"If she was unchaste, he was a fool," said Elizabeth, with emphasis, "and we have only his word about her!"
"Only listen. I will not tell you proof; but he found her not inexperienced; and she was so eager for the adventure herself - being very sure he would eventually marry her - that she spurred him on to the London journey. There could be no concealment, and so they set up housekeeping."
"I have not patience to hear of their arrangements. But come: how does this serve to put either of the young people in a reasonable light? They are both to blame, as far as I can see."
"So far, yes. But as they lived together, he found her extravagant, imprudent, anything but a peaceable companion. She nagged and blamed him continually for not marrying her, but to his credit, though he very soon tired of her and was no longer in love, he had no thought of abandoning her."
"How very kind of him! It is very well Fitzwilliam has gone out riding, for it will be many hours before I can bring myself to look him in the face again, my own son though he is."
"Elizabeth, you are too harsh. You still have not heard all his recitative, if such a thing may be so called."
"Then tell me."
"The details, you know, are not fit; but Elizabeth, he suspected she had lovers; and then one afternoon he did find her with another gentleman. Her vices are really undoubted, and depend upon it, Fitzwilliam has returned home a wiser, humbler man, for all his bluff manner."
Elizabeth was not convinced. "If she has other lovers," she said firmly, "it is because of what he has made her. The immoral life she led with him has lowered her. Whatever her prior experiences, her reputation was intact until Fitzwilliam meddled with it, and who can judge a woman in such a situation, exposed to public censure as she has been? Heaven forbid me from doing it! No, no, I can only pity her; and I do not know how I will countenance him, and his sporting friends, here at Pemberley in future."
"I know," said Mr. Darcy in a pained manner, "it is very ill done in him, to bring friends at such a time. In justice, we cannot say which of the young people is more in fault, but must treat them equally, whatever the world thinks. It is a pity that their sin is so widely known. It will be a perpetual disgrace. Nothing can be done to wipe it off."
"Where is she now?"
"I speak of it with reluctance. With her newest lover. You will have to know who it is," he said.
"Must I? Surely there can be no occasion for my knowing his name. There can hardly be more shock and grief in the matter. It is not Henry at any rate."
"Almost as bad," he replied, "it is our nephew, Bingley's boy. You know he is in London."
Elizabeth could scarcely credit what she was hearing. "Jeremy! Good God! How can that be? I am bewildered," said she, putting her hands to her face. "Poor sister Jane, and Bingley! It may be good to have company in trouble - but not them. Their only son, too! Oh, how could it happen?"
"It happened because he was there. Being the cousin of both Bettina and Fitzwilliam, he mixed with them, and was a frequent visitor of the ménage."
"I see," said Elizabeth slowly.
"So, when matters fell out between the young couple, Jeremy took the part of the lady, in a spirit of misguided gallantry. Now he is fully sunk in the business."
"Do not think," said Elizabeth, "that your own gallantry is unnoticed and unappreciated by me, in not fixing the blame entirely upon my niece, for seducing her two cousins. Indeed, that is the only satisfaction I have, since I cannot even relieve my feelings by ascribing the entire system by which Bingley and Jane have indulged and spoilt their boy, as resulting in his bad behavior - for our own far more enlightened and sensible system has only brought about the same end."
"You must not be distressed," said Darcy, coming over to her and looking into her eyes earnestly, "parents do what they must and what they can; there are so many forces acting in the world, that it is not fair to predict results as if people grew to a pattern. Why Henry should be of a superior morality to Fitzwilliam, and as it seems, to his cousin Jeremy also, we cannot guess; but if we do not ascribe it to the winds of chance, we may conclude that it may have something to do with Fitzwilliam being our first son, and consequently somewhat more indulged than Henry, as Jeremy certainly was. It may be so; or it may be the disposition of nature. We shall never know; and we can only rest in the knowledge that we have tried to do our best - you have, certainly, Elizabeth. We brought them into the world, nourished them, taught them; but their adult actions must be their own. Now, I beg you, torment yourself no more upon this subject. You have not done wrong."
