Chapter 21
Elizabeth bent distractedly to pick up a long, grey branch lying across the path as she walked in solitude about her home’s gardens. All around her, the grip of winter was showing signs of losing its hold on the landscape to the warmer days and verdant hues of a budding spring. Her eyes were unseeing as her fingers twisted and turned the thin branch back and forth, a remnant of a dying season. There were scattered branches, brush, and general debris left about from many months of snowy hibernation.
Within the coming weeks as spring took up its stewardship over the land, the gardeners would again come to clean, prune, and coach these pathways into their normally wild, yet beautiful splendor.
Her mind was focused elsewhere, however, as she twisted the branch in her hands, occasionally letting her arm drop to sweep it across the barren ground. Try as she might, she could not shake the grey grip of winter on her heart. She took joy in her family, in Jane’s felicity, and in having her strength completely restored to her, and yet she could not feel truly well. Occasionally, she still experienced a dull ache in her head, but it was the hibernation of her heart that was responsible for the majority of her concern.
Though she had grown used to some of the changes in herself, she could not yet account for any of them. It made sense to her that, with the seriousness associated to her injury, she might find something to be changed. And yet she also felt as if she were missing something, as if she were not really experiencing a change in herself but mourning a part of her that was gone.
A sudden well of frustration pressed against her ribs from within, and with a quiet cry of agitation, she lifted the switch in her hand and swiped it through the air in front of her. The aggression lifted her spirits slightly, and she felt the tiniest bit of relief from her oppression. Eager for more, Elizabeth began shifting back and forth with her feet as she raised her arm level with her shoulder and swiftly slashed the stick through the air, a satisfying swishing sound accompanying it.
“Ahh-ha!” cried she as her movements grew more deliberate and forceful. Her heart began to beat fiercely, and for a moment, she felt quite a bit more alive than she had in recent weeks.
For several minutes, she thrust, shifted her feet, and swiped again, unaware that she had an observer not many feet behind her. Her arms ached with the exertion of her impromptu exercise, and yet she could not command them to cease, so great was the relief she felt from it.
Born of her frustration, the strike of the branch across the valiant opponent of the bush she now fought was cathartic and satisfying. She felt connected to that troublesome organ within her as it beat loudly in her ears. She felt exhilarated by the movements of her body, surprised by her agility and the practiced movements she had never before attempted. Elizabeth poured into each strike and swipe of her garden-forged sword every last bit of her listlessness over the past couple of weeks, her confusion over the feelings in her breast, the unreachable images that flashed in her mind, and the feeling of loss she experienced.
When her arm could take the onslaught no more, she allowed it to fall to her side as she breathed heavily. She reached one hand up to wipe her brow and found, much to her astonishment, that her face was wet with tears. This discovery stole her recent bout of strength. Her shoulders drooped inward as her head dipped, allowing her tears to fall unhindered to the disturbed ground.
Her observer sighed and walked slowly towards her. He had been watching first through the window of his study as his daughter walked the grounds as if in a daze. He was troubled by this change in his beloved Lizzy. She used to be so vibrant with life, and now she seemed masked in a haze that kept her smiles from reaching her eyes. When she began to fence an imaginary foe, his concern turned into amazement to find her skilled. He had come to ask her about this new accomplishment of hers, wondering how she came to learn it. It did not occur to him that he ought to frown at any lady knowing the finer points of a gentlemen’s sport. It was not until he saw his daughter’s distress at the end of her match with the hedge that he grew concerned again.
Slowly Elizabeth became aware of strong arms surrounding her, and she allowed the comforting scent of her father’s cologne to wrap her like a blanket as she cried into his shoulder.
Surprised and worried further by her tears, he patted her head, gently brushing away the tangled ringlets at her ear. “Come, my dear; put down your foil.”
He gently removed the branch from her tight grasp and tossed it aside. Looking down at her, Mr. Bennet’s anxiety grew again. She felt so fragile in his arms, and yet he had seen the fierceness with which she had attacked the demons in her heart.
