by Jessie Lewis
Much to her amusement, he looked somewhat confused by her enquiry.
“I am not in the habit of explaining myself to people.”
She bit back a smile. That was precisely the sort of behaviour she had previously considered proud and uncivil, but in light of his generous motivations, she had not the heart to point it out to him. “Well, I am very grateful to you, Fitzwilliam, but your forethought does not solve the problem of my still being hungry.”
“Which is why I brought you these.” He presented her with a napkin that contained two buttered muffins. “Would you care for an impromptu picnic?”
She nodded eagerly, and they continued on arm in arm towards the front of the house but got no farther than the study before their progress was interrupted. The door was torn open and through it swept Jane in a terrible agitation of spirits. She almost ran directly into them, let out an enfeebled cry, and staggered backwards. She likely would have fallen had Darcy not caught her and helped her into a nearby chair.
“Jane!” Elizabeth cried, kneeling before her.
“Shall I fetch Bingley?” Darcy enquired.
“Yes, quickly!”
“No!” Jane’s protest was firmer than Elizabeth’s plea. Darcy hesitated.
Elizabeth tried again. “Jane, you are ill. Pray let us summon him.”
“No! There is nothing the matter with me, Lizzy.” Her assertion was greatly discredited by her pallid complexion and trembling hands. Elizabeth reached for one, only for Jane to snatch it away, insisting, “You surprised me, nothing more.”
Elizabeth acquiesced with a sigh and stood up. Jane did likewise, brushing non-existent creases from her skirts before excusing herself and disappearing up the stairs.
“What in heaven’s name was that about?” Elizabeth whispered.
“I am the last person likely to know.” Darcy turned back to the front door, placing his hand upon her back and gently directing her there. “Mayhap, she is also with child.”
Elizabeth whipped her gaze to his. “That might be it! She was very pale. And faint.” For a moment, she was wounded that Jane would not confide such a thing to her, but feeling the hypocrisy of her grievance, she soon set it aside. “I should like it to be true,” she said once they were in the garden. “It might bring us closer again to have children so near in age.”
Darcy said nothing but gave her a sympathetic look and squeezed her arm. Nothing more was said until they came upon the avenue dissecting Netherfield’s gardens, and Elizabeth’s spirits rose once more. “We walked here last autumn. Do you recall?”
“Vividly,” he replied. “You ran away.”
“Such appalling manners.”
“Better you than either of Bingley’s sisters.” She looked askance at him, and he added, “Neither of them is half so pleasing from behind.”
Thus, they found themselves turned to matters more agreeable to both, Jane’s queer turn put from their minds. Nourished by naught but the stoutest love and two buttered muffins, they passed an hour wandering the gardens until time would dawdle for them no longer and they were forced to return to the house and attend to their respective pursuits.
***
The ladies had withdrawn after dinner, leaving Mr. Bennet, his two sons, and a quantity of liquor of dubious origin to commune in masculine seclusion. The occasion had proved to be one of negligible delight. He took a swig of the pungent concoction in his glass and made a final attempt to goad his young companions into conversation, enquiring how many birds each had brought down that afternoon.
“Two–and-twenty,” Darcy said at the same time as Bingley mumbled, “Six or seven.”
“Ha! True to form, gentlemen! One has his bird in the bag afore the other has decided which to aim for.” Neither rose to the bait, which drained all Mr. Bennet’s remaining hope of finding sport in their company. His suggestion that they join the ladies was met with universal assent.
All seemed as one might expect when they entered the drawing room. Elizabeth and Mary were deep in conversation on one sofa. Kitty and Lydia were draped over opposing arms of another. Jane and Mrs. Bennet were huddled together in a pair of chairs before the window, whispering about something that was having a very different effect on each of their countenances. Miss Bingley stalked the edge of the room, thus far unsuccessful in what appeared to be a search for another way out.
The gentlemen had not taken more than a few steps into the room when this scene of humdrum domesticity was shattered by Mrs. Bennet’s voice.
“I knew it! You are with child!”
Judging by the looks on the faces of the two people best placed to know about such a development, Mr. Bennet thought it very unlikely, but since his opinion rarely had any influence on what his wife wished to believe, he saved his breath to cool his porridge. Instead, he sauntered over to claim a seat with the most advantageous view of every countenance in the room, spoilt for choice between the varying expressions of horror, vexation, surprise, and smugness.
“Mama, please!” cried Jane, possessor of the horrified countenance.
“Oh, there is no need to be coy about it, Jane! We are all family here. You may as well tell everybody while we are together.”
“Mama!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her tone echoing her vexed expression. “How could you? ’Tis not your place to announce such a thing!”
“Oh, fie, Lizzy. Nobody else was going to!”
“Exactly!”
“Jane?” This rather feeble plea was from Bingley, presently boasting the exceedingly surprised countenance.
Before Jane could respond, Lydia of the smug countenance interrupted. “I know not why you are pretending to be upset, Jane. You said yourself how pleased you were to have outdone Lizzy.”
