Later that evening
A footman brought a note from Mr. Darcy directly to Mr. Bennet, in which he requested some moments of Mr. Bennet’s time at an early hour. As Elizabeth had predicted, she was still with her father when it arrived. Mr. Bennet handed it to her after he had read it.
“I believe he comes to explain his dealings with Wickham, Papa.” She dared not hope Darcy would call for any other reason. “Then you will hear. He has asked me to be silent on the subject, but I cannot say enough against sending Lydia to Brighton. Our family’s reputation is at stake. Wickham is vindictive.”
It was the same heated topic father and daughter had been debating before the brief message from Darcy was presented.
“Very well, Lizzy. Since he says you might join us, I insist you do so. But how is it you know some secret of Mr. Darcy’s? Has your opinion of him changed so much, or his of you, that he has taken you into his confidence?”
Elizabeth sighed, wondering how much to reveal. She would not speak of Darcy’s proposal. She was not sufficiently inured to recent circumstances to tolerate her father’s barbs on the subject or stomach his amusement at Darcy’s expense. “He had occasion to hear me speak in defence of Wickham—rather too warmly—and sought to explain the truth of the matter. Wickham is an accomplished liar, and I was well and truly taken in. I am yet ashamed to have spoken as I did in Mr. Darcy’s presence once I understood the whole of it.”
Mr. Bennet seemed intrigued. “Then I shall await the morning with bated breath, my child.” He could sense his daughter’s unease. “For now, let us speak of other things. Will Bingley offer for Jane soon, do you think?”
Chapter 15
Not in Sacred Ground
4 April 1812
I have had it from the servants that Darcy did not sleep at all the night before last. Paulette has related that, yesterday morning when the maids entered his chamber, there was a riot of ash and spilt ink and pen nibs all over the desk, chair, and floor. The bed had not been disturbed.
Last night, Darcy went into the library very late, and his man had to employ one of the footmen to assist getting him to bed. The footman says he was blind drunk and dead to the world.
Now Darcy is on the point of leaving. Mama is at the end of her tether. Alex does not know what has happened other than Darcy is angry with him for spreading tales out of turn about something, and I have withdrawn to my room after a careful and quiet farewell to my cousins.
I am achy from the baby and plan to spend the remainder of the day in my room. Mrs. Jenkinson will put it around, if necessary, that my courses have come and I feel weak. Indeed, I do feel weak. —A de B
Oh! I have more news. EB has a letter, a thick one. The footman at Hunsford has seen her with it and told my mother’s maid, who is his sister. He says EB mutters over it and is cross, but she hides it away when any but the servants are in the room. Darcy has written her, I am certain! Wherever would I be without the gossip of servants? Blessings on them, every one! As soon as I am improved, I must speak to her, and if she returns home before I have the chance to offer her a position as my companion in my new circumstances, I shall write to her. Not so long and vexing a letter as my cousin’s, I’m sure, but perhaps as surprising, in its way. —A de B
Monday, 20 April 1812
Before the early call upon Mr. Bennet, Darcy instructed the butler at Rosings to bring any message received from the Archbishop of Canterbury to him directly should one arrive. The spring morning was crisp and fair, and he was sorry his request to make an early call might cause Elizabeth to forego her morning ramble. Seeing the parkland through her eyes, he knew she would take delight at the first blooming of each new species of flower. He was sorry he had not been more observant when he walked with her before—before so rudely forcing his offer upon her. He wished he knew her preferences for flowers and colours.
Darcy did not know for certain whether Mr. Bennet would include Elizabeth in their conference, but he believed he had not misapprehended the man’s esteem for his daughter’s opinions. He began to gather a handful of flowers as he went, hoping he might be including a type she had not yet seen.
Elizabeth stood at the window of the stairway landing, which faced the road and afforded a view of the palings and gate into Rosings Park. She pursed her lips. What a child I am, waiting for a glimpse of his hat! The sill was deep and she leant against it on her elbows, her self-disapproval not drawing her away from the prospect. She longed to be out walking and wondered whether the handsomest man of her acquaintance would ever tread the paths with her again. Doubtful, Lizzy, highly doubtful.
