Chapter Fifteen
Her father was pale and trembling. Elizabeth was scared.
Was it another attack?
It seemed like the world entire was more vivid.
Jane stood in the door to the library, her countenance pale, her hand against her mouth.
The colour on her father’s face started to improve quickly once he no longer had to keep himself upright. Elizabeth hurried to grab a glass of water from the side table, holding it up to help him drink.
He coughed and sputtered but then swallowed easily.
When he pushed the water away, Elizabeth pressed the glass to him again.
He shook his head. “Not another attack. Only tired.” He closed his eyes and let out a long slow breath. Then he smiled at Elizabeth a bit grimly. “Shocking scene. Still think well of your fellow?”
Mr. Bingley replied before Elizabeth could speak. “That woman! I am sure that it is a scurrilous lie. Darcy would never have killed her, even after he knew that she had, ah, well—”
“Cuckolded him?” Mr. Bennet asked with a smile in his voice.
“I cannot believe it! It all must be a mistake. But Wickham is a worthless fellow. Everyone who ever knew him knew that he was not trustworthy and that he generally lost money at cards. Too easy with the women though—not a surprise to me. Poor Mrs. Darcy. I still refuse to believe that anyone would do such a thing.”
“It is shocking,” Jane said softly. She cautiously walked over and found a chair to sit down in by patting around. “Mr. Darcy has great anger in his heart. It is not good for him.”
“He had no choice,” Elizabeth said sharply.
“He had a choice,” Jane said in her clear, sweet voice. “But I am afeard that he made the wrong one. Poor Mr. Wickham. I heard his terror in his words—he does not want to die. I shall think very ill of Mr. Darcy if he kills the man.”
This statement rather surprised Elizabeth as she was used to thinking of her sister as a person who never judged anyone—even those who deserved that judgment. And Mr. Darcy would act as any honourable man ought if he killed him.
“You are right,” Mr. Bingley said. “He should not shoot Mr. Wickham. I was shocked to hear Darcy speak with such violence. But he was greatly affected by Mrs. Darcy—I cannot judge him so harshly. Poor man. He has always been so kind to me. The best of friends. Miss Bennet, you must not think so ill of him. It is a tragedy, but he is not bad.”
“He has a choice,” Jane repeated.
The door opened, and Mr. Darcy entered carrying a fine leather document case in one hand and Emily in the other. The girl’s face was red, and the tracks of tears lined her cheeks.
Jane spoke in a voice that could be easily heard by all the occupants of the room, perhaps not realising that Mr. Darcy had joined them—or perhaps wishing him to hear.
“He can choose to do what God and religion and kindness and his true duty demand, or he can do what pride of place and fear of society’s scorn ask of him.
And I fear very much that he will make the wrong choice. ”
Mr. Darcy regarded her solemnly.
Emily squirmed to be put down, shouting, “Miss Lizzy! Miss Lizzy!” She ran over to Elizabeth, who embraced her and picked her up.
“What will happen?” Elizabeth asked, the girl in her arms, suddenly fearing that the duel might lead to Mr. Darcy being the one killed. “Lord, what will happen?”
“You need not fret about what will come if the worst should befall me,” Mr. Darcy said.
“But before I say anything else, you must satisfy me on this point: What was that man doing in your house? Why did you permit him to speak to my sister? And why were you in private conference with him when I arrived? These are all situations that I imagine you would have contrived to hide from me if I had not had the good fortune to arrive earlier than expected.”
Elizabeth’s temper rose at the accusation in his queries.
She pressed her lips together.
He had a right to be suspicious. It was her place to reassure him. She must not become angry.
Yet Elizabeth keenly perceived the injustice of his questioning when she had been in the process of throwing the officer from the house when Mr. Darcy had found them in the hall. But if she told him that was what she had been doing, it was likely to only increase his suspicion yet further.
Mr. Bingley exclaimed, “Darcy, that is hardly fair to Miss Elizabeth! I also did not realise that you would wish me to keep Miss Darcy from conversation with him. I knew that you were not fond of him, but I had heard nothing of this enmity.”
“Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy insisted, “answer me. What is your connection to Mr. Wickham? I hardly believe that he is here by coincidence.”
She remained silent, both upset and trying to decide how to explain the matter to her future husband in a way that would satisfy him.
“Answer me. I shall give you no further time to contemplate a sweet lie.”
“Oh, then, of course,” Elizabeth replied sarcastically, unable to repress her temper.
