Chapter 9
Mr Darcy and Sir William returned to the dining-room sometimes later, both silent and visibly distressed.
“And where is that Mr King?” Lady Catherine asked harshly. “Should we expect him to return and ruin the next course too?”
“He has taken his leave of Rosings already, Aunt,” Mr Darcy replied. “I am sorry for the disturbance, but he does not deserve such rebuke. As he mentioned, he had a family problem that required immediate assistance.”
“But you said you did not even know him! How could you be of any help to a stranger?”
“Unfortunately, I could not help much, but I did provide him with some useful knowledge. Now please let us return to our dinner.”
With that, he turned his attention to his plate; only his gaze travelled towards Elizabeth occasionally.
Lady Catherine, whose temper had not improved during their absence, fixed her nephew with a look of severe displeasure.
“Well, I trust this extraordinary interruption is now concluded. I cannot recall a more ill-mannered intrusion in all my years at Rosings. To burst in upon a private dinner — and at such an hour!”
Mr Darcy inclined his head but offered no explanation. Sir William, for his part, knowing the reproach was meant for him, looked as though he had aged a decade in those short minutes and he could scarce meet any eye at the table.
Lady Catherine, however, was not to be denied the satisfaction of expressing her opinion.
“And you, Sir William,” she continued, turning upon him with marked severity, “I am astonished that a man of your standing should encourage such acquaintances. A rude friend, indeed, to force his way into a house where he has no introduction and demand private discourse with my nephew. One wonders what sort of company is kept in Hertfordshire, if such behaviour is countenanced. I should hope, Mr Collins, that you take care in the selection of your connections. It reflects poorly upon the parsonage — and, by extension, upon those who have the goodness to receive its inhabitants.”
Mr Collins flushed a deep crimson and began an incoherent apology, assuring her ladyship that he had never imagined such a breach, that Mr King was scarcely known to him, and that he would take the utmost care in future.
Charlotte sat very still, her expression carefully composed, while Maria looked ready to sink beneath the table.
Elizabeth, though heat rose in her cheeks at the implied censure of her own neighbourhood, held her tongue.
She was far too occupied with trying to guess what could possibly have brought Mr King to Rosings in such a state, and what private business could have drawn both Mr Darcy and Sir William from the room with equal urgency.
Lady Catherine continued her remarks throughout the remainder of the meal, finding fault with the second course, the arrangement of the candles, the silence of her guests, and the general decline of manners in the younger generation.
No one present escaped her notice. Miss de Bourgh was admonished for not eating enough, Colonel Fitzwilliam was told that his regiment must be suffering from his prolonged absence, and Mr Darcy received a sharp observation upon the necessity of attending to one’s own family before strangers.
The dinner ended early. Nobody was in a humour for cards or music, and the usual after-dinner entertainment was abandoned without protest. When the time came for the party from the parsonage to depart, Lady Catherine made no offer of the carriage.
They were left to walk the half a mile, a circumstance that Mr Collins lamented in a continuous low murmur all the way down the avenue.
“Such a misfortune! To have distressed Lady Catherine de Bourgh — I cannot think how it came about. Mr King ought never to have come. I shall write to him tomorrow and express my extreme disapproval. Sir William, you must tell me what occurred. What could have possessed the man?”
Sir William walked a little ahead for a long while, then, at the repeated enquiry, he fell back, then stopped altogether, pressing a hand to his forehead as though the effort of speech were beyond him.
At last, when they had passed the gates and were upon the quieter lane, he burst out with a violence quite foreign to his nature.
“Mary has eloped!” he cried. “Mr King’s niece, Mary, has eloped with Mr Wickham from London, before he could take her into Sussex as they had planned.
As much as Mr King and his family opposed Mary’s connection to that Mr Wickham, the imprudent, silly girl recklessly disobeyed them and eloped with that horrid man! ”
“Dear Lord!” Charlotte exclaimed, while Elizabeth held her breath in amazement.
“Eloped?” Mr Collins repeated. “What a shame for her family! With Mr Wickham? Was he not the one you favoured, Cousin Elizabeth? What could be more horrible than a dishonourable man who claims to be an officer?”
