Her brother looked at her expressively. "My dear sister - I wish you would not speak of such things - while the son of the house lies so ill."
"Oh, certainly!" she said, and subsided to sit in an ill natured silence.
Fitzwilliam continued in a most perilous state. He still lived; but he did not seem able to move, although there was no injury to any part of the body but his neck. It was very singular, but the medical men assured the Darcys that the paralysis, which seemed profound, might lift at any moment. Such cases were not unheard-of, though the longer the passage of time, the less likely would be a complete recovery; and the chance of the young man dying at any moment, was by far the greater likelihood.
All that money could do, was done. Mrs. Darcy sat with the sufferer for some hours each day, little good though it did, for Fitzwilliam continued perfectly insensible. After these piteous sittings, it was blessed relief to Elizabeth's feelings to seek her own room, and rest in her sister's tender solicitude as a luxury that could not be enough appreciated. Only then could she endure other company, and she descended to her own drawing-room with some reluctance, knowing what guests were waiting, and no doubt tormenting her own family. The Babcocks accosted her at once.
"I hope, Mrs. Darcy, that you will have your mourning as fine as possible, and not leave it off for at least six months," Mr. Babcock addressed her earnestly. "Black lace is thought very handsome, with the newer styles - the fuller skirts, and the wider sleeves, you know, so becoming to a lady no longer quite young. As for jewels - only jet is admissible. You will not be able to wear the Darcy diamonds now."
"Of what are you thinking, my love? Diamonds can always be worn, it is not as if they are coloured jewels," cried his wife. "But poor Eliza is thinking of something besides her own dress. She is thinking of poor Fitzwilliam. To be sure it is dreadful, that poor young man dying so young. I can hardly bear it."
Mrs. Bingley was distressed. "Please, dear Caroline, how can you talk as if Fitzwilliam had already left us? It is very unfeeling. Consider my poor sister - consider how you would feel, in like case, and say no more," she implored.
"I can hardly imagine what my sentiments would be on the occasion," said Mrs. Babcock with asperity, "as I am not a mother. But it is always best to face the inevitable - no use pretending - and everybody knows poor Fitzwilliam is as good as dead."
Mrs. Bingley looked inexpressibly pained, and pressed her sister's hand.
"It is no matter, Jane," said Elizabeth, "I must grow hardened to the pain, for it is very true that my poor son may not live; and there are comforts all around me - in your kindness, and Mr. Bingley's. Indeed there is much to be thankful for."
"I should say so," pursued Mrs. Babcock. "I understand - that is, I have been told - that the young man is in no pain, and it is very lucky that he can feel nothing, for otherwise he would be in awful agony. That must be a relief to your feelings. That his neck was snapped so instantly."
"Caroline! I beg of you!" cried Mr. Bingley. "We should endeavour to console Elizabeth, not dwell upon the dreadfulness of what has happened."
"Oh quite so; very true; we should think not of the accident, but of the future, and there is much to contemplate there with pleasure, I am glad to say. Mr. Henry will be heir to Pemberley; and a worthier one there could not be. More prudent than your brother," she nodded approvingly at Henry, "and therefore a better landlord and householder. I am sure the people round about must be glad at how things look likely to fall out."
"Mrs. Babcock," interposed Henry hastily, after a half-look at his mother, "the tenants, and everyone here, feel for the family's anxiety; we have had visitor after visitor, people from the cottages and all around, who have known Fitzwilliam all his life; and if you think they do not feel our pain, and are offering their prayers for his life, you are quite mistaken. Besides, I feel it," he said in a voice that was not quite firm, "my brother's situation, you know; and I must beg you will not refer to it again."
"Quite so, my love, you put your foot into the thing; you ought to say no more," advised Babcock. "Sure there are more cheerful topics. Your nephew Jeremy - and where is Jeremy? Gone to town and taken up with the very young woman who has given us all this trouble. Now that is a sort of behaving that could break a mother's heart, but I must say I do admire him for showing some spirit."
"To think," said his wife, "of our dear Jeremy, being taken in by that woman! Excuse me, I believe she is some relation of yours, but otherwise I should say she must be a very low down, ill bred sort of person," she finished, turning to Mrs. Darcy.