“Come, my child; let us go in. Though March is upon us, there is yet a chill in the air that these old bones cannot abide.”
Elizabeth nodded numbly, and as they turned to walk the path back to the house, she made use of the handkerchief he held out to her to wipe away her tears. She could not describe her feelings then, though she was grateful for the strength of her father’s arm as they made their way inside. She was not surprised to see him wordlessly guide her directly into his study.
Mr. Bennet deposited his daughter gently into a chair near the hearth and went to close his study door for privacy. He stoked the fire, placed a blanket about her now trembling shoulders, and then went purposefully to the chest near his desk. He unlocked its treasures and knelt on the hard floor before his daughter, the tin of chocolates placed reverently on her lap.
Elizabeth, upon seeing his offering could not help but give a watery laugh and reach to place a cold hand on his cheek.
Mr. Bennet pulled her hand from his face and began to rub some warmth into it as he looked into his daughter’s shiny eyes. “Lizzy, my dear, shall you tell me what troubles your heart so terribly?”
Elizabeth smiled tenderly at her father, warmed by the love she saw so clearly in his expression. Suddenly she wished fervently that she might tell him of her troubles — that she might share the burden she carried.
“I hardly know, Papa.”
“Come, you are chilled. I will order some tea, and we shall have a cozy chat by the fire like we used to, and you shall tell your Papa about this great black beast you carry on your back.”
Elizabeth breathed deeply and nodded, prepared to tell him her concerns and encouraged by his tender words. Mr. Bennet stood to pull the cord and, when the maid came in response, began to request a tray.
Elizabeth’s brows puckered slightly when she heard her father order a pot of coffee with the tea and knew then that he had observed this and likely others of the changes in her. When the tray came, without a word he poured her a cup of coffee and, with a bemused face, passed the sugar bowl to her.
“I find it entirely unbelievable that you should prefer coffee now, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “I cannot account for it myself only that I find that, although I do not dislike tea, coffee has a certain comforting appeal now.”
“Interesting,” was all he said as she prepared his cup of tea to his liking.
When they were both seated near the fire, the warmth of their cups in their hands, he spoke again. His eyes were on her as she gazed into the fire. “Lizzy, the coffee is not the only change I have witnessed in you since your accident.”
Elizabeth turned and gave him an apologetic smile. “I know. You mentioned earlier our talks by the fire, and I realized I had not come to visit with you like this since before the accident.”
“I am glad you are here now,” Mr. Bennet said with some emotion.
Elizabeth nodded, acknowledging the more significant meaning behind his words. It pained her to know how much her family worried for her, and it was the primary reason she tried to hide her disquiet so determinedly.
“Papa . . . ” Elizabeth began, pausing slightly and pulling her gaze back to the fire. “I do not quite feel myself. Ohh, that is not quite it either,” Elizabeth stammered in frustration. “It is almost as if I am missing something or more like I feel I have misplaced somethi
ng of great value.”
Mr. Bennet observed his daughter silently, a frown at his brow. “I have worried that you have not been happy, Lizzy.”
“I am not unhappy exactly,” Elizabeth tried to put words to her puzzling feelings. “There are so many things for which I have to be happy. Jane’s felicity in particular. Yet I still feel . . . it feels as if . . . ”
“You still feel asleep.”
Elizabeth looked up at her father startled. That was almost exactly how she felt, and yet she had not found words to describe it until then. “Yes! It is like I am still sleeping, dreaming of all this and yet not really experiencing life.”
“I wish I could mend it for you, Lizzy, this strangeness you feel. I fear it will not be as easy as when you would come to me as a child with scrapes about your hands from falling out of a tree.”
Elizabeth laughed half-heartedly as he had hoped she would. She fumbled with the tin on her lap and took out a chocolate, toying with its paper wrapper for a minute and turning it about in her hands.
Her quiet tone was barely heard by her companion. “Do you think I will ever be well again, Papa?”
