by Beth Poppet
She was glad to go for Jane’s sake but could not help harbouring suspicion over Mr Collins’s insistence that Lady Catherine was most eager for her to return as well. She wondered if it had anything to do with Mr Darcy’s current whereabouts and their being in frequent company together. Elizabeth could not account for her knowledge, but Lady Catherine seemed to have spies everywhere. Elizabeth had written to Jane with a line here or there regarding the dinners at Netherfield and Longbourn in order to keep her abreast of Mr Bingley’s slow—yet certain, they hoped—recovery. Not a great deal was said of Mr Darcy, excepting one or two lines to the affect of his civility. She supposed it more than possible that Mr Collins plied Jane for information regarding the residents of Netherfield, and Jane, being incapable of practicing deceit or offering half-truths would have told him all.
Of course, Caroline Bingley might also have decided to renew her friendship with Jane in writing with such intelligences as she imagined would reach Lady Catherine’s ears, and cause her to act upon them.
Jane had written to her in confidence that there were suspicions of Lydia’s sudden marriage, and that Mary had returned to the parsonage amongst the rumours. Her removal from Rosings was done so amicably, one might have assumed Mary to be the instigator. She harboured no ill will towards Lady Catherine and her daughter she said, for regardless of the truth of the matter, Lydia was a most rash and impolitic girl who should have taken more care of her reputation.
“For as Mary tells us,” wrote Jane, “’a woman’s reputation is as irretrievable as it is brittle.’”
Lizzy then, was to travel with Kitty to Hunsford, and it was decided that upon her return she would bring back both of her sisters. Mrs Bennet was immensely distressed. She did not understand what Mr Collins was thinking to be telling Lizzy where she must go and for how long, especially in light of how wonderfully they all got on with their neighbours at present.
“Mama, I want to go to Jane. She has no one to be by her side in this trouble.”
“What can you mean? No one?” Mrs Bennet cried, “I’m sure the midwives there are just as capable as those here in Hertfordshire, and no one wants sisters running about underfoot when the pains are upon you. Mark my words, I know enough of it from the five of you, and such aches and spasms now as never before came upon me since the days of my travails, but who is offering to take care of me when you are all away? Jane would be just as well served with you here, keeping me company and doing your duty by our neighbours at Netherfield Park!”
“But Jane does want me there, Mama, and it is all settled. I shall leave before the week’s end, and I promise to write to you very often.”
“Oh, what good are the promises of letters when you’re leaving me? Lydia promised to write me too, and I haven’t heard a word from her in nearly a month! You’ll all go off and desert me, and I shall die alone with only my poor nerves for company.”
“I shall not be gone beyond the birth of her child, and perhaps a little longer while she recovers. But, Mama…” Lizzy grew very serious; something she was not used to doing with her mother, “You do not still have expectations for me and Mr Bingley, do you?”
“Good heavens, no!” she cried, aghast. “You proved yourself quite unwilling to make him love you and you don’t deserve him now, even if he were to offer.”
“Then… I must ask…” she pressed, hiding her oddly trembling hands as best as she was able, “do you expect Mr Darcy to propose?”
Mrs Bennet was stunned with the momentary desire to affirm this loudly and insist Lizzy marry him if he did offer. But remembering how utterly useless her attempts were to prevail upon her in regards to Bingley she held her tongue and evaded the question.
“I have no expectations whatever, Miss Lizzy. I merely observe and hope that you do not consider past grievances too heavily.”
Surprised yet relieved that this was to be the end of it, Lizzy turned to finish packing her things, but her mother did not possess the kind of self-control to leave things so unclear, “But if I did hope for such a match—which I am not professing to be the case—” she fiddled with a hem, refusing to meet Lizzy’s look, “One could wish for more warmth on your side, Miss Lizzy. Mr Darcy watches you a great deal, and though he does not smile or compliment in the pretty ways Mr Bingley, or Mr Wickham does, I think there are times he would not look unfavourably on you if you tried just a little harder in beautifying yourself. You know, your hair was very pretty last Wednesday, when you added the sage ribbon from your old dress, and though you can never hope to be as pretty as Jane, I will say it looked very well with your complexion.”