"You are always so rational," cried Elizabeth warmly, "but in all this, my comfort must not be the first object. There is that wretched girl, and what is to become of her I do not know. Fitzwilliam seems to have got himself away; but what of my poor nephew? Is he to live in continuance of this shocking crime? Surely, indulgent as the Bingleys are, they will never tolerate such a thing."
"I suppose Bingley must go to town and take his son away," said Darcy with a sigh, "and he may like me to go with him. It is a thing I would particularly wish to avoid. I shall, however, go if asked; Jeremy will in all probability be more tractable than our son."
"Yes, I am sure he will do what his father wishes in the end. But Bettina, - there should be some woman with her. My sister or myself - or her own mother - Nothing seems precisely right, or proper, and the question is worrisome. I cannot remonstrate with Bettina, she would never listen, still less to Jane; and Lydia would be worse than nobody. She would only congratulate her, I do believe."
"Suppose, Elizabeth, I write to Bingley by this day's post and tell him what we have learned. We can go to town together, and if you would have no objection, we can try to persuade the girl to return here with us, until we can find a suitable situation - a cottage perhaps - I do not know - but her father can by no means support her in an independent situation, and we have some responsibility in the matter since it was Fitzwilliam's imprudent flight with her that brought it all about. We can make the offer to her, and entreat her to take it. If she does not, there will be no more we can do."
"You are very right, and I should be praising you for ever, if only there were not the alloy that you are Fitzwilliam's father," said Elizabeth.
Feeling somewhat cheered, as we always do when we see our course plainly before us, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy repaired to the drawing-room and ordered tea. It had been drunk, and the letter to Bingley comfortably talked over and even written, when the Darcys and Mrs. Clarke began to notice the emptiness of the tea urn, the darkening of the sky outside the window, and the lateness of the hour, and to wonder why Fitzwilliam did not come in.
"It is late - he cannot be riding at this hour," said Elizabeth, somewhat anxiously, "but I have not heard his horse."
"Do not be concerned," said Darcy, "Fitzwilliam knows what he is about when it comes to horses, if nothing else; and if Exigency has thrown a shoe or anything of that sort, depend on it Fitzwilliam will come trudging home before long, if he does not dine in whatever cottage is nearest. It is not a wet night; and a three-quarter moon will be up presently."
"I cannot be so tranquil as you are," said Elizabeth, "for the world. He does ride so fast - I know his skill, but every horseman does take a fall, and Fitzwilliam may be unguarded because he is in an anxious state. I wish I had not spoken so severely to him."
"You did not, at all, my dear," said Darcy.
"Shall I make inquiries - perhaps some of the men may be sent out to search," suggested Mrs. larke. "My sister is concerned, shall not I just send to inquire of Thomas?"
Mr. Darcy was just beginning to say that it was not necessary, when the footman who had brought the tea opened the door rapidly, and that same Thomas precipitated himself into the room, his face white, his hair and coat disarrayed. The gentleman and ladies had only half-risen when the servant burst out, in an, agitated manner, "Sir - please excuse me for coming in so hurried, but it is Mr. Fitzwilliam - his horse has thrown him, sir, and been lamed - a workm
an, going home through the fields, found him."
"Where is he now," said Mr. Darcy, in a calm, business like tone, as Mrs. Clarke fell back in a flutter and Elizabeth stood silently by his side.
"In the ha-ha, sir - by the park gate. That's where he fell, the horse tripped and went over into the ditch. In the ha-ha."
"Call some of the men, get a lantern, and Mrs. Clarke - no, Thomas, you run and get some of the housemaids to ready some linen, and a litter. We will go there at once. Elizabeth: you are not hysterical - you are calm, thank God - Will you have some brandy?"
"No, but perhaps we had better have some for Kitty," as she supported her sister to the couch, "she is not fainting, but you are lightheaded, are you not, my dear?"
"Yes - yes - but I will be all right, never mind me - my nephew - "
"Yes, Thomas, only one moment, tell me: is he badly hurt? What is to be done?"
"Nothing, ma'am, and sir, I am afraid the linen and things aren't likely to do him much good.He was quite insensible when Cotler found him; and it looks like his neck's broke."
