They were soon fastening their reins to the rail outside the church, and then they walked into the peaceful churchyard. It was a bright day, and Darcy paused to take a slug from his water flask, leaving Bingley to wander amongst the graves. Though he knew Mrs Preston’s account did not implicate Elizabeth as the victim, he had to be certain beyond any doubt, and if...
‘Darcy!’
He looked over to where Bingley now stood beside a headstone, its newness apparent from its golden stone. Trying to swallow over a sudden tightness to his throat, he walked over to stand beside his friend, his eyes falling upon the inscription.
Here lyeth
Frances Bennet née Gardiner
Wife of Thomas Bennet
Born 1st April 1772
Departed this world
the 13th day of September 1812
And her daughter
Lydia Bennet
Born 14th June 1796
Departed this world
the 2nd day of September 1812
‘Miss Lydia!’ Bingley exclaimed. ‘The youngest of them all.’
And the most foolish. The thought swept through Darcy before he could catch it, and he bit his lip. He did not mean to be so unfeeling, but until he had read those words engraved in stone, he could not fully forego his fears. The thought of Elizabeth wed to another unsettled him, but it was far preferable than believing her remains buried beneath the dry and dusty ground, ever silent, forever gone from this world.
He studied the finely carved words and, despite his distaste for the family, he was filled with sadness as he read once more the words: Born 14th June 1796.
This girl and Georgiana were but days apart in age. A memory of Wickham rose before him unbidden, from their encounter in Ramsgate; this had to be his doing. Darcy’s gaze dropped to the ground. How would it feel to have his sister lie thus before him? How close had her fate been to that of poor Lydia Bennet?
Darcy turned away, but as he did so, a movement caught his eye and he stared at the low-hanging trees on the opposite side of the churchyard. Then, a figure in black emerged and walked towards them.
‘Bingley,’ Darcy muttered to his friend, and Bingley glanced up, a smile spreading across his features.
‘It is the Reverend Watts!’ Stepping forward, he met the gentleman half way and shook his hand and Darcy, recognising him now he was in full light, added his own greeting before they all turned to look at the headstones.
‘A sad business.’ Mr Watts shook his head solemnly.
‘We learned of it only this morning.’ Bingley added. ‘I trust you have been kept informed of the whereabouts of your former parishioners, especially as Mr Bennet still retains ownership of Longbourn?’
‘I have not. There is no one hereabouts who knows where they have gone, for their purpose in uprooting and moving elsewhere was to bury all association with the happenings here.’ He hesitated. ‘I do have a London address where I send any communication pertaining to the estate, but I am not at liberty to disclose it.’
Darcy turned away from the graves again, his gaze scanning the horizon. Where had they gone?
‘No, of course.’ Bingley frowned. ‘But what of Sir William Lucas? And Mrs Bennet’s sister and brother Philips? I had but a slight acquaintance with them, yet I understood the sisters to be very close. They must know where the family is.’
The reverend shook his head. ‘Their destination was disclosed to none, I assure you. As for the Philips, they too no longer live in the neighbourhood; they moved away shortly after the Bennets, and the house is quite shut up. They are gone to Kenilworth, where Mr Philips has re-established his practice.’
His curiosity roused, Darcy turned back and met the puzzled gaze of Bingley.
‘Were they so tainted by association, then, after Miss Lydia Bennet’s elopement?’
There was some sort of... altercation, between the two branches of the family, sir, around the time of Mrs Bennet’s final illness and it grew worse after her passing.’ The man looked a little awkward for a moment as he glanced between them. ‘I do not wish to say more than this and beg you would not ask me.’
~o0o~
‘My mind is all confusion, Darcy. I know not what to think on any of this. It feels as though some sort of madness has descended.’
Darcy understood entirely how Bingley was feeling as they both regained their mounts and turned them towards the London turnpike.
‘The repercussions of one’s actions… ‘ Bingley shook his head as they set off at a canter. ‘Miss Lydia must surely have had no possible concept of her rash behaviour causing such a series of events: her family’s disgrace, her mother’s illness and death, her own death, and the rest of the family broken up and displaced.’
