Into Hertfordshire (15 page)

Chapter Sixteen

The following Wednesday, Miss Darcy had been occupied in the early portion of the morning going over her brother’s letters once again. In each one she could discover evidence of an increasing attraction for Miss Elizabeth Bennet. In his first he had dwelt at length on her own concerns, and she had been mentioned only in one brief line—although that line had been sufficiently marked in its approval of her as to have caught Georgiana’s particular attention, even at the time. In the second, however, she saw such remarkable distinction of Miss Elizabeth Bennet as to quite amaze her. And by the third he made no mention of her own cares at all; it was nothing but his attitudes and actions regarding Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Miss Bingley. Never,
never
had she seen her brother thus absorbed in his relations with women, even briefly, and she was certain that his being so vexed with Miss Bingley was no more than the reflection of his regard for Miss Elizabeth Bennet; it was her presence that made him so aware of Miss Bingley’s impertinence and importunities, and the injury done Miss Elizabeth Bennet by her jealous behaviour was what had brought into importance Miss Bingley’s feelings towards himself.

Taken all together, she was persuaded that her brother was in a fair way to being in love, and that persuasion did more than months of repentance and solitude had done to unburden her heart. Having this object to think of and plan for had, without her realising, quite nearly removed the man who betrayed her from her thoughts. Her great desire for a sister and friend, in whom she could confide and share the daily affairs of her own sex, was forming itself more and more around the vision she had created of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and had quite set aside her own cares. She read and re-read every line in which her brother spoke of her, trying to divine from the very shape of his script every last scrap of meaning and intelligence about a woman who might, perhaps, become that sister and friend. In so doing she found two things to trouble her: why did she refuse to dance with him, and, most distressingly, why was he so insistent that there could be no alliance with her?

That he should wish to dance with her was, on the face of it, an obvious sign of the acuteness of his interest; she was well aware that he rarely danced, and then only with some one of close and long-standing acquaintance. She could not bring to mind any occasion on which he had willingly engaged the hand of a lady he had known weeks only. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of course, could hardly know this, and so the distinction would be lost on her, but still—why should she refuse him? Miss Darcy was aware that her brother was wont to occasionally speak his mind without thought for those around him. That he might have in some way offended her unconsciously was a disturbing possibility, but Georgiana could not see how it might be remedied, or, indeed, how she might even ascertain it had occurred, without offending her brother in turn, by asking if he might have done so.

As to the second matter of concern, that he was so opposed to the idea of an alliance, she could see no compelling support for his conclusion, that the Bennets could not be accepted as relations; she poured over his letters again and again, searching in vain for the reason. The mother, certainly, did not sound desirable, but this she could not view as sufficient reason to deny the possibility of liaison between their families; Georgiana, even in her limited experience, knew that few families could boast of being free of provoking relations. Her own aunt, Lady Catherine, was as difficult and unreasonable as any one she could imagine, yet no one could take exception to her as a connection. No, she was persuaded rather that her brother was raising barriers on purpose to prevent his emotions from influencing him; he, who so resolutely held that the intellect alone ought to govern one’s life, was not one to let his feelings gain ascendancy over him. In his last letter he had taken particular care to mention that he had gone through an entire day without having spoken to Miss Elizabeth Bennet at all; this, she was convinced, was exactly what he would do if he felt his sentiments beginning to overset his more rational faculties.

She had still another concern. In earlier letters he had made mention of the possibility of his returning home before Mr. Bingley’s ball, but in this last letter he had spoken of it with more certainty; this was disturbing in the extreme. The only way Georgiana could see that he might finally be led in the direction of his best interests and her wishes was if he were to be exposed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s company long enough for her charms to overcome his habitual distrust of his sensibilities. She must somehow convince him to remain.

She had just reached this conclusion when a knock at the door announced Mrs. Annesley. The good lady smiled at the papers spread about Miss Darcy on the sofa and observed: “You are making quite a study of those letters, Miss Darcy, dear. I had not known before that Hertfordshire was such a captivating destination. Is your brother’s visit there so fascinating, then?”

Miss Darcy smiled in return, saying, “In some ways, it is, indeed. But only to a sister’s heart; to no one else would they hold such interest.” She folded them up and tucked them away in the desk.

“Well, then, you will be glad of this,” said Mrs. Annesley, drawing forth a letter from her pocket. “It is from Mr. Darcy.”

Georgiana rose instantly and went to take it from her. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Annesley! I had hoped there might be something in the morning post.”

“You are very fortunate to have a brother who is such a dependable correspondent; I do not think many sisters could boast of such.”

“I am indeed; and that is the least of his goodness. Their contents are more valuable still.”

