A Private Performance (25 page)

“Then trust me. You are the light of my life. I did not comprehend the meaning of those words until I knew you. I scarcely knew how to laugh without you.”

“Forgive me.”

He shrugged. “I constantly seek to know your feelings, so I ought to hear them with gratitude.”

She smiled, then turned again to the window. He held her against him.

They looked out across the lake and up to the top of the hill. The distinctive blue of the carriage was unmistakable.

“Jane is here!” she cried. “I thought she would never come!”

 

The increase in the family party came as a relief for Elizabeth. No longer was she closeted so much with her mother and Mary. Mrs. Bennet's delight in the society of Jane and Kitty, two more-favoured daughters, returned some of Elizabeth's freedom. She spent hours in her father's company and, while he dozed by the library fire, went back to her long walks and to enjoying her music with Georgiana.

Mary secretly enjoyed herself in her own way. Elizabeth made her a present of a lovely silk evening gown; and the only fault Mary could find with it was its failure to reach her neck. Mrs. Bennet bustled in to inspect her daughter's fashionable appearance.

“Oh, good girl, Mary! That will be just the thing. The neck is perhaps a little high. What think you, Lizzy?”

“Too high, Mama! I intend wearing a lace tuck,” declared Mary.

“A lace tuck, girl! What can you be thinking of? Give men the choice between a glimpse of bosom and a lecture, not one amongst them will choose the talking-to.”

Mary was adamant. “I know there are gentlemen who rise above such things.”

Mr. Darcy had given Mary a gift of a necklace and earrings. She could hardly bear to let the gems share space with her cross for their last evening, but was persuaded by Elizabeth's request that she consider her brother-in-law's feelings. Thus she had the advantage of looking rather nice, while retaining her moral altitude. She thanked Mr. Darcy complacently when he complimented her on her appearance. Her mother glared when she added: “Of course, a woman is never better adorned than by a simple cross.”

The pleasures of that summer stay at Pemberley reconciled Mr. Bennet to sharing the holiday with the wife of his bosom. Seeing three of his daughters evidently happy in marriage, he thought, with even a little compassion, of his youngest child. He began to relent on the subject of Newcastle. Failure to visit Lydia might look like a
refusal to countenance her and revive whispers that had been silenced by her sisters' success in the marriage arena. Perhaps Lydia had brought on herself the unhappiness she might suffer in marriage to such a rogue. Yet her father had never quite silenced the inner voice that said she may never have strayed had he been a more conscientious parent.

Just as Mr. Bennet was brought to agree with his spouse's proposal, Mrs. Bennet received a letter from Lydia, which, in the most affectionate terms, discouraged them from making the journey at this time. Life was, in some unspecified way, less gay in Newcastle now that war was approaching. Also Lydia did not feel well enough for visitors at present.

“I must go to her,” declared Mrs. Bennet, suddenly fancying herself an excellent nurse. “Where is Kitty? Perhaps she knows the nature of her sister's illness.” She bustled off.

Jane could not hide her deep concern.

“Jane, what is wrong?” asked Elizabeth.

“Lizzy, dearest, it may be nothing.”

“Is Lydia seriously unwell?” Elizabeth jumped up. “You are keeping something from me, Jane. How can you?”

“I do not wish to worry you, Lizzy.”

“Tell me, dear, and I promise I will not break under the burden.”

“Lydia had the most horrid rash over her face when she was at Rushly. The apothecary gave her something, a tincture, I supposed, and it went away.”

“Is that all?”

“No. The festering returned. I sent for a physician and although Lydia has been very secretive, I am sure she has been taking mercury.”

Elizabeth sat unmoving. Jane went on: “You know how slow Charles is to anger. He called Wickham a … a … blackguard!”

“Oh!” Elizabeth walked hastily away to the window.

“I would have done anything to shield you from this, Lizzy.”

“Dear Jane, why should you bear it alone? Our sister has syphilis!”

“We think this must be so. I understand that all symptoms of the disease will soon disappear, after which our poor sister may never know for certain whether she is cured. If not, she faces an end she has never deserved.”

Elizabeth replied: “No, indeed. This is too much punishment for her crime.” She sat without speaking for a moment, before saying: “How can we shield our parents from this knowledge? If she is fortunate, the disease will never return. If it does return with all its force, it could well be after their deaths, so that they never need learn of it.”

“We must dissuade our mother from making the journey.”

However, there was no dissuading Mrs. Bennet from her maternal duties, now that her husband's objection was broken down, and they left for Newcastle the next day.

Jane and Elizabeth waited anxiously for news, fearing the arrival of every messenger. They received only one short note from their mother, in which she gloated over the sturdiness of the twin boys. Lydia's luck was with her again, as she had completely recovered from her bout of illness when her parents arrived. Even better, her husband's recent good fortune at cards meant they were able to present themselves as a young family making do on a small income. Mrs. Bennet was delighted with her grandsons, and gave Lydia a gift of money to buy some new clothes and toys for them. The Bennets then returned southwards to stay at Rushly Manor.

Lydia stood with Wickham on the steps of the lodging house, waving goodbye.

