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With the sinister events of the Netherfield ball resolved at last, Elizabeth should have settled back into her old pleasant routines, were it not for her worry over Jane’s well-being. Her elder sister steadfastly refused to discuss the ball or mention Bingley, but her pale countenance and subdued manner spoke clearly of her suffering. Elizabeth had hoped that Caroline Bingley might write to Jane soon after the ball, to renew the friendship—since propriety prevented the brother from writing himself—but the days passed with no news from Netherfield Park. And contrary to Darcy’s words, Bingley did not return promptly from London—indeed, he did not return at all.
Four days after the ball came the devastating news that the whole Bingley household had left Netherfield Park. The official word stated that Bingley’s business required his presence in London for longer than expected and his sisters were joining him in town to help him keep house—though many felt that the real reason was their desire to leave Hertfordshire and escape the gossip which had dogged them since their infamous masquerade ball.
It seemed clear that the Bingleys had little intention of returning to the neighbourhood again and their departure signified the end of any chance of Bingley renewing his courtship of Jane. Mrs Bennet greeted the announcement with fresh tears and hysterics, her constant peevish outbursts causing most of her family to abandon her company. Jane, however, remained stoically by her mother’s side, despite the pain the latter’s words caused her. Elizabeth gritted her teeth and resolved to stay with Jane, determined to offer her sister her full support. Together, they endured their mother’s histrionics as best they could. Elizabeth marvelled repeatedly at her sister’s good nature for, while her own patience was sorely tested, Jane showed great forbearance in the face of their mother’s continual laments about the loss of Netherfield and its master.
It was not until a quiet moment together, as they were dressing for dinner one evening, that Jane revealed her feelings to Elizabeth at last.
“I know you think ill of Mr Bingley, Lizzy. Your disapproval is evident in your expressions, despite your silence on the subject. But I would have you know that I have nothing to reproach him with. It is understandable that he should want to avoid further acquaintance after the events at the ball and that he should want to withdraw his affections—”
“Nay, it is not understandable at all!” said Elizabeth angrily. “If he were to feel any special regard for you, he should have displayed more loyalty of feeling, more depth of understanding for your circumstances. He should certainly have been quick to offer forgiveness. A man in love should do nothing less.”
“But perhaps we were deceived as to the depth of his regard,” said Jane in a small voice. “We may be ascribing more intensity of feeling and seriousness of intent than is deserved. It is often nothing but our own vanity which deceives us.”
“No, Jane,” said Elizabeth staunchly. “No one who has seen you together can doubt that Bingley was in love with you or think that you were being presumptive in expecting a proposal of marriage. It pains me to say this, but it is his weakness of temperament and want of resolution which has allowed others to so easily influence him and turn him away from you.”
“Do not distress me with such accusations,” cried Jane. “I am not ashamed of having been mistaken in supposing that his affection was greater than the reality. But I will not think ill of him. He may live in my memory as the most amiable man of my acquaintance but that is all. He will be forgot, and we shall all be as we were before.”
Elizabeth bit her lip on further comments and was obliged to let the subject drop. The topic remained on her mind, however, and her concern for her sister remained unabated, particularly when gossip continued to circulate in the neighbourhood about Jane. Although the eldest Miss Bennet had been publicly exonerated at the ball, the taint of scandal was hard to shake off and Jane was repeatedly humiliated each time she went into society by the furtive whispers and knowing looks thrown in her direction.
It was therefore with great delight that Elizabeth received a letter from her Aunt Gardiner inviting Jane for an extended stay in London. Their aunt and uncle were keen to take a trip overseas on one of their ships and would appreciate the presence of their eldest niece in their home, to supervise their children in their absence. Jane enjoyed child-minding immensely and had looked after the young Gardiners many times. Thus she was easily persuaded to accept the invitation and Elizabeth was well pleased. A change of scene and some relief from the malicious tongues of Hertfordshire would do wonders for her sister’s well-being. If the eldest Miss Bennet felt any concern at the thought of Bingley being in the same town, she did not show it. In any case, the fact that the Gardiners moved in such different circles of society and lived in so different a part of town meant that their paths were very unlikely to cross unless either side actively sought it. Thus the trunks were hastily packed and Jane soon departed with the manservant that their uncle had sent to escort her.