“They certainly seem to have done you good, my dear; you seem happier now than at any time since I came into Derbyshire. If his letters be the cause, then I pray that his stay in Hertfordshire will be a long one.” She smiled again and quietly left the room.

Miss Darcy, somewhat surprised at this comment, decided on reflection that it was true; indeed, she had not thought of her troubles, or her betrayer, all morning. While still wondering that this should be true, she hastily opened the seal.

Netherfield

November 17, —

Dearest Georgiana,

I am rather fatigued, as the time to-day seemed to drag on interminably, so this will be shorter than I might wish. The Misses Bennet left us to-day after Morning Services, and the effort to maintain a decent level of conversation in their absence has been painfully great. Bingley was, of course, much saddened by Miss Bennet’s departure, which left his spirits low. Miss Bingley, on the other hand, was in very high spirits indeed after they left, but her conversation I found to be monotonous, as she never wavered from heaping scorn and abuse on her two erstwhile guests.

Will it surprise you, Dearest, if I tell you that I found myself on the verge of an attraction for Miss Elizabeth Bennet? It is true. But be assured; I may have loosed the reins, but I did not fall off. I was most careful to shield her from any knowledge of my interest; I never even took her hand for a dance—no, that is not entirely accurate: rather, I would have to admit that she never accepted my hand for a dance—but perhaps I might have mentioned that before. In any event, she is gone, and I am reasonably well assured that she has no idea of having ever excited my esteem.

I must say, though, now she is no longer before me, that it has occurred to me to wonder at the fact that, after so many Seasons in London, the only woman ever to have captured my attention should be so impossibly distant from me in standing. Why, of the literally hundreds of women to whom I have been introduced, should the only one whose acquaintance is worth the having—for me, personally, that is—be so little esteemed in the eyes of Society? It puzzles me; upon my honour, it does puzzle me.

I have put any feelings I might have harboured for her behind me, of course. I could not in honour, in civility, in faith, distinguish her at all—there could be no hope of an alliance, and such regard as I may have had for her served no purpose other than to bring discomfort to the bearer of them. I own, however, that it has long appeared to me that the impish sports of Fate seem peculiarly to conspire against the wishes of men, giving us glimpses only of what felicity might be, then arranging the world so that no such happy lot can ever be ours. But come, I must not be self-pitying: I doubt not that there are very few in the whole of England who would feel that Darcy of Pemberley was in need of sympathy; one must always keep one’s perspective.

Bingley, as I mentioned, was downcast (for him, that is) by the departure of Miss Bennet, but he has cheered himself with thoughts of the ball he plans this Tuesday week. With this diversion to occupy him, and with the expectation of dancing a set—or might we suspect that he intends to dance even more than one?—with the beguiling Miss Bennet, he will have no trouble supporting his spirits. I have not yet spoken to him, but I do not intend to stay to it; there would be no purpose and I would just as soon begin my journey to Pemberley. My current plans are to leave this Saturday for Town, then set off for home next Tuesday week, as I mentioned before. I am counting the days until I shall be with you again.

Your loving—and homeward turning—brother,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Georgiana’s feelings, on reading this letter, were affected with such pressing urgency that she instantly sat down to compose her reply. A quick calculation told her that a letter sent that day would arrive just after his departure from Netherfield on the coming Saturday, so it was imperative that her letter be sent express that very day.

Pemberley

November 20, —

Dearest Fitzwilliam,

Have no fear, Brother, on receiving this letter by express, lest it contain ill-tidings; all is well here at Pemberley. It is only that I read with great disappointment in your last that you are definitely planning to leave Netherfield before Mr. Bingley’s ball, and I was compelled to write you before this plan should be carried out. Why must you leave without attending the ball, Fitzwilliam? The idea that you will leave Miss Elizabeth Bennet behind you without ever having danced with her, quite breaks my heart. At the very least you must allow yourself to take her hand for one dance.

You see, as it happens, I was not so very surprised by the intelligence you offered in your letter, to the effect that you had found yourself attracted to Miss Elizabeth Bennet; inasmuch as she is the only lady you have ever distinguished to me by any degree of approbation, and since you have so distinguished her in each one of your letters since you met her, your admission comes too late for surprise. All that you have written to me of her has quite delighted me, Fitzwilliam, and I wish most earnestly to meet her. But, as you will know when you have received my earlier letters, I am at a loss to understand your objections to her. Surely her family’s standing cannot be so far beneath our own as to forbid you even to feel for her, or she would never be admitted as a guest into Mr. Bingley’s house. I would never presume to think you mistaken, but I would most sincerely wish to understand your thoughts more fully. And I hope you will forgive the question, my dear Brother, but are you sure that in deciding this you have also listened to your heart? That the heart and mind must always follow the same pole-star is not true, of course; but neither does it follow that the path chosen by the heart is
always
the wrong one.

