He agreed that it was better to take care of it as soon as possible, but promised to wait till she was well away.
Clutching the letter and the demand for money she walked back to the house. The incline was gentle, but by the time she was back inside she was out of breath and a little dizzy. She must be very distraught to feel so faint, she thought, as she rested briefly on a chair in the vestibule.
A maid found her there and, alarmed by her pallor and the expression on her face, asked Mrs. Darcy if she were all right.
“I am well, quite well,” Elizabeth said, rising back to her feet. “A little overheated, that is all.” She then asked the maid to bring tea to her room, and went there immediately, barely acknowledging Miss Bingley as they passed each other on the staircase.
In the privacy of her room she read both pieces of paper again. She had been interested in George Wickham, for a few short months, when he first joined the regiment quartered in Meryton as a lieutenant several years ago. He was handsome, amusing and entertaining. She had been charmed by him; she had found him, for a time, to be the most amiable man of her acquaintance. At the time, when she had believed him to be an honorable man, he had appeared to like her too. Her interest in him had been so obvious that her mother and sisters had teased her about it, and then had comforted her when Wickham had begun to court another young lady from Meryton.
That was before she had learned that more than half of Wickham’s stories to her were lies.
The letter was especially mortifying because she had had the feelings it expressed. She had not written it, but she could have written it.
What would Darcy say if he read a letter like this purporting to have been written by her? Would he ever have confidence in her again? He loved her a great deal; he had already forgiven much – her insolence, her misjudgments, her own sister’s marriage to Wickham, a man whom he rightfully detested, and the tendency of nearly her entire family to expose themselves – and therefore him – to ridicule. He was capable of great forgiveness, but even the best of men had limits, and this – even though she knew she was not responsible – had to fill him with abhorrence.
Elizabeth paced back and forth, wishing that she felt better. She wondered if she were turning into her mother, for she had such tremblings and palpitations and spasms in her side and a sick feeling practically overwhelmed her. So much distress was not good for one’s spirit or one’s nerves! What should she do?
A breeze fluttered the curtains. She paused by the open window, breathing in the fresh air, and down below she saw the undergardener Brown returning to the house, his veil and long stick in hand. He was joined by the head gardener, who asked Brown if he had removed the wasps’ nest. Brown replied that he had.
“Were you stung?” asked the head gardener.
“Yes, Sir, I was,” said Brown, and showed his superior several places on his neck and hands where the wasps had fought back.
The head gardener was sympathetic. “Sometimes, to take down a nest, you have to get stung. Go see Mrs. Nicholls in the kitchen; she has a salve for burns and she can take care of you.”
The head gardener’s words inspired Elizabeth; she would seek assistance.
CHAPTER XXIX
Elizabeth, clutching the letters, left her dressing-room and went in search of her sister. She found her laughing with Bingley in the drawing-room. Elizabeth considered postponing this, but then realized that she could not postpone this; she had to take steps to resolve it as speedily as possible, while she still possessed the nerve to tell Jane. “Bingley, if you do not mind, there is something that I wish to consult Jane about.”
Bingley, seeing the distress on his sister-in-law’s face, made no objection to being told to leave one of the rooms in his own house.
“Lizzy, what is wrong?” Jane inquired, when they were alone.
Elizabeth sat down beside her sister. “I wish for you to take a look at this,” she said, and handed Jane the paper that was allegedly from her to the man now married to her youngest sister.
Jane read a few words, then exclaimed: “Lizzy! When did you write to Wickham?”
“Keep reading,” Elizabeth said.
Jane did so, and blushed. “I had no idea that your feelings for him were so strong.”
“So that is what you believe,” said Elizabeth.
Jane kept on thinking. “But if you sent this to him, why do you have it now? Did he send it back? Why would he send it back?”
“I do not know that he did.”
“But who else would? Lydia? Did she send it to you? She must have been very upset if she read this letter. Wickham ought to have burnt it long ago – certainly as soon as they were married.”
Elizabeth studied Jane. “So you are convinced that I wrote it?”
“It is your handwriting, Lizzy, and I know that you have used paper just like this. I also know that at one time you liked Wickham very much. I am sure you do not now, but – when did you write this? I see no date on it.”
“We will come to that in a moment. Take a look, now, at this, Jane.” Elizabeth gave her the page with the demand for money.
Jane read the demand once, and then again. “This is terrible, Lizzy. Who could have gotten ahold of these letters? And how many are there?”
“I do not know.”
“How is it possible that you do not know? Did you write more than one letter? Lizzy, how could you?”
“The reason I do not know is because I did not write this. I have never written any letters to Wickham, not even since he married Lydia, and certainly not before.”
Jane appeared skeptical. “But, Lizzy, this is your handwriting. And some of these expressions are your own.”
“I agree that it is like, very like,” Elizabeth admitted. “But I still did not write any of them. Someone is forging a letter by me in order to extort money.”
Jane still frowned. “It is very strange! Who could be so wicked? Are you certain that you never wrote to Wickham?”
“I am absolutely certain, Jane. And if you do not believe me, no one else will – and then what shall I do?”
