But Jane did not reply to this remark, because she exclaimed that she believed that she had found the letter, or at least, what remained of it.
Jane was standing before the library’s fireplace, pointing at the hearth. “Because of the summer heat, we have no fire in here, but I see some charred paper.” She could not bend down easily, so Elizabeth stooped and retrieved the sooty scraps.
“Is that it?”
Elizabeth studied it. “Yes, I believe so. The paper is similar, and here is a section with the words, Tuesday, London.”
She handed the scrap to Jane, who looked at it and said: “This is it, I am sure! He must have come in here this morning, when no one was around, and used the flame of his candle to burn the letter.”
Elizabeth agreed that Jane’s version of events was quite probable.
Jane appeared ready to burst into tears, yet her words contradicted her expression. “I am so glad!”
“You are glad?”
Jane did not cry; however, her voice trembled. “Yes, Lizzy. This means I cannot read whatever was in it and thus invade my husband’s privacy. And the fact that he has burnt it – that means he loves me. It is not a letter that he wanted to keep, as a souvenir of prior affections. And we can see that he did not send it. He loves me, now, no matter what he felt in the past or what temptations he may have suffered in the present.”
“You are a better woman than I. My own curiosity would not be conquered so easily.”
“What is past is past, and what is burnt is burnt. There!” Jane dropped the scrap, intending for it to fall back in the hearth – but it fluttered to the carpet instead. Elizabeth, more agile than her sister, bent down again and replaced it in the fireplace.
Footsteps signaling the entrance of another party into the room made them both turn around guiltily. It was not Mr. Bingley or his sister, however, but a young housemaid.
The housemaid was perturbed by the scene before her. “Mrs. Bingley, Mrs. Darcy, I can take care of the hearth. That is my job, that is!”
Jane and Elizabeth glanced at each other. Both had fingers stained with soot and Jane had a black streak on her face.
“Please do that, thank you, Reeves,” said Jane.
Jane and Elizabeth left the library; in the hall, they burst out laughing. They then continued to Jane’s dressing room in order to wash their hands and to wipe the ash from Jane’s cheek.
CHAPTER XVI
As Elizabeth said, her curiosity was not so easily satisfied. She remembered something that Mr. Darcy had told her about Bingley a long time ago. Before Bingley had met Jane, he had been attracted to other pretty girls. I had often seen him in love before, were Darcy’s exact words, although he then conceded that Mr. Bingley’s affection for Jane was more serious than any other flirtation that he had previously observed.
Elizabeth had great respect for her husband’s opinions, but she did not think that Darcy’s judgments were infallible. Darcy had, at one point, completely underestimated Jane’s affection for Bingley. What if he had underestimated Bingley’s affection for another woman in the past? For her sister’s tranquility, Elizabeth decided to do what she could to learn more.
It was one thing to have the wish or even the intention to do something, but rather another to actually accomplish it. Elizabeth could not possibly question Mr. Bingley about Miss Hightower, and Jane obviously knew nothing. Given that Mr. Darcy remained at Pemberley, she could not bring the matter up to him. She was unwilling, furthermore, to send the question to him in a letter, as it would then attract too much attention and possibly expose Bingley, her sister, and even the mysterious Miss Hightower. She could not bring up the subject with any of the servants, for they might find the queries strange.
But there was one person at Netherfield who might be able to tell her something, one person whom she could question without it appearing as if she were prying too much – someone to whom Elizabeth did not mind dissembling (she could not bear telling even tiny falsehoods to her husband) – with whom she could make casual inquiries, one with whom she could exchange idle words without its rousing much suspicion.
So, rather unusually, Elizabeth found herself seeking the company of Miss Bingley. Elizabeth was not ready to invite the other woman for another stroll in the shrubbery, but she did believe that she could endure sitting for a quarter-of-an-hour with her. So, later that day, after she had written to Darcy to say how she grieved she was about Reverend Wallace’s situation, Elizabeth sat down with her sister’s sister-in-law.