The tremble in her voice nearly broke her father’s heart. It was not fair that he should be so incapable of fixing her troubles. It was a father’s right and responsibility to do so. Even now, Mr. Bennet felt the frustrating helplessness that all gentlemen feel when faced with the tears of a lady. His inability to right the wrongs and slay her dragons pressed upon him. Though he often relegated himself to his book room instead of being in company with his family, it was not from lack of feeling for them. It was due to a surfeit of this impotency he felt when confronted with their trifles, troubles, and tears. His Lizzy was special in that way to him, for she very rarely cried, thus very rarely rendering his heart broken.
“I think so, my dear.” As he reassured her, he wished to reassure himself.
His gaze roamed the room as he tried to puzzle through possible solutions in his mind. When his view reached his desk, he happened upon a letter there. It was from his ridiculous cousin Mr. Collins. The cleric had written many weeks ago to express his obnoxious pontifications regarding the news of the carriage accident. The letter itself held nothing of concern for the welfare of his cousins but only the many suggestions kindly given by Mr. Collins’s benefactor, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, as to how he might better instruct his coachmen to drive in the snow so as to avoid a reoccurrence of the tragedy. Mr. Bennet remembered he had quit reading when Mr. Collins had offered, quite magnanimously, to officiate over Elizabeth’s funeral should that “unhappy, though quite likely event take place,” all the while stating that it was through the benevolence of the great lady from Rosings Park that he should be allowed to extend them this great mercy.
Though angered again at the odious pomposity of his cousin, seeing the letter did bring an idea to Mr. Bennet’s mind. With a flicker of hope, he turned to his daughter. Elizabeth was drinking her coffee slowly as she snuggled into the seat.
“I believe, Lizzy, what you need is a change of scenery.”
Elizabeth looked at her father with a crease between her brows. “I do not take your meaning.”
Mr. Bennet, now warmed to this idea, felt invigorated by the possible solution he felt he had found. “It is yet dreary here, Lizzy. It will still be many weeks before the colors of spring are full upon us here in Hertfordshire. It would be better to distract yourself.”
Elizabeth began warily, “And what are you suggesting, Papa.”
“Mrs. Collins née Lucas extended an invitation to you, did she not?”
“Yes, but that was many weeks ago at her wedding and before she quit the neighborhood with Mr. Collins.”
“I do not believe she has withdrawn her invitation.”
“No, she has not,” Elizabeth said slowly. The idea of visiting Hunsford was not exactly appealing to her. Though renewing her friendship with Charlotte held some allure, renewing her acquaintance with Charlotte’s husband, not so much. Still she pondered what her father was saying. A change of scenery might actually help distract her from the troubles weighing on her.
“I believe Sir William and Maria leave in only a se’nnight, Lizzy. Should you like to go to Kent?”
Elizabeth smiled at her father; she could see he held a hope for this, and it was that spark in his eyes that made the decision for her. While she had almost shared with him a more detailed account of her concerns — namely, the troubling flashes of rooms, places, and people she could not explain — she was glad now that she had not. It was difficult to keep that to herself, and yet, seeing the worry leave her father’s eyes was enough to convince Lizzy to keep her counsel again when it came to that change.
“I think you may be correct, Papa. A change of scenery may be what I need after all to pull myself out of this heaviness.”
Mr. Bennet clapped his hands and stood with an eagerness born of a man relieved to have something of use to do. He went to his desk and wrote immediately to Sir William to inform him of Elizabeth’s accompanying them. Once finished, he quickly placed a writing desk on his daughter’s lap, a pen and paper at the ready.
Elizabeth laughed and looked up at him, amused at his enthusiasm.
“Write to Mrs. Collins, Lizzy; accept her invitation and I shall post it today.”
A feeling of rightness seeped into her heart then, and whether it was her father’s conviction that stirred her own or something else, Elizabeth felt then that at Hunsford she might find what she had lost. Laughing, she bent her head to quickly pen a letter to her friend.