"She is my niece," said Elizabeth coolly. "I have not much to say in her defense, to be sure; only that a girl in such an unfortunate situation deserves to be spoken of with compassion."
"Ah, that is very well, very well," said Mrs. Babcock, "but what is to be done, may I ask? While Jeremy, who has never had a thought in his head all his life but what is pure and blameless, is being hourly corrupted, I really have no patience to think of it."
"Something is being done, my dear Caroline," said Bingley, his irritation rising, "Darcy and I go to town tomorrow."
"Excuse me, uncle," said Henry, "but I wonder if it might not be better arranged. My father has much to attend to here, and I am sure would be only too grateful if you would remain with him and my mother. I should like to propose myself for the mission. Why should I not go, and spare you the journey? I will talk to the young couple, and bring them back here, if it is to be done."
"That is a consideration," said his father. "I believe it is well thought of. To own the truth, I should prefer to remain here - and it can only trouble you, Bingley, to see Jeremy in such a situation."
"Of course it would," cried Bingley, "but if my son has been a rascal I suppose it should fall upon me to remonstrate with him. And why should we expose Henry, a young man, to such a thing?"
Darcy had no fears for his son. "You cannot think Henry would be influenced in the smallest by witnessing such a sin," he said, "he is a clergyman, and prepared to deal with such things, I believe. And I would trust him anywhere."
"Certainly; I did not mean to suggest anything else. Well, if you are satisfied, then it is Elizabeth who has the best right to decide, I conclude."
"If Henry would go," and her eyes appealed to him.
Mrs. Bingley indicated that she, too, would be glad to have her husband spared the journey, and Mrs. Darcy was relieved that both the Bingleys would remain.
"And you must not worry about Jeremy more than can be helped, sister. Henry will take care of him," said Mrs. Darcy.
"I really believe he will. Only, Lizzy, I am forgetting your unhappiness and suspense, in my own selfish concern - if only I could say something, that could at all relieve you."
"You cannot help it, Jane; and your being here is inexpressible pleasure, whatever may happen."
It was decided that Henry would stay with the Gardiners, who had longed to be of use, while in town; this arrangement brought satisfaction to the minds of all, and so it was settled.
A comfortable dinner of spring lamb and early peas was ate; and the evening that followed was a peaceable one. After the unvarying nightly report from Fitzwilliam's room - that he was still lying, an insensible block, but evidently not suffering - the party tacitly, and with some guilty feelings, agreed not to mention the topic any more, or to think of it as far as was possible. It is not to be doubted that Elizabeth's quiet thoughts stole upstairs to her son now and then; but the others were glad to think of him no more. Mr. Darcy played at chess with his son, while the others sat placidly, and wondered aloud how many days Henry was likely to be gone, and who should be invited to sermonize in his place at Manygrove.
CHAPTER XIII
Henry went to London on Monday, observing that he had often heard Cousin Collins say, that Saturday is the working Hday, and Monday the holiday of preachers; but it was not necessary for him to arrange for a substitute to replace him on the Sunday at Manygrove Church, for he was back again no later
than Friday, accompanied by his cousin Jeremy, but without Bettina Wickham.
Both sets of parents, the Darcys and the Bingleys, no less than the rest of the party, waited eagerly to hear the prodigal's story, and happy was it for Henry's sense of propriety that he did not have to speak, such was his disgust of the subject, and so delighted was his cousin to have an interested audience.
Jeremy Bingley was at this time only one and twenty, a fair-haired, altogether well-looking young man, of a taller and more graceful figure than his cousin, much improved by a fine suit he had purchased in town, and a French cravat which was the envy of Mr. Babcock.
"I say, you really are quite all the mode, Jeremy," he exclaimed with animation and envy, quite lifted out of his usual languor. "You are proof of exactly what every young gentleman needs, in addition of course to a tour on the Continent - a season or two of fashionable life in London. Only look at the difference the bon ton has made upon young Mr. Bingley! Your trowsers, sir - who was your tailor? There is not a seam to be seen, all is so smoothly fitted, it is perfection."
