Unexpected Friends & Relations

by Jayne Bamber

  “Indelicate blockhead,” Rebecca spat at Mr. Bingley, her expression positively venomous. Softening her tone, she addressed Mrs. Gardiner, “I think we had better get you upstairs.” Mrs. Gardiner nodded feebly, casting a dubious glance at Mr. Bingley before allowing Rebecca to lead her away.

  Mary could sense the situation rapidly deteriorating, and was resolved not to let things spiral out of control the way they had the night Mr. Collins had perished. “Lydia,” said she, “release Mr. Bingley at once, and let him account for himself. Pray tell us, sir, exactly what has befallen my poor sister Jane?”

  Mr. Bingley looked up at her, attempting to remove his arm from Lydia’s grasp, but before he could speak, the maid had returned and began administering Mrs. Bennet’s smelling salts. A moment later she came to, and let out a loud and prolonged shriek of dismay. Mr. Bingley reflexively recoiled from her, and Lydia again seized his arm and began rubbing his shoulder with one hand as her other hand entwined with his. “Poor Mr. Bingley,” she practically purred. Still shrieking and wailing, Mrs. Bennet began weeping loudly into her handkerchief, draping herself on Mr. Bingley’s other shoulder. The poor man began to look wildly uncomfortable.

  A moment later, Elizabeth, Kate, and their uncle came spilling back into the room, though Elizabeth came to an abrupt halt when she beheld Mr. Bingley, and her expression grew severe.

  “Oh, girls, girls,” their mother cried, “Jane is dead!”

  Elizabeth’s apparent displeasure with Mr. Bingley instantly dissolved, and she sank slowly onto the chaise Mrs. Gardiner had formerly occupied. Kate sat down beside her and began to weep onto Elizabeth’s shoulder. Mr. Gardiner sputtered with astonishment for a moment before turning to look at Mary. “Where is my wife?”

  “Rebecca has taken her upstairs,” Mary replied.

  Mr. Gardiner made a sweeping assessment of the feminine frenzy around him before fixing Mr. Bingley with a hard look and jabbing his finger angrily at him. “I must see to my wife, but you are not to leave until we have spoken at some length. I shall return, and then I would like a word with you, sir.” At that, he quickly departed the room, his heavy footfall on the stairs causing Georgiana to flinch and move closer to Mary, who instinctively wrapped a protective arm around her.

  “I am so sorry,” Mr. Bingley said, his voice trembling. At this Lydia began to sob once more on his shoulder, this time in earnest, rather than the ostentatious display she had first made. Mr. Bingley reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, which he silently offered to her, and then took advantage of the opportunity to once again remove his arm from her grasp. Kate still wept on Elizabeth’s shoulder, but it was their mother’s crying, hideous and pitiful, that was loudest of all.

  “Oh Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet wailed, “My heart is quite broken! But you must tell us, how could this have happened to my poor girl?”

  “How indeed?” Elizabeth stood up and took a step toward him. There was an accusatory tone in her voice as she continued, “No one in the family has heard from you in five long months, after both you and she turned up uninvited at the Banfields’ ball and then absconded together for Scotland!”

  “Shame on you, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet cried. “I did not raise my daughter to be such a scold! I should hope you do not speak in such a way to your husband! I will not have it!” After delivering her shrill reprimand, Mrs. Bennet turned soft as she addressed Mr. Bingley, tears pouring down her face. “How you must grieve for her! She was so beautiful, and still young yet!”

  Mary watched the turn of Mr. Bingley’s countenance with some curiosity. It was no wonder to her that Elizabeth should be more angry than aggrieved; even Mary herself could hardly shed a tear. She had told Jane, that evening at the Banfields’ ball, that she no longer recognized her as a sister, and indeed it had been many months since she had even thought of Jane at all. No, she could not mourn her, whether it be wrong or right; her heart felt only numb and empty at such a moment. It was curious however, that Mr. Bingley looked much the same – more uncomfortable than distraught. Straightening her shoulders, Mary met his eye and said, “Mr. Bingley, I think you had better explain what happened.”

  “Yes – yes, of course,” he stammered. Beside him, Mrs. Bennet sniffled but attempted to check herself and listen attentively, though Lydia still seemed determined to physically attach herself to the man.

