part0009

She did, of course, she could not have missed it, and Elizabeth gasped in shock at the sight of Mr Darcy’s horse rearing for no apparent reason, so suddenly that she half-expected the gentleman to be thrown off.

He was not, and her brow arched in surprised admiration to see him easily regain control over his tempestuous mount and bring him about deftly, then urge the massive black stallion towards the house. Much more sedately, Mr Bingley followed suit and they exchanged a few words which the Longbourn party could not hear, but it was obvious that the gentlemen were both returning, and so was the carriage, having awkwardly manoeuvred an about-turn at the end of the drive.

“What is going on, I wonder?” Kitty mused.

She was not alone in that. For his part, Mr Collins was so eager to find out that he hastened to meet them, only to stop short at a safe distance from Mr Darcy’s irritable horse and bow repeatedly, until Lady Catherine’s esteemed nephew dismounted and addressed him.

“My friend and I have just realised you may require transport into Meryton, Sir,” he announced curtly, “and as you are undoubtedly eager to find lodgings there as soon as may be, he would like to offer you the use of his carriage,” Mr Darcy concluded, his words confirmed by Mr Bingley’s nod and civil invitation.

To Elizabeth’s barely suppressed amusement, Mr Collins froze mid-bow, looking quite baffled from Mr Darcy to the house, and back again. It was plain to see that he had entertained no thoughts of finding alternative lodgings for himself, and was most put out by the assumption that he should .

He opened his mouth and closed it again, quite visibly unable to disagree in any way with a member of such an illustrious family. Yet within moments his countenance suddenly changed from baffled displeasure to awed delight and he regained the power of speech, much to Elizabeth’s regret – for her mortifying cousin could barely contain his joy at the attentions received from such a gratifying quarter, and the length of his discourse was testament to his elevated sentiments.

Biting her lip in embarrassment at the sight of Mr Darcy’s justified disdain, Elizabeth endeavoured to catch his eye and silently express her gratitude, as well as her regret for the mortification he had brought himself to endure on her family’s behalf, but the gentleman appeared quite determined to avoid glancing towards any of the Bennet sisters.

Mere minutes later, Mr Collins scurried into the waiting carriage, his belongings swiftly relegated therein by a few very efficient servants, and it was only then that Mr Darcy looked in her direction and bowed deeply, before mounting and riding away with Mr Bingley, his back straight and his countenance expressionless.

Elizabeth returned slowly to the house, intrigued in no small measure by a man she had thoroughly despised no further than a week ago. She could not make him out, and she certainly could not account for the reasons behind his offer of assistance.

Had the willingness to relieve their burdens come just from Mr Bingley, she would have easily understood it, for there was no doubt that their new neighbour harboured tender sentiments towards a member of her family.

The thought that Mr Darcy would be motivated by the same was, however, too ludicrous for words. Mr Darcy of all people, with his long list of talents required of an accomplished woman, having his attention drawn by… Kitty? Improbable. Mary? Not likely. Lydia? She giggled. Preposterous! As for herself, she had been informed at the very beginning of their acquaintance that as far as Mr Darcy was concerned, she was merely tolerable. The reminiscence did not divert her half as much as it used to, but Elizabeth had no desire to dwell on the notion – for no good could ever come of it.

For want of a better explanation, Elizabeth was forced to content herself with the one Mr Darcy had provided earlier that morning: that the loss of his beloved father had made him request Dr Halstone’s assistance on their behalf. As to his role in removing Mr Collins from Longbourn, he must have acted at his friend’s instigation and used his influence, as the nephew of Mr Collins’ revered patroness, to persuade the vexing man to leave them in peace, at least for the day.

The gentlemen’s reasons notwithstanding, they might have removed the pompous reverend from Longbourn, but could not spare them indefinitely from the doubtful pleasure of his society, so Elizabeth determined that, before too long, her father ought to be informed of his arrival in the neighbourhood. She could not tell whether he was sufficiently recovered to hear it without any risk to his health, but she wisely decided it was better for that knowledge to come from her, at a well-chosen moment, rather than be sprung on him at any other time.