“I called my old friend Mr. Wickham here so that he could convince your sister to elope with him. And it would have worked, too, if only you had not arrived unexpectedly. How shrewd of you to deduce our scheme from such thin evidence. And yes, I must not forget to inform you, we have been lovers these fifteen years.”
“Do not jest. My suspicion is reasonable. It is right and it is necessary. Given what I have suffered, surely you must admit the justice of my concern.”
With his tired manner, her father watched the whole from the chair in which Elizabeth had placed him. “Justice is not—” he began to say, but he then lapsed into silence.
“By Jove!” Bingley exclaimed. “Darcy, you have changed.”
That seemed to strike the man. But he then said solemnly, “I have been made wise. To my great cost.”
“You must learn to trust,” Jane said. “You will cause great unhappiness in yourself, and in those close to you, if you do not. Even if many are unworthy of your trust, I beg you to think the best of all the world. Else think upon what your life will be if you cannot.”
“That is most easy for you to say,” Mr. Darcy said harshly, “when you will be one of the principal beneficiaries should I be trusting at present.”
Elizabeth felt something hollow and awful in her stomach.
Jane’s pockmarked face looked with clouded eyes for some time towards where Mr. Darcy stood, then she said, looking in Elizabeth’s general direction, “Lizzy, I had meant to say nothing more on the subject, but I beg you to remember what I told you.”
Elizabeth knew what Jane meant.
She meant that she should not marry Mr. Darcy.
Mr. Darcy planned to kill a man. He was accusing her of consorting with his enemies. He was deeply suspicious. What would it mean for their marriage if he continued in this way?
He had locked one wife up for a week.
Elizabeth closed her eyes. Her breathing was rapid.
Was Jane right?
Was it too dangerous to trust herself to this man?
Her hands felt numb.
She wanted to marry Mr. Darcy—and not for his fortune. She wanted to trust him.
Emily buried her head in Elizabeth’s neck, crying, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said as she squeezed Emily and stared at the girl’s hair, “I met Mr. Wickham last night at a card party hosted by Mrs. Phillips. I heard his name for the first time yesterday afternoon. He told me he came to Hertfordshire to enrol in the regiment. Once I realised he was an enemy of yours, I sought to avoid conversation with him. When you saw us in the hall, I was in the process of ordering him from the premises. Any contrivance was not mine. Likely his presence was coincidence. From his behaviour when you two met, I do not think that he would have voluntarily entered a neighbourhood with you in it. This is the whole of my acquaintance with Mr. Wickham.”
Mr. Darcy’s face was solemn.
She could detect very little change in his mask as she delivered her explanation.
No one spoke.
Then Emily turned in Elizabeth’s arms and looked at her father. “Did you really throw Mama from the balcony?”
“No, sweetling.”
“But Uncle George said you did.”
“He lied,” Mr. Darcy said quietly. “It was, as you have been told, an accident. He is no longer our friend. Do not refer to him again as your uncle.”
The girl contemplated this. Then she returned to a previous question: “What’s a cuckold?”
“That will be explained to you when you are older. Go to Georgie. I have important matters to discuss with Miss Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet.”
“No! No! No!” Emily turned and wrapped her arms around Elizabeth. “Don’t let him take me!”
“Lord, must I have you spanked?” Mr. Darcy asked. “I shall if you do not cease these tricks and tantrums. I have tolerated enough.”
Emily sobbed.
Elizabeth held the girl tight.
Her sister was right.
There were worse things than suffering in poverty with Jane. “If you mean to marry me, if you mean to make me Emily’s mother, I shall have your oath that you will never harm her or any children you have with me because they are too desperate to be near you.”
There was something wild and lost in Mr. Darcy’s eyes when he looked at her. A look of pain, like Elizabeth remembered in the eyes of a beloved dog after he had become terribly ill and needed to be put down.
He held his arms out to Emily, but the girl wrapped herself tightly around Elizabeth and refused to let go.
“And what will happen if you die tomorrow?” Elizabeth then asked. Poor Emily! Poor Georgiana!
“Papa can’t die! Papa can’t! He said he wouldn’t!” Emily cried.
Elizabeth felt sick and stupid. She should not have said such a thing in front of Emily. But maybe it was for the best that the girl knew her father meant to fight a bloody duel.
Mr. Darcy’s face hardened. “You need not be concerned upon that matter, madam. We shall marry this evening, after the settlement has been signed. Your pecuniary interests and that of your sister and the rest of your family will be well protected before I give Mr. Wickham the chance to shoot at me. I have destroyed your chances with Mr. Collins, and so I know what my duty is.”
“Lord! And this is what you think of me?”