Her heart attempted to escape her chest when, at last, the dark beaver approached in stark contrast against the tapestry of spring green. It then disappeared, only to reappear some distance nearer. Elizabeth wondered at this strange progress, and smiled with delight when Darcy appeared at the palings with an extempore nosegay in his hand. She did not stop to ponder the forwardness of opening the door for him as he came along the garden walk towards the house. Nor did she note with any disapprobation the strong tendency to vanity that assured the flowers were to be hers.
Mr. Bennet also watched Darcy’s approach from the book room and heard his daughter’s light steps descend the stairs. The front door opened, and Mr. Bennet watched the remarkable change in Darcy’s countenance as he was welcomed. The gentleman was beaming as he made his bow. Elizabeth stepped into the view and curtsied. The open window made public their greetings.
“Good morning, Miss Bennet.”
“Good morning, Mr. Darcy. My father has informed me that I am to join your discussion. We hope you will take breakfast with us afterwards if you are not too long about your business, in which case, you may have luncheon.”
Darcy held out the flowers. “I offer these by way of apology for keeping you inside when I know my friend would as soon be afield on such a fine morning.”
Darcy had removed his gloves to gather the flowers, and being at home, Elizabeth wore none. Their cheeks burned as their hands touched when the flowers passed from one to the other.
“I hope there might be something here you have not seen blooming before, or at least not here…this spring…in the park…since…since your arrival…” Darcy’s spoken wishes dwindled to a stammered silence.
Elizabeth required a moment to catch her breath. Had he called her his friend? She hoped she had heard him correctly and unconsciously pressed the point. “This is indeed a kind and friendly gesture, Mr. Darcy. And most gentlemanly, too, to seek to redress for any inconveniencing of a friend—although you have not bothered me, for it is no trouble, you know, to sit with you…and my father…together.”
Realising she was babbling, she looked up at him brightly. “There are cowslips, chequered lilies, and early purple orchids. I thank you!” She wiped pollen from her nose as Darcy chuckled.
Mr. Bennet watched and overheard their conversation with no little astonishment. This was not the daughter who loathed Mr. Darcy above all men. This was not the haughty and judgmental Mr. Darcy who would not be tempted by Elizabeth Bennet. There was much here to consider.
The couple entered the house, and Nell approached to take the gentleman’s hat and linen duster. Darcy listened carefully as Elizabeth pulled the servant aside, and he was pleased to hear the words “water,” “vase,” and lastly, but by no means of least importance, “to my bedchamber.”
He closed his eyes to gather his equilibrium as the floor became unsteady. Why did he never feel confident of his balance in this house? Something he had touched would now—and for as fleeting a time as the flowers would live—lodge in the bedroom occupied by Elizabeth Bennet. They would mutely observe her in ways he never would. He vowed silently to bring her flowers continually for the remainder of her stay in the neighbourhood.
Furthermore, he had hazarded the word “friend” and Elizabeth repeated it. She
called his gift “gentlemanly.” No matter how the conversation with Mr. Bennet progressed, he could do naught but count his visit to the vicarage a hearty success. They would be friends.
Elizabeth guided him into the book room where Mr. Bennet turned from the window to receive and return Darcy’s bow. He then looked at the two young people in bemused appraisal, allowing the moment to stretch into their discomfort by not leaving the window. When he saw in their eyes that they understood he had seen the giving of the nosegay, Mr. Bennet gave a slight nod before saying, “What is our topic, Mr. Darcy? Are we to speak of flowers that bloom in the spring with a ‘hey nonny nonny’?”
Elizabeth blushed profoundly and wondered whether the magistrate had taken all of the cyanide from Rosings.
Although becoming pink-cheeked, Darcy went straight to his point. “I fear it is nothing so pleasant. I wish to acquaint you with the true character of George Wickham.”
Once all were seated, Mr. Darcy gave a candid and complete rendering of all his dealings with the man. Mr. Bennet cast the occasional glance at Elizabeth, who heard it all as though Darcy were not saying anything she did not already know. Even the explanation of the near elopement of Mr. Darcy’s sister did not produce a blush to match her countenance when the subject of wildflowers had been broached.