CHAPTER XII
For some time, the life of Fitzwilliam hung so gravely in the balance that the doctors despaired of him, and the Darcys' anxiety was Fextreme. Faced with the possible loss of his son, Mr. Darcy regretted his good nature, his love of the country, and what he was willing to think would have grown into better principles than had yet been evident. Elizabeth, as was only natural, shed tears for her firstborn, for the merry child he had once been, and she was sorry they had not parted without some affectionate words. But neither she nor her husband were so blinded by their anguish that they could forget Fitzwilliam's faults, a weak head that seemed to have precluded the acquisition of the moral sense they had so carefully tried to instill. They acknowledged that his failings, if not corrected, were likely to bring unhappiness upon him and his family, again and again, probably; but in spite of all Dr. Clarke could say about branches being cut down, and Mrs. Clarke's philosophizing about Bettina's wickedness receiving its reward, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy did not leave off wishing and longing for their son's recovery with all their hearts.
It was not in Elizabeth's nature to lament excessively, out of proportion for the cause, or to involve others in her misery; and she found, at length, that with so many to support her, she might maintain a tolerable composure and calm. Jane, her sister, and Bingley were at Pemberley very soon after receiving the news. Swanfield was but half a day's ride away, and Jane, though placid in general, and even more so in middle age than she had been in youth, was strong in her feelings, and deeply anxious to be with her sister. The mother of only one son herself, and that a doted-upon one, and having lost another child, a little girl, many years before, her sorrow at what she imagined her sister's feelings to be was great. Added to this was her concern over the tidings about Jeremy that had only reached Swanfield the day before the sadder news, it was, then, no wonder Mrs. Bingley’s servants could not work fast enough to pack her things for the journey.
Charles Bingley, always rapid in action, and concerned for his friend and his sister-in-law, was ready to depart even before his wife; and their Christmas party was effectively broken up. The Gardiners, a pleasant elderly couple much beloved by both the Bingleys and the Darcys, after tendering all possible offers of help, saw what was really wanted, and considerately took themselves home; but Bingley's sister, Mrs. Babcock, had a spirit of activity and interference that would not let her long remain absent from the scene of a tragedy. To her, the news brought mixed feelings, in which shock over a tragic mishap to so young a man, and one connected with herself, however distantly, was mingled with a curious sort of pleasure. This sprung from her lively jealousy of Elizabeth, which originated in her old desire to have Elizabeth's husband for her own. These feelings she had suppressed but never entirely overcome, not seeing the justice of making such an effort.
As a young woman, elegant, well born, and well educated, Miss Bingley, as she then was, had been convinced that nothing but the appearance of the upstart interloper Elizabeth could have prevented the match between her and Darcy. Her disappointment was severe; and did nothing to render a sharp temper any softer. It was long before a man as eligible as Mr. Darcy had placed himself in her way again, in fact none ever had; her temper had faded with her beauty, and she was further aggravated by making her home with Bingley and his wife in full and vexatious view of their warm married happiness.Her sister, Mrs. Hurst, had died of dropsy, and her husband of apoplexy; and the sinking of these relations made Miss Bingley feel still more acutely aware of the passing of time.
On passing thirty, she married a fashionable friend of the Hursts who had dangled about her on visits to London for some years, in hopes of obtaining her hand and her twenty thousand pounds, which in truth, he needed far more than he wanted a wife. Mr. Robert Babcock was the younger son of a baronet, but with so small an income, and so many debts, as to make it expedient for the new Mrs. Babcock to continue with her brother still, with the introduction of her husband into his home; for Mr. Bingley was easy going and wealthy enough to accept the imposition as what was best for his sister. Since Mr. Babcock was a trifling individual, petty in mind, lacking in talent and caring only for fashion, in particular for his and his wife's dress, Bingley found him a most irritating inmate of his own house; and the loss of the Hursts did by no means make up for this new acquisition. What part Mr. Babcock and his wife, flatterers and spongers, resident in the Bingley family for the whole of the fifteen years of their marriage, had in the bringing up and in forming the character of the Bingley's son Jeremy, may be guessed.
