Into Kent (11 page)

Chapter Twelve

The invitation from Miss Chesterton’s friend, Mrs. Johnson, had arrived the very evening of their meeting at the furnishings warehouse, and two days later, as Darcy prepared himself to go the neighbourhood of Bedford Square, he was looking forward to a pleasant evening: he was, at least, well assured of agreeable discourse; Miss Chesterton he knew to be a very accomplished conversationalist: her comments and questions were always astute, and, within the sphere of her own knowledge, she was as sharp and insightful as any one could wish. As Perkins put the finishing touches on his attire, Darcy felt an unwonted keenness; an evening with Miss Chesterton promised edification and diversion, at the very least. He was even beginning to be sensible of a cautious optimism that this Season, perhaps, would prove less desolate than the last. As he looked back over the year, his thoughts naturally turning to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, he wondered whether it were possible that she might be at an entertainment this evening, as well. One felt a little guilty to be going off to enjoy oneself, perhaps, but, he reminded himself firmly, it was necessary to move on, and to spurn the company of Miss Chesterton would be an unwarranted contravention of his decision regarding
Elizabeth.

And, in fact, the evening proceeded so as to fulfil his hopes entirely. The party was small, only twelve or fifteen couples, but, as the rest were unknown to Darcy, Miss Chesterton devoted herself to him almost entirely; the two of them spent most of the evening together chatting. His host, Mr. Johnson—an older gentleman, whose staid, rather stiff figure was mirrored by his outlook and his manner—was complemented well in his wife; a little older than Miss Chesterton, she was a lively, entertaining lady, whose manners formed a pleasant counterpoint to her husband’s. Surrounded by laughter and small talk, Miss Chesterton and Darcy kept quietly to themselves on a sofa to one side of a comfortable fire.

Late in the party, when some of the others began taking their leave, Miss Chesterton’s conversation—and, it cannot be denied, her more strictly personal charms—kept Darcy’s attentions so firmly fixed in their corner of the room that he barely noticed when some of the others were bidding their hosts good night. Their dialogue flowed with great spirit, and the lady’s eyes shone with enthusiasm and humour.

“And so, Sir, you are quite devoted to the truth, I take it. What then do you hold to be the proper rôle of truth in daily concerns? As, say, between men and women.”

“Can there be any question? The truth is, and must be, the foundational tenet of
all
behaviour, regardless of the source or the object of that behaviour.”

“Indeed, Sir?” the lady said impishly. “Are you saying, then, that you believe that all people speak the truth at all times? I am well assured that a man of your age and station knows better.”

“Of course not, no—of course,” Darcy hurriedly corrected himself. “Say then, rather, that the truth is the foundational tenet of all
proper
behaviour.”

“And this you really adhere to?” she looked at him enquiringly. “Tell me, then, for example: what truths would you tell one such as our dear Miss Hartsbury? Surely it were a more gentlemanly thing to withhold the mirror of truth from such a one?”

“Would not a sympathetic truth be better than a sympathetic falsehood?”

“‘Sympathetic truth’, Sir? In my experience the truth is rather harsh. Is not that the set phrase—‘the harsh truth’?”

“Surely there are as many ways of speaking the truth as there are of speaking an untruth.”

“Indeed? I do not believe the truth to be so malleable as that. No, it is rigid, angular, and uncomfortable—like a diamond, is it not? It can be beautiful, but it is also hard, cold, and cutting.”

“But surely, the lie, once discovered, cuts worse than any truth, does not it, Miss Chesterton?” The ebb and flow of their conversation engrossed Darcy completely; he was sitting forward on the sofa with rapt attention, very close to Miss Chesterton.

She leaned in and spoke gently: “Would you hear a truth from me,
Mr. Darcy?” Darcy was very conscious of her proximity. He looked at her, her every feature proven in perfect detail, but he forbore to speak. “Well then,” said she, “I would tell you that I should very much wish that our time together to-night need never end.”