At this, Darcy’s countenance, which had heretofore displayed only vague distaste, darkened into an ominous glower. He moved farther into the room, which, rather disconcertingly, seemed to shrink as he did so. Mr. Bennet lifted up the glass he had carried in with him from the dining room and squinted suspiciously at the sallow beverage therein.
“Lydia!” Jane exclaimed. “I said no such thing!”
“Yes, you did. You said you were glad to have done something better than ‘the flawless Mrs. Darcy.’”
“Oh, Jane!” said Mary, radiating ecclesiastical reproach.
“Ignore her, Jane,” Kitty advised. “She is only saying it because, if you are not with child, she will have to give me back my bonnet.”
“I am not lying!” Lydia complained, twisting around to snarl at her eldest sister over the back of the sofa. “I know what I heard! You were talking about shining Lizzy down!”
“Turn around and be quiet, girl!” Mrs. Bennet screeched. “Jane is not to be distressed.”
“Mother!”
“Charles, for heaven’s sake, do something!” Miss Bingley hissed, probably wishing her search for egress had been more fruitful.
Mr. Bennet fancied she would have more luck requesting assistance from the potted plant next to which her brother was standing, provided he did not swoon into it first, which at present appeared to be a distinct possibility. He turned to share the observation with his second eldest child, and it was then he truly appreciated that he had lost his Lizzy to her successor, Mrs. Darcy. She neither laughed at nor joined in nor censured her sisters’ squabbling. Instead, she rose to her feet, accepted her husband’s arm, and without another word, walked calmly from the room—showing Miss Bingley how simple a thing it could be.
***
Sunday, 4 October 1812: Hertfordshire
“Absolutely not.”
Elizabeth suppressed a sigh. Though her own anger had abated somewhat overnight, Darcy was every bit as furious as he had been the previous evening and adamant that her family be given no further opportunity to distress her. She rose ont
o one elbow and waited for him to take his eyes off the ceiling and look at her.
“I cannot leave matters as they are. My feelings notwithstanding, I grow more convinced by the moment that something must be very wrong to make Jane behave in such a way. I must at least attempt to speak to her.”
“How many attempts must you make before you will concede the futility of it?”
She gave a small unhappy shrug.
He brushed the curls from her cheek. “I shall not spend another evening watching you pace the floor in agitation because your sister cannot keep a civil tongue.”
“Think you I do not share the same concerns about your returning to Rosings?” she said, keeping her tone gentle.
“I am not in a delicate condition. You must consider the child.”
She almost laughed. Of late, she had thought of little else, grown impatient for the quickening that it seemed would never happen. She had spent a good ten minutes peering in the mirror yesterday, searching for signs of increase that were simply not there. “I assure you I do—very constantly. But it would distress me much more to leave without an explanation. Besides, Jane is in the same condition. We shall have to argue delicately.”
Tenderly, he pulled her down onto his chest, wrapping his arms around her. She felt him sigh his resigned acquiescence into her hair.
“What will you say to Mr. Bingley?” she enquired after a moment.
“As little as possible.”
“Fitzwilliam, none of this is his fault. He clearly did not know Jane is with child, and he cannot be held responsible for the things she says. It must be very awkward indeed for him to be in such a position. You might at least assure him we do not blame him.”
“Your generosity of spirit is astonishing, Elizabeth.” It sounded anything but a compliment.
She laughed, though it soon trailed off with her next thought. “It will have to be if I am to keep my temper when I speak to Jane.”
He did not object again. He only held her tighter.
***
Speaking to Jane turned out to be rather more difficult than Elizabeth had envisaged. She did not attend church with them or come out of her room when they returned, and she sent her excuses at dinner. Afterwards, when Miss Bingley remarked that she hoped Jane soon recovered from her sudden illness, Elizabeth could no longer restrain her vexation.
“This is absurd!” she hissed under her breath to Darcy. “Jane is not unwell. She is sulking. She will be complaining of her nerves and calling for salts next!”
“Elizabeth—”
“No! I beg your pardon, but I can go no longer without hearing what she has to say for herself.” She promptly made her apologies to Mr. and Miss Bingley and marched up the stairs to Jane’s room.
There was a long pause after her knock, long enough to afford reason a little latitude over her pique. Had she not begun that very morning to suspect something dire must be troubling her sister? And saliently, had she not learnt by now the danger of hurling charges in anger before being in possession of all the particulars? By the time Jane reluctantly enquired who knocked, she had her temper under far better regulation.
“’Tis I, Jane.” There was no reply. “May I come in?”
A flash of livery and the sound of whispering at the far end of the passageway decided her. She would not stand there begging for all the staff to see. She pushed open the door and entered. Her sister sat at her dressing table, unmoving. “Jane, please turn around.”
“What do you want, Lizzy?” she said, her voice distant and severe.
“I would talk to you.”
“I am not feeling well. Can it not wait?”
“It would have to wait a good while, for I am leaving tomorrow, and I shall not see you again for many months.” Jane made no answer. “That is your wish, then?” Silence.
