A Touch of Night (17 page)

* * * *

The next morning Elizabeth was sitting in the drawing room at Gracechurch Street, thinking with pleasure about the visit of the day before. When she had looked up and met Mr. Darcy's gaze after indicating her willingness to receive him again soon, she met with an expression so full of fiery intensity that she felt as if she were looking directly into the soul of the dragon.

In the blank spaces of the night, she had let her thoughts soar as if on dragon's wings, imagining that he still loved her. Still wanted her. Would propose to her again.

Her aunt and Jane came into the room to see if she wanted to join them in a trip to the park with the children, but she declined. That look, and Mr. Darcy's veiled comments to her upon saying his goodbyes, led her to believe she might receive a visit from him. And she wanted to be alone when he came, so that he could speak what was in his mind. For the sake of relieving her feelings, she was willing to sound like a brazen hussy. But not in front of her aunt and sister.

As she waited, the post was brought in, and it contained a letter for her from Longbourn. The direction was written so ill she could not make out whether it was from Mary or her mother, or even from Kitty. Lydia she did not expect a letter from. As it turned out, the letter was from Mary, but it was not in her usual self-contained style at all.

Dear sister, a calamity of the most serious nature has befallen our family!

What is it now?
thought Elizabeth.
Has Kitty finally succeeded in hiding Fordyce's sermons in a place Mary will never find them?

I hate to be the bearer of such bad tidings, but I fear I must as our mother has taken to her bed, our father has hidden himself in his study with Colonel Forster, and Kitty is crying in her room, and rightly so. She wants prayer and absolution, though she does not deserve it. But our youngest sister, the one who is the cause of all this soul destroying grief, is the least deserving of all. She ought be tossed from the bosom of the family, only she has made that impossible by already having torn herself from us by her own sordid act. She has, in effect, ruined us all with her weakness and scandalous behaviour. In short, she has left all of those who love her, despite her many faults, and thrown herself under the power of Mr. Wickham!

"What?" cried Elizabeth out loud. "How can this be?"

She continued to peruse the letter which persisted in the same vein until the writing changed and she could detect her father's hand.

Dearest Elizabeth. Could you and Jane please come home at once and save my sanity? Your mother needs to be comforted and I need to be off in search of your sister and that scoundrel. Mary can only sermonize and Kitty wail. From Colonel Forster I have learned that Lydia and Wickham have been traced to London but no further. It seems they are not for the border after all, which means I shall have to go to London and fight him, or so your mother says. I just hope I can patch up a marriage, though such a son is not what I had in mind.

Elizabeth threw down the letter and jumped up. "Oh! I must find my aunt!" she cried, just at the same time that Mr. Darcy was ushered into the room.

He rushed to her side. "E . . . Miss Elizabeth! You are not well!"

"I am well," she replied. "But I have had dreadful news from home. My aunt!"

"Where has she gone? I will send a servant."

"To the park with Jane and the children!"

Mr. Darcy left the room for a moment and then returned. Elizabeth had crumpled back down upon her chair and was searching for a handkerchief.

"Is there anything I can do for your present relief?" asked Darcy. "A glass of wine, perhaps?"

Elizabeth indicated the table where Mr. Gardiner kept his brandy and Mr. Darcy lost no time in pouring her a shot. He hovered over her as she drank it. "Is someone unwell? Your mother? Your father?"

"No, it is nothing like that! My stupid, stupid sister Lydia has run off with . . . with Mr. Wickham. I should have warned them about him -- now we are all ruined!"

Mr. Darcy had crouched down beside her and taken her hand in his, rubbing it as she spoke, but now this movement ceased.

"Mr. Wickham? What is being done?"

"My father begs for Jane and me to return home. He will come to London in search of them to force them into marriage, but how is a man like him to be worked on? Lydia has the paltriest of dowries! We have nothing to offer him! And besides, how can we admit a traitorous member of the RWH into the family? What will become of Jane?"

She threw her handkerchief over her face and burst into tears as Darcy stood stock still before her, his face a dark, angry mask.

After a while he bowed and said, with the old stiffness in his manners. "I will leave you. In truth, you have probably been wishing me well away this while."

"No--" Elizabeth started, and then realized what she was about to say -- beg him to stay, when any man of honour would wish to abstract himself from her family's dishonour; beg him to stay when any relationship with her must mean endangering himself, now. She managed to rise, though she wasn't sure how, on trembling legs, and make him a very awkward courtesy. "You are too good, too kind," she said. "I beg you to preserve your safety above all. I couldn't stand to know you were at risk because of me or my disastrous family."