“How much did the old girl give you, Lydia, my darling?” murmured Wickham.

“Never mind the ‘darlings', Wickham. You shan't have it. I mean to have a new gown for the ball next week. I shan't change my mind about the money or the other matter.”

Lydia had never forgiven Wickham his last lapse and determined to optimise her chances of survival by abstinence. Wickham never could persuade her that he was a changed character and, ironically, he
had changed. He never went near a prostitute again, and confined himself to seducing farm girls and the like.

 

Even as war brewed in Belgium, peace settled again in Derbyshire. The Bingleys took Mary to Rushly Manor, there to await the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet on their return from their errand of mercy in Newcastle.

Kitty went happily back to Kympton.

“I never want to be parted from you again, Kitty,” said Edward.

“We are bound to be parted from time to time, Edward. I suppose I shall die in childbirth, and you will marry someone else and forget all about me in a year or so.”

“Kitty, how can you say such dreadful things? I cannot contemplate life without you, and I would never love another.”

“Promise me, Edward. Do not ever forget me. Never love anyone else.”

While Napoleon was massing and moving his army, his enemies had indeed found time on their hands in Brussels. Caroline and Jennifer were among the young ladies who found themselves very popular. They played, sang and danced. One or two civilian gentlemen were more than eligible but in this environment even prudent young ladies could not help preferring soldiers.

Major Kentley, a rather good specimen of the species, reminded Caroline of Mr. Darcy. He was dark and tall, with a somewhat commanding presence. When she stared haughtily into his eyes, he only smiled. She turned her own brilliant smile on Henry Fitzwilliam.

“Come, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and tell me the latest news. I am agog to hear you.” She led him away to a corner of the room. She glanced back as they sat down, and caught the major's eyes moving slowly up her figure.

“Impudent puppy,” she murmured. Then she said aloud: “You do not say so, Colonel Fitzwilliam? You do terrify me so.” Caroline's eyes strayed to her friend, Jennifer, now in conversation with Kentley, and she smiled indulgently.

While Jennifer agonised over her choice between two beaux, Caroline never wavered in her intention to be Mrs. Fitzwilliam. (What a pity Lady Catherine had not been able to confer Sir Lewis's title on her nephew, along with his estate.)

“I hear Rosings is a splendid house, Caroline,” said Mrs. Brompton.

“I am led by my heart,” was the arch reply.

Caroline quite hung upon every word of the colonel's. Her eyes lit up when he entered the room. She glided about, leant and flattered only for him.

The evenings passed with cards, music and dancing. Jennifer basked in Kentley's attention, giving up her monopoly only when
her mother indicated that this must be so. Mr. Willis sulked in a corner or played cards with a hangdog air. He talked of leaving Brussels; what had he to do here? However, he stayed, not knowing whom he despised the most, the major or himself.

 

The colonel and Mrs. Brompton held a little dance in their lodgings. The chairs had been pushed back and the doors into the hall opened. Caroline was at her best, her height shown off to advantage, as she whirled through the waltz. Her heart raced with exertion. She felt the pressure of a manly arm at her waist and fancied her partner pulled her closer. They spun through the doors and, at the end of the hall, where they ought to have turned, he stopped, and giddiness almost threw her against his chest.

“Be my wife, Caroline. Marry me.”

“Really, sir!” She pulled herself away, and stared. He dropped his arm but continued to hold her hand.

“Miss Bingley, I was carried away by my feelings. Forgive me.” She nodded graciously.

“You know that I love you. Will you do me the honour of consenting to be my wife?”

The next couple was almost upon them. He seized her waist once more and they spun back towards the drawing room.

“You must give me time.”

‘Do I truly want him?' she thought.

“We have all too little time. Pray give me your answer tonight.”

“Very well, then.”

“You mean you accept?”

“No. I will give you my answer tonight.”

As the group of officers went into the street, one of them turned towards the light for a moment. He opened the tiny folded piece of paper and smiled as he read “Yes”.

 

Caroline did not confide in her friends that evening. Pleading exhaustion, she escaped to her room, her mind all confusion. She wondered if she had done the right thing.

In the morning, Mrs. Brompton knocked on her door.

“My dear Caroline, there is a gentleman awaiting you downstairs.”

“Pray, Mrs. Brompton, I cannot appear in dishabille. He must wait until I am dressed.”

“The gentleman asserts his right to insist upon seeing you at once. Is this so, my dear? I would not press you, were you not in my care. I must be able to answer to your relations.” She looked long at Caroline and continued: “I see you do not deny it.”

“There is good reason for making haste this morning.”

Caroline did not hurry herself unduly but, in defence, she could argue that she had no experience in rushing her toilette.

He took both her hands in his. “My dearest Caroline!” His eyes skimmed over her. She was dressed in a frilled morning gown of white muslin, and two locks of glossy brown hair still hung down her back. If her intended found Caroline less than presentable, he was an excellent actor.

“I hope you have something important to say, sir, to justify disturbing me at this early hour,” she replied.