Miss Bingley raised an eyebrow but did not object to Elizabeth’s company. She was in an excellent mood after the morning’s ride with her brother – perhaps she just needed more exercise to improve her disposition, thought Elizabeth – and even offered, voluntarily, a few words of praise for the view from Oakham Mount, and that she wished that she had brought her sketch book with her.
“I am glad you liked it,” said Elizabeth.
She had decided to approach her topic discreetly, first by speaking of something entirely different. “I see you are looking at music,” she observed, for the sheet music to an Italian song was indeed in Miss Bingley’s hands. “Tell me, Miss Bingley, what do you think of metronomes? Do you think they are useful for musicians?”
Miss Bingley, who had taken many pains to master the pianoforte, actually did have an opinion on the subject which was not an echo of someone she was trying to flatter or a sneer designed to denigrate someone she despised. Metronomes, in Miss Bingley’s opinion, were useful for learning to play in time, but obviously should not be used in any actual performance. At that point the artistry of the performer needed to be paramount.
Elizabeth then complimented Miss Bingley on the reasonableness of her notions and added that someone named Miss Hightower would agree with her.
“Miss Hightower?” asked Miss Bingley.
“Do you know any Hightowers?” Elizabeth asked, hoping her manner appeared casual. “I am afraid that I am not certain of her first name.”
“I once met a Miss Margaret Hightower,” said Miss Bingley. “However, I find it hard to believe that she would have had an opinion about metronomes.”
“Margaret Hightower,” mused Elizabeth, as if she were trying to recall the first name. “That might have been it, but I am not still not certain. Can you tell me about her? How do you know her?”
“Miss Margaret Hightower,” Miss Bingley continued, “was a young lady with whom my brother unfortunately became acquainted in Bath, after being introduced to her in the Pump Room.”
“Why was the acquaintance unfortunate?” Elizabeth asked, hoping that she did not sound as intensely curious as she felt.
“The Pump Room is supposed to be reserved for those of distinction, but unfortunately, mistakes are made and inappropriate people sometimes manage to enter. It is impossible to be certain of backgrounds and breeding in such a place. The Pump Room is full of fortune hunters.”
“I did not know,” said Elizabeth. “I have never been there.”
“It is a most dangerous place. A valet may be taken for a gentleman and a gentleman for a lord.” Miss Bingley spoke with such warmth that Elizabeth wondered if Miss Bingley herself had been misled.
Miss Bingley continued. “I expect that Mr. Darcy is too aware of the distinction of class to frequent the Pump Room, although the waters are salutary and the ancient baths are interesting.”
“And is that where you met your Miss Hightower?” Elizabeth asked.
“She was not my Miss Hightower,” said Miss Bingley. “But the young woman I met was very pretty, rather short, with soft blue eyes. She looked well, I will admit – and my brother was a bit infatuated with her. But she was quite poor, not well educated and had no accomplishments worth mentioning. All she could do was paint tables and net purses. We kept him from making a fool of himself, however – even Charles agreed that he was too young to make such an important decision. And that was fortunate, for later she proved that her character lacked all decenc
y and virtue.”
“Why, what did she do? Did she marry someone else?”
“No, she did not, and she never will. Miss Hightower is dead,” said Miss Bingley.
Elizabeth had not anticipated this, and so her astonished apology was genuine. “Excuse me, I had no idea! I did not mean to remind you of a death.”
“I was never in love with her; I only met her once or twice. After Charles stopped going to the Pump Room, Miss Hightower managed to get herself into a difficult situation – without a husband – and then died during confinement. I understand that the child died too.”
Elizabeth’s mind flew quickly, exploring possibilities, and then she stopped herself, deciding to keep her speculating for later, when she was alone. “I am so sorry to hear of this befalling any young woman. When did all this take place?”
“More than a year before Charles first took Netherfield. We were all a little upset when we learned of it – Charles especially – but really, given her low background, who could be surprised?”
