Chapter Eighteen
Caroline Allerdyce had spent more of her life in Meryton and its environs than she would have readily admitted even to herself.
Within Netherfield, she could pretend the country folk and their country manners were much farther away than in fact they were.
It followed that, while she attended such local functions as passed for “society,” she made few friends and called on nearly no one.
Caroline had even prided herself upon this, as it had never occurred to her that the people of Meryton might have as little use for her company as she had for theirs.
So it felt strange, very strange indeed, to summon her family’s coach and horses from the stables in order to go into Meryton—but so her sister had asked.
“The engagement between Frederica and Mr. Lucas is indeed unfortunate,” Mrs. Hurst had said, patting Caroline’s arm as they walked through one of the long hallways at Netherfield.
“Mr. Allerdyce does not comprehend it, I know. Men are not always so mindful of such things, are they? Let me do what I can to improve the situation for your family. Let them see what others see.”
From this, Caroline understood that Mrs. Hurst would speak to Mr. Allerdyce about the evils of the match between Frederica and Mr. Lucas.
Instead of an argument between husband and wife, this could perhaps be a rational conversation about the expectations of society.
If Frederica could be persuaded to call off the engagement herself, or Mr. Allerdyce to do so for her—before they had written any of their other family or friends, so soon that no one would suspect impropriety—then all could yet be made right.
Caroline hoped for this, but even more did she hope that, when Mr. Allerdyce heard Mrs. Hurst, he would realize that these concerns had merit.
Then, perhaps, he would think better of her again.
As the carriage made its way into Meryton, Caroline observed the autumnal gold settling over the countryside.
Leaves had not yet begun to fall, but they trembled and rustled upon their branches.
Yet the autumn flowers still bloomed—gentian peeking pink from the greenery, violet-blue harebells drooping low, and bright yellow hawkbits studding the ground with sunbursts.
She remembered noticing them the very first time she had come to Netherfield in the very same season…
It struck her that, at that time, she had been more interested in the reactions of the people they drove past, how awed and envious they must feel to see so fine a carriage, such elegant people! Caroline did not feel that way any longer, but she had not reflected upon why this might be.
She reached her destination, Meryton vicarage, in the middle of visiting hours—yet when Caroline was received by Mrs. Brooks, she found the lady much surprised to have a caller. “Is it so very strange that I should come, Mrs. Brooks?” Caroline asked. “I had not thought I would startle you so.”
“I am not startled,” Mrs. Brooks insisted. “It is only that the day is so gray, I should hardly have thought anyone would venture out of doors.”
The sky, though cloudy, was not so gray as that.
Caroline was so accustomed to the inanities of customary visiting discourse that her mind remained at liberty enough to notice other potential reasons for Mrs. Brooks’s isolation.
Meryton vicarage, though not deficient in its size and in repair, nonetheless remained plain and cheerless within.
All furnishings had clearly arrived in the house decades before the Brookses would have resided there.
Though old-fashioned, the furniture might easily have been freshened with new upholstery, but every seat and arm showed signs of wear.
This could not be the fault of Mrs. Brooks’s housekeeping, for the residence was immaculate; Caroline thus attributed it to a lack of taste, and was not surprised.
Mrs. Brooks mentioned that her husband was visiting a sick member of the parish, in what Caroline took to be a rare display of attention to his larger clerical duties.
This was a great relief to her, as otherwise she would have been obliged not only to say hello to him but to attempt to speak with him alone.
As it was, however, Caroline had only to wait until Mrs. Brooks had to briefly excuse herself to speak one of her few servants.
This gave Caroline time to slip down the hallway, find the room that could only be Mr. Brooks’s study, and place Mrs. Hurst’s note upon his desk.
How strange, that they should communicate via letter!
Caroline had told herself before, and now again, that this must in some way relate to the death of Mr. Hurst. Perhaps her sister was disguising the grief she actually felt but wished to speak of only to a man of the cloth.
Knowing her sister as she did, Caroline could scarcely believe it—but even less could she believe any alternatives.