This appeal to her sister’s confidence in her had an immediate effect. “Of course I believe you. You are my sister; I have every faith in you. What is wrong with me? Even if this sounds like you, you would never have written to Wickham like this!”
Elizabeth was so reassured by this that she burst into tears.
“Of course I believe you,” Jane repeated warmly, as she found a handkerchief and passed it to her sister. “I know you, and I do not know whoever has written this letter or this demand for money. I will always take your word over a stranger’s – indeed, I would take your word over nearly all my acquaintance. Do not distress yourself so.”
After hearing this, Elizabeth was able to regain control of herself. She dried her eyes and then folded up the handkerchief. “Jane, I thank you. It means more than I can say. But I still need to consult you: what should I do about this demand? Should I pay the money or not? It is not so much, and it might prevent grief in the future.”
Jane said, “What is to stop the person from asking for more? And if you pay once, then whoever it is will have you in their power. Because then you will appear guilty, even though you are not.”
“You are right, Jane. It is difficult to think clearly, when someone is ready to tell such lies about oneself. In that case, should I warn Darcy? Before he receives any letters pretending to be from me? I hate to distress him so, when he is sitting at the deathbed of Reverend Wallace.”
“You have several days before this person expects you to leave the money. I suppose he gave you the time because he could not be certain that you had so much cash on you. So you have a few days in which you can determine what you should do.”
“Yes.”
Jane was curious. “Could you pay that sort of money?”
“It would not be impossible, but it would be inconvenient, and would not spare me a conversation with Darcy – he might not demand an
explanation for my extravagance, but I would feel compelled to give one.” Elizabeth then had another thought, one that was absolutely odious. “You said that you would trust me over a stranger. But this cannot be the work of a stranger. This person knows my handwriting, my stationery, even my expressions. Oh, Jane! This must be the work of someone who knows me. Who could hate me so much?”
Jane was well-equipped to support Elizabeth, and to offer her strength and consolation. However, her generous nature made it difficult to suspect anyone, and especially not someone she knew.
Elizabeth, however, had fewer such inhibitions. “What about Wickham? Could he be responsible?”
It was painful to think that this could be done by their brother-in-law, especially as it implicated their own sister. But Mr. and Mrs. Wickham frequently needed money.
Jane, after a little consideration, was able to find some objections to Elizabeth’s conjecture. “I cannot say that Wickham would not do it, not based on what we know of his character. But, Lizzy, I do not see how he could have done it. Could he have imitated your handwriting so well? And how could he have delivered the note? He is in Newcastle. He is not here to gather the money once it is paid.”
“Are we certain of that?” asked Elizabeth. “Are we certain that he is in the north with his regiment, and not hidden somewhere in Meryton?”
“There have been no reports of Wickham in Meryton,” said Jane. “And although I suppose that it is possible that he has returned, or that he would return, it seems unlikely. He is so tall – so handsome – and so well-known. Even if he arrived in a disguise, he would run the risk of detection. Besides, if Lydia and he need money, then why did she not ask for it? She has written to each of us without asking for any assistance.”
“Perhaps she did not ask for any money because they were planning to send this demand.”
“But Lizzy, do you really think Lydia would do such a thing?”
“Not personally; her handwriting is atrocious. But she is quick enough when she puts her mind to something. And this letter might strike her as being a joke, a very good joke. Or she might be revenging herself against me for having liked Wickham when he and I were first acquainted.”
“I cannot believe it of her!”
“Jane, although I am grateful for your faith in my character, I still think you are too ready to accept goodness in other people.”
“I have learned to be a little less trusting,” said Jane. “But let us consider Lydia. Why would she not ask you or me for money if she needed it? Why would she be a party to sending this demand for money, and this forgery, when she must realize that there is a chance that you would refuse to pay it?”
This argument had more weight with Elizabeth than the suggestion that she should simply trust in the honor of their youngest sister. “If it is not Lydia or Wickham, then it must be someone in Meryton. Someone here who somehow knows my history, who somehow knows my handwriting and who is taking advantage of my visit to you to demand this money.”
Jane considered, but could not come up with any objections to her sister’s statements. “That is a terrible thought – to think that someone in Meryton is so mercenary and so cruel to compose such a letter. I can think of no one so dreadful among our acquaintance.”
Elizabeth was not as charitable in her opinion of the people who had been their neighbors their entire lives, but even she had difficulty imagining that anyone could dislike and resent her so much.
Was this another consequence of having money? When she first met Mr. Darcy she had been repulsed by his reserve, his tendency to speak only to those whom he already knew, and his unengaging manner. Now she was the target of obsequiousness and swindlers. He had undoubtedly been importuned by both his entire life; no wonder he had always been slow to accept the overtures of strangers.
“It is hard, I agree, to think that someone we know could be so terrible.” Elizabeth put the letters on her lap. “What do you advise that I do?”
“You mean, should you pay the money? I advise against it.”
“That is not my only question. Should I tell Darcy? Showing him this letter could injure our marriage, and besides, he is already so distressed by the situation of Reverend Wallace.”