The opportunity arose later that week. By then, Dr Halstone had declared himself satisfied with Mr Bennet’s progress, so much so that he was eventually persuaded to leave Longbourn and stay awhile at Netherfield. Before he left, he recommended that Mr Bennet keep to his room, if not his bed, for a few more days at least, so that he need not negotiate the stairs, but as long as he had his favourite books brought up to him and Elizabeth for company, her father seemed disposed to submit without too much reluctance.

During one of those mornings together, Elizabeth saw fit to inform him of Mr Collins’ visit.

“Oh. I have completely forgotten about the peace-making gentleman,” Mr Bennet quipped, ill at ease. “I am disappointed to have missed the chance to meet him. There was a mixture of servility and self-importance in his letter, which promised great delights.”

Elizabeth patted his arm, all too aware of her father’s habit of resorting to sarcasm when he sought to conceal genuine concern. For his sake, she hoped the unwelcome intelligence did not perturb him unduly, and refrained from telling him that of some delights, a little could go a very long way.

It was just as well she had found the opportunity to speak to her father, for a letter arrived from the Red Lion the very next day, conveying Mr Collins’ concern and his wishes for a speedy recovery, and also his impatience to call again.

There was nothing to be done about it and a day was set, much to Mrs Bennet’s horror. Still, to everyone’s consternation, her proverbial nerves were not even mentioned, and her relations could only marvel at that, blissfully unaware of what had caused the transformation.

Before too long, Mrs Bennet’s forbearance was amply rewarded. When he came to visit, Mr Collins was prompt to reaffirm his intention of making her daughters every possible amends, and thus the man whom she could not even bear to speak of was now high in her good graces.

Mr Bennet could not say the same. Although he had indulged for a while in the mischievous pleasure of listening to their cousin’s follies and absurdities, Elizabeth could tell that Mr Collins’ visit was making her dear father very anxious, given his indifferent health.

Seemingly, Elizabeth was not the only one to notice his unease. Of late, whenever Mr Collins appeared inclined to follow their father into the library, Mary would draw him into a lengthy discussion on Fordyce’s Sermons , a practice which continued for the whole duration of their cousin’s visit.

To her amazement, Elizabeth came to discover unknown depths to her younger sisters, and marvel at their willingness to rise to the challenge, in their hour of need. Over and above her timely interventions in their cousin’s case, Mary seemed determined to forsake the long hours spent with hefty tomes, so that she could care for Mr Bennet and help manage the household, and as for Kitty, it was positively touching to see her striving to be noticed by her father, and be of the smallest use to him. And thus, given Mrs Bennet’s astounding reformation, it was only Lydia’s behaviour that was left to cause them some concern.

Elizabeth drew a deep breath of the fresh morning air, and the joy of being once more out of doors put a spring in her step. She smiled as she watched swallows soar into the clear sky fringed with warm hues – reds, soft gold and yellows – that glowed ever so brightly in the autumn leaves.

Life at Longbourn had once more settled into some sort of normality; sufficiently so, she thought wryly, that they were willing to consider bringing Lydia home, to restore the balance between order and chaos .

They walked together into Meryton, she and Kitty, which turned out to be very pleasant, and Elizabeth was delighted to see that, with the right encouragement, her younger sister could become less irritable and insipid. She had a good heart, and some good sense too, and might become quite pleasant company, if carefully steered from Lydia’s influence. Lydia was another matter, and Elizabeth pondered with mild vexation on the onerous task of making their youngest sister understand what was required of them all, and of herself in particular, for their father’s sake.

They arrived in Meryton in good time, expecting a short interlude with their aunt and a slow walk back, during which a serious discussion with Lydia was mandatory, but to their great surprise and Elizabeth’s dismay, they found the Phillips household beset with morning callers, particularly young officers and their wives.

Introductions were performed, but there were so many new names and faces that Elizabeth doubted she could remember them all. One of the officers stood out from the crowd – a young man of gentlemanlike appearance, with a fine countenance, a good figure and very pleasing manners. Mr Wickham was the fortunate man towards whom the attention of almost every lady in the room was turned, and Elizabeth the much-envied woman whose company he chose. Agreeable and cheerful, he easily fell into conversation, and although they began speaking merely of the weather, it was plain to see that the dullest topic might become pleasant when the speaker was spirited and skilful.