"Mr. Perley of Bond Street," said Jeremy, seeming off handed, but really very pleased. "It is the very latest thing - brown breeches - and my cravat, I am glad you like my cravat."
"For God's sake, Jeremy," said his father angrily, "what is all this talk of your clothes? Who cares about them at such a time? You will have every one thinking you are a puppy. You did not used to mind what you wore in this way. I hope London has not ruined you utterly and made you too nice. But perhaps the less said about it the better, considering how you have been living."
"Please, Jeremy," said his mother earnestly, "you must tell us about poor Bettina. Why did you not bring her? Surely she would wish to quit such a dreadful life?"
"Oh, I never would have come home had I thought there would be such a rout about it," said Jeremy pettishly. "Her life isn't dreadful at all, if you want to know. You are all so absolutely buried in the country here that you cannot conceive that Bettina Wickham is a very queen of the fashionable world. Her beauty, her spirits - an endless number of most eligible people, great swells too, were jealous of me, I would have you know."
"Nephew, you talk like a fool," said Mr. Darcy heavily. "I hardly thought that anything could hurt Mrs. Darcy and myself more, after what has happened to poor Fitzwilliam; but your absurd and wicked talk has done the business. To the loss of him, must be added, my loss of esteem for you."
"Well, I hardly know why," faltered Jeremy, slightly shamefaced. "Of course I am sorry about Fitzwilliam, uncle, and I hope he is likely to improve; but begging your pardon, I have done no more than any man of fashion would - than Fitzwilliam did himself for that matter. Bettina is quite the rage."
"Then she is lost," said Mrs. Bingley sadly, "my poor sister's child."
"No, no, Mama; indeed, she is not. It only shows how country folks know nothing about the world."
"We know something about morality, at any rate," said Henry sturdily, "and a woman who behaves so, though she is my cousin, is an unfortunate who will never be admitted to polite society again. We all know that: how can you dare deny it?"
"Well, but I do. Why, the beautiful creature is far more welcome in the highest circles than you are yourself, cousin, and there is no excuse for your not knowing that, for you have actually seen her. How improved she is by her exposure to great people! Her air, her walk - why, Lord Astley and Tom Spencer himself are wild after her - and as for ladies, the most aristocratic of them won't turn their backs on Betty, for where she is, is where everything gay is going on, and she is welcome into salons that would make you raise your eyebrows if I told you the names of the hostesses."
"Can it truly be so?" asked Mrs. Bingley, wonderingly. "Heaven forbid this should be the reward of such vice!"
"Vice such as hers is seldom given that name in the fashionable world, Jeremy is right enough about that," said Henry, "and Bettina does look very well - blooming, indeed. Perhaps she will enjoy her present éclat; but what can you say, Jeremy, about her future, and what is more, her mortal soul?"
"Think about your own mortal soul," suggested Jeremy, "since you are a clergyman. She can mind her own, you may be very sure. Bettina intends to make her name upon the stage, you must know, and with her talent, and beauty, and all that, her future will assuredly be a brilliant one."
The thought of their niece becoming an actress filled all the family elders with consternation, and all sensible discourse ceased, with the Babcocks leading the speculation as to what theatres the lady would play at, and making delighted predictions of her certain downfall.
Henry said no more, but he sought a private audience with his mother in the course of the next morning, as he felt that she was the person to whom he could most comfortably unburden his mind on this subject. The other ladies had gone to make some purchases in the village, and Mrs. Darcy was glad to plead nursing duties connected with Fitzwilliam, to stay behind, though in truth, with his many attendants, he scarcely required her actual care. To be alone with her second son, however, was a pleasure and a relief to her, so like-minded and congenial a pair as they always were; and she listened to Henry's revelations with a lively interest.
His visit to London was his theme; and he opened it by saying to Elizabeth, "I have not told you all. I did not think it fit to be a subject of general conversation. It could only be painful to my uncle and aunt Bingley; and there are others here who would be only too ready to spread such stories abroad."
Elizabeth indicated that she understood him, and only begged that she might not be required to keep any confidence back from his father.
"Not at all," said Henry, "I should wish him to know. And then he can tell as much of the story to Mr. Bingley as he deems right - I would rather not have to decide."