By the time Mrs. Brooks returned to the morning room, Caroline sat once again in her chair, smiling brightly.
The qualms she felt about what she had just done were assuaged by the thought that, even at this moment, Mrs. Hurst would be fulfilling her part of their arrangement; she might come home to find all set right with Mr. Allerdyce, and her family happy once again.
As it happened, Mrs. Hurst was indeed doing her duty to her sister. However, Mrs. Hurst’s idea of that duty was not at all what Caroline had conjectured.
Juliet Tilney sat in the drawing room at the little writing desk, finishing the task that had led to her disownment. So adamant had she been about refusing Mr. Follett that she had never got around to actually sending the refusal. This she was resolved to do without further delay.
I thank you for your kind offer, and am conscious of the honor you have bestowed upon me.
However, I cannot accept. The connection between us could not support a marriage, as I believe you fully understand.
Your painting career has suffered due to your own actions; I am not obliged to repair it; if that is an end to your career as a portraitist, then perhaps that is for the best, lest you be tempted to treat another subject as you did me.
Your apology is accepted, however, and I do believe you when you say that you did not intend such harm as resulted. With this we must both be content.
Was this too frank? Young ladies were not supposed to be so firm or forthright in their communications. But as this was in support of a delicacy that society had already decreed Juliet no longer to possess, why should she not speak her mind?
“Why, whom should you be writing to, my dear?” Mrs. Hurst had not spoken until she stood almost at Juliet’s elbow, startling her greatly. “Your parents, I am sure. How much you must have to tell them!”
Juliet made sure to angle the paper away from Mrs. Hurst’s view. “I am certain they will scarcely believe all that has transpired,” she replied, which was certainly true.
Mrs. Hurst tilted her head, as though in thought, then whispered, “Miss Tilney, I feel I must in decency tell you something I have heard.”
“About the murders?” This was a surprising source of investigatory information—or, Juliet wondered, might this be an attempt at deceit by the guilty party herself?
It was neither, as Mrs. Hurst’s next words made clear. “No, nothing of the sort. Yet I overheard Charles speaking with Jane last night. It seems he and Mr. Darcy corresponded yesterday.”
This will have been about Jonathan, about the death of his little cousin, Juliet thought.
Mrs. Hurst continued, “Mr. Darcy intends to leave for Pemberley very soon, and if his son does not come with him—I fear there will be a great breach between them. Charles was not certain, but he suspected Darcy might even decide to settle his estate on his second son instead.”
This was grave indeed. Mr. Darcy seemed to blame Jonathan greatly for the death of Susannah Wickham, far more than was rational.
Still, to him the girl had been all but a daughter; such grief could render anyone irrational for a time.
What concerned Juliet was how much that blame would hurt Jonathan.
“That is very shocking, madam, very unfortunate.”
“Too true,” said Mrs. Hurst. “You know Mr. Jonathan Darcy well, through your shared endeavors, do you not, Miss Tilney? You should tell him to leave with his father; he is a peculiar sort, but he appears to listen to you. If this is done, the breach might yet be healed.”
Juliet found this confusing. Why should shared travel make a difference to the Darcys’ grief? She said only, “The investigation must be completed first, ma’am.”
“Then tell him to leave as soon as this occurs. Perhaps that will not be too late.”
This conversation deepened Juliet’s concern for Jonathan but had no other effect.
Mrs. Hurst would have been surprised indeed to know this, as she believed she had just scared the girl away from Jonathan Darcy.
Why should Miss Tilney continue to scheme for the hand of a peculiar young man who would have no money, no house, nothing to recommend him?
Knowing nothing of Susannah or the revelation of Jonathan’s unwitting role in her death, Mrs. Hurst had thought it obvious for the Tilney girl to assume his father’s anger was entirely her own fault.
How pleased Caroline would be! Though, thinking upon the favor Caroline was performing for her at this instant, Mrs. Hurst knew she had got the better part of the deal.
Of course Fitzwilliam Darcy had made no such proclamations. At that time he remained at Longbourn, unaware of the scheming around him and still greatly preoccupied with his memories of Susannah.