  “It was four weeks past, the fourteenth of January,” he began.

  “Four weeks,” cried Elizabeth. “Nearly a month, and you could not send word? I wonder what could have detained you, sir.”

  “My own grief,” he said, bristling at Elizabeth’s censure. “I could not leave my house for a fortnight. Despite what you may think, I am not devoid of every proper feeling, Mrs. Darcy. I was much bereaved by Jane’s passing. I believe she was carrying… a child.”

  Mrs. Bennet let out another tremendous wail. “Oh my poor girl, my poor, poor girl! We should never have sent her away from us!”

  Mary scrutinized Mr. Bingley’s countenance a moment longer before turning to Georgiana. There had been something said that night in September, when they had all gathered in the drawing room at Banfield House – something that Mary had forgotten until now. Wondering if she had imagined it, or if it was not even the truth, she gestured to Georgiana, briefly brushing her finger against the corner of her lips. Richard had told them that Wickham, the man who had claimed to be Captain Collins, had confessed not only to being the father of Georgiana’s child, but to having contracted a disease which he had passed along to Jane. As Jane had survived one miscarriage while married to Mr. Collins, Mary could not but wonder if that was what had killed her, or this other illness, and whether Mr. Bingley may suffer the same symptoms.

  Taking her meaning, Georgiana’s eye went wide with comprehension and she nodded silently. Mr. Bingley, too, appeared to have a blister at the corner of his mouth, rather like the ones Jane had used beauty marks to conceal. Poor man, I do not think Jane was fully honest with him, and now he too must pay the price. Mary moved closer to Georgiana, and commanded Lydia to come sit beside her. For all her younger sister’s folly, Mary would not risk anything untoward.

  “Leave me alone, Mary,” Lydia snapped before resuming her weeping.

  Elizabeth met Mary’s eye for a brief moment, seeming to understand her meaning. “Do as your sister says, Lydia,” she said. “Immediately, Lydia. I think Mr. Bingley is not quite well himself.” When Lydia did not obey, Elizabeth moved across the room and forcibly grabbed her sister by the arm, roughly lifting her up from the couch and attempting to move her to the other sofa by Mary, but Lydia squealed with rage and shoved Elizabeth with all her might, sending her tumbling backward.

  Mary and Georgiana leapt to their feet in unison, rushing to Elizabeth’s aid. It was Mr. Bingley who acted first, jumping up and catching her before she hit the ground, his voice finally betraying a modicum of emotion as he cried, “Lizzy!”

  Mary took advantage of Lydia’s sudden distraction to grab her forcibly by the elbow and deposit her on the other sofa, away from Mr. Bingley, even as Mrs. Bennet once more began to cry for her smelling salts.

  Elizabeth regained her balance and immediately wrenched herself free of Mr. Bingley’s grasp, only to slap him across the face. “You forget yourself, sir!”

  “Lizzy, you wicked girl,” their mother yelled. “How can you attack poor Mr. Bingley at such a time?”

  “Very easily ma’am,” Elizabeth replied coldly, rounding on their mother. “Perhaps you forget yourself as well. Do you not recall disowning Jane the night we saw her last?”

  “You are all mad,” Mr. Bingley shouted. “I know all about how you cast her out of her own family,” he sneered, and might have said more were it not for the sudden entrance of Mr. Darcy.

  “What in God’s name is going on here?” His voice was deep and commanding, and his expression severe. Elizabeth heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of him and ran into his arms, where she unexpectedly burst into tears.
Mr. Darcy wrapped his arms protectively around his wife, but continued staring daggers at Mr. Bingley.

  Mr. Bingley looked as though he was beholding the very devil, and sank nervously onto the sofa beside Mrs. Bennet, who had ceased her weeping to peer nervously up at her imposing son-in-law.

  “Where are the Gardiners, and where is Rebecca,” Mr. Darcy asked, “and what, I repeat, is going on here?”

  Mary was too frightened to speak. Mr. Darcy’s anger was quite terrible – she should hate to be on the receiving end of his displeasure. As it was, she felt heartily ashamed of her family, though she knew she had done little to contribute to the current fiasco. Like Georgiana trembling beside her, Mary began to wish herself anywhere else.

