Chapter 5
Despite the pleasurable hours spent in the daily company of her friend and Colonel Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth cherished a little quietness in a day too and made it a point to never miss her walks in the park. It was during one such stroll on a fine afternoon that she chanced upon the solitary figure of a man seated on a small park bench, amidst the rockery, at a far corner of the grove.
“Mr. Darcy?” her brows rose from amazement, a closer observation affirming her suspicions. It was a peculiar coincidence indeed that he must be here at this time when no one else ever was! Furthermore, his attention appeared to be buried in a book that lay on his lap. From the way that his hands moved, Elizabeth could tell that he was engrossed in writing. “A journal?” she supposed curiously.
Bringing her steps to a slow halt, she pondered if she must abandon the idea of a stroll and turn around so as to not interrupt his private moments. Then again, she recalled, how this particular stretch of greenery was her first choice of place; one that she unfailingly used to pursue her recreation outdoors in peace and quiet at this hour of the day. And with that recollection, her notions of generosity vanished, prompting her to resume her walk, as planned.
Soon, Mr. Darcy arose, after putting away his journal and pen, to greet the fair lady approaching. “Miss Bennet?”
“Mr. Darcy?” At first glance, the book in his hand was thick, of brown leather, and well-used; and the way he tucked it close to his chest reflected that its contents were evidently dear to him. However, despite her curiosity, she was discreet enough to not stare at a personal artefact for too long and looked up to greet him with a nod.
“I would not have thought to find you here,” she paused, “this has been a favourite haunt of mine throughout, and my love for solitary walks brings me here often,” she took care to stress on the word “solitary” hoping that an intelligent man like him would catch the hint and do what he could to avoid similar encounters in the park hereafter.
However, her faith was disproved when an encounter ensued not twice, but thrice over. “Was it mere coincidence? Does nature having some grand design behind these unexpected meetings? Or, was there something else?” she asked herself.
It could not be mere coincidence, she eventually realised, for these repeated encounters in the park were not abrupt meetings of quick formalities and farewells - as she had come to expect from him. They seemed to grow in length and complexity, with Mr. Darcy beginning to walk alongside Elizabeth, exploring the park with her, thus keeping her company for the entire length of these strolls. On all of these occasions, he did have his journal beside him. Though she never did ask, it increased her inquisitiveness a great deal as to what he must write so faithfully in it.
In fact, Elizabeth was never too forthcoming about adding to the conversations during any of their mutual walks in the grove. But Mr. Darcy continued to make concerted efforts to fill spells of emptiness with questions. Strange questions, she noticed, that were quite disjointed.
“Does Hunsford continue to take your fancy?”
“Have you always been an admirer of solitary walks?”
“What opinions might you have, of Mr. and Mrs. Collins’ marital life?”
Stranger than any of these queries were his statements pertaining to her future stays at Rosings.
“Hereafter, whenever you come down to Kent, and you stay at the Rosings mansion, would you be inclined to continue this routine?” he wondered aloud once.
His query alluded to her staying at the Rosings mansion during her eventual visits to Kent hereafter, and it was not the first time that he alluded to such a thing either. The implications bewildered her a great deal until something struck her by the end of their third encounter. “Could he be referring to my interactions with Colonel Fitzwilliam? Is he hinting at a possibility of further developments there? Under what circumstances?”
Mildly unsettled by the conjectures, Elizabeth felt a wave of relief when they finally reached the gates of the cottage.
***
A few days later, Elizabeth was passing by the familiar paths of the grove; but unlike past days, the splendour of the orchard and its greens was lost on her now with her mind occupied elsewhere. In her hand was the latest letter from her sister and she could not help but ruminate over how certain sentences continued to lack the cheer and pleasantness that used to be so characteristic of Jane Bennet once.
It was when she was thus lost in thought that she incidentally spotted the distant figure of a man walking these very paths, from the other end. To her surprise, it turned out, not to be Mr. Darcy, but Colonel Fitzwilliam instead.