“I do not know,” said Elizabeth. She decided it was time to finish the discussion of this subject; she did not trust herself not to say anything indiscreet. “At any rate, this Margaret Hightower cannot be the Hightower who had an opinion about metronomes, and even if there is a connection, given what happened, it is better not to mention it.” She then continued to speak of the Italian song that Miss Bingley was studying, and hoped most earnestly that Miss Bingley would perform it for them all later.
CHAPTER XVII
The next day, the weather was again so fine that Mr. Bingley and his sister were again persuaded to take out the horses – although they promised not to be gone as long, as the Bennets were expected that evening – and Jane and Elizabeth went out into the gardens. Each sister was eager for a tête-à-tête.
Although Elizabeth was an excellent walker, and would have happily explored all the paths in the wood, Jane was not. So instead they went to a bench, in the shade of an oak tree, far enough from the house to make sure that they were not overheard.
As they sat on the bench, Jane said, “Lizzy, you will be ashamed of me.”
“I do not see how that is possible, but pray tell me what you have done.”
Jane shook her head. “This morning, even though I intended not to ask Bingley about Miss Hightower …”
Her sister hesitated so long, that Elizabeth found herself obliged to supply the words. “You have asked him?”
Jane shook her head. “No – no. I have not. But I am considering it, Lizzy, because I cannot stop thinking about that letter. And I am afraid that I was as cross this morning as Bingley has been the past few weeks.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
“Why is that? How can you be glad to know that I am in such turmoil?”
“Because sometimes you have too much of the angel about you, Jane, and it is impossible for the rest of us to live up to your example. But as it happens, I have information about Miss Hightower that may spare you from having to have this conversation with Bingley.”
“How can you have information about Miss Hightower? Did you question Bingley? Oh, Lizzy, that could make things even worse!”
Elizabeth assured her sister that she had not brought up the subject to Mr. Bingley, and that she had done her best to be discreet. That instead she had brought up the name Hightower in a different context with Miss Bingley, and then managed to elicit information from her. Then she told her sister all that she had learned.
Jane listened intently to Elizabeth’s narration. “So the Miss Hightower of the letter is dead?” she asked, when her sister had concluded.
“Apparently she is. Perhaps Bingley’s letter was to another Miss Hightower, but I doubt it. How many Miss Hightowers can there be – real or imaginary?”
Jane’s mood was too grave to appreciate her sister’s levity. “Then I believe that I understand what happened. Miss Hightower may have died two years ago, but someone only recently discovered the letter that Bingley wrote to her. That person did not feel comfortable destroying the letter, and so located Charles and sent it to him.”
“That is certainly possible,” said Elizabeth. “In fact, I believe you have hit on it, or have come very near. It is also possible that the person who went through Miss Hightower’s things only located Bingley recently.”
“True, true!” Jane exclaimed, and then continued. “When Charles received it, of course he was upset – it brought back memories – and he did not think that he could discuss it with anyone, especially not me.”
Or his sister, thought Elizabeth, remembering the scornful way that Miss Bingley had dismissed Miss Hightower’s plight. “I agree with everything you have said,” Elizabeth said earnestly, hoping that her sister’s imagination would be content with going this far, and stopping.
But Jane, although she generally tended to think the best of people, went a little further in her suspicions. She confirmed first that Miss Hightower had been with child out of wedlock and had died in consequence.
Elizabeth replied hesitantly. “If we are to believe Miss Bingley, who admits that she met Miss Hightower only once or twice, that is so.”
“Then, Lizzy, I must ask – who was the father? What – what if it were Charles? Was there anything in the letter that you saw that implied that it could have been so?”
Elizabeth was sorry that even Jane’s mind had discovered this possibility, yet she would not assuage her sister’s doubts with a comforting falsehood. “Jane, I do not know. Nothing in what I read would contradict your hypothesis. In fact, the language rather supported it.”
