One Thread Pulled: The Dance With Mr. Darcy (65 page)

Their prattle ran the gamut—from the uncomfortably close guess that Wickham had probably meddled with Darcy's sister to the repetition of the stories Wickham had spread in other places about Darcy’s being jealous of him. There was even an absurd rumor that Wickham and Darcy were partners in crime and that Wickham had crossed him. Pratt was relieved to discover that nothing they said was rooted in any fact at all. It was strange to discover the eager interest with which perfect strangers discussed his business as though he were something to them.

The fight had ended, and the poor sod who had lost was being dragged away by two men, one arm draped around either of the other men's shoulders. The room began to drain of its bawdy humanity, whose empty cups begged for refilling, but the men he was overhearing stayed, their thirst having not yet overcome their interest in the topic at hand.

Smythe joined Pratt and began edging him out of the room, but Pratt shook his head and broke away, returning to where the men still congregated. Pratt soon injected himself in their discourse by introducing himself, while Smythe stood by and marveled at the sight of Darcy casually speaking to anyone without the benefit of a proper introduction. He informed them that he had heard them speaking during the fight and then spoke convincingly to the men of his boyhood friend, George Wickham, and his distress at hearing he had missed encountering Wickham there by just a day. He dispatched Smythe to acquire additional drink for his new “friends” as he pressed the men for whatever they could remember.

The men knew nothing more, but others in their midst stepped forward, greedily spilling what they knew in return for drink. By the time Pratt and Smythe quit the pub, they knew exactly where to find Mrs. Younge and had obtained the names of the men who had taken Wickham away.

~*~

Elizabeth knew not what to say to her mother, whose distress at finding Jane and Elizabeth suddenly returned to Longbourn had triggered a fresh attack of nerves, and she had shut herself in her room. Elizabeth did not console her mother, for she did not know how to interpret the event herself.

It had been mid-morning, shortly after breakfast, when Mr. Jones had suddenly appeared at Netherfield and, after a cursory examination, declared Elizabeth sufficiently fit to travel to Longbourn. The household staff had, without notice, descended on the room and efficiently packed the Bennet sisters' belongings within moments of the arrival of the apothecary. The sisters were ready to depart in less than half an hour without having even assisted in the preparations.

It was obviously clear to everyone, including Elizabeth, that she had not truly recovered from her fever and that her departure was premature. No one said this aloud, but it was intimated in the actions of the staff, and in the concern expressed by all that Elizabeth not exert herself by packing or become chilled in stepping too far away from the fireplace. This was perhaps the most confusing aspect of their being dispatched to Longbourn—the suddenness.

Mr. Bingley had seemed distraught when advising Jane that they were to leave but had declared it for the best, considering that he must determine how to deal with Miss Bingley in light of recent events. His disappointment at their separation, he assured Jane, would be overcome by his calling upon her faithfully at Longbourn until their wedding

When Jane and Elizabeth stepped out the doors of Netherfield, Elizabeth's astonishment was complete. Mr. Darcy's fine, enclosed carriage stood at the ready to convey the sisters to Longbourn, with several thick, soft blankets to keep them warm as they made the short journey. The footmen stood by to assist the ladies into the carriage, but Mr. Bingley had stepped forward and insisted on giving them the hand-up himself. Ever gracious and charming, his eyes showed the distress he felt at their departure.

Now in her bedroom, Elizabeth saw herself in the mirror for the first time since the night of the ball, and she was momentarily stunned to see how pale and gaunt she looked after just a few days of illness. She looked wearily at her trunk. She knew that she could let their lady’s maid put her clothing away, but she sighed with the knowledge that if she wanted it done as she preferred it, she would, of necessity, perform the task herself.

Elizabeth opened the trunk to unpack it, and resting on top was the beautiful gown that she had worn to the ball. She carefully hung it and returned to the trunk, restoring her clothing and accessories to their customary place in her dresser or closet. As she lifted her last nightdress from the trunk, she gasped to discover that the staff at Netherfield had mistakenly packed the shawl she had found in Mr. Darcy's dresser. She stared in disbelief at the exquisite item—even lovelier in the daylight of her room.

Not wanting any of her sisters to see it, Elizabeth hastily closed her bedroom door before she reached into the trunk and, with an attitude close to reverence, lifted it out. She wrapped it around her shoulders and turned to see herself in the looking glass. She was again astounded at the beauty of the garment, which hung in soft, elegant folds from her arms. The color proved to be perfect with her complexion, adding a soft pinkness to her pale skin. She sat down on the bed, the shawl still wrapped around her body, and pondered on the man who had purchased this shawl. She once again wondered whom it was for and considered that she should immediately wrap it up and return it to Mr. Bingley to restore to Mr. Darcy.

“He will not miss it,” Elizabeth whispered to herself as she rubbed a corner of the cloth against her cheek. “Not while he is away in London.” She tightened the shawl around herself and, closing her eyes, tried to imagine what it would be like to have Mr. Darcy's arms hold her tightly. Then she scolded herself for such thoughts. She quickly removed the shawl and folded it, hanging it up behind her ball gown where it was not likely to be noticed. She turned around to close the empty trunk and noticed a folded paper that had been directly beneath the shawl on the floor of the chest. Turning it over, she saw that it was a letter, sealed with Mr. Darcy's insignia. On the front, her name was written in his elegant hand.