“Thank you, Mama. I shall take great pains to ensure Mr Darcy never catches me without a ribbon in my hair.”
She said this with her usual sarcasm, but Mrs Bennet did not catch the tone, and merely replied, “Well, very good. That is all that I ask of you; that you do your best and try.” She sighed at the end of this pronouncement, finding the mothering of grown daughters very exhausting indeed, and went on to assert her opinion of Mr Collins’s foolishness in catching diseases from his poor folk and the unsuitable timing of his summons.
When the sisters arrived at Hunsford this time, they were still within the acceptable range of refreshments and tea service, which was suitable for a reception that shamed neither Jane nor Mr Collins, though he was not present to affirm this. Jane was quite round with child and had the most troublesome time standing and sitting back down again, but she suppressed her signs of discomfort with all the smiles and welcomes she heaped upon her sisters. It was as Lizzy feared; with Mr Collins ill and only one housemaid, Jane took much of the burden of the work upon herself.
Mr Collins was not wholly to blame, as Jane had refused the help of one of Lady Catherine’s servants, knowing it was offered under the request of Mr Darcy and not because his aunt truly thought it a good plan. Lizzy scolded Jane for such a refusal but was gently assured that she did not overtax herself and Mary was enough help in the few things that needed doing beyond Jane’s capacity.
There was a current debate within the household over the name of their child. Of course, Mr Collins was most desirous of a son and quite certain that God in His eternal benevolence would grant him the desire of his heart, but there was some contention over what the inevitable heir would be called. Jane wanted to name their boy Henry, but her husband was in shock over this unfathomable suggestion.
“But, my dear!” he called out from behind the door of his library where he could not be an imposition to her or his guests, “There are no Henrys in the line of Collins. His name should be William, a respectable family name, or Percival, like my grandfather, the most honoured and adored of men!”
“Should he not be in bed?” Lizzy queried in a low murmur, curious as to the current situation which had Jane’s husband shouting at them from the other room.
“It is not a very dangerous cold, though I’m sure it makes him quite uncomfortable,” Jane answered graciously. “But the apothecary says it is highly infectious and will not allow him to mingle overmuch with other persons or visit his poor folk, where we suspect he first contracted it.”
“You have not taken those duties upon yourself, have you, Jane?”
“No,” she smiled wearily, “Mary is very good in taking the baskets and blankets round the parish. I believe she finds inestimable pleasure in fulfilling her Christian duty, though I think the children may take some time to grow used to her. Mrs Mullins says the village youngsters often complain when she comes.”
They shared a laugh over this, as they had often joked that Mary was never a child herself but born with a serious and mirthless disposition that only grew more evident as her vocabulary increased.
“What do you laugh about?” Mr Collins called, “What do my sweet wife and her dear sister find worthy of such obvious expression of cheer?”
“It is nothing, my dear,” Jane called back, in what could barely be considered a loud voice, “We will move to the sitting room so that yo
u may study in peace.”
At this, Lizzy hurried them both away before Mr Collins brought up any objections which might keep Jane from coming away as intended.
Their days passed slowly, but not unpleasantly. Elizabeth gave all the particulars of the dinners, walks, and dances they had between Longbourn and Netherfield that she could not fit in her letters, and Jane was immensely grateful for the news of Mr Bingley’s recovery.
“Poor Mr Bingley, to be hosting such lively balls that he cannot truly participate in,” she sympathised.
“Yes, but he acts with all the cheer and benevolence one would expect, and by the way he smiles and watches the others dancing, you would think he is not even disappointed in his predicament.”
“I can well believe it of him to maintain such outward contentment, Lizzy, but I know he is a man of deeper feeling that he lets show on the surface, and I’m sure it is very hard for him.”