Where there was trouble, as now was at Pemberley, the Babcocks could not but be there; the hospitality of the house might be uppermost in their minds, but perhaps there was also the possibility, however slight, that if the young man died, he might leave some legacy to old family connections; and then there would be funeral meats. Added to much scope for needless bustle and interference, there were also the poor Darcys to comfort, and an opportunity to work themselves into their favour, despite all Mrs. Babcock's spiteful feelings.
"What a shock for poor Mrs. Darcy!" she exclaimed. "She will be prostrated, I am sure. Her whole house of cards, quite fallen down."
Mrs. Bingley had not cried over the news of her nephew's accident, but she was very pale and her lips were held tightly pressed together as she rapidly went over her husband's linens, with her own hands, for the journey. She looked up in horror. "What do you mean, Caroline - there is something more? What have you heard?"
"Oh, nothing, to be sure, sister. I could not, you know, there has only been the one messenger. I only meant - so proud has Mrs. Darcy always been, with her house, and her fine friends, and her airs - to find her son no better than he should be, and now perhaps killed into the bargain, is very, very sad."
"Caroline!" exclaimed Mr. Bingley hastily, "do not say such horrible things. Fitzwilliam may not be so badly hurt, after all; and as for his behavior please to remember, that our own son has not acted in any way his superior. We must not waste time in such reflections anyway, but be off at once."
"That is right, Charles, and I am quite ready. Your things are in this case, and mine are going downstairs directly," Mrs. Bingley said firmly. "We must go to Elizabeth and to Darcy as soon as ever we can. So Caroline, goodbye, and we will send you word when we know for ourselves."
"It won't be necessary, Jane; you don't think I would let you go on such a dreadful mission, in such perturbation of mind, without the help and support of those nearest to you? Robert and I are coming of course."
Bingley, however displeased, would not gainsay his sister; and Mrs. Bingley, as was her wont, gave her credit for better feelings than she really had, so no argument was made. Bingley's only stipulation was that Mr. and Mrs. Babcock should be ready in time.
"The carriage is to come around in half an hour - we have not an instant to lose," was all he said.
"I quite understand. What if the poor sufferer has alr
eady departed? Think of his bereaved parents, tormented by their knowledge that their pride has had such results! They will need me to arrange the funeral, I know. I have experience, with the poor Hursts, that will be invaluable. I know just how such things ought to be done. Fitzwilliam's own horse must walk backwards in the procession but I forgot; I suppose it has been killed."
"Don't speak of it, I pray," said Mrs. Bingley, shuddering.
"Yes, for God's sake, Caroline. Only hurry."
"One hour, Bingley, that is all I beg, and positively no more; it won't take that for Robert to choose his waistcoats, and I my gowns," she cried, running away.
For a wonder, she and her husband were actually waiting in the hall when the carriage was brought before the door; in truth, there was no force in the world, not being hurried, nor her husband's preoccupation with his wardrobe, that would prevent Mrs. Babcock from seeing the spectacle she figured to herself, and which she had longed to witness for the last five and twenty years: that of Mrs. Darcy, humbled and in misery.
Mrs. Babcock found herself disappointed in her expectations. On reaching Pemberley, the visitors were not greeted by a weeping Mrs. Darcy, falling into their arms with her back hair down. The lady was sitting with her son, and it was left for others of the party to give the newcomers a kind welcome. Darcy was really glad to see the Bingleys, and quietly gave them an account of Fitzwilliam's condition. Mrs. Babcock scarcely listened, so busy was she observing the changes in the best Pemberley drawing-room.
"Only think! That is the ormolu clock that Darcy brought back from his tour of the Continent," she exclaimed. "How old-fashioned it appears now. Yet I remember when you first showed it to me, Darcy," she said sentimentally.
Darcy did not attend, being turned away, and she, displeased, vented her ill feelings by observations upon the furniture.
"I declare - this room is not at all improved. It has a positively provincial air, beside what one sees in London, in the best circles. The satin upon that sofa - it appears not to have been replenished this ten years. That kind of pale yellow looks worse than any thing, dirty. You would think that Mrs. Darcy would have noticed; but of course that cannot be expected now."
Mrs. Darcy's Dilemma: A Sequel to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice Page 11