The conversation was gradually steered towards the attraction of long country walks, in such excellent weather – and then to visiting neighbouring estates – and finally to Netherfield. Mr Wickham inquired how far it was from Meryton and, after receiving her answer, he remarked in a hesitating manner:

“Miss Lydia gave me to understand that Mr Darcy of Pemberley is currently visiting there. Is your family acquainted with him?”

Elizabeth responded in the affirmative and, to her surprise, that eventually led to Mr Wickham relating a long tale of woe concerning the injustices suffered at the gentleman’s hands, from the rivalry for the affection of Mr Darcy’s late father to a legacy left in old Mr Darcy’s will, which the son refused point-blank to honour .

Thorough disparagement of Mr Darcy’s character was also weaved in, along with some oblique criticism of his sister, leaving Elizabeth to wonder what could have prompted the man to make such disclosures without ceremony, and on so slight an acquaintance, despite having said quite emphatically at some point in the long narrative that respect for the memory of the father would always prevent him from defying or exposing the son.

Some fragments of Mr Wickham’s tall tale – for she was disposed to think it was nothing more than that – brought to mind the prideful Mr Darcy of the Meryton assembly, but in none of the accounts of dishonourable deeds could she recognise the gentleman who had shown such concern and compassion for her family.

The recollection of Mr Darcy’s countenance as he told her of his father’s passing returned to Elizabeth, and she recognised in it true depth of feeling. By comparison, it did not take her long to learn to detect, in the very gentleness which had at first delighted her about Mr Wickham, a wearying affectation and a disingenuous manner.

She was pleased to find a plausible reason to excuse herself from his company. Elizabeth could not understand the man’s reasons for blackening Mr Darcy’s character, but could not trust him, and was glad when the officers left to see to their duties, which meant that she and her sisters could finally make their way home – for there was no hope whatsoever of persuading Lydia to leave, while their aunt’s house was still offering the allure of countless dashing redcoats.

They had barely reached the end of the village when the rhythmic sound of hoofbeats drew their notice, and they turned around to see Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley riding up the lane.

“What a fortunate encounter,” Mr Bingley exclaimed warmly and hurried to dismount, while his friend followed suit, with a few quiet words of greeting.

“We were on our way to Longbourn to inquire after Mr Bennet,” Mr Bingley resumed. “I understand Dr Halstone saw him earlier this morning, but the good doctor is uncommonly tight-lipped,” he added lightly, and then asked in earnest: “How is your father, Miss Elizabeth? Is he still keeping well? ”

“He is steadily improving,” Elizabeth assured him with a smile, and his countenance brightened.

“Capital news! Capital news indeed! Now, would you allow us to escort you back?” Mr Bingley offered and, as permission was easily granted, the gentlemen fell into step behind them, leading their horses at a leisurely pace.

They talked little, mainly between themselves, and Elizabeth had no occasion to say much, particularly as her thoughts were still engaged by her earlier conversation with Mr Wickham.

It remained to the younger girls to provide some distraction during their journey, which they gladly did, especially Lydia, who talked incessantly about her stay with her aunt Phillips, and about the officers. Elizabeth was half-dreading that her sister would mention Mr Wickham, and pondered whether she should inform Mr Darcy about the damage to his character, wilfully perpetrated in the neighbourhood, when suddenly her attention was drawn to Lydia’s change of topic:

“This horrible business of the entail, Kitty,” she cried, much to Elizabeth’s shock and mortification. “My aunt and I spoke of it for ages. And, would you believe it, my aunt says the dreadful man is in Meryton. She has not met him herself, but her maid, Hannah, whose brother is in service at the Red Lion , told her of a Mr Collins who has arrived a few days ago. My aunt says ‘tis no coincidence—”

Elizabeth privately wished her aunt Phillips would not say half as much, especially to Lydia, and that her youngest sister would learn to hold her tongue. The three of them were walking a few steps ahead of the gentlemen, but even so, the unguarded comments must have been overheard.

“There is no coincidence at all,” Kitty replied. “He has been to Longbourn too.”

“Upon my word, he has. Ask Lizzy.”

“Lydia, Kitty, this is neither the time nor the place,” Elizabeth cautioned.

It came as no surprise that it fell on deaf ears. Lydia huffed.

“Oh, la, what does it signify? We have to talk about these things!”

“And we cannot talk in Papa’s hearing,” added Kitty, to make her own point .