Repercussions… a wave of helpless regret swept over Darcy, followed swiftly by a heavy sense of culpability. This was his fault; he had no doubt of the identity of the culprit who had charmed Lydia Bennet. If only he had felt able to make Wickham’s character publicly known in the neighbourhood... But who would have believed him? All he would have done was reveal how close his own family had come to sharing such a disgrace; yet he had thought to protect no one but them.
Angry and frustrated with himself, he urged his mount on and was soon setting a fair pace, conscious of Bingley’s attempt to keep up as he strove to escape his regrets and outrun his anxiety.
Chapter Six
On reaching London, Darcy and Bingley parted company on the corner of Grosvenor Square, with little time to refresh themselves before meeting again at the Hursts’, where they were engaged to dine.
Darcy found the evening interminable. Hurst, whose tendency once the ladies had withdrawn was to fall asleep in his seat, his hand firmly attached to his port glass, had the temerity to remain conscious for the duration, and never could his alertness have proved more frustrating.
Once they had re-joined the ladies, however, Bingley excused them both on some spurious pretext and they removed to Hurst’s study. Picking up two glasses, he deposited them on a small drum table and unstopped a decanter.
‘Thank you.’ Darcy took the offering and sat opposite Bingley who met his gaze seriously.
‘Here is to the memory of the late Mrs Bennet and Miss Lydia Bennet. May they rest in peace.’ He solemnly raised his glass and Darcy followed suit before they knocked back the drink in one.
Letting the liquid burn a trail down his throat, Darcy swallowed hard on the unanticipated wave of emotion sweeping through him at Bingley’s impromptu toast. It had been an extraordinary day, a sentiment echoed by his friend.
‘I am at a loss to fully comprehend it all.’ Bingley shook his head. ‘And what of the cad who effected this elopement? What of his identity?’
‘From what we have been told, we must assume a Militia man.’ Darcy did not want to think about Wickham, let alone speculate upon his deeds. He never did, and yet so it always was.
‘Colonel Forster and his men were uniformly charming, were they not? Those of our acquaintance, I mean to say. Saunders... Denny... to bear such a charming air and countenance, yet conceal such intentions!’ Bingley shot forward in his seat. ‘Good Lord, Darcy! Could it have been your old adversary? Could it have been Wickham?’ He fixed Darcy with his eye. ‘You never did reveal the full extent of his treachery towards your family, and yet—‘
‘It has been shared with no one, and I cannot—even now; besides, it is not certain he was the culprit.’ Though you are convinced, are you not? ‘Just promise me one thing, Bingley.’ His friend looked surprised. ‘Should it ever come to your notice Wickham has shown his face in your family’s vicinity, guard your sisters with your life.’
‘Good heavens! Are you in earnest?’
Darcy stared at him solemnly, and Bingley slowly sank back into his seat, his gaze drifting to the fireplace. ‘I heed your warning, my friend.’ Then, he sighed. ‘I can barely comprehend our findings; such tragedy, such upheaval. And to think our purpose was merely to determine if Netherfiel
d would answer as a home for the girls.’
‘Had you made your mind up? Before we learned of all this?’
Bingley stretched his legs out before the hearth, his empty glass nursed in his lap. ‘I had not. The house is infinitely better suited as a home for them, but persuading Caroline to return and have the twins in regular bouts of residence is well beyond my talents.’
‘Is it not her duty?’
‘Of course, but when did duty ever oblige Caroline to do anything other than what she wishes? You are fortunate in your sister, my friend. Miss Darcy seems to have been instructed by tutors versed in educating without instilling a want of feeling, rather than turning out highly polished young ladies hardened against the rest of the world and prepared to think meanly of everything and everyone in it but themselves. Forgive me; I know I should not speak so.’
A sudden notion struck Darcy, and he sat forward. ‘How difficult would it be to make some alteration in your plans for the twins?’
Bingley shrugged. ‘I am willing to do whatever it takes for my sisters to be happy. What are you proposing?’
