Chapter 20
ON THE brINK
It was apparent as soon as the carriage door shut on them that something was troubling Bingley, but he waved away Darcy’s enquiry, saying, “I learnt something from Miss Bennet today that I must think upon, but it is nothing to do with any of you.”
Darcy thought that had the lady rejected him outright, Bingley would be more distressed than he appeared.
He was distracted, displeased by something, but not apparently broken-hearted.
As he was not at all forthcoming, the supposition that some less dreadful thing had occurred must satisfy unless and until his friend elected to be more open.
The visit to Lucas Lodge was not so much to Darcy’s tastes as their first call had been.
The gentlemen of their party were left to speak with Sir William, while the ladies became acquainted; Fitzwilliam captured Miss Lucas’s attention with a query about a card party they had missed while in London when she brought him a cup of tea.
Through the simple expedient of continuing that discussion, he avoided a full five minutes of the elder gentleman’s copious conversation.
Darcy hardly knew whether to reprimand his cousin or admire his ingenuity.
At Netherfield, they separated to their own occupations until dinner.
Darcy thought to take refuge in the library, which was fortunately across the hall from the music room where his sister practised.
Even sat in the large armchair by the fireplace, invisible to anyone merely glancing into the library, he could hear her very well, and spent more time simply listening than reading his book.
A perusal of the nearly bare shelves revealed that he had already read the few works present which held any interest for him.
He considered reading King Lear again, but it had never been such a favourite as to tempt him to read it twice in as many months.
If he were to be here for several weeks more, he would require reading material.
He supposed it was time he took a look inside Meryton’s library; fresh books would be quite worth the subscription fee, and leaving the house would ensure that Miss Bingley would not locate him with even a determined search.
He returned to his chambers to don his riding apparel once more.
A little while after their callers departed, Mrs Bennet broke off her chatter about the wedding breakfast to order Jane to go to Cook and enquire whether it would be possible to acquire enough fruit for a lemon cake in January, or if they should have to settle for a honey cake.
Jane left, and Elizabeth and Kitty returned their attention to their sewing while Mary patiently endured more of her mother’s endless stream of words.
Elizabeth laughed to herself when it occurred to her that her mother had trained Mary well for the role of Mr Collins’s wife, and shared the thought with Kitty in a whisper.
Kitty’s shoulders were still shaking with repressed hilarity when Jane returned, stopping in the doorway to say, “Mama, Cook says enough lemons can be got, but Papa must approve the expense.” She looked then to Elizabeth and Kitty, and Elizabeth could tell from the faint strain in her smile that something was amiss.
“Lizzy, Kitty, might I ask you to assist me in the stillroom for a moment?”
“Certainly—” Elizabeth began, already moving to set aside her work, when her mother interrupted.
“Oh, no, Jane, I must have you all with me, for we have not yet decided upon the colour or style of your dresses for the wedding! Whatever you are doing can wait.”
“But Mama, we cannot send Mary to Kent with musty linens, and I fear we have not enough dried lavender for sachets,” Jane said. “Lizzy and Kitty are much better judges than I, and it is possible I have overlooked some.”
“Musty linens!” Mrs Bennet gasped. “Very well, go on then. After dinner, however, I depend upon you all to sit down with the fashion plates.”
Elizabeth very much doubted her father would advance more funds than were required to have a new gown made for the bride, but she cheerfully agreed, as did her sisters.
Confirming Elizabeth’s suspicion, Jane led them not to the stillroom, but to the music room, where she shut the door before speaking.
Wringing her hands, she said, “Sally stopped me on my way back from the kitchens to tell me that about an hour ago, she saw Lydia exit by the garden door. I think she was afraid to go to Hill or Papa. I checked Lydia’s room, and she is not within.”
Elizabeth and Kitty exchanged an alarmed glance. “We ought to check the garden, but I fear we shall not find her there,” Kitty said.
“Perhaps she has gone for a walk to clear her head?” Jane suggested.
“There is only one place Lydia ever walks,” Elizabeth replied grimly.
Jane’s face fell as Kitty agreed. They left the house and hurried about the garden, checking the secluded bench where Elizabeth liked to read, and the hermitage, and the other nooks and crannies they had all known from childhood. Lydia was not to be found.
Having determined as much, they proceeded directly to Mr Bennet’s study.
Upon hearing what they had to relate, he rubbed his eyes and nodded wearily.
“I ought to have known she accepted her punishment too easily. Well, I shall go and put my boots on. Lizzy, Kitty, will you attend me? It may require several of us to manage her. Jane, I need you to remain behind and keep your mother too focused upon Mary’s wedding to wonder where we have all gone.
The last thing we need is her screeching to all the servants that her darling daughter is missing,” he said sardonically.
“It should not be a difficult task for you, my girl; you have always been good at managing her, and all she really requires is an attentive audience and the occasional question if her attention begins to wander.”
“Yes, Papa,” Jane acquiesced, though not happily.
Elizabeth squeezed Jane’s hand as Mr Bennet went to dress for walking.
“He is correct, you know—you manage Mama better than any of us. I know you feel such stratagems are deceptive, but really, Jane, if there is anything she must know, she will know it in time; if nothing too untoward has occurred, why should she be made unhappy?”
“And why should the entire neighbourhood learn that Lydia has defied our father?” Jane asked heavily. “I do understand. I do not like it, but I shall do what must be done.”