“I have just seen Mr. Willis. He has determined to leave today in order to get his sister back to England. He has room in his carriage for you, Miss Brompton, and your maids, if they will sit outside. He will ride. You must make haste as you have only two hours to prepare for the journey.”

“I have no intention of running away. You greatly mistake my character if you think so.”

“Caroline. It is a matter of days at most before we are at war. I must have you safely back in England. Indeed I insist upon it.”

“I do not know that you are in a position to insist upon anything, sir.”

“Nevertheless, I do.” Caroline felt an inner tremor at his gaze. She had not imagined him so firm. She fancied she showed nothing of this, however.

“I intend to dance at the Duchess of Richmond's ball, and I defy you to prevent me.”

“The duchess seems most gracious here, Caroline, but do not imagine she will recognise us in England. Do not give me the anguish of dying on the field, not knowing whether you are safe.”

“Since you put it that way, very well.”

“Good girl. Now give me a kiss.”

“I know not that I want to.”

“There may never be another chance,” he said.

She felt the warmth of his hand against her cheek and the pull of his arm as he drew her to him. Her fingers brushed against his epaulettes and the braid upon his collar. Then his lips were on hers. She began to pull away just as he released her. She was struggling for breath.

He pulled a ring from his finger.

“I wished to obtain something better, but there was no time.”

He put it in her hand and closed her fingers around it.

“Do you love me, Caroline?”

“I have said I will marry you. You must be content with that.”

He ran his hands through the hair on her shoulders. “Pray, let me have a lock of your hair.”

“My hair! Certainly not.” Her hands were on her hips and her cheeks flushed, as she recalled the not disagreeable sensation of those lips on hers.

“Caroline, we may never meet again.”

“No! Do not speak so!” Aghast, she felt the tears prick her eyes.

She fetched some scissors from the desk, and he cut off a long lock.

“Do you love me, Caroline?”

“Yes. Are you satisfied?”

“Inexpressibly.” He folded the tress in a sheet of paper. “Fare thee well, my Betrothed. I will see Willis at once to secure your place in the carriage. I shall come to you again at my very earliest opportunity, whenever and wherever that may be.”

Her discontent at the vagueness of this appointment lent a shine to her eyes. His last glimpse of her was with her chin up and his favourite haughty smile.

As he mounted his horse, he laughed aloud.

It was as well they left when they did. Within hours there was not a horse to be had in all Brussels, and the stranded civilians listened, with varying degrees of courage, to the distant cannon fire of Waterloo.

 

All London was triumphant at the news of the swift success of the military campaign. Mrs. Hurst wished more urgently to discuss the successful amatory campaign, but dared not until Caroline came home and lifted the veil of secrecy.

A letter to Pemberley was long overdue, she decided. She had not written to Georgiana in an age. Georgiana recognised her hand, and opened the letter with an odd mixture of indifference to the writer and the keenest interest in what she may write.

“We are expecting Caroline's arrival hourly, and are in the utmost anticipation. For when she comes, we will be in a position to openly acknowledge yet another link in our kinship, dear Miss Darcy.”

Georgiana crumpled the letter in her hands and she looked around her numbly.

She sat for some time, unmoving.

Darcy was in the library, attending to some business, when he heard the knock.

“Come.”

Georgiana stood in the doorway, her face a mask of misery. He rose.

“Geogiana, what is the matter?”

She ran across the room, threw herself into his arms and burst into tears.

“Georgiana, what is it? What on earth is wrong?”

“Henry …”

“Henry is safe, Georgiana. I told you of the messenger who arrived early this morning. The war is already over and Henry is unharmed. Come, I will show you the letter again.”

“I know … but … Miss Bingley.”

“What of her, dear?”

“They are engaged! I have just had it of Mrs. Hurst.” She pulled the crumpled paper from her pocket.

He read the lines she indicated. He rang the bell and asked the servant to send for his mistress. Georgiana passed her in the hall and merely shook her head at the offer of company. Elizabeth went into the study to hear the unwelcome news.

“I cannot believe your cousin has such poor taste,” Elizabeth said.

“I had too much faith in his judgment, it seems. Why, she is so false.”

“Perhaps she cares for him.”

“Come now! This is a woman I have tolerated as my friend's sister, and as a sister-in-law, but to see my cousin marry her is beyond bearing.”

“I imagine she will suit the style of Rosings very well. I can picture her enthroned in Lady Catherine's favourite chair, giving the Collinses a hard time of it.”

“I am sorry to see Georgiana react so strongly to the engagement. Think you that her feelings for him are stronger than those of a ward?” said Darcy.

“I think, perhaps, she at least fancies that they are. The visit to Deepdene will provide her with distraction.”

“I had rather hoped that Lord Bradford might succeed with her.”

“We must trust that he is a patient man. If the attraction he appears to feel for her proves lasting, who knows what may be, in a year or so.”

Darcy stood gazing out on the park, thinking of poor Georgiana. Yet, despite his affection for his cousin, and his great concern for his sister's future happiness, he could feel little satisfaction in the thought of such a marriage. Why did the thought that his sister may have become mistress of Rosings give him so little joy? He felt only that it would have been an anticlimax.