Finally, Kitty took the hint, and despite some resistance from Lydia, the subject was eventually dropped, but by then Elizabeth’s cheeks were crimson. The other day it was Mr Collins. Now Lydia’s impropriety, Kitty’s silliness and her aunt Phillips’ vulgar gossip. Were her relations forever bent on exposing themselves to ridicule before these two gentlemen?

A little later though, Elizabeth’s mortified spirits took a turn for the better as, shortly before reaching Longbourn, Lydia suddenly thought of turning back and calling on Maria Lucas. Kitty readily agreed, and Elizabeth sighed to see that it was sufficient for Lydia to reappear on the scene for Kitty to be easily swayed by her schemes and away from their family. Still, on this occasion this was the lesser of two evils, and Elizabeth was gratified to think that at least Jane’s reunion with Mr Bingley would not be plagued by the unwelcome interference of their two younger sisters.

The visit began on a happy note. Upon their return to Longbourn, they found Jane and Mary companionably sitting together in the parlour, Mary with a book and Jane with her embroidery. As soon as civilities were exchanged, Elizabeth inquired if their father was resting, only to learn that he was. Smiling to herself when she saw Mr Bingley unreservedly claiming a place at Jane’s side, Elizabeth rang for refreshments, then went to sit with Mary.

Mr Darcy was the only one who remained standing. Having bowed in greeting, he advanced to assume his customary position by the window, but a few moments later he seemed to reconsider and abandoned it in favour of a seat close to Elizabeth and her younger sister.

“I gather your father is much better,” Mr Bingley said to Jane.

“He is indeed, Sir, I thank you,” she replied with a smile, briefly meeting his eyes before lowering hers.

“I am overjoyed to hear it,” Bingley said, seconded by Darcy who, to Elizabeth’s surprise, turned to her afterwards to ask if she often walked into Meryton.

Elizabeth looked up in some amazement at his sudden willingness to make civil conversation, as she had been rather inclined to think him of an unsociable, taciturn disposition, reluctant to speak unless he expected to say something that would amaze the whole room .

She smiled at her own mischievousness, in the full knowledge that perhaps most of her former opinions of the gentleman ought to be revised.

“I believe I do, often enough,” she remembered to reply.

“But ‘tis not your favourite walk,” he added quietly.

It was not a question, and Elizabeth smiled in surprise, unknowingly warming his heart.

“No, I cannot say it is.” It was a great favourite with Kitty and Lydia, but she kept that to herself. “How did you know?” she could not help asking, and Darcy made a vague gesture by way of an answer.

He could not very well tell her that he had had the pleasure of her society for long enough to know she would not chose the facile amusement of gossip and shops over the quiet beauty of a country walk. Another picture intruded. Ascending the Peaks with Elizabeth at his side, her eyes filled with wonder at their untamed beauty, the winds of the hills playing in her hair and kissing her lovely face, before he would.

The sudden thought caught him unawares. With a faint start, Darcy looked away. He shifted in his seat and cleared his voice – to no purpose, for he said nothing else. To his temporary relief, refreshments were soon brought in, but that only served to unsettle him further. Darcy squared his shoulders and sought to tear his eyes from the endearingly domestic picture she presented, as she busied herself with pouring Bingley’s tea. He fixed his stare on a particularly unflattering rendition of some ancestor on the wall before him, in an attempt to stop himself from picturing Elizabeth pouring Bingley’s tea as she entertained him as their guest at Pemberley, in the pale-yellow sitting room that used to be his mother’s.

This was not to be borne!

He must conquer this!

Assistance came from the most unlikely quarter. The door was thrown open, and the gentlemen stood to bow to Mrs Bennet, as she swept into the room.

Half an hour later, Elizabeth was thoroughly persuaded that, had her family made an agreement to produce the most mortifying spectacle, it would have been impossible to play their parts with more spirit or finer success .

Mrs Bennet was the first to take centre stage. At some point, she had become aware of Mr Darcy’s role in Mr Bennet’s recovery, and Elizabeth was now forced to witness not only her brazen attempts to matchmake Bingley and Jane, but also her importunate attentions to his friend and her ill-judged apologies for having so disliked him before, along with implications that someone so rich could never be in the wrong – for Mrs Bennet, although subdued beyond recognition in her husband’s presence, was still very much herself in any other company.