* * *
“Mr. Bingley! Well met, sir!” Colonel Fitzwilliam said brightly as he encountered the man exiting White’s.
Bingley looked up at the sound of his name and smiled cheerfully at the colonel. “Hallo, Colonel Fitzwilliam. It is a pleasure to see you again.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed and, patting the other gentleman’s back, steered him back up the steps of the club. “Have you a minute to share a drink with me, sir? I should like to have news of my cousin. But first, my good man, how be it that you are in London?”
Bingley frowned slightly, before laughing with his companion. “I have but a minute, Colonel. I am in London on very important business.”
The manner in which he said this made the colonel pause as he divested his outerwear to the waiting attendant. He looked at Mr. Bingley, his lips twitching in amusement as he saw the gentleman’s glowing smile. “Am I to wish you joy, Bingley?”
Mr. Bingley beamed and stood taller, pushing his chest out proudly. “I must ask that you do, Colonel, for I am bound for leg shackles and cannot be happier.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed heartily at this, expecting nothing less from the energetic gentleman before him. When they found an empty table, the colonel extended his hand in genuine congratulations.
“I am well pleased to hear it, sir. When shall be the happy day?”
“We plan to marry in May, sir, and you must come to Hertfordshire for the wedding. I insist!”
A deep chuckle resonated in the colonel’s chest as he settled himself into a seat and ordered a drink, all whilst nodding his assent to Bingley. “I would not miss it; you may be sure of that. So I assume this important business in London has to do with your fortuitous new change in situation?”
Bingley smiled widely. “That is does, sir. I came to review the final copies of the settlement papers and then hope to be back in Hertfordshire immediately.”
“Good, good. Now, sir, I demand you give me news of my cousin. He has been a dissolute writer since going to Hertfordshire, though I suspect his reasons have been quite pressing.” Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed somewhat wickedly at his own wit and awaited Bingley’s report on Darcy’s success with Miss Elizabeth.
Bingley frowned, making Colonel Fitzwilliam frown.
“Darcy is not in London?”
“My cousin is not in Hertfordshire?”
“Indeed, not. He left some months ago on urgent bu
siness to London. I have not heard from him since.” Bingley’s grimace deepened. “Though, I confess I have been a poor friend, my own mind quite occupied.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam sat up at this news. “But he has not come to London and still has all his post forwarded away.”
“Well, it is most certainly not forwarded to Hertfordshire. I had hoped to see Darcy while in London. One of my tasks was to ask him to stand up with me. You do not fear some misfortune to have come upon Darcy, do you Colonel?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head, though he worried. When his cousin had informed him he was going to Hertfordshire to win the heart of the lady who had claimed his, Richard had assumed that was exactly what he was doing. Remembering his strange behavior in the weeks before leaving London, Colonel Fitzwilliam was again filled with dread.
“I had thought, considering Miss Elizabeth’s recovery that Darcy would be elated. We all were certainly well relieved. But he stayed hardly long enough to see her before leaving on business. What business could he have, sir?” Bingley speculated with concern.
“I have not a clue, but I assure you I plan to find out, just as soon as I find out where in the blazes he is.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam stood then to leave, determining to question his cousin’s staff as to Darcy’s whereabouts, assuming correctly that they would know where they were instructed to send his cousin’s post. “Mr. Carroll ought to know — ” Colonel Fitzwilliam stopped as a thought flashed through his mind. “Bingley, you referred to a Miss Elizabeth’s recovery. Has some misfortune befallen the lady?”
“She was in a carriage accident on the New Year with her sister — my betrothed — and was in a coma for quite some time. She had only awoken a few days before Darcy quit the neighborhood.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam pondered this as they exited the club and hailed a hackney. “And my cousin — did something happen to him while he sojourned with you?”
Bingley shook his head, frowning. “I cannot think of anything, sir. He stayed but a se’nnight.”
Haunting Mr. Darcy Page 29