Folding up the letter, she tucked it inside her palm and urged herself to appear in better spirits. “Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she addressed him as they met midway, “I had no idea that you frequented these parts of the park.”
With a cordial smile, he welcomed her presence, “I am touring the orchards and the groves I have not yet had a chance to visit. It is a routine I follow every year, towards the end of my stays at Kent,” he glanced at the paths behind him, “I am on my way to the cottage. Will you be strolling for much longer?”
“No, I was planning to return too.”
In due time, they were retracing their steps towards the lanes of their destination.
“Is it on Saturday that you shall be leaving Kent, sir?”
“That I hope to,” he nodded, “but it is dependent on Darcy. You see, he makes the decisions about our comings and goings, and he is the one who has been postponing our return.”
“What enjoyment Mr. Darcy derives from staying back at Kent, I am not aware. I have little doubt that he is the sort of man who derives great pride in exercising his ability to come and go as he thinks right, and even greater enjoyment in the fact that the final decision lies in his hands alone.”
The Colonel grinned, amused by her judgement of his cousin, which was not entirely inappropriate. “True. Darcy prides in being his own man, who will not be dictated to. But, would we all not do the same? The difference being that he is a man of means, with the luxury to come and go as he thinks fit. On the contrary,” he placed a hand on his chest, as an exaggerated mark of humility, “as a younger son of an Earl, I am more dependent on him, thus forced to live a life of sobriety and dependence.”
Elizabeth giggled at his endearing theatrics, “You jest. An Earl’ s son - younger or older - how much could he possibly know of sobriety and dependence? Has there ever been a time when you liked something, or wanted to be somewhere, and could not afford to?”
“Buying trinkets and traveling places are small issues - I shall admit that I have been able to afford these smaller pleasures. However,” he paused, “when it comes to matters of real gravity, I am at a disadvantage. For instance, as a younger son, I cannot choose any wife as I please. It is the bane of a life of extravagance. It makes us reliant on money and rank, and there are thus not many of us, who have the advantage of being able to marry a woman of our choice without paying heed to her wealth and fortunes.”
“Marry a woman of our choice without paying heed to her wealth and fortunes?” Was that a quiet confession meant to hint at her, she instantly wondered after the Colonel finished his statement. The very notion that it might be so, sent a warm rouge riding up her cheeks.
Elizabeth hastened to regroup herself, lest she was caught, by masking her abashment with a lively tone, “So, what is the size of wealth that a woman must inherit to recommend her to an Earl’s younger son? I presume it would not be above fifty thousand pounds.”
Humouring her with an apt answer, he looked ahead; and Elizabeth took it as a sign to move on from the topic.
A brief silence ensued, after which, she resumed lightly, “So it has been established that your cousin requires your presence at Kent solely to have someone for company and at his convenience. If that is so, why then does he not marry? It would give him a lasting partnership of this kind. Then again, he does have his sister for companionship. And with him b
eing her sole guardian, I assume he would decide for her her life and future as he deems necessary.”
“No,” he arched a brow spiritedly, “now, that is a brotherly pleasure he is forced to share with me. We are both guardians of Miss Darcy, you see.”
“That is an interesting picture. So, how do you play your roles as guardians? Are you very strict? And how does your ward take to your demands? Does she pose much trouble? Some young ladies are challenging to handle - all the more so if they have wealth at their disposal. And if she has the true Darcy spirit,” she teased, “well then, I know not what more to say.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam turned to her, gazing at her expression for a while. “Has something happened? Have you overheard a rumour perhaps that might give you the idea that Miss Darcy is a challenging lady to handle?”
From all that transpired, Elizabeth could not help but conclude that her assumptions of the young lady in question had to be quite accurate.
“No reason to fret. I was only jesting,” she said to put the guardian’s mind at ease. “I have not once come across any ill spoken of her. If anything, I hear that she is a very compliant young lady, even adored by a few women I have met lately,” she stalled, as a thought dawned upon her. “Actually, you might be familiar with these women - Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley.”