‘With the present inflexibility of Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley, I wonder if, perhaps, it might be best to find them an establishment in an entirely different location.’
Bingley frowned. ‘While I care little enough for inconveniencing the seminary, I do not see how it could help. Firstly, there is the difficulty of finding a credible alternative in limited time; and even assuming they are willing to take both girls, there remains yet the problem of where they can go comfortably when not under regular tuition.’
‘If a solution could be found, though, you would not be unwilling to consider it?’
‘I would not!’
‘Then leave it with me for a day or so. I will make some enquiries and advise you directly of my findings.’
‘You are a good friend, Darcy.’
Darcy frowned; he did not consider himself a good friend at all.
‘Here,’ Bingley topped up both their glasses. ‘We are in need of a little medicinal comfort this evening.’
‘I trust Hurst will not object to us making inroads into his stock.’
With a hollow laugh, Bingley raised his glass to Darcy. ‘As I fund much of his stock, most of which he consumes before I can sample it, I find I can bear the guilt well enough! Let us hope it aids our slumber as effectively as it does his.’
~o0o~
The following morning, Darcy was once more sequestered in his study, regarding the out-dated correspondence with a baleful eye. Then, pleased he had more pressing matters to address, he wrote the letters pertaining to his idea to help Bingley before summoning a footman to send them Express and instruct the rider to await a reply.
There was little else he could do thereafter other than succumb to the inevitable, and pulling the small pile of correspondence towards him, he picked up the first letter.
But a half hour later, only two remained unread, and Darcy stared at the distinctive hand. Lady Catherine appeared to have written to him in August of the previous year and again in the January of this, and he picked up the first letter and scanned the opening paragraphs. Then he blew out a breath of frustration: was the name Bennet going to haunt him forever? It brought nothing but intelligence of the shame falling upon the family whose estate was destined for her parson. There was a lengthy diatribe against the daughters and both parents, all of whom she found culpable in one way or another. She then passed sentence upon the four girls remaining at home, all of whom she claimed were now ‘even less marriageable than they were’.
Leaning back in his seat, Darcy’s gaze fell on the painting of Pemberley. Had he not made the decision to travel, how would he have received this news? What might he have done in the circumstances? What if he had discovered the situation before Lydia Bennet came to an untimely end? Then, he pushed aside the notion. His presence would have been unwelcome; there was little he could have done, just as there was nothing he could do now.
Screwing the letter into a ball, Darcy tossed it into the fireplace before picking up the second.
‘Oh for heaven’s sake!’ he muttered under his breath. The letter began by deploring the decision by Mr Bennet to remove from Longbourn. Mr Collins, his aunt commented, was in fear of his inheritance, for how could a tenant be relied upon to care for the property in the same way as an owner?
Dropping the letter on his desk, Darcy got to his feet and walked over to the window. He was heartily sick of the name Bennet. He had put time and effort into dismissing his memories of the family, be it in Hertfordshire or Kent, and had been perfectly satisfied with his success.
It was trial enough to have been back in Hertfordshire, where shades of a certain lady haunted him at every turn, but to return to correspondence filled with nothing but the Bennets was entirely too much. He would have none of his newfound peace of mind disturbed, nor his clear direction as to his purpose sent off course.
Darcy turned back to his desk, balled up the second letter and sent it the same way as the first before making his way out into the hallway. He had walked no more than a few paces when the door bell pealed, and by the time he reached the drawing room door, Pagett was admitting Bingley and his sister, Caroline, to the house.
Georgiana appeared in the doorway, and he drew her to his side. He was permanently on his guard around Caroline Bingley. He had long known her expectations and had no intention of meeting them.
‘My dear Miss Darcy,’ the lady gushed as she swept over to greet them. ‘You look so well. We heard so much about your travels last night, I confess I was quite envious of you.’ She turned her gaze upon Darcy, ‘and Mr Darcy.’
‘Miss Bingley.’
‘You are too cruel, sir,’ the lady exclaimed, placing a hand on his arm as they turned towards the drawing room. ‘Taking your sister away from us in such a manner. Too cruel indeed.’