“Oh, I do not dismiss his difficulty. Of course, the strain he must endure in working to regain the use of both legs must cause him great pain. Mr Darcy confides that though he encourages him to try as often as he can, it is very hard to see his friend suffer so.”
“Mr Darcy confides as much in you?”
Lizzy could not keep back a knowing smirk. “I know what you would say, Jane, and I have no wish to impart false hope to you. Mr Darcy has been… uncommonly agreeable of late, even so much as to endure our mother’s company for his frequent visits to Longbourn.” At Jane’s broadening smile, Lizzy warned her with a look, “But there is no reason for me to believe that he has any further intentions upon me. Though Mama does everything in her power to throw us together.”
“Does she?” Jane said with some surprise. “Has she changed her mind about him, then?”
“I can only assume that she has from her charge that I do not look too harshly on ‘past grievances.’ But she seemed determined not to speak her full mind when I questioned her on the subject, which I find surprising and troubling. As you know, our mother is not one to take such a vague position.”
“Perhaps she has finally learned there is no use urging you towards a certain scheme unless you have had the idea yourself.”
“I am not certain whether to be insulted at the implication of my stubbornness, or shocked at the possibility of our mother growing prudent!” They laughed again, and Lizzy was happy to be with her Jane once more.
“Has… Lady Catherine said anything to you about Mr Darcy?” she queried when their laughter subsided.
“Not directly, though Mary made sure to tell us of Lady Catherine’s absolute forbiddance of the match should her nephew forget his duty to the honour of Pemberley and make you an offer. She also prompted Mr Collins to write you and ask you to come. Which I am very glad of, despite the means and methods that were employed.”
“I was happy to come for your sake, though I did have my suspicions as to Lady Catherine’s involvement.”
“Well, I’m sure she would have no objections if Mr Darcy truly asked you to be his wife,” Jane said with confidence. “She would soon overcome her misgivings if she knew him to really be in love with you.”
“Jane, you may think that of her. For my own part, I will be living each day here partially in fear of Lady Catherine’s rebuke over an engagement that has not and likely will not ever occur.”
∞∞∞
Jane’s travails came upon her in the dark hours of a cold morning, lasting all through the day and the next night, ending only in the early hours of the following day. Elizabeth was by her side from the moment it began until the babe’s first breath, resting in the chair at her bedside only on the rare occasion that Jane slept, and even so, not as long as she, for Elizabeth would refuse to close her eyes until Jane was supplied with blankets, and towels, and the broth she could stomach for succour. Mrs Emery instructed Miss Bennet to take her own nourishment and to sleep in a real bed while her sister rested, but Lizzy merely smiled wearily and continued to busy herself with all the little comforts that might relieve some of Jane’s difficulty in labour.
When the whole and hale babe was placed into Jane’s trembling arms, Elizabeth felt as if the entire world was somehow made new with possibilities, and all at once she was weary to her very bones.
Chapter Twenty-One
Darcy rode long and hard, desirous of reaching his destination before nightfall.
He was expected at his Aunt Catherine’s abode as he had sent ahead to inform her of his plans, though he did not wait at Netherfield long enough to receive her reply. It was not like him to impose himself with so little notice on his family, but the weeks at Netherfield with the absence of Miss Bennet had driven him to urgent action. For days he had battled within himself against the notion of such imprudent haste, but his restlessness had not gone unnoticed by the other residents of the estate, and amongst his friends and even his sister, there had been civil hints and blatant urgings enough to silence the objections he had built up against the match and send him away to seek the hand of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Georgiana in particular had been surprisingly vocal in her approval of Elizabeth, and it sent a warm thrill to his heart to hear his dearest relation speak of his Miss Bennet—for so he thought of her as his already—in such informal and familiar terms.