Elizabeth and Kitty then hurried to don their walking boots and bonnets, and within minutes they and their father were on the path to Meryton, silent and hurried.
Coming upon the town, they slowed their steps to a sedate pace, not wishing to draw attention.
They strolled the high street for nearly half an hour, peering into shop windows and entering Lydia’s favourites, greeting their neighbours with every semblance of good cheer, and eyeing groups of officers and the ladies who spoke with them.
They spied Maria Lucas hanging on an officer’s arm and making a cake of herself by giggling and leaning into his side.
“I shall have to tell Sir William about that,” Mr Bennet muttered.
“And I, Charlotte,” Elizabeth agreed. “But where is Lydia? We have been the length of the street and back, and unless she has entered the circulating library for the first time in her life, I hardly know where she might be.” Kitty gave an unladylike snort at that notion.
Elizabeth hoped that Lydia was not so very lost to propriety as to enter the inn’s common room without a much elder relation, but if she were not found soon, she would propose that her father look inside.
“We may as well check the library, and then we shall enquire of your aunt Philips,” he decided.
Darcy was tying his horse up at the post outside the inn when he saw Mr Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, and Miss Catherine entering the circulating library across the way.
He told himself that the surge of pleasure this sight granted him was due solely to the fact that there could hardly be any better guide to the offerings within than Miss Elizabeth and her father, the greatest bibliophiles in the county, so far as he was aware.
Not half a minute later, however, they all emerged once more, turning their steps towards the east end of the street.
Mr Bennet was frowning, Miss Catherine looked anxious, and though Miss Elizabeth alone presented an untroubled face, some instinct told him it was false.
He patted his horse’s neck and without conscious decision, turned his steps to follow them.
He had not yet caught them up when Miss Elizabeth stopped abruptly, cocking her head as though listening, then turning her gaze down the narrow passage between the milliner’s and the cobbler’s.
She tugged upon her father’s sleeve and pointed down the alley.
With a muttered imprecation, he hurried down it, his daughters hard upon his heels, and Darcy only seconds behind them.
Mr Bennet reached a shadowed pair engaged in an amorous embrace and pulled the lady from her paramour’s arms; it was his youngest daughter, Miss Lydia, and the man was Mr Pratt, a lieutenant of the militia.
The girl squawked and stumbled, colliding with her father’s chest and gazing up into his furious face with wide, uncomprehending eyes.
“I invite you, sir,” Mr Bennet stated in a low, angry tone, “to accompany us to Longbourn to discuss the terms of your marriage to my daughter.”
The officer averted his gaze, took a step back, and mumbled, “That will not be possible.”
“It is not only possible but entirely necessary!” the gentleman snapped.
Uneasily, Mr Pratt admitted, “I am married. My wife stays at my father’s estate for her confinement.”
“How could you? You—” shrieked Miss Lydia, cut off abruptly as Miss Elizabeth seized her about the waist and clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Quiet, or the whole town will be witness to this,” Miss Elizabeth hissed.
“Few men will decline what is so very freely offered,” Mr Pratt informed Miss Lydia scornfully. Miss Lydia lunged to strike him, but Miss Elizabeth held her firmly, and Miss Catherine seized her flailing arm.
Darcy looked behind himself; no one approached. Thus far, this contretemps seemed to have evaded all notice but their own. But the entire Bennet family hung on the brink of ruin, and only hushing this up entirely would save them.
“Any man of honour would,” he said. His presence was greeted with shock by all and horror by Mr Bennet and his more sensible daughters.
“My cousin, I have no doubt whatsoever, would agree. Colonel Fitzwilliam has the ear of your colonel, Mr Pratt. If word of this were to be spread abroad and harm his friends at Longbourn, you might find your career in the militia much less comfortable thenceforth.”
Mr Pratt blanched and swiftly assured them all that there was no reason the name ‘Bennet’ should ever pass his lips again, save in the most genteel and approving terms. Darcy fixed him with a severe frown and said that he had best hold to that resolution.
Mr Pratt bowed and scuttled off with an expression of mingled fear and relief.
“May I ask,” enquired Mr Bennet with no little trepidation, “that you forget what you witnessed here today, Mr Darcy?”
“As far as the world is concerned, I saw nothing, and I know nothing,” he assured the man. “Though I think I must have a word with my cousin, as I have pledged action on his behalf, I know I may speak for him when I assure you that his ignorance will be as profound as my own.”
“I thank you, sir.” He bowed briefly, then turned upon his youngest daughter. “We are returning to Longbourn now,” he informed her, positively vibrating with rage. “You are to be quiet and draw no attention to yourself, do you understand? You are on a walk with your family, and all is well.”
Miss Lydia had the minimal good sense to silently nod and follow meekly, Miss Catherine linking arms with her, as he led them the short distance to the end of the passage, which would put them on the more secluded path behind the row of shops.
Miss Elizabeth did not instantly follow, but paused to say, “You have my thanks also, sir. I know not how we should have secured his silence.”
He bowed and said, “It was my pleasure to be of service to your family.”
With a brief, tight smile, she spun and hurried to catch up with them.
He turned and went back the way he had come, emerging into a picture of village life, the residents going about their business or their pleasure, greeting each other, peering into shop windows.
No one stared, no one whispered; there was not the slightest hint of the swift gallop of fresh scandal.
He moved towards the library, tipping his hat to those he knew, and hoping most fervently that the Bennets had escaped calumny.