  “Jane is dead,” Georgiana said flatly, speaking for the first time since the chaos had erupted.

  “Good riddance,” Mr. Darcy snarled, and Mrs. Bennet began weeping and wailing once more.

  “What a nasty thing to say,” Lydia cried. She began to stand but Mary grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her back down onto the sofa, giving her a slap.

  “Shut your mouth, you stupid girl,” Mary scoffed. “You do not know what she was. She was a deceitful harlot who would have ruined us all if she could, and I daresay Mr. Bingley knows it.”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said, “I wonder how much of the truth you know, sir. What did Jane tell you of us, the night she absconded with you? I daresay she neglected to mention that she had taken a lover before her first husband was even cold in his grave, that she had attempted to commit blackmail, that she had stolen from her aunt and uncle, and that she had in fact contracted the French disease? That, I suppose, you may yet be aware of. You must forgive me if I do not grieve, and wonder at the rest of you doing so.”

  “It’s not true,” Lydia cried, but Mary grabbed her younger sister roughly by the chin, turning Lydia’s face toward herself and meeting her eyes with a look she hoped conveyed all of the seriousness of the situation. “It is true, and you will be silent!”

  “Cousin Darcy,” Rebecca drawled, returning to the room on Mr. Gardiner’s arm. “Welcome to the circus.”

  Mr. Gardiner grimaced and cleared his throat. “Good morning, Mr. Darcy,” said he. “Your visit is well-timed indeed. Perhaps you and Mr. Bingley had better join me in my study, and the ladies return to their respective homes? I believe this conversation has taken an unseemly turn.”

  Mr. Bingley stood, fidgeting to avoid making eye contact with the other gentlemen. “I will not be treated like a criminal, when I came to condole with you all,” he muttered.

  “No indeed,” replied Mr. Gardiner, though not convincingly. “See to the ladies,” he whispered to Rebecca before leading the gentlemen across the hall to his study.

  The tension in the room remained. Elizabeth was pacing angrily, Mrs. Bennet was weeping still, and Kate had moved to her mother’s side to comfort her, her hand clenching at her belly. Lydia, too, resumed her weeping, shaking her head in confusion. “I do not understand,” she whimpered.

  “Of course you do not,” Rebecca snapped. “That shall make it all the easier for you to refrain from repeating what your sister Mary told you.”

  “I do not answer to you, even if she does,” Lydia hissed, and Mary pinched her sister’s arm. “Oww! Stop it, Mary! I hate you!”

  “Oh, leave Lydia be, Mary! I cannot see how you and Lizzy can be so heartless, fighting and carrying on at such a time! Have you no compassion for my poor nerves?” Mrs. Bennet groaned, loudly blowing her nose into her handkerchief.

  “Because Jane was an awful person,” Elizabeth snarled. “Her death does not change that. You may grieve, but I shall not.” Despite her words, Elizabeth dabbed at her own cheeks to hide the tears she had shed. “I think we had better be going.”

  “If you are determined to be so unkind, I think you should go,” Mrs. Bennet snapped, turning her head dramatically away.

  Kate looked up at them. “I shall stay with Mamma, I do not mind.”

  Elizabeth nodded and gestured for Rebecca, Georgiana, and Mary to follow her. Lydia looked up in alarm. “What, am I to stay here? I will not go back into mourning again! Lizzy, I want to stay with you!”

  “Lydia,” their mother wailed. “You would leave your poor Mamma at such a time? Selfish girl!”

  Mary watched as Georgiana’s countenance took on a look of horror at the prospect of once again residing under the same roof as Lydia, and Mary herself felt very little pity for her younger sister. To have Lydia back at Darcy House would be a punishment for everyone, not to mention a disaster in the making, for she could not be trusted a whit if she caught wind of the rumor about Georgiana.

  Fortunately there was nothing to fear, for Elizabeth glowered at their younger sister as if she had asked for the moon. “No indeed,” she said harshly. “We have not yet decided what to do with you, but returning to Darcy House is not an option, and it is entirely your own doing. You will stay here with Mamma until further notice, and do try to make yourself useful.” With that Elizabeth swept out of the room and called for the carriage.