Elizabeth chose to overlook the direct offence against her; after all, Mr Collins was right, Mr Wickham had been her favourite, and he had proved to be a dishonourable man. What else could be said?
They were already at the parsonage, so any discussion ceased until they entered the house. Inside, Mr Collins immediately filled two glasses of brandy and handed one to his father-in-law.
“What a distressing story, indeed. So what is known? Where did they go?” Charlotte asked.
“Mr King is half-mad with the shame of it. Mary left him a letter saying that they have gone to Scotland and that she will return with her husband to discuss further business. Further business, you hear? There is no doubt he only wants her fortune, like the miserable scoundrel that he is!”
“And why did he apply to Mr Darcy, of all people? What could Mr Darcy do, except for disturbing Lady Catherine?” Mr Collins enquired.
“He said he applied to Mr Darcy only because he had heard Wickham speak of him so often, asserting they had grown up together, that Mr Darcy owed him every consideration. Mr King hoped Mr Darcy might know something to help him find the fugitives. He called at Mr Darcy’s house in town, but Miss Darcy informed him that her brother was in Kent, and so the poor man came directly here, without rest or reason. ”
“But, Papa,” Charlotte said, her voice calm and steady, “as tormenting as this story might be for the entire King family, I wonder what can be done. As far as I know, Mary is already of an age that she can marry whenever she pleases and anyone she wishes. Besides, I know her fortune was left to her by her late mother, so Mr King, as her uncle, has no power to withhold it.”
“My dear Charlotte, I beg to differ!” Mr Collins answered. “Free will or not, the manner of it is ruinous! She will cast so much shame upon her entire family that they will never recover! A young woman cannot decide to marry against her family’s advice!”
At that, Mr Collins threw a glare at Elizabeth, the meaning of which everyone understood.
“But they were in love!” Maria finally interjected. “Why can they not marry? Why cannot Mary use her fortune to choose a husband to her liking? Is that not what dowries are for? To be able to marry for love, not for prudence or security?”
That statement caused another long moment of awkward but meaningful silence, until Sir William spoke again.
“I do not know what can be done, since they planned to marry and have the means to do so.”
“While I do disapprove of such actions, we all know such elopements occur rather often. As long as they marry immediately, I think the family will be protected from shame and ruin. And I see no reason why Mr Wickham would not marry her as soon as he can, even if he is induced by monetary reasons only,” Charlotte said.
“I am sorry to say it, but I tend to agree with Charlotte,” Elizabeth interjected.
“I doubt there can be any other favourable outcome except a wedding. And since Mr King travelled from London to Kent and must then go back to London, the fugitives might be on their way to Gretna Green already and married in a few days. I truly do not understand how Mr Darcy might help, but I do comprehend that, being desperate, Mr King might take drastic action.”
Sir William only shook his head. “I understand no better than you, Miss Eliza. The whole affair is a puzzle. Mr Darcy said little. He looked—well, he looked like a man does when the worst news is confirmed rather than discovered. That is all I can say.”
“What do you mean?” Mr Collins enquired.
“I mean Mr Darcy did not seem as surprised as I was.”
“What did he say?” Elizabeth asked, before minding her words.
“He provided Mr King with a few addresses where Wickham used to stay in London, and he asked whether Mary had any money or jewellery on her person, to pay for a longer journey. Mr King said she did, then Mr Darcy wrote Mr King a note for his man at his London house.”
Elizabeth listened but could hardly understand; the entire story was confusing.
A small voice in her head whispered that Maria might be right, that perhaps Mr Wickham and Mary were in love and they had decided to elope for a happy life.
But a stronger voice — one of reason — contradicted such happy thoughts.
The conversation lasted until close to midnight.
They finally retired for the night, but for Elizabeth, sleep proved impossible.
She lay awake turning the strange intelligence over and over in her mind.
Mr Wickham and Mary King. The handsome, open-faced officer who had so readily confided his grievances against Mr Darcy — now the betrothed of a young woman of modest fortune in a clandestine flight from London.
And Mr Darcy, of all men, the one to whom Mr King had turned for help.
The logic of it eluded her and curiosity demanded more.