Jane blushed and blinked away a tear. “Lizzy, do you know what you are saying?”
“I do.”
Jane was silent for several minutes, contemplating this possibility. Still, her faith in people prevailed. “Lizzy, I simply cannot believe it – no, I cannot. I know my husband. If Charles had been the father of Miss Hightower’s child, he would have married her, no matter what his sisters and his friend said to him.”
Elizabeth liked and esteemed her brother-in-law, but her confidence in him was not as strong as Jane’s. When Mr. Bingley had fallen in love with Jane, he had first yielded to Mr. Darcy and his disapproving sisters by staying away from her instead of making an offer. Elizabeth also believed that his character was firmer now than it had been a few years ago, in large part due to Jane’s love and support. That implied that Bingley’s resolve in the past must have been weaker. Nevertheless, although she could not concur with Jane’s theory, she did her best to offer one of her own. “There is so much we do not know. Perhaps there is a reason that Miss Hightower did not want to marry Bingley?” But as soon as she uttered these words, Elizabeth dismissed this idea, and Jane did too.
“No woman could refuse to marry a sweet man like Bingley,” said Jane.
“Few would do so,” Elizabeth agreed.
“And my husband would never have abandoned a woman carrying his child, not even if she were of a lower class or if she were ill-bred. So he could not have been the father. It is impossible.”
Elizabeth only said, “You know him better than I.”
“All of this is best forgotten. I will not trouble my husband with it. He received the letter that he wrote in the past, and it reminded him of some unhappy memories and soured his temper for a while. However, he has recovered his equanimity and he has burned the letter himself. He obviously does not want to think about it, and he certainly does not want to distress me with it. Poor Miss Hightower is dead and I should not be jealous of her – nor should I think ill of her.”
De mortuis nihil nisi bonum, thought Elizabeth. Aloud she said, “You are both wise and sensible.”
She hoped that Jane would be able to forget this had ever happened, and that she would not suffer the doubts that Elizabeth already experienced about Mr. Bingley’s character. What if Bingley had seduced poor Miss Hightower and had subsequently abandoned her? It would mean that Bingley was not to be relied upon in a cris
is, and was not the upstanding man that she wished for as the husband of a beloved sister and the father of a nephew or niece.
Jane continued to express her relief. “Lizzy, I am so glad – so grateful – that you have been with me through this. And you were so clever, asking Caroline in that roundabout way. My mind is now at ease, quite at ease. I am composed, absolutely composed, and I can have faith in my husband as one of the most tender-hearted of men.”
“I am happy to hear it,” said Elizabeth, and hoped that this time Jane’s resolution would prove equal to the task, as she had not been able to quell her previous curiosity.
“I only hope Charles forgives me for being short-tempered with him this morning. I am ashamed of my behavior.”
“I am sure he will forgive you,” Elizabeth said. “Now to change the topic to one that really is different, and a happier one, what names are you considering for the baby? Charles, if it is a boy? And Jane if it is a girl, or perhaps Caroline or Louisa?”
“Yes, Jane Elizabeth, if it is a girl, but in that case we shall call her Jenny. If we have a second girl we will call her Caroline Louise. We are not completely settled on a name for a boy. Charles is a possibility, but we are also considering Bennet. What do you think of Bennet?”
“That will please Papa,” said Elizabeth.
“And it will compensate for Mr. Collins’s neglect. We are considering Bennet Charles Bingley. Or Charles Bennet Bingley. Unless you wish to use Bennet, if you should eventually have a boy.”
Elizabeth said, “Darcy and I have not reached the point where we are discussing such matters, but his affection for his father’s memory is so great that I imagine he would prefer to honor his father by naming his son after him – if and when we have one, that is. However, if we were to consider the name Bennet, that should not prevent you – there is room enough in the world for two cousin Bennets.”
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Jane, and there was a sparkle in her eyes. “We are taking over the country.”
The Meryton Murders Page 10