“This all seems a rather sordid family business, Mr. Darcy. May I ask how Lizzy came to be aware of it?” Mr. Bennet raised his brows. He wanted to hear Darcy’s mind in the matter. Mr. Bennet continued to find it difficult to understand the changed relations between Darcy and his most valued daughter.
“When I danced with Miss Elizabeth at Netherfield, she implied your family had formed a friendship with Wickham,” Darcy explained. “One cannot speak against someone too strongly in a ballroom, however deserving.”
Mr. Bennet did not smile too much. “No, certainly not. Harsh words are never heard in a ballroom.”
Darcy suppressed his impatience. “When I had the chance of it upon meeting her again, I did explain everything.”
Mr. Bennet studied Darcy’s eyes. Jealousy! He was vastly diverted. Most assuredly, Mr. Darcy held Elizabeth in high regard. Perhaps there was even a tenderness of feeling? Such a proud man would never offer for her given the difference in their circumstances, but neither could he resist her, that much was obvious. That she had taken Wickham’s word over his in Meryton must have been a burr under his saddle.
Darcy did not like the presentiment of being seen through, but such were his feelings. His annoyance was a challenge to contain. The warning to Mr. Bennet about Wickham’s depraved nature seemed to be going unnoticed in the man’s efforts to find amusement in the unease of his daughter. I hope I shall never be such a father as this, where teasing my children is of greater concern than protecting them. Darcy stood abruptly, “I have said all there is to say in this. It is for you to protect your family.”
He turned with a sincere smile to Elizabeth. “Miss Elizabeth, you did offer me breakfast, did you not?” Darcy nearly forgot to bow to Mr. Bennet as he left the room after insisting, with rather more emphasis than was necessary, that the man’s daughter take his arm.
Once the young people were out of sight, Mr. Bennet drew a sheet of writing paper from the desk and began a letter.
Hunsford Vicarage
Kent
My Dear Wife,
It has come to my attention…
Mr. Darcy had finished his breakfast with the ladies of the vicarage, and Elizabeth had seen him out the door, by the time her father emerged from the book room bearing a sealed letter. He held it in such a way as to be certain her curious eyes would see the direction. He called for the footman, and in Elizabeth’s hearing, demanded the letter be sent by express to Longbourn, leaving no doubt of his intentions. He turned to his surprised daughter.
“I care nothing for Mr. Darcy’s approbation, but I do care that he respects you, and there is much improvement in him. Did I not always say you and Jane would be valued wherever you go? For myself, I value only your good opinion, Lizzy, and thus I have written your mother, forbidding Lydia to travel anywhere outside the boundaries of Meryton.
“It will be some time before I am home to hear the lamentations, and that recollection made the letter much less burdensome to compose. It is to be hoped that when we return to Longbourn, there will be talk of wedding lace.” He raised his brows at her. “I find I can tolerate lace more equably than Lydia’s protests of ill treatment and the constant unfairness of life’s trials.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes but was so relieved that she was required to retreat to her bedroom to cry for five minutes complete. However, when her eyes beheld the flowers from Mr. Darcy, the flow of tears magically ceased.
Later that day, Rosings
The Sevenoaks magistrate—Mr. Humphrey Knocker—along with Darcy, Bingley, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Georgiana was taking some light refreshment in the music room when The Most Reverend and Right Honourable Lord Archbishop of Canterbury, Charles Manners-Sutton, was announced without forewarning. Darcy introduced his distant cousin (his paternal grandmother had been a Manners) to the magistrate, who was the only person in the room wholly unknown to the Archbishop.
“This is capital, Cousin Darcy,” his kindly and reverend relative announced. “I had hoped to consult the magistrate before making any recommendations as to Lady Catherine’s funeral. I shall speak to him and return to you directly.”
The Archbishop was closeted with Mr. Knocker in the small parlour where Lady Catherine had often met Mr. Collins, since no one had died in it.