Elizabeth bit back an angry remark, determined to remain composed. “I do not wish it, Jane. I do not wish for you and I to continue thus. I miss you.” Her entreaty was met with more silence, yet she saw in her sister’s shifting carriage that she was not unaffected. She took a few steps nearer. “Will you not speak to me?” She would not, apparently.
“Very well, if you will not, then I shall. I do not wish to believe what Lydia claimed you said of me, but your behaviour of late makes it impossible to discredit.” She did not deny it. “Will you not tell me why you are so angry with me and in such a rage to shine me down?” Naught but the sound of forced breathing. “Why, Jane? There was never any rivalry between us before. Why should it matter to you now? I assure you it does not matter to me which of us is liked best, if only we could like each other!”
Elizabeth had never known Jane to be so cold. Still, she did not speak or turn to face her. Ever more certain the struggle was lost, she made one last heartfelt attempt. “I would not be on bad terms with you, Jane, especially now. Pray, let us not be at odds at what will be such a special time for both of us.”
Jane stiffened and turned her head very slightly as though to ensure she had heard properly. “Both?”
“Aye. For I am with child also.”
There was the longest pause.
“Get out.”
“Pardon?”
“Go. Leave me.” Her tone was implacable. Still, she did not turn round.
Elizabeth felt as though she were in a dream. “Will you not at least—”
Jane stood abruptly and spun to face her. “I said get out! Get out!”
The vehemence of her outburst forced Elizabeth several steps in that direction, but she was too stunned to go any farther of her own volition. She stared aghast at her sister, whose fine features were contorted beyond recognition by frightful, ugly emotion.
“Why?” she enquired breathlessly.
“Because I cannot compete with you any longer! I have none of the allurements that, for some reason, make you so vastly appealing. I am not sarcastic or gauche or coquettish or artful.”
Each charge hit Elizabeth harder than the last, harrowing up every shred of anger she had so valiantly attempted to keep at bay. She opened her mouth, a furious protest on her tongue, but Jane had not finished.
“And neither am I with child, you stupid, selfish girl!”
“What?”
“Had you not been so utterly self-absorbed, you might have grasped that Mama was mistaken and saved me your boasts! Instead, with your usual disregard for anybody’s feelings but your own, you have forced your way in here and crowed of your latest triumph.”
Elizabeth clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. “Believe me, I wish I had not, for you have not even mustered the good grace to congratulate me.”
Jane laughed someone else’s laugh, her smile twisted into a bitter sneer. “Congratulations then, Lizzy. You have now trounced me in every possible way.”
“Trounced you? Think you I got with child to outdo you? Can you not conceive that Darcy and I might have had other inducements? The world does not revolve around you!”
“There is nothing of which I am more aware!” Jane all but screamed back. Tears had begun to roll freely down her face, though she did not sob. They seemed to fall quite independently of her ire. “It revolves solely around you—only you are too rapt with your own existence to see it!”
“Listen to yourself! You are all resentment and bitterness!”
“And you are all coquetry and satire!”
Elizabeth gaped in furious disbelief. “And you wonder why I am loved better than you?”
Before she had closed her lips on the last word, Jane’s palm landed hard across her face. Searing pain bloomed over her cheek, and she staggered several steps backwards in surprise.
Either time slowed or her heart sped up alarmingly as Elizabeth met the gaze of the stranger who had struck her.
> No apology was forthcoming. Instead, Jane said quietly, “I asked you to go.”
Slowly, deliberately, ignoring her shaking hands, Elizabeth turned her back on Jane and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.
***
When, after an hour, Elizabeth had not returned from her sister’s room, Darcy sent her maid to fetch her. When the maid returned to say Elizabeth was no longer with her sister, Darcy swore and went in search of her himself. She was in the first place he looked, furiously pacing the only area of floor still lit by the library’s dying fire. Unsure what manner of comfort she might require, he stood at the edge of the hearthrug, crossed his arms and waited.
She saw him on her next turn. “Do not dare tell me I ought to have listened to you and stayed away,” she said, continuing to pace. “I am in no humour for sermons.”
His eyebrows rose. “Nor I for preaching, I assure you.”
“And do not scowl at me so! I shall not harm the babe by walking.”
“No, but you might harm it if you do not calm yourself.”
“Regrettably, Fitzwilliam, not all the world is as unexcitable as you. You may be able to sit calmly and write long letters when you have been insulted, but the rest of us like to fume and pace!”
Thus, it was confirmed that Jane Bingley had indeed insulted her yet again.
“I am as disposed to pace as to write letters,” he replied evenly. “As well you know. You have teased me for both.”
Elizabeth stopped abruptly, clenched both her fists, and huffed an exasperated growl at the ceiling. “And now I am reduced to insulting you because I am too vexed to think sensibly!” She rubbed her temple with the heel of her palm and added in a subdued voice, “Forgive me.”
Darcy unfolded his arms and stepped forward to wrap them around her. “I have told you before, I am not afraid of you.”
Her frame was taut with anger, and it was some moments before she relaxed into his embrace. “Dearest Fitzwilliam, your arms could cure a thousand ills. What would I do without you?”