This brought Darcy to a sudden awareness of his surroundings; aside from the servants, no one was left but the two of them; Miss Chesterton was gently, and with great delicacy, informing him that the evening had ended for the others some time before. The great impropriety of his being there, alone at night with a lady, came crashing in upon him; it was made all the worse for knowing how much he had been enjoying her attentions, and her person; the whole situation was ripe for mischief, or at least, mischievous interpretation: he had placed the lady’s reputation in grave jeopardy. “Great Heavens, Miss Chesterton!” cried he as he hastened to his feet, “I do apologize. I had no idea…thank you for your consideration in mentioning—I had quite lost sight of the time; do please accept my apologies. I am leaving immediately. I do hope I have not materially injured you in the eyes of our hosts. And, please, do offer my apologies to Mrs. Johnson for my inexcusable behaviour.” He was by this time at the main hall; Miss Chesterton’s somewhat cool and distant countenance gave clear indication of how awkwardly he was managing the situation, but there was nothing he could do now to improve matters. Taking up his hat and coat he hurried out the door.

Out in the drive, Perkins, sagging but watchful, met his master with signs of relief. “Perkins, I do apologise. I had no notion the evening had drawn on so long.”

“Thank you, Sir, it is nothing. I’m sure I am only too glad we’ll be sleeping in our own beds to-night, Sir.” So saying, he shut the door of the coach and climbed up with the coachman. Darcy wondered briefly about this odd pronouncement, but his worry and embarrassment over his disgraceful performance at the Johnsons overwhelmed his thoughts, and kept him fully occupied on the brief trip to Grosvenor Square.

Chapter Thirteen

After a late breakfast the next morning, Darcy had taken refuge in his library; he was giving careful consideration to the question of whether a note of apology was necessary to be sent Mrs. Johnson, but he could not be sure whether it would help or hurt Miss Chesterton’s reputation; it might, perhaps, be best to let Miss Chesterton explain things to her friend without his interference. On the other hand, he had more than over-stepped the bounds of propriety, and an apology was certainly due his hostess; but if there was to be an apology, would not it best be made in person?

As he pondered, there was a brief knock on the door, and, uncharacteristically, Perkins entered unbidden, to come and stand across the desk from him. “Yes, Perkins, what is it?” asked his master in surprise.

Perkins hesitated, bracing himself to speak. “Mr. Darcy, Sir, I heard something below stairs last night that I think you should know.”

“Oh? Go on, man.”

Perkins appeared extremely uncomfortable and had trouble meeting Darcy’s eye. “Well, Sir, Miss Chesterton’s maid had a bit more to drink last night than she ought—more than a bit, to say the truth.”

“Indeed? She will likely lose her place, then; I cannot imagine Miss Chesterton would abide being attended by a drunken maid.”

“Yes, Sir; actually, that is the point.” Perkins hesitated still more before saying: “The maid said that her mistress expected to entertain certain of her guests late into the night; so she, the maid, Sir, had the night to herself.”

“Miss Chesterton would still need the girl to help her undress, no matter what the hour,” Darcy pointed out. Perkins’s discomfort puzzled Darcy: he could not imagine what he might have found so personally disturbing in the matter.

“Yes, Sir… that is the thing, Sir; she was very sure that…that that part of the business would have been taken care of by the guest,” said Perkins woodenly, his ears red and his eyes fixed rigidly on the floor.

As the import of this became clear to Darcy, he said in shocked tones, “Perkins, we are speaking of a lady!”

Perkins said hurriedly, “Yes, Sir, and I beg your pardon, and I should never have given it any credit if the housekeeper had not agreed with her. The two of them had quite a laugh over it, Sir.”

Darcy was taken aback; of course, one hears of such things among certain circles of fashionable Society, but he had generally dismissed these reports as merely part of the ill-spirited intrigues and whisperings that were honey-mead to the
ton
. To encounter it directly was deeply shocking to him: he could not imagine it actually occurring within his own acquaintance. He said in disbelief, “I can scarcely credit this, Perkins; are you quite certain?”

“Sir, neither of the two of them were what I might call discreet; and this sort of thing seems to have happened more than once—I should never have dared to breathe a word of it, otherwise. Mr. Darcy, you must believe I would never carry idle gossip to you,” said Perkins earnestly. He could not hide his discomfort and was quite literally wringing his hands as he stood before Darcy.

“Perkins, calm yourself, man,” said Darcy reasonably. By now he had had time to give it consideration, and he said, “This has to be purest invention: Miss Chesterton spent very little time with any gentleman last night other than myself, and I was the last to leave. There could have been no one to stay with her.” His man made no comment, and refused to meet his eye. Darcy again gave in to astonishment.

“Perkins! Do you mean to say…are you telling me that
I
was the ‘guest’ in question?”

“Forgive me, Mr. Darcy; yes, Sir, you were the gentleman under discussion.”

“Good Lord!” Almost too dumbfounded to speak, he stared at his man. “Whatever would make her think…? Impossible! …” Poor Perkins, his every line speaking his distress, could only wait miserably in silence. At length Darcy recovered himself and, seeing Perkins was becoming increasingly distressed, told him, “Very well, Perkins, that will do; I appreciate this.”

“I do hope, Sir, you’re not upset with me…”

Darcy cut him off: “Great Heavens, man, of course not. Be assured—only one person in this room can be held responsible for this imbroglio.” He looked kindly at his man. “Go get yourself a cup of tea: I dare say this has upset you as much as myself. Go along, now.” Perkins bowed thankfully and left the room.

Darcy’s first reaction was to be shocked by Miss Chesterton’s audacity; how could she imagine he would be willing to be part of such an infamous scheme? Flirtation was not entirely new to him; but this went far beyond an additional caress of the hand on the dance floor: this was wanton debauchery! Did she have the assurance to believe that she might have sufficient charms to entice any man to…? There was but one aspect which troubled him: had he let his enjoyment in her company mislead her as to the degree of his interest? He was certain he could not possibly have been so completely unguarded. Besides, the evidence of the maid and the housekeeper suggested that this was not an uncommon occurrence. Could any woman really be that licentious? Darcy hardly knew how to believe it; but when he thought back over their association, he could not help but see that, given a certain construction on her actions, she could be seen as a very determined flirt: the way she had charmed him into their first dance, the episode at the pianoforte in the warehouse, and then, last night…. He had to concede that, if one had a mind to look for it, there was ample support to lend credence to what Perkins had heard against her.

His thoughts, which earlier that morning had been so completely focused on Miss Chesterton’s reputation, now turned to his own: could his character suffer if this came out? He soon decided that while it might, the possibility of its becoming known was remote. The lady would hardly publish the matter, and, evidently, her servants had more interesting gossip to retail than that of the man who had
not
been taken in by her fascinations.

He next considered how best to cut the acquaintance, which needs must be done immediately. A note would be sufficient in the case, surely, but he always preferred to handle difficult matters in person, and he felt he could not, in fairness and honour, end the acquaintance without giving Miss Chesterton a hearing at least, a chance to refute these allegations against her character. Not willing to brook any delay, he sent a stiffly proper note round to the Johnson’s, asking to see Miss Chesterton at her earliest convenience. Her reply came back by immediate return to say that she would be home to him that very afternoon.

When he arrived, he found Miss Chesterton dressed with less fashion and more decorum than he was accustomed to see. She showed him into the drawing-room, apologising with quiet correctness that her hostess was not feeling well and would be unable to join them. Darcy passed this without comment and entered straight away into the topic that had brought him thither.

“I thank you for seeing me on such late notice, Miss Chesterton. A circumstance has come to my attention that I could not ignore, and required immediate attention.”

“Good Heavens, Sir, you unnerve me, quite,” said the lady, looking earnestly into his face. “Whatever can have upset you so?”

“An exceedingly disturbing report has reached my ears concerning last night’s entertainment: apparently it was much discussed below stairs that…that an inmate of the house contemplated an illicit liaison with one of the guests.”

“I
beg
your pardon, Sir! What are you suggesting?” The lady appeared deeply shocked and affronted. Her sober appearance and sincere countenance lessened Darcy’s assurance: how could the demur young woman who sat before him be the licentious and irregulated creature imputed by Perkins’s history?

Hesitantly, Darcy said, “That I…that is, that you planned…It was expected that we should be…” He found he could not speak the words.

Miss Chesterton stared at him a long moment without speaking, then a spark of indignation flashed in her eyes; but the next moment her eyes softened. “Come, Sir; stories from below stairs? Do you often credit them? Whence originated this tale?”

“I understand your own maid was the source, Madam.”

Miss Chesterton appeared puzzled, and sat thinking for a moment. “
My
maid?” she repeated. “My maid is away at present: I gave her leave to attend her mother, who is seriously ill. I am making do with—Ah, perhaps now I begin to understand.” She shifted to face him squarely. “Do you remember, Mr. Darcy, when we met at the furnishings warehouse, I mentioned a housemaid had ruined my carpet?” Darcy nodded, puzzled by this apparent change of topic. “Well, as you might imagine, I had words with her. Perhaps I may have spoken more sharply than I realised; that, I imagine, may be the real source of this tale.”

“I do not understand.”

“That same girl is now attending me in the absence of my own. Obviously she was trying to take some measure of revenge by spreading this base report.”

Darcy was quiet as he mulled this. For a housemaid to have fabricated such a slander against her mistress’s intimate friend—she would be very lucky if losing her place was the worst that happened to her. He looked at Miss Chesterton uncertainly. “Surely, Mr. Darcy, you cannot believe this of me!” she cried, reading his doubt in his manner. “I pray you, Sir—what have I ever done that could make you suspect me in this way? A rumour, a low, hateful rumour! —you must surely believe me, Mr. Darcy; you cannot think I would actually…that I could possibly contemplate such a monstrous…no, you cannot think me so lost to every proper feeling. Can you?” When he still did not speak, her colour changed, and she actually came to kneel beside his chair; holding onto his arm with both hands, she said in a voice of strong emotion, “No, please—please say it is not so! I could not bear to have
you
think this of me!” Darcy could see tears starting to well in her eyes.

Darcy hardly knew what to say. The lady’s countenance, though deeply troubled, was open, and her manner most sincere; it was impossible to believe that this could be artifice. On the other hand, Darcy had never known Perkins to be mistaken before, in the intelligence he had brought to him. But, looking into Miss Chesterton’s face, it was beyond Darcy to doubt her. Such earnest emotion could not be feigned, and such deeply affected supplication could not be denied. His objections evaporated in the face of such sincere distress, and he felt himself to be suddenly and completely in the wrong.

“Madam, I am at a loss.” He felt instantly how insufficient was this apology, and continued hurriedly: “I do not know how to apologize. I beg you will tell me how I might make amends.”

Her eyes lifted to his, and a tremulous smile appeared; she replied: “Oh, Sir, your contrition is unnecessary, I assure you. You must not blame yourself: you could have had no idea of the true origin of such a tale, and, given that it came from within the household…well, yours is not a suspicious nature, surely; and as devoted as you are to the truth, you can have no experience with such malevolent duplicity as this.” At this, Wickham’s smirking features appeared in Darcy’s mind; when he compared it to the sight of Miss Chesterton kneeling by his chair, mortified, frightened to tears that she might have lost his regard, it was abundantly clear to him how unjust he had been.

Under the circumstances it was impossible for Darcy to release himself without some attempt at redemption. “Miss Chesterton,” he said, struggling for words to make her understand how much he felt himself to be at fault. “You must allow me to make some recompense for such an atrocious error—such a mistaken belief in low, malicious gossip.”

“Sir: while I assure you it is entirely unnecessary, if you insist, I shall endeavour to think of some means—agreeable to us both, I trust—that will allow you to feel you have atoned for this misunderstanding.” Her voice was soft, but Darcy could not meet her eye; if he could, however, the cold anger he would have seen there might have given him pause. “For now, I beg you will put it out of your mind completely.”

But Darcy had by no means finished apologising; he continued for several minutes more, until, sensible that to go on would be merely a repetition of things he had already said, he took his leave, awkward and embarrassed. His final words were to beg her to be unstinting in her requirements for his recompense.

Arriving back in Grosvenor Square, Darcy found Perkins in his rooms, apparently awaiting his return. A look at Darcy’s face told Perkins what had transpired; after waiting a moment for his master to express his censure, which of course was not forthcoming, Perkins hastily and silently left the room.

Darcy did not see Miss Chesterton the next day; he had no engagements to take him into her company, and embarrassment prevented him from seeking her out. He could hardly bear the idea that he had injured her so monstrously; he knew he could not face her until he had, in some small way at least, redeemed himself in her eyes.

While he could not face Miss Chesterton, he did run into their mutual host, Delacroix, at White’s, the club they had in common in Town. After Darcy thanked him again for the party before Christmas, the two men sat down together at a window overlooking St. James’s Street.

“Did I see you with Miss Susan Chesterton at my little fête, Darcy?” Delacroix asked.

“Indeed, you did; she is a charming woman,” said Darcy. Other thoughts directly occurring to him, he added: “Very genteel and good-natured.”