Just as her mother’s aria reached its crescendo, Elizabeth was compelled to reconsider the opinion that the situation could not grow any worse when the door opened once more and Mr Collins was announced. Elizabeth exchanged a horrified glance with Jane, then crossed her hands in her lap and looked away from both Bingley and Darcy, too overcome by embarrassment to even attempt to deflect unfortunate comments or to salvage anything from an utterly unsalvageable situation.

After Mr Collins’ monologue, directed mainly at Mr Darcy, her younger sisters’ entrance merely put the finishing touches to the performance of the day, as Lydia proceeded to gossip loudly about their Meryton acquaintances. At least she did not get to mention Mr Wickham until after the gentlemen from Netherfield had left them, but such small mercies could bring too little comfort.

By the time Bingley and Darcy took their leave, Elizabeth was persuaded that her dearest wish was to never lay eyes on either of them again, as nothing could atone for the wretchedness of the day’s mortifications.

Darcy rode away from Longbourn feeling all the irony of his situation. It was the second time in as many visits that he had been drawn there by the irrepressible need to see Elizabeth, and all he could take with him on his journey back was the restored conviction that she must be forsaken. That his heart’s desire was of no consequence, and he could not make her his wife.

Another sleepless night followed – another one of many. It was not just the perpetual war between his head and his heart that kept him from his sleep, but also a deep anxiety about Elizabeth’s future .

Darcy had spoken to Dr Halstone and with a great deal of effort, pleading his genuine concern for the family, had overcome the man’s scruples and found out what there was to know about Mr Bennet’s condition. He learned that it was possible for Elizabeth’s father to lead a long and rewarding life – or his condition could worsen irreversibly, with more or less warning.

The thought of Elizabeth destitute, at the mercy of that cousin of theirs, or married for security to someone who could neither love nor appreciate her tore at his heart.

The thought of her loving and being loved by any man other than himself was a torture of a different kind – but his impossible wishes notwithstanding, the truth remained: if he would not have her, he would at least want her to be happy.

A solution came to him, at first hastily rejected as the ramblings of an overtaxed mind, but then returning in force, with arguments to support it. If he could not give her his hand and his name, he could at least give her independence. He could give her the freedom to choose and be chosen, and then relinquish her from his life, if not his heart. It had to be done under a guise, of course. Much as he abhorred disguise of any sort, the need for it was undeniable, if he were to proceed with his scheme. Her reputation had to be protected. It could not be made known that Elizabeth and her relations were set up by him in a house he owned, for goodness’ sake! Moreover, the Bennets would never agree to receive anything from him, if offered openly. Well, perhaps Mrs Bennet and the younger sisters might, but that was beside the point.

And then it came to him: the Devonshire property he had inherited from his childless aunt, his father’s youngest sister, who had in turn inherited it from Lord Farringdon, her husband. There was nothing and no one in that part of the country to link the ownership to his name. The hall and the bulk of the estate were leased, and the lease controlled by his London attorneys, the only ones aware of his involvement. He could transfer the ownership of the dower house, Farringdon Lodge, to the Bennets, along with a sum that would ensure a certain independence. His mind started working faster. It could be presented as a legacy in the memory of the days of their youth, from a schoolfellow of Mr Bennet’s, who wished to preserve his anonymity. It would be in Mr Bennet’s name, and devolve upon his issue in the circumstance of his death .

It must be accomplished in great secrecy and with the utmost care, to preclude any mishap. The papers must be punctiliously drawn, so that neither Farringdon Lodge, nor the sum that went with it, could possibly be regarded as subject to the entail and, without signalling Elizabeth out so as to avoid giving rise to speculations, still ensure that her share was secure, and could not be frittered away by a thoughtless mother or by senseless sisters.

At the back of his mind, a bothersome notion niggled, urging him to consider how shocked his father would have been to hear of him signing off so significant a portion, to be forever lost from the estate that stood to be passed down, along with the Darcy name. After all, he had a duty to uphold.

‘Duty can go hang!’ he fiercely thought as he sat at his desk, pulled some paper and began to write down instructions to his attorneys. It was because of duty that he was forced to travel down this path. If he could not give her his name, he would give her peace of mind – and freedom. It would be his parting gift to her.