Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Afterward, the group broke apart, that nearer relations might comfort one another.
Mr. Bingley’s grief, already great, was worsened by the knowledge that his sister had in fact been killed, and by the man who had sworn to love her forevermore.
As Mrs. Bingley felt the need to remain with her sister and send Mr. Brooks home, her husband was instead consoled by his good friend Darcy.
Mrs. Hurst took herself off alone, afire with indignation.
If anyone were to have had the effrontery to murder Mr. Hurst, they ought to have done it on purpose.
Otherwise it made him seem so very unimportant.
Mrs. Hurst did not grieve her husband, exactly—a wealthy widowhood suited her as well, if not better, than matrimony—but she did not like him being thought unimportant.
The Allerdyces claimed the morning room, otherwise empty at this hour.
Caroline’s daughters held each of her hands as Mr. Allerdyce fetched a glass of wine.
“To think of my poor sister brought to such an end,” Caroline said while wiping her face.
“We were not great friends to each other, but I should never have wished ill upon her in any way, much less this wretched fate.”
“It is very terrible, Mamma,” said Frederica, patting her mother’s hand. “She is with our Savior now, and in this we must take comfort.”
Mr. Allerdyce handed the wine to Priscilla, who handed it to her mother.
Caroline drank far more deeply than was her wont, breathed deeply, then looked at Frederica.
“My dear, never before have I truly understood how important it is to marry only where there is trust, character, and decency. Please forgive my past resistance to your engagement to Mr. Lucas. He has shown himself to be a fine young man, and he offers you a life of purpose and affection. With all my heart, I wish you both joy.”
Frederica smiled through her tears. “Oh, Mamma, thank you.” They embraced as Priscilla, sitting aside, began the long work of rethinking such lessons on matrimony as she had previously been taught.
When Caroline had collected herself, the family went upstairs, first ushering the girls into their room. Only once they were alone in their own bedchamber did Mr. Allerdyce say to his wife, “I am very proud of you, Caroline.”
“You should not be, that it took such a terrible lesson for me to learn. To learn again, I say, for it was long ago that I discovered the value of a marriage with honor and trust.” Her eyes met his, uncertain but hopeful.
“I merely forgot for a time. Please say that you will not go away without me.”
“I will not go away without you.” Mr. Allerdyce crossed his arms before his chest—but he had begun to smile. “You forgot, eh? You were merely blinded by the grandeur of Pemberley?”
Caroline smiled back through her tears. “My dearest, most beloved husband. I would not trade you for a hundred Pemberleys.”
With that he took her into his arms, and Caroline felt the last of her old self slip away, like a robe falling from her shoulders, never to be picked up again.
Once again, Jonathan and Juliet were left all but alone, propriety having temporarily removed elsewhere with Mr. Lofton.
Jonathan fetched some wine for her and for himself, briefly encountering Mr. Allerdyce along the way.
Afterward, they spoke in the manner of those who have recently experienced some shocking incident, telling each other everything they already knew, as if only by doing so they could make themselves believe.
“I was not so very frightened at the folly,” Juliet said, “for I knew you were close with the constables and Mr. Lucas. Yet the look in Mr. Lofton’s eyes was so terrible! This must have been the last thing Mrs. Lofton saw, which makes me pity her all the more.”
“Despite your bravery, and the efficacy of the trap, I did not care for it.” Jonathan wondered whether he dared touch her hand, but remained cautious for the moment.
Movements about Netherfield would be unpredictable tonight.
“To stand by while you took all the risk? I know well the reasons for it, but the fear for your safety was almost unbearable.”
“I am very safe, sir,” Juliet said in a tone of voice that made Jonathan wish to kiss her again.
In the very next instant, to Jonathan’s chagrin, his father came into the room. “I congratulate you on another successful endeavor, Miss Tilney,” said Mr. Darcy.
This was promising, was it not? Juliet may have thought so, too, to judge by her answering smile. “Thank you, sir.”
“You will excuse my son?” Mr. Darcy said. “We need to have a word.”
“Of course, sir.” Juliet inclined her head, freeing Jonathan to walk from the room into the hallway, where his father waited for him.
Mr. Darcy kept his voice low as he said, “I have spoken with both your aunts, and we are all in agreement that Mrs. Brooks should not return to the vicarage tonight, if ever. It is thought best that she should stay at Longbourn for the time being.”
“Of course, Father,” Jonathan said. “We shall escort her there shortly?”
“Indeed. Tomorrow certain arrangements will have to be made, both regarding the removal of her things from the vicarage and regarding the case against Mr. Lofton. I intend to assist in both these endeavors. Then, the following morning, we shall return to Derbyshire.”
Jonathan had not reckoned on this. “I do not wish to go to Derbyshire.”
“You wish to remain near Miss Tilney.” Mr. Darcy sighed. “We will speak again on the matter, but not at this time. She needs to return to her home, as you should return to yours.”
Juliet could not return home. Yet could Jonathan tell Mr. Darcy this?
Would not hearing of her disownment discredit her anew?
Jonathan thought not, but was not sure; further, Juliet had not given him permission to tell any other soul.
Such a profound wrong should not remain secret—how else might it be undone?
—but he wished greatly to speak of it later, or at least on the morrow, when all had been able to rest and recover from the night’s revelations.
He ventured, “There can be no reason for haste, Father. If we were to return but a few days later, what harm could be done?”
Forgive Mr. Darcy this, for it had been a long and difficult night.
“Jonathan, have we not learned this night the value of proper conduct, proper behavior, and obedience? As your father, this is my decision to make, and mine alone. There are to be no more false pretenses between us.” He sighed.
“As I said, we will speak again on the matter.”
Forgive Jonathan this, for although he had greatly improved his understanding of the unspoken nuances of human behavior, his comprehension was not perfect.
Furthermore, Mr. Darcy could be a subtle man.
Perhaps only Jonathan’s mother could have heard, in Darcy’s final sentence, the sense of coming change, of hopes but briefly deferred.
All Jonathan heard was flat denial, an excuse, the sense that all conversation and bravery had proved unable to effect a change.
He knew only that the great injustice done to Juliet seemed to be without remedy, which maddened him past reason.
He drew himself upright and said only, “Of course, Father. I trust you will allow me to bid Miss Tilney good evening.”
Darcy might have questioned this complaisance had he not had so many other claims on his attention. “Certainly. I must go upstairs to fetch Mrs. Brooks.”
Jonathan returned to the morning room, where Juliet sat with the last of her wine. He could not have guessed what expression his face wore, but she put down her glass. “Whatever is the matter?”
“I fear my father remains resolute that I should return to Derbyshire, and that we should meet no more.” He sat next to her and boldly clasped her hand. “Be assured I will not abandon you, now or ever.”
“Jonathan, what are we to do?”
That which was wrong had to be put right.
Jonathan, who could at times be distracted to the point of distress by a misalignment of plates or books, felt such distress tenfold at this misalignment of the moral universe.
It had to be fixed; he could fix it; therefore he must and would do so.
Even six hours before, Jonathan would never have seriously entertained such a notion, however briefly.
After hearing his father, and understanding what he had understood about his family’s resistance to Miss Tilney, a new course of action had become not only thinkable but imperative.
“My dear Juliet,” he said, “we must elope.”