An hour later, Mr. Knocker departed and the Archbishop returned to the music room, taking Darcy and the colonel aside to speak privately out of deference to the delicate sensibilities of Miss Darcy. Bingley sat with Georgiana, turning pages for her at the pianoforte. She chose Bach and played ponderously as she thought befitted the occasion.
The Archbishop was sombre. “No one is more aware than I of appearances, Darcy, and it will not look well for your family, but I cannot perform a funeral service for a murderess. Indeed, I shall neither speak by her grave nor see where she is laid out. Nor shall I allow her to be entombed in the de Bourgh crypt in the churchyard. She cannot suffer her earth bath in hallowed ground. Our Lord may forgive her, and we ought to do so in our hearts, but that is all. There cannot be one rule for the high-born and another for murderers from the lower classes.”
The colonel nodded in agreement.
Darcy sighed, looking as stone-faced as the Archbishop. It was the first time he had given a thought for the reputation of his family since being refused by Elizabeth Bennet.
“This is God’s will, Darcy. It cannot be otherwise. Lofty as I am, I cannot flout the law, neither the King’s nor God’s, and in this instance, they are the same. The noble Fitzwilliam family is better rid of this canker upon its family tree. Am I to understand the current local physician was not yet in the neighbourhood at the time of Sir Lewis’s death?”
“That is true, Your Grace,” Darcy replied.
“And we have the evidence that the local magistrate had then received a bribe from her ladyship?”
“So Mr. Knocker says, as well as the unscrupulous verger of the church, who had caught wind of it and avoided taking tea with Lady Catherine all these many years,” the colonel explained. “It will all come out now.”
The Archbishop nodded. “We have only the diary of her late daughter informing us that Lady Catherine was at this vile trade for some time and unrepentantly using the stable grooms as test cases.” The Archbishop made a sound of disapprobation. “’Tis a sorry business, and I am certain we are all well rid of her, as are all good Christians.”
Darcy nodded and knew there was nothing to argue.
“Now, gentlemen, there is one funeral service I do intend to conduct. I would be honoured to lead the service for Mr. William Colli
ns. Might we manage it tomorrow? I understand that the incumbent to the estate for which Mr. Collins was heir is currently in residence at the vicarage along with two female cousins of Mr. Collins and his widow. Is Mrs. Collins…?” He motioned his hand over his belly.
Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam coughed into their hands. “She says not,” the colonel muttered.
“I wonder whether the marriage was consummated,” the Archbishop mused aloud, causing even the colonel to blush. “Mr. Collins was a simple soul, a most tedious toady, it cannot be denied. But he acted as God’s cat’s-paw in effecting a justice of perfect symmetry.”
The colonel had ceased listening, having read, as he knew Charlotte had, the explicit descriptions of Anne’s final assignations. He devoutly hoped Charlotte had not read such things as a maiden, but could only wonder with grim interest about her marital relations. From her wish to protect her friend’s innocence, Charlotte had unintentionally set the death of her husband in motion. The colonel surmised that, in this, Mrs. Collins was struggling with no little guilt.
Darcy looked at his cousin’s blush with open curiosity but said nothing. It took a great deal to make the colonel turn any colour but tan from long hours upon his horse. Darcy addressed the Archbishop instead. “One of Mr. Collins’s cousins is the lady who escaped our aunt’s tainted tea and cake. It was only by some miracle, which she does not explain but says that it saved her.”
“So I understand from the magistrate. The crime of attempted murder is counted amongst Lady Catherine’s sins. I would like to be introduced to this young lady. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, is it?”
The colonel’s spirits lightened, and he knocked Darcy in the shoulder. ‘That falls to you, Cousin. You are well practiced in making her known to the quality.”
The Archbishop was relieved to see the cousins smiling again. He much preferred performing weddings and christenings, and even the odd coronation now and again, to funerals. “Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” he said, “I absolve you from mourning your aunt, or even Miss Anne de Bourgh. And Cousin,” his lively eyes lit upon Darcy’s impassive countenance, “I should be honoured to celebrate your wedding, should I live so long.”
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