The look he bent upon her was so uncomprehending that she wasn't sure he'd even understood the words, let alone the meaning of her speech. His eyes appeared very dark and as though locked behind an impenetrable barrier of reserve and self control.

Oh, odious of her to regret she could no longer glimpse the dragon within. Odious, odious to wish he'd be so foolhardy to expose himself to the danger of a brother who was in the RWH and who was known to have already turned in one of Mr. Darcy's best friends.

"Yes, yes," Mr. Darcy said, not sounding at all like he knew what he said. "I must be off. Do not trouble yourself. I will see myself out."

With a deep bow, he was gone, leaving Elizabeth to watch him vanish from sight down the hallway. She was very sure she'd never see him again. And though she should be glad he was preserving her safety, she felt as though her heart were clenched within a glove of red-hot iron.

Chapter Fourteen

As the coach trundled further from London and closer to Longbourn, Elizabeth scanned the darkening sky for the glimpse of a sinuous gold and green body, listened with her all for the sound of wings beating against the wind, but with each mile her hope dimmed.

She had known all along it was too much to expect of him, but heartfelt wishes were difficult to extinguish. In her rational mind she knew that the most foolhardy thing for Mr. Darcy to do would be to accompany the coach in dragon form, so why did she even wish it in her heart of hearts? His safety must be as important to her as the safety of Jane, and even silly Lydia, for that matter. A dragon flying above their coach would put both Mr. Darcy and Jane in danger, and yet . . . love was making her foolish. And her love was hopeless, too.

She had to accept the harsh truth. No matter that he had cared for her in the past, or that he had shown her and her sister extreme kindness during their stay in London, Mr. Darcy's attentions to her were surely at an end. And she shouldn't wish it otherwise. If she truly loved him, his safety should be more important to her than any other consideration. So wanting him with her, and in harm's way, was irredeemably selfish. And yet how she missed him.

She sighed and Jane reached out to pat her hand. "All will be well Elizabeth. Surely our sister and Mr. Wickham are already married and we will be greeted with such tidings upon our arrival," she said, mistakenly interpreting what was troubling Elizabeth the most.

"Can you wish for such a brother? A Royal
Were
-Hunter?"

Jane's face was white and drawn and her eyes filled with sorrow, but she answered evenly. "I mustn't put my own fears above Lydia's happiness. It is hoped they will settle a distance from Longbourn so the danger to me is lessened."

"Would that there were some other way of reconciling our sister's scandalous behaviour!" Elizabeth's eyes flashed.

But their arrival was not greeted with the news of their sister's nuptials, little though Elizabeth had expected it. Their father's face was haggard -- cut with worry lines and sagging cheeks. His relief upon seeing Elizabeth was palpable but the relaxing of tension on his face made him look even older.

"You have finally come!" he said as he hugged both his eldest daughters to him. "Now I am free to go and search for the blaggard."

"Has there not been any news?" asked Jane, hanging on to her glimmering expectations.

"Colonel Forster has not discovered them, but it is certain that they have gone no further than London. Though we thought they might have gone to Gretna Green, it seems quite certain they took the London road."

"Will it be so very difficult to find them?"

"The city is a labyrinth," sighed Mr. Bennet.

Jane shuddered, and Elizabeth knew she must be recalling the terror of the time she had spent lost and alone in the London slums.

"How is mama?" asked Elizabeth.

"All I can say is thank goodness for laudanum," said Mr. Bennet., "or none of the rest of us would have had any peace these past two days. Mary is with her now, reading sermons no doubt. But at least she's with her. Once you have rested from your trip you ought take them some tea -- I know not which of the two will need the relief more."

There was nothing for it but to face the task at hand -- at least it would keep Elizabeth from dwelling upon regrets and things that could never come to pass. Occupation, she had found, was the best thing for the troubled mind.

* * * *

"Let me understand this completely," said Bingley as he paced the library of Darcy's townhouse. "Wickham has run off with Miss Bennet's youngest sister and you have no intention of publicly denouncing him?"

Darcy turned abruptly from his stance before the fireplace, his face dark with anger. "What would you have me do, Bingley? Break the unwritten code of all
weres
?"

"He did it when he turned Sevrin in."