Elizabeth admired her son's delicacy and circumspection, and urged him to proceed. He did not hesitate.
"When I arrived in town, I soon found Jeremy and Bettina in lodgings, the same as Fitzwilliam took, I believe: a handsome apartment in Half Moon Street. They were certainly very comfortable, and as I have said, Bettina looked well. I have never seen her so handsome, nor so well dressed - though I believe that the elegant wardrobe she now possesses was presented by Jeremy, not my brother."
"I am sure of it," said Elizabeth dryly, "Fitzwilliam probably bought her a horse."
"He did. How did you know? - A fine mare, a sweet mannered grey creature, that she rides every afternoon, side-saddle in the Park in a most handsome grey habit, surrounded by gallants. It is said that the Duchess of Kent herself nods at her."
"That cannot be, surely. I understood that Princess Victoria's mama was a model of rectitude," said Mrs. Darcy, vastly entertained in spite of herself.
"Perhaps she does not know who Bettina is. That is the likeliest explanation. Well, the first time I visited the establishment, I saw the couple together, and I thought their boldness hardly to be exceeded. They greeted me with excessive delight, as if their cousin were paying a wedding call upon a contented young pair. I was disconcerted, the more when I saw that they showed no symptoms of anxiety about my poor brother; indeed, they had not even curtailed their engagements on that account. They made but one token inquiry about his condition - trusted 'he did not suffer, and that when he went, they hoped I would not grieve unduly, but be pleased with my new inheritance,' a way of talking that was quickly dropped, as you may imagine it received no encouragement on my side. I was convinced that they had no proper feeling at all. They invited me to dinner, but I was embarrassed, and declined, pleading a prior engagement with my uncle Gardiner; but I did arrange to walk out with Jeremy."
"And did you?"
"Yes; if you can call it walking, when it was a mere sauntering from tailor to glove maker, to the shop where a blasted walking-stick was being fashioned for him of Madagascar wood. Excuse my language, Mother. But at length I got him to listen, and tried to bring him to a sense of his disgraceful station. He has always admired Fitzwilliam, you know, and
thought what was good enough for him would do very well for Jeremy: he had a singular sense of pride at stealing away Fitzwilliam's prize, as he thought, and thus feeling himself the better man."
"That is extraordinary," said Mrs. Darcy thoughtfully. "How could he feel that, when Fitzwilliam's refusal to marry her, brought about their breach - did it not?"
"Yes. Her temper evidently is passionate; and Fitzwilliam could not long bear it. She wanted him to marry her but she dallied with other young 'bloods' as Jeremy calls them - it was only 'the mode,'what all the world does. I can hardly blame Fitzwilliam, his indignation was very just."
"Well, go on. Do not be afraid of offending me, Henry. I want to hear everything. Even if I may later devote myself to trying to forget it, I would rather know."
"My dear mother, I hardly know what particulars are fit for me to relate; yet what you wish, cannot be wrong - if only it does not distress you."
"It never can distress me, to know the truth of what people do, in their folly and vanity. I used to laugh at them when young; and to say the truth, it is still my secret belief that an ounce of mirth is worth a pound of sorrow. But even when I cannot laugh, the intelligence is almost too interesting. Therefore, proceed."
Henry related what Jeremy had told him of his visits to Bettina, of Fitzwilliam's jealousy of all the other gentlemen who paid her attentions; and Jeremy's pride when Bettina indicated that she might be persuaded to look upon this cousin as a more desirable lover than the other. Jeremy's self-love was piqued; he could not be detached from her at such a critical time; and Fitzwilliam, seeing it, was disgusted with the lady. He did not choose to blame his cousin Jeremy, thinking his susceptibility to temptation only natural, but he had resolved the critical situation by taking himself away. The lady was distressed, and showed it prettily, the more so when the papers were full of the " grievous accident befallen the heir to the great estate of Pemberley in Derbyshire, a riding mishap that has rendered him unconscious, from which swoon he has not yet awakened; and it is feared he will not long survive."
Mrs. Darcy's Dilemma: A Sequel to Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice Page 12