“Yes, I am. Not very well though. I am aware that their brother, Charles Bingley, is a fine gentleman. He is very close to my cousin, and Darcy regards him as a great friend too.”
“Mr. Charles Bingley,” mouthed Elizabeth, a shade of dispassion coming over her countenance. “Yes, I have witnessed the extent of Mr. Darcy’s regard for his friend. Not only is he excessively thoughtful towards Mr. Bingley, I hear he invests an enormous amount of concern and personal interest in his friend’s choices and decisions too.”
“You may be right. It is my understanding that Darcy shows concern towards his friend, where concern warrants being shown. There was an incident he told me about, on our journey from London - a circumstance, which may have left Bingley eternally grateful to him. But I might be mistaken in supposing that the man in question, is indeed Bingley. My inferences could be wrong.”
“What manner of circumstance? Pray, do tell me more.”
“I have my doubts about repeating it. That others should hear of this incident is something Darcy would not like, because if the lady’s family were to know of it, it could lead to distress and discord.”
Elizabeth began feeling flutters in her chest of a very unpleasant kind. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, you may place unwavering faith upon my discretion. I shall never mention this incident to another.”
He sighed, “But I must caution you again, I cannot be certain that the man in reference is Bingley. All I witnessed was Darcy lauding himself over rescuing a good friend from the troubled future that an ill-suited unwise match would have brought upon him. However, I did not ask further details and nor did he reveal them to me, which leads me to speculate that it must be Bingley. He is the sort of man who is known to have an inclination for getting himself involved in unfortunate affairs of this nature before. Besides, it was with Bingley that Darcy spent many months, before his Kent tour.”
“A… and,” she stuttered, “did Mr. Darcy explain why the match was condemned to be ill-suited or unwise?”
“It was the lady. There were some grave doubts about her, I heard.”
“Grave doubts?” a strong emotion swelled her throat, and Elizabeth found it difficult to say anything straight away, “So, what means and ploys did he use to accomplish this?”
“Means and ploys?” Fitzwilliam broke into a subtle smile. “I did not think to ask. Perhaps, I should, next time. For now, though, I only know what I have said so far.”
Her mind was swirling from doubts of all kinds, and her skin had never felt so flushed from anger before. Several seconds later she could still not rid herself of her distress, however hard she tried; and unwilling to let Colonel Fitzwilliam take note of it, Elizabeth commenced walking a step ahead.
“Is something the matter?” Enquired Fitzwilliam, briefly observing her sudden silence.
“The incident you mentioned has left me pondering deeply,” she exhaled hard. “I cannot, in good conscience, approve of your cousin’s behaviour. What gave him the authority to pass sentences on other’ ” lives?”
“Am I right in presuming that you are displeased by his intervention and consider it meddlesome?”
“Well, yes!” she confessed, trying not to sound too exasperated while doing so. “I am yet to understand how Mr. Darcy was bestowed such power that allowed him to determine the soundness of his friend’s choices and wishes, or how he could be the sole judge of his friend’s happiness, and thus wield all control over Mr. Bingley’s future? I have not heard of anything quite so alarming. However,” a moment passed, in which she strived to regain a degree of composure, “as you cautioned me, we are not aware of the details. Thus, it would be unwise for me to comment any further on this matter. Maybe, there never was any deep feeling invested by Mr. Bingley for this lady.”
“Your points cannot be refuted,” shrugged Colonel Fitzwilliam, “and if your ideas are proved true, it would appear Darcy has seen no real victory or honour by this intervention. Now, that would be a sad irony, if there were ever one!”
The colonel was only being playful when passing that remark; but to Elizabeth, the fallout of the irony only served to provoke the temper that had barely settled. Fearing she might blurt something indelicate, she swiftly shifted the subject towards matters more mundane that might not pose as severe a threat to her composure - and kept it so, until they reached the doors of the Collins lodging, a short while thereafter.
