so ill at ease within it?"
He took no time to reply, "I suppose my parents taught me to respect all men. They did not, I think, teach me how to speak easily with all men."
Elizabeth looked at him with sharpening eyes, "Perhaps, sir. Or perhaps you have simply never taken the trouble to practise."
Darcy inhaled, before replying, "You are not wrong, Miss Elizabeth."
She knew she was right, and he could offer no argument against it.
However, she found she had no wish to prolong their quarrel.
"Come, Mr. Darcy, let us not say things that will only anger one another further.
We might try, instead, to be friends. We shall need to work together if we mean to see our way out of this. "
He shook his head. "You are right. We have wasted enough time in disputing. I should like that, to be friends." He regarded her again, a small smile forming.
"Come, then. Let me have another try at your bindings." She beckoned him back toward the bed, and the invitation, however practical its intent, brought Mr. Darcy an unguarded flash of pleasure.
He returned to his place upon the bed, turning to give her access to his bound wrists once more.
"You are a determined woman, whether the matter is walking, refusing to dance, or defending your opinions. I find I cannot help but admire it," he said, with something like a jest.
"A jest, Mr. Darcy? I had not thought you capable of good humour." Elizabeth raised her eyebrows slightly in response.
It was rather saucy of her, but he laughed at the remark all the same. "I am, in fact, quite capable of both wit and humour. You need only ask my cousin Fitzwilliam to confirm it."
She regarded him for a moment before a small, teasing smile appeared “My, my. I find the accounts of your character growing more puzzling by the hour.”
“And what is it you hope to discover, in gathering so many accounts of me, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, regarding her with the same grave attention he had always given her.
She looked at him squarely, “To make out your true character, sir.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, uncertain of her reply to his looming question, but he asked it nevertheless, “And how does your study proceed?”
“Poorly.” Her smile widened. “You say one thing and do quite another. At one moment, I am convinced I understand you, and the next, you behave in a manner that entirely contradicts my conclusions. I cannot make you out at all.”
Darcy's mouth twitched, though whether in amusement or resignation she could not tell. “I would beg you not to attempt it just now.”
“Why ever not?” Elizabeth asked, turning her head slightly.
“Because,” he replied, with a quietness that made the answer more serious than she expected, “I fear you may discover that I am not nearly so simple a subject as you would prefer.”
Elizabeth studied him, uncertain whether he meant to tease her or confess something more. “I had not supposed you simple, Mr. Darcy.”
“No,” he said, his gaze lingering upon hers. “I have never accused you of that particular error.”
She looked away, towards the door, and replied tartly, "However, if I do not attempt it now, Mr. Darcy, I may never have another opportunity.
" Sensing the conversation drifting once more toward dangerous ground, and mindful of their new resolve, Elizabeth turned it deliberately aside. "How do you come to know Mr. Wickham?"
"I wish I had never known the man at all.
" He fell silent a moment before continuing.
"We were boys together. His father served as steward to mine, old Mr. Wickham was an honourable man, though he raised a son of a very different character.
When his father died, mine took the boy under his protection; housed him, saw to his schooling, sent him to university, and intended him for a living in our parish.
But after my father's death, Wickham declined the living, and asked instead for its value in money.
I gave it to him. Upward of three thousand pounds. "
"Three thousand pounds!" She was amazed.
"Indeed. I had hoped never to cross his path again, but it was not to be.
I have a younger sister. She went to Ramsgate one summer with her companion, a Mrs. Younge, who proved a great deal less trustworthy than we supposed.
She had formed an attachment of her own to Wickham, and gave him access to my sister, whom he persuaded to consent to an elopement to Scotland.
I discovered it only the day before they meant to go, when my sister, quite by chance, confided the whole of it to me.
I confronted him myself, and it became plain enough that his interest lay not in her, but in her considerable dowry.
I paid him to leave, and heard nothing more of him until he took us captive. "
Elizabeth was shocked to hear of Mr. Darcy’s sister being caught up in such an alarming scheme by none other than their captor; it began to make more sense, as to Wickham’s schemes, knowing now that Mr. Darcy had stopped the man from obtaining a pretty dowry sum.
"Good heavens. Your poor sister; how old was she? "
"Scarcely fifteen." He paused before adding with an exhale. "The cad."
"Fifteen! He is a villain indeed, that is my own sister Lydia's age. I wonder you did not thrash him within an inch of his life." The news was shocking, that a man would do such a thing to a young girl. It is despicable, she told herself.
"Believe me, Miss Elizabeth, no man alive could have shown greater restraint than I did that day,” he said in a serious tone.
"I am heartily glad you were able to save her from him. Had you been but a day later…" She reflected, imagining the worst possible scenario.
He shook his head in turn. "I can scarcely bear to think of it. I should have been entirely undone."
"Yes, I believe I should feel just the same.
" Her thoughts turned, unbidden, to Sarah Lawson, whom Lydia had reported engaged at fourteen years old.
"My own neighbourhood has its own Sarah Lawson, a farmer's daughter, an only child.
Her father worked the land honestly enough, and provided decently for his family, until he lost his footing repairing a bridge upon his landlord's grounds, and fell to his death.
Sarah was but ten years old. She and her mother have lived since upon the parish's charity; a small home, enough to eat, and what little more they can earn by their own labour.
Sarah is fourteen now, and has begun, this past year, to look rather more a woman than a girl. "
Mr. Darcy thought at once of Georgiana, how swiftly a sweet child gave way to a young woman, the change seeming to come almost overnight. He still could not entirely reconcile himself to it; some part of him wished her forever the little sister he remembered.
"My youngest sister came upon this girl, Sarah, behind one of the Meryton taverns, in the company of a soldier.
Sarah claims herself engaged to be married.
I expect her mother has already signed whatever consent the law requires for one so young.
It grieves me for her sake; she will lose her girlhood entirely, trading it early for the promise of a more comfortable life. It hardly seems just."
"It is neither just nor easy, that a young woman should be made to choose between girlhood and poverty," he said solemnly.
There was a long moment of silence, before Elizabeth beckoned Mr. Darcy to join her again.
“Sir, why do I not try your binds again?” She nodded towards his tied wrists.
He compelled, returning to her side, and allowing Elizabeth to tug once again at the leather bindings of his wrists. They kept quiet, while she worked, until, after a while, Elizabeth found some success.
"Oh!" Elizabeth exclaimed, with sudden delight. "I believe I am making progress!"
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