But never mind
my
opinions on
your
heart; they mean little enough, indeed—you recently entreated me, though, to tell you if there was anything whatever that would give me pleasure, and I now ask this of you, Fitzwilliam: to gratify
my
heart, would you please stay to the ball, and dance with Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Please, for my sake? I can hardly explain why it should be so, but this means a great deal to me, and I do hope you will find it in your power to indulge me in this.

Your loving sister,

Georgiana Darcy

That it was daring of her to make such a request, she knew; but she told herself that it was in his best interest. As soon as it was finished, she hurriedly sealed it and rushed out to put it in the hands of Reynolds, the butler, not wishing to trust a footman with so pressing an affair. She impressed upon him that there must be no delay in sending it, and he promised to post it in the village himself within the hour. Having done thus much, she could do no more than give way to anxious introspection, and enjoy all the benefits that usually accrue to those who worry about things beyond their control.

Chapter Seventeen

Darcy and his friend spent much of their time out of doors in the days following the removal of the Bennet sisters, as the unalloyed company within was not best suited to the mood of either. Darcy had at least had the pleasure of receiving two return letters from his sister. In the first it was clear that she still suffered, and in his reply he offered her what comfort and advice he could, but, in truth, it was difficult for him to find any way to soften the cold fact that such men as Wickham were to be found in the world. The best he could do was to point out that a signal function of one’s family was to help one recover from being savaged by such predators. That, and the equally undeniable fact that men like Bingley were also to be found, whose great good-will and amiability were, in some measure, a counter-balance to the evils embodied by the Wickhams of the world.

But on Tuesday morning, the letter he received was a surprise to him; parts of it he might have written himself. She began the letter, which was the reply to the one written with Miss Bingley’s kind assistance, by apologising again for her transgression, and then thanking him once more for his goodness to her; Darcy shook his head over this: he simply could not get her to accept her own worth, and the importance of the rôle she played in his life. But she then spoke so collectedly of her trials at Wickham’s hands, and gave such a rational and reasoned analysis of how those trials had made it so difficult to trust again, that Darcy had to think back over his own letters of the last year or more, to reassure himself that she was not simply offering him back his own thoughts. At one point she wrote: “…I know wherein lies my mistake—what I do not know is how I can ever come to trust my feelings again. If the deepest feelings of one’s heart can be so much in error, what hope is there of ever finding contentment in life?” This expressed one of his own great philosophical dilemmas from the last winter. That the heart was a poor guide through life was every where demonstrated; he need look no further than his own family circle to find evidence, as neither his father’s nor his sister’s good hearts had kept them safe from Wickham. But how was one to find a woman to love with the mind, as well as the heart? To love with the heart was merely improbable; compounded by the near impossibility of deeply and truly esteeming with the mind, the combination assumed a probability so nearly zero as to render the occurrence nothing short of miraculous.

In spite of the difficulties Georgiana was facing, he was greatly reassured by how she spoke of them; surely she could not write about them so intelligently and reasonably without having in some measure gained mastery over them. He went over those paragraphs several times to be sure he had taken their meaning completely, and was satisfied.

When she then passed on to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, however, and her comments showed such depth of perception that he had to stop yet again, and ask himself just how much of his deeper thoughts he had revealed, for she seemed all too aware of how much he had found to value in Miss Elizabeth Bennet. In addition, she expressed a wish to meet her, and a desire to hear more of her in his next correspondence. Great Heavens, he thought, first Miss Bingley and now Georgiana: are all women gifted with second sight where matters of the heart are concerned? No man in the world would have read into his letters what Georgiana seemed to have discovered; he would wager any sum that Bingley was entirely ignorant of the fact that he had ever looked twice at Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

On one point Georgiana seemed less acute: in spite of his descriptions of Mrs. Bennet, Georgiana declared herself at a loss to understand his objections to the connection. He knew Georgiana to be cognizant of the importance of good breeding—not only had this been one of the basic tenets of her upbringing and their family status, but, more practically, animal husbandry was every where a concern in Derbyshire, and not a month went by when the results of a breeding trial, or plans for another, were not discussed in her hearing. That she could miss so obvious an association between one generation and the next surprised him. He must, while he was in London, find some books to help enlighten her on this point. Malthus…no. Locke, Hume…no. —No: the Comte de Buffon was the very man….

While he waited for the others, he took the opportunity to write his reply to Georgiana, and had sealed it and handed it to Perkins before any one else appeared. He gave himself back to the quiet of the morning; the windows of the salon, facing east, showed a crisp, clear day, with the last wisps of mist just burning away from about the feet of the