Bingley and Fitzwilliam were relentless on their own, but combined they were a force to be reckoned with. Any opportunity to praise Miss Bennet was grasped upon. Any lull in activity, or gloominess of mood was attributed to the absence of such lively company as Miss Bennet and her sister. If Darcy had not already grown to love Elizabeth Bennet so completely for her own sake, he may have been persuaded into it by the persistence of those persons closest to him.
It was late evening when he arrived at Rosings Park. He could not call upon Miss Bennet until the next morning, but he would be near to her as possible in the interim. Lady Catherine, being a great proponent of early bedtimes, had already retired, and he inwardly rejoiced at the avoidance of an interview with her until after he had rested from his travels.
He rose before breakfast, left a note with his apologies for not yet paying his respects to his aunt, and walked the grounds of Rosings until it was appropriate to call on the residents of the parsonage.
He had hoped to find Mr Collins away, but instead was made to suffer the greater portion of an hour in his company—if it could be considered so with a door between them. Though any other time he might have left with a short, abrupt excuse, he was uncommonly anxious not to give offence, and keenly aware of the significance of forbearing with those connected to Elizabeth by birth or marriage, the better to prove himself worthy of her. The words of Bingley rang in his mind. What little it must be to endure while knowing—no, hoping, rather! —that such patience would secure him a wife. The thought that Elizabeth might still reject him after all did nothing to quell his agony, but it did allow him to stay his eagerness to search her out.
“How absolutely fortuitous that you should come on the happiest day of a man’s life!” Mr Collins uttered in raptures. “Surely you could not have known that you would arrive on such an auspicious occasion—indeed for you to know what not even Lady Catherine could accurately predict would be a miracle beyond mortal comprehension, but the fact that you are here to honour us now must be a gift of Providence itself!” Mr Collins rasped, saving his coughing fit for after the last word was out.
“You must forgive me. Of what do you speak?”
“The birth of my child Mr Darcy! The day to which all men must aspire! The coming of the son and heir!”
Mr Darcy enquired after Mrs Collins, and there was some deflection on the matter along with several thanksgivings for the enquiry and the consumption of a lozenge between these thanks which did not allow him to speak at all for several moments altogether. Assuming Elizabeth would be tending to her sister, Mr Darcy asked if Mrs Collins was alone.
His longsuffering was rewarded at last when Mr Collins said, “Indeed, not. She is being cared for to
the best of Mrs Emery’s abilities, and was, when last I saw her, in such sweet repose that Sister Elizabeth—who has not left her side since before her travails began—saw fit to take some of this fine, October air by strolling round the park with her new nephew. We worried it might be too cold for him, but as the sun now shines, and he was bundled in considerable layers of warmth, we assented, for as Lady Catherine says…”
Once Elizabeth’s location was known, nothing else Mr Collins said could be impressed upon Mr Darcy’s mind for longer than it took him to draw breath, cough, and begin his next sentence. As quickly as was considerately possible, Mr Darcy announced a desire to walk to his aunt’s house to deliver the good news. Mr Collins was beside himself with joy at the great honour it would be to allow the nephew of his grand patroness to be the bearer of such glad tidings, expressing how his goodness was inestimable, and his civility unmatched.
Mr Darcy bore all these ridiculous sentiments as best he could, wondering at the foolishness of his aunt to employ such a man as minister, then made his escape with Mr Collins still spouting his immeasurable, eternal gratitude.
He did not go directly to his aunt’s abode as implied, but rather went by way of the grove, searching for the woman he held so tenderly in his affections of late.
Miss Elizabeth stood on the gravel walk, her back turned to him, seemingly captivated by a slight bundle in her arms. She turned to walk the path and his heart leapt within his chest. He would go to her—he must go to her. And yet, his feet were immobile; struck with some inexplicable paralysis that prevented him from rushing to her side and laying his heart out in the hopes of gaining even the slightest hint of returned affection.
In that moment it was as if his own future stood tantalisingly before him. Miss Elizabeth Bennet with a new babe in her arms.