"Wickham is more vile than anyone I know -- I will not stoop to duplicating his behaviour. I will not be known as the traitor of my persecuted kind."

"But you know that he must have been the one who set Miss Bennet free in London and put her life in danger."

"Of course. Even before she mentioned weasel I had my suspicions. But how did he find out about her? And what was his purpose in letting her loose in London in her
were
form? And now this -- he cannot want to marry the chit -- why is he beleaguering the Bennet family?"

"And still you refuse to denounce him?" Bingley sputtered.

"Denouncing him would serve no purpose except to put everyone we love the most in mortal danger. He obviously knows the truth about Miss Jane Bennet. He knows the truth about me. For all I know he is aware of your secret as well. Both Georgiana and Miss Elizabeth Bennet would also be in peril, just for having given support to the siblings that they love. No, there must be some other way to work on Wickham. I must at all cost prevent him marrying Miss Lydia Bennet and somehow return her to her family without the scandal becoming widespread." He rubbed the middle of his forehead, in the gesture of someone attempting to massage away a persistent headache. "The happiness of all we know depends upon it."

"And your happiness perhaps, as well?" Bingley asked. This was the strange thing about Bingley that his easygoing manner hid a very sharp mind -- a mind rarely displayed, but then with lethal accuracy.

Darcy felt color rise to his cheeks and thought it must look ghastly there, for he did not doubt he was pale as the dead. "My happiness is of little account. You must know I've long ago given up any hope of ... of a normal life."

"And yet, I am sure the lady's feelings..."

"Don't, please, Bingley. This is a matter in which neither of our feelings are of the least consequence. We are both of us devoted to the safety and happiness of others who have greater claims on us. If everything... If I could hope to bring it all off as it should be, and to make sure no stain of this falls upon anyone and that Whickam will not slither his way into the Bennets' family, then I will dare to hope. But not before. For now I must think how to bring this miracle about."

"We," said Bingley, clapping his hands upon his friend's shoulders. "I am as much in this as you."

Darcy smiled tightly in acknowledgement, though the smile did little to brighten his expression. "Good, we have no time to lose," was all he said, and then he summoned a servant and ordered his carriage.

* * * *

Elizabeth and Jane had been home at Longbourn for two days without any word from their father in London. Mrs. Bennet continued to keep to her room, but her mood swings still kept the entire household on tenterhooks. Kitty no longer cried and even attempted to help, in atonement for her previous behaviour. She now realised that keeping Lydia's confidences private had greatly hurt her standing in her family -- her father had threatened to highly restrict her social activities -- and possibly even sullied her own reputation. So she came down to breakfast the day after her sisters' return, contrite and biddable, and even now, a full day later, ran every errand she was asked without question. She was however, she said, bewildered, for though Lydia had confided in her that she adored Whickam above all other men, she had never -- Kitty swore to it -- given indication of wishing to take such a fatal step as this must be. She had spoken of meeting him, sometimes, for what she called "sweet whisperings" but that was all.

They had just got up from the breakfast table and were sitting down to a basket of mending in the parlour when the approach of a carriage was heard upon the sweep.

"It must be father come home!" cried Jane. "He has found Lydia and brought her back!"

Kitty was up and peering through the curtained window, but could see nothing.

"Oh do sit down, Kitty. We shall find out soon enough if Jane is right," said Mary. "But if it is Lydia, I do not suggest welcoming the prodigal by killing the fatted calf. She has a lot to answer for, to her family as well as to the Lord."

"Mary!" said Elizabeth. "It is probably just some neighbour trying to find out what they can. Rumours are bound to have spread. After all, Aunt Phillips had been a regular visitor and you know what a tattle monger she is." However she could not prevent her heart from beating erratically at the possibility that it was Mr. Darcy calling upon them, however much she knew that it could not possibly be he.

It was not Mr. Bennet with Lydia in tow, nor was it Mr. Darcy, nor was it even one of their inquisitive neighbours. It was their cousin, Mr. Collins, come to condole with them in their hour of need, or so he said.

"Your sister has brought disgrace down upon you all with her shameful actions," he said once he had done with his fulsome greetings and they were all seated again. "That is not to say I did not suspect something of this nature would happen, for it did not evade my notice that Miss Lydia was prone to indecorous behaviour. Lady Catherine encouraged me to write and advise your father time and time again, but I am afraid I was behindhand in my duty. So when we heard, through those grapevines of information that families are known for, that there was some mystery surrounding Longbourn and it had to do with Miss Lydia and her aborted stay in Brighton, and that your mother had taken to her bed and your father, after visits from Colonel Forster himself, had rushed off post paste to London, Lady Catherine turned to me and said, 'You must visit your cousins in their time of need.' So here I am, at that good lady's wish and command."