Closing the door of her room behind her, Elizabeth leaned against it, her eyelids gently coming down and her head heavy from woe. What an arduous task it had been to maintain her poise in the presence of others so long, but now, in the seclusion of her room, she could finally mull on all that she had heard from Colonel Fitzwilliam without interruption.
“Darcy lauding himself over rescuing a good friend from the troubled future that an ill-suited unwise match would have brought upon him.”
It was plainly implausible that the “good friend” who had been rescued could be any other than Mr. Bingley himself. After all, could there be two men that Mr. Darcy regarded as a great friend? Rather, two men over whom his words wielded such dominance? Which meant that the “ill-suited match” in reference could be none other than the one closest to her!
“Lord!” her palm went up to her aggrieved chest.
Not for an instant did she doubt that Mr. Darcy must have played some role in Mr. Bingley’s loss of affection for her sister. Yet, it was at Miss Bingley that she had directed most of her displeasure, suspecting the scandalous scheming and artfulness that led to the misfortune as her doing mostly.
Oh, how wrong had she been at judging those around her! “A vile world we live in,” Elizabeth hissed under her breath, as she inched from the door, clutching at the edge of a lamp-table nearby.
Had Mr. Darcy not been misguided in any manner, then there was nothing else and no one else in all of the world to blame for the separation, other than his pride and reckless nature. And for all of this wrong, it was her dear sister, Jane, whose heart endured anguish in silence. A heart that was certainly the most unselfish, the most considerate of all she had known. A heart that knew not to wrong even those that had wronged it. And from her latest letters, it seemed the anguish lingered on. Who knew how much longer it was meant to linger, how much longer she was meant to endure pain of loss for no fault of hers.
“There were some grave doubts about her, I heard”
Her eyes glared at the dead wicks in the lamp sitting on the table, the sting of salt beginning to make its presence felt behind her eyelids. “Grave doubts?”
The only doubts, if anyone would ever have them, would be pertaining to her family. An uncle of theirs was an attorney in the country, and another w
as employed as a businessman in London. True, their mother might not carry manners as polished as those of the high-born, and their father did have a few odd quirks about him. But Mr. Bennet’s wit was unmatched and commanded the sort of respect not many did. A deeper pondering on the matter revealed that there was nothing so dreadful about her family that Mr. Darcy need frown upon.
As for Jane, it was impossible for anyone - highborn or otherwise - to find objections in such a gentle creature, even if they searched with eyes wide open in the broadest daylight!
“The true reasons for any of this,” her thoughts surmised, “come from nothing but an exaggerated sense of self-importance!” Had Mr. Bingley chosen to form an alliance with the Bennets, it would hurt Mr. Darcy’s pride. Of course, there was the slightest chance of him wanting his good friend for his own sister, and that could have also prompted him to scheme. Yet, she concluded, it was false pride that was largely the cause for it all, unable to find any argument thereupon which would convince her otherwise.
“Beautiful…kind-natured...sensible…well-mannered Jane!” sniffled Elizabeth, a hot tear rolling down her cheek, “I am sorry…I am truly sorry for your sake, my good sister. You do not deserve this.”
Having agonised over the matter at length, Elizabeth was to eventually discover that all that fretting led to nothing but a loss of sanity and a strong headache. As the hours went by, her condition worsened to an extent that she could barely seat herself upright for longer than a few minutes.
That evening, an invite came in from Rosings, for tea - but neither was she in the mood to idle at a drawing room and sip on a drink nor was she willing to have her peace further threatened by coming to face with Mr. Darcy - a meeting that was bound to happen once there.
Therefore, Elizabeth politely excused herself from the party and retired to her room.
Charlotte, who could plainly see the suffering on her countenance, chose not to interrupt her friend and pleaded with Mr. Collins to do the same. However, his fear of displeasing his patroness far exceeded his concerns for the health of his guest. He made little effort to hide his disapproval of Elizabeth’s decision to stay back before leaving the cottage for Rosings.
For The Sake Of Her Happiness Page 4