  It was a rather dreary return drive to Darcy House; the only sound was Elizabeth’s intermittent sniffling as she stared angrily out the carriage window. Georgiana finally broke the silence with a whisper, “Lizzy…. It is all right to admit that you are sad… about Jane.”

  “I am not crying about Jane,” Elizabeth insisted, protesting perhaps a little too firmly. “Truly, I am not. I cried at the flower arrangements at the party yesterday – it is just my nerves. Good Lord, I sound like my mother! I mourned Jane’s loss more than a year ago, though her death does make it so final… we shall never be friends again, there is no chance of a final reconciliation between us.”

  Rebecca shifted uncomfortably in her seat; her distaste for strong emotion was no great secret. “Now, now, my dear friend,” she said. “Georgiana is right. There is no shame in mourning, even for someone who was so very bad. She was still your sister, and I am sure we are all very sorry indeed that things turned out as they did.”

  Elizabeth nodded feebly, wiping away her tears. “Yes, that is it. I am sorry for what might have been, and now can never be. I am sorry that she died before she could atone for her wickedness.”

  Mary leaned back against her seat, struck by the dreadful notion that Jane had died a sinner, unforgiven. Though she had been just as disgusted with Jane’s actions as all the rest of her family, it had never occurred to her that Jane might someday come round, and now it was too late. And then another thought came to mind. “If Jane has been dead for many weeks, I cannot see how she could have been responsible for the rumors about Georgiana.”

  Georgiana looked mortified. “Please, Mary – it must be very wrong for me to think of myself at such a time. I had considered that, but I cannot make sense of it all, and we must think of Lizzy now.”

  “I should rather think of you than Jane,” Elizabeth said to Georgiana, “for you are far more deserving than she. It is certainly odd, though. Perhaps we were wrong to blame Jane for this, if she was already gone when the whispers began, but I cannot account for it at all.”

  “Perhaps it is possible,” Mary mused aloud. “Mr. Bingley did not state explicitly whether Jane died of a miscarriage, or of her, um, other illness. I am inclined to think it was the latter. It might not have been sudden – she might have known it was coming, and it is entirely possible she could have written to her wicked friend Fanny Dashwood before her death, telling her what she knew, so that the secret did not die with her.”

  Rebecca nodded, smiling ruefully. “And Mrs. Dashwood only revealed it after learning of Jane’s death?”

  “As we are just now learning of it ourselves,” Mary replied, “I think it more likely that Fanny Dashwood does not yet know herself. She came to see Lizzy about a month ago, and asked a great deal of impertinent questions about Marianne. She was quite put out at not having been invited to the Fitzwilliam wedding, you see, for I believe she wished to congratulate herse
lf on having a viscount as a brother-in-law. She was rather like that when she came amongst us in Meryton last summer, boastful and full of self-importance. Marianne knows this – she made no secret of how it amused her to vex her half-sister by excluding her from the wedding, and a great many other social schemes.”

  “Oh God,” Elizabeth groaned, comprehension lighting her eyes. “I believe you must be right. Marianne said yesterday that Fanny has called several times at Matlock House since her return, earlier this week, and Marianne turned her away. We laughed about it.”

  “So Mrs. Dashwood was weighing her options,” Rebecca replied. “Holding out, hoping there was still some benefit to be gotten from her connection to my brother, and when she finally accepted that there is not, she took her pleasure instead by dragging Marianne’s new cousin’s name through the proverbial mud – and all at Jane’s behest. She could have learned the truth from Jane any number of months ago, and only acted so recently because it took her that long to give up any hope of an advantageous friendship with my family. Her revenge has been quite thorough.”

  Georgiana whimpered, her lip quivering precariously for a moment before she burst into tears. “It is not fair,” she cried. “I am to be punished because Marianne hates her sister!”

  Mary exchanged a look of horror with Rebecca and Elizabeth. Likely Marianne was blaming herself already, if her reaction to the news the previous morning was any indication, and though it was hardly fair for Georgiana to accuse her outright, neither was it fair for her to pay the price for the years of animosity between Marianne and Mrs. Dashwood. What an impossible mess!