"It is very good of you," said Jane.

"We cannot help but feel, Lady Catherine and I, that there might even be more involved here than scandalous behaviour of a most appalling kind -- I need not be more explicit because there are some things a gentleman must not say in the company of refined young ladies, which I trust you still are, as the taint of your sister's indiscretion has not wholly corrupted any of you as of yet -- though in time none of you will be safe from the spreading leprosy of her actions."

"It is a wonder you thought it safe to visit," said Elizabeth. "Lest you pick up some of the infection yourself."

Mr. Collins looked taken aback for a moment, and then continued. "In my walk of life I must find myself in all sorts of places, but by virtue of vocation I carry protection with me wherever I go. I wish it were the same for you, cousins, I most sincerely do. Little do I rejoice in knowing that such close connections of mine have to bear such a stain on their reputations. But as Lady Catherine and I believe, it might be infinitely worse. Your sister may not have simply eloped, which is scandalous enough in itself, but she may be guilty of something even worse. Something of the blood that cannot be eradicated. She may have had to flee because she was found out."

"What exactly are you insinuating, Mr. Collins?" asked Elizabeth, two spots of red flaring high across her cheeks.

"That she . . . is cursed."

"That she is a
were
?" asked Jane, her lips trembling.

"She is no
were
!" cried Kitty. "I am her sister and share a room with her and all manner of secrets," here she blushed, "so I would know."

"How dare you come here and make unsubstantiated claims of such a defamatory nature?" Elizabeth was standing now, her face white with fury. "How dare you say you have come to condole when you have only come to accuse? You would be wise to keep such thoughts to yourself -- you would put us all in danger if your insinuations were to become public. My sister Lydia may have acted indiscreetly but I will have you remember that she has been taken advantage of by a man whom we considered to be a gentleman. Why should she and her family be destroyed for something that is more Mr. Wickham's responsibility than anyone else's? And he, as an officer of the Royal
Were
-Hunters, would hardly take it into his head to elope with a young lady who changed into the type of a creature he has sworn to protect society from. The idea is ludicrous. I must ask you to leave this house at once, and to tell your precious Lady Catherine that our family's business is not her business."

"I did not mean to say . . . that is . . you do make sense. I quite see that Mr. Wickham would not philander with a
were
. Not an officer of the RWH. But I cannot absolve your sister of wrongdoing. The lady is always much more at fault than the gentleman. Sometimes, with officers, one must turn a blind eye to what is not much more than a flirtation, but a lady . . . a lady's reputation is as brittle as glass."

"Oh I do agree!" cried Mary.

Elizabeth was not to be mollified. "Good day, Mr. Collins."

"I had wished to find you more reasonable, cousin," said Mr. Collins, as he took his hat and coat from the servant that had been summoned, "but Lady Catherine warned me how it would be, with your willful nature. I hope that you are not past redemption, but I sincerely doubt the Good Lord will find it possible to bless this house any longer. I shall endeavor to pray for what is left of your lost souls." And with that he took his leave.

"What pomposity!" cried Kitty when the door was closed behind him. "Do you think it can be true that we have lost all of God's blessings just because Lydia has run off with Mr. Wickham? It does not seem such a terrible thing to have done."

"I believe in God's goodness," said Elizabeth, "so why would he He turn his back on us when we need him the most?"

Kitty nodded. "To tell you the truth," she said, "I don't even see how it could be such a sinful thing if Lydia was really a
were
, because it would be no fault of her own, would it?"

Tears came to Jane's eyes. "No fault at all," she whispered.

"But she is not," said Elizabeth sensibly, "so we can forget that Mr. Collins ever made such wild accusations."

"I think we should all get down upon our knees and pray," said Mary. "None of you are taking this situation as seriously as you ought. We must protect ourselves as best we can from the evils of man in this sinful, sinful world."

Suddenly a bell began to ring its strident peals through the house.

"Mama!" cried Elizabeth. "I will go to her." Anything was better than having to stay in the parlour with Mary, shrouded in sackcloth and ashes, praying for salvation from eternal damnation.