Having no answer to this, Darcy escorted the lady to a chaise near the fireplace and, as soon as Georgiana joined her, he invited Bingley to take a seat on the opposite side of the room.
‘When do you expect the girls to arrive in Town?’ Darcy spoke quietly, so as not to draw attention to their conversation.
Bingley smiled. ‘Julia is due in a few days. As for Olivia and Viola, they have been staying with friends in Cambridge ever since Cousin Margaret was taken ill. I plan to fetch them myself in a fortnight.’
‘Honestly, Charles,’ Caroline Bingley, who clearly possessed highly accomplished hearing, interrupted him. ‘I do not see why they could not remain in Cambridge until the seminary opens for the new term. Why must they come to Grosvenor Street at all?’
Bingley’s smile faded. ‘Why should they not? We see them so infrequently, and it is fitting we spend some time with the twins before they begin their tuition.’
Caroline Bingley sniffed delicately. ‘I do not see why you are paying so much money for their finishing. It is bad enough Papa placed an equal dowry upon all five girls, but for you to spend such a sum on your half-sisters! It is in all ways unacceptable.’
‘Caroline, we have had this conversation too many times. They may well be half-sisters to us, but they were not half-daughters to Papa!’
Ignoring him, she turned her gaze upon Darcy. ‘My brother would do well to heed the wisdom of the Darcys. Your father was not tempted to marry again and risk diluting the family’s wealth and consequence, sir.’
Darcy had no intention of responding to this, and instead turned to his sister. ‘Georgie, would you call for some tea? Miss Bingley, I am sure you would welcome a refreshing cup.’
Miss Bingley received this attention precisely as anticipated, purring her gratitude for his attentiveness so profusely he was tempted to exchange his offer of tea for a saucer of milk.
The arrival of refreshments was sufficient distraction for a while. However, once furnished with a cup, Caroline Bingley persisted in paying more attention to the gentlemen than the young lady upon whom she had professed such a desire
to call.
‘We are to attend the theatre this Thursday, Mr Darcy. Will you not join us? There is room for one other in our box.’
‘I thank you, Miss Bingley, but I am unable to accept.’
Caroline pouted at him. ‘Oh come now, sir! I am certain your dear sister can spare you for an evening, can you not, Miss Darcy?’ She swivelled to fix Georgiana with a compelling eye, but Darcy interrupted her.
‘You misunderstand me, madam. I do not decline out of a desire to remain by my own hearth. I have a prior supper engagement.’
‘Oh what is that when such delights as the theatre are to be had? One may eat supper on any day.’
‘You must excuse me, Miss Bingley; I am sure you will have a delightful evening.’
Caroline frowned. ‘And might I enquire whose company provides such attraction over a play in company with your good friends? It is one of your stuffy business suppers, no doubt, all cigar smoke, port and dry conversation.’
‘Thankfully not. I dine with the Latimers.’
A momentary spasm passed over the lady’s features, but she quickly resumed her habitual air of condescension. ‘Oh, dear Miss Latimer. Such a good friend of mine, so accomplished; do please pass on my best compliments.’
‘It will be my pleasure, Miss Bingley.’
The lady graciously inclined her head, and Darcy took the moment to return to conversing with his friend.
‘And if you do return to Hertfordshire?’
‘Hertfordshire?’ Miss Bingley’s voice was strident. ‘Charles, what is this talk of Hertfordshire? Are you finally giving up that ridiculous lease you entered into?’
‘I had been considering taking up residence at Netherfield, Caroline, to give the twins a home. It is too confined for them in Grosvenor Street.’
Miss Bingley paled. ‘You would not – you could not possibly consider going back to that… place. I will not do it. I will not come.’
Bingley threw Darcy a resigned look and, as Caroline Bingley then talked of nothing but how much she despised Netherfield, Hertfordshire and every person who had the dreadful misfortune to live there, he was vastly relieved when his friend decided to bring the visit to a close and ushered his sister out of the room.
A Quest for Mr Darcy Page 4