With her beloved sister gone to London, there was little excitement or pleasure left for Elizabeth to look forward to, save Charlotte’s wedding. A week after the Netherfield ball, Mr Collins returned from Hunsford an eager bridegroom and the happy couple were married at the church in Meryton, followed by a small reception at Lucas Lodge. The event was not exactly a pleasure, but Elizabeth was determined to show her friend the same loyalty and support that Charlotte had displayed towards them at the ball. She gained satisfaction at least from the fact that her friend appeared pleased with her lot in life—even if her choice seemed so repulsive to Elizabeth.
As they were making their farewells outside the church, Charlotte grasped Elizabeth’s hand with sudden urgency. “Promise me, Eliza, that you will come to Hunsford to visit me,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.
Elizabeth looked at her in surprise. Her friend had shown remarkable calm throughout the whole ceremony—this was the first time Elizabeth had witnessed her betray any emotion. Perhaps Charlotte was not contemplating her future married life with as much nonchalance as she portrayed.
“I do not know when I might have the opportunity to journey to Kent,” Elizabeth prevaricated.
“My father and Maria are to come to me in March and I hope you will consent to be one of the party,” said Charlotte earnestly. “Indeed, Eliza, you will be as welcome to me as either of them.”
With such a plea, Elizabeth felt that she could not refuse, and Charlotte left Hertfordshire with the happy knowledge of seeing her friend again soon. The days that followed settled quickly back into the familiar routines of reading, needlework, the occasional visits and dinners with neighbours, and the walks into Meryton and around the countryside. For some reason, the thought of Mr Darcy crossed Elizabeth’s mind several times; she assumed that he would have left Netherfield with the rest of the party and was now residing in London as well.
Elizabeth eagerly awaited the first letter from Jane but the news which arrived a few days later provided excitement of a different kind: Lydia and Kitty returned from Meryton to announce that George Wickham had escaped from Newgate Prison and was at large again. Indeed, there were rumours of sightings of him back in Hertfordshire! Lydia was filled with glee at the thought of Wickham’s possible presence in the vicinity again. Despite his dastardly exploits at the Netherfield ball, his looks and charm had retained his romantic appeal for many of the young ladies in the neighbourhood.
“Oh, I do hope I shall see Wickham again,” said Lydia with a wistful sigh. “I wish it had been me that he had danced with at the ball!”
“Lydia! Remember that he is a convicted criminal,” said Mary with sharp disapproval.
Lydia looked at her defiantly. “I think Wickham has been very ill used by those determined to condemn him. I should like to hear his account with my own ears before I castigate him and, until I do, I shall venture still to think of him as I did before!” She made to leave the room, then paused and turned back to Elizabeth. “Oh, Lizzy, I almost forgot—I saw this outside. It is addressed to you. A messenger must have left it on the doorstep.”
Elizabeth looked up in surprise from her book and took the elongated parcel Lydia held out to her. From the shape under her fingers, she guessed that the parcel contained flowers and, remembering the last bouquet she had received, Elizabeth felt her senses fill with tension. Was Wickham sending her messages again now that he was free once more?
She excused herself with as little ceremony as possible and took the parcel to the privacy of her bedroom. Once there, she lost no time in tearing the brown paper wrapping open, then sat down in surprise on her bed, staring at the flowers on her lap.
It was not a bouquet of violets as she had expected—instead, the package held several beautiful long-stemmed tulips. Their petals were still tightly furled, but already Elizabeth could see the vivid colours of yellow and orange swirled across the petals. They would resemble a glorious sunset when open in full bloom.
She reached out to touch the exquisite flowers. Who had sent her this bouquet? She doubted it was Wickham: tulips did not normally flower at this time of the year—these were carefully cultivated hothouse blooms—and the highwayman would not have such means at his disposal.
Furthermore, such two-toned tulips were her very favourite and she knew of only one instance recently when she had shared this intelligence. It was during her stay at Netherfield Park, when conversation had turned to flowers and a gentleman had asked her for her favourite.
That gentleman was Mr Darcy.
Her heart began thumping in her breast. Ever since the ball, she had been struggling to determine her feelings for Darcy. She had always been disposed to think unfavourably of him—convinced that he was nothing more than a proud, condescending man—but since getting to know him better, she was beginning to wonder... Had her first impressions been wrong?
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END OF BOOK TWO
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The Dark Darcy Mysteries continue with