“Surely he loves you too much to believe that you wrote it! And even if he did assume it was genuine, he must know that you have no feelings for Wickham now.”
“Perhaps. What about other people? If I tell other people, then they may be able to help us determine who is behind it. On the other hand, our neighbors may believe that I wrote this and then my reputation will suffer.” Elizabeth recalled how Kitty had once described her as being ‘violently in love with Wickham’ and again she felt queasy. If her own family believed that she had been violently in love, then what had her friends and acquaintances conjectured? “I should be able to trust Darcy with this information – but it is more difficult to have so much confidence in the neighborhood. For example, if the Lucases read this, then it would surely spread to Lady Catherine – and I am just mending the breach with her.”
Jane said she honestly did not know. She wished that she could be of more help, but she could not determine what the appropriate choice of action was. “Showing this letter to our friends could damage not just your reputation, Lizzy, but it could be painful to Wickham and especially to Lydia.”
Elizabeth thought that Jane was attributing the shame that she would feel if she were in this situation; she doubted that Lydia would react similarly. Lydia might even be triumphant in the idea that she had married a man whom one of her sisters had liked.
Elizabeth expressed these thoughts to Jane, but her eldest sister shook her head. “I am sure you are wrong, Lizzy. Lydia has more feeling than you give her credit for.”
Elizabeth wondered and doubted but she did not dispute Jane’s opinion. Jane had more recently spent time with Lydia; Elizabeth had not even seen that sister since just after her marriage to Wickham. “And what should I do?”
“The note does not expect you to pay the money for several days, does it?”
Elizabeth read the instructions aloud, to leave a named sum in the hollow of a horse chestnut tree in a particular field near the river. The date given was several days away.
“Then my suggestion is that you put everything safely away tonight, and do not consider it again till morning. We may have fresh ideas after a good night’s sleep. Just now we are too distressed to think clearly.”
Elizabeth believed that it was highly unlikely that she would sleep well that night, but she kept this thought from her sister. “I only ask that you tell no one about this, Jane, not till we have decided what to do. Not even Bingley.”
“Of course. You may rely upon my discretion.”
“I am so sorry to have burdened you with this, Jane. I cannot say that my heart is as light as a feather, but I do feel a little better for having shared this with you.”
Jane told Elizabeth that she would always support her in everything, and then a maid arrived with tea things, followed by Miss Bingley. Elizabeth was unequal to facing Miss Bingley, and excused herself.
CHAPTER XXX
Jane sent her maid to inquire of Elizabeth whether she wished to join them for dinner that evening or to have a tray sent to her room. Elizabeth considered both options. Being with her sister and Mr. Bingley would be acceptable, but she did not think that she could endure the companionship of Miss Bingley for the evening. Miss Bingley was not a fool; she would realize that something was wrong, and even if she did not know what it was, she might indulge herself by making cruel hints and disparaging remarks about Mrs. Darcy’s relationship with Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth told the maid that she would prefer a tray, and silently thanked her sister for her delicacy.
She read the letter and the demand over and over, wondering what she should do. She considered going to the horse chestnut tree and leaving an empty envelope and then watching to see who came by to retrieve it. But this plan presented many impracticalities. She could not stan
d for hours in a field to keep a lookout; it would attract attention of anyone who saw her – and when the culprit saw her he would simply not approach. The chances were that she would endure a lot of trouble and yet learn nothing in the end.
She also considered writing to Darcy and explaining the whole thing. But how could she put all of this into a letter? And would he believe her?
Elizabeth remembered a letter that he had written to her when he had had a great deal to explain, in order to defend himself against her ill opinion of him, as so much of which had been based on falsehoods. If he could write her such an important letter, when he believed that she hated him – and only hours earlier she had told him that he had been the last man that she could ever marry – then surely she could write him a letter when she had every reason to believe that he loved her.
Elizabeth sat down several times at the little desk in her dressing-room and attempted to write to her husband. The words, however, would not flow; her sentences sounded childish and petulant; and most of all, she hated what she had to say.
As she stared at a most unsatisfactory paragraph, her admiration for the man who was her husband grew. How had he, when he had been so perturbed by her refusal of his offer of marriage, been able to compose a missive so coherent? Of course, their situations were not exactly the same. As she had disliked him so much at the time, a letter from him could not make her opinion of him any worse. But now Darcy loved her, and a letter such as the one she was attempting to write could damage the affection and the respect that he had for her.
Whoever had written this was very clever. Nothing, absolutely nothing was more important to her than Darcy’s good opinion.
She tried writing that many things had happened in Meryton since her arrival: the deaths of Miss King and Mr. Collins, and then the strange angry visit of Lady Catherine. Those incidents she was able to dispatch in a few paragraphs, but when she wrote the name Wickham, her pen faltered. What if Georgiana were to read this letter? Elizabeth tried to convince herself that Georgiana surely no longer suffered over what had happened with her and Mr. Wickham by now; that it might even reassure her to learn that her clever sister-in-law had also been imposed upon and charmed by the same man who had both imposed upon and charmed her. That helped Elizabeth to persist, and to describe in full what had happened.
The Meryton Murders Page 17