This was an unexpected event indeed. How the letter came to be there, Elizabeth could not imagine, considering the absolute breech of propriety it represented. Her curiosity would not be denied, however, and she broke the seal and unfolded the letter. She did not have time to read so much as the first sentence before Lydia burst into her room, forcing Elizabeth to fold the unread letter and slip it into a drawer.

“Lizzy, Lizzy, you will never guess what has happened!” Lydia was short of breath, as though she had been running for some time.

Elizabeth just shook her head, her eyebrows raised to match the alarm in Lydia's voice. “Lydia, it is true—I will never guess.”

“I must tell you then, for more than one thing has happened while you were away!” Lydia giggled nervously and then looked sober. “Well, none of it is good news to be sure. The first thing I must tell you, and you will be very surprised, is that odious Mr. Collins has asked Charlotte Lucas to marry him ... and she has accepted him!”

“Charlotte? Mr. Collins? I do not believe it!” Elizabeth felt queasy. “Surely Charlotte is better and wiser than this!”

“That is not even the most distressing news, Lizzy! Kitty and I were just in Meryton, and we went to speak with Carter and Denny, and the officers are all in an uproar! They are inconsolable, you see, because of what has been done! You will not believe it, for it is shocking—shocking, indeed! I daresay it is the most shocking thing I have ever heard in all my life! Lizzy, I know he was your favorite as much as he was mine—he is the one we were all so much in love with, the one who everyone in Meryton praised to the skies—Mr. Wickham
 
... he is
 
dead! Murdered they said!
 
Colonel Forster received an express from Colonel Fitzwilliam this morning, and it is all very mysterious, and no-one knows who did it....”

“Lydia, you must not joke about such things!” Elizabeth scolded.

“It is not a joke, Lizzy—my heart is broken!” Lydia whined and stamped her foot. “He told me we would elope to Scotland in the spring, and I would be Mrs. Wickham, and that is all ruined now!

“Lydia!” Elizabeth glared at her youngest sister. “Is it true? Is Charlotte to marry Mr. Collins? Is Mr. Wickham is truly murdered? You are not making these things up?”

“Truly!” Lydia replied. “I must go and tell Mama!”

“You must
 
not
 
tell Mama—not like this, lest you aggravate her nerves further. Go to Papa and tell him first, and he will decide how to tell Mama. She is already beside herself because Jane has gone from Netherfield. I do not know what such news will do to her.”

Lydia frowned. “You are right. Mama wanted
 
you
 
to marry Mr. Collins, and she wanted
 
me
 
to marry Mr. Wickham—well, she would have wanted it if she had known—and now two of her fondest dreams have been taken from her. I will tell Papa, as you said.”

As quickly as Lydia had intruded, she was gone. Elizabeth retrieved the letter Mr. Darcy had written from the drawer and moved to the window seat, where the light was better. She stared at the folded paper in her hands. Mr. Darcy had arranged for her abrupt removal from Netherfield before he had even returned from London. Was this not a clear signal that he had thought better of the feelings he had expressed? What if this letter stated exactly that? Elizabeth had already come to terms with the thought that Mr. Darcy could not act on the sentiments he had previously expressed, and holding the letter in her hand, she suddenly feared that the contents would be tangible proof of what she had realized must be. She found herself unable to face that prospect in her current state, so she determinedly returned the letter to her drawer and, although it was barely noon, lay down on her bed and promptly fell into an exhausted sleep.

*”The Cooper's Arms” was the former name of the current “Lamb & Flag” pub. In the early 19th century, it was informally called “The Bucket of Blood”, a reference to the bare-knuckled fisticuff fighting that took place both in a back room, and in the street in front of the establishment.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Letters Three

M
r. Bingley watched, standing forlornly on the Netherfield entrance porch until the carriage taking Jane and Elizabeth Bennet back to Longbourn was long out of sight. When he returned to the interior of the house, he inquired first after his sister and was assured by the butler that Caroline remained sequestered in her bedchamber. Upon hearing this news, he returned to his study, where he retrieved once more the letter he had received from Darcy's coachman that morning. He sat behind the big desk and read it again, slowly. With a heavy heart, he called for a footman to summon Mr. and Mrs. Hurst once again to speak with him in the study.

Upon their arrival there, Louisa, who rarely showed a sign of temper, was prepared to make her case, and launched into her tirade before Charles had a chance to so much as greet his sister.

“Charles, I am fully aware that the Bennet sisters have now departed, along with Lady Catherine and her strange little daughter Anne. There are now sufficient rooms, I believe, to accommodate all the guests in residence as well as those who are yet to arrive, and I demand that Mr. Hurst and I be restored to our original two rooms immediately. If this is not done, we shall make each other mad before the day is out!” Louisa said with great animation. “Is this not so, Mr. Hurst?”

“Eh?” Mr. Hurst looked at his wife in confusion. “I was rather enjoying it.”

Louisa's cheeks tinged with color, and she turned to face her brother again. “Quite mad. I shall be quite mad.”

Charles, who had patiently waited for his sister to finish, replied, “I pray that you do not say such things, Louisa. It is not seemly under the circumstances we now find ourselves in.”

“Whatever can you mean, Charles? The circumstances we now find ourselves in are that, for the first time since the ball, the household is set to return to normalcy. I am greatly relieved by it, and will be even more so when I have achieved the privacy of my own bedchamber once again.”

“Louisa, are you aware that Caroline remains in her chambers and will not come out?” Charles asked quietly.

“But, of course I am.” Louisa sniffed. “The entire household is aware, and the way even the servants gossip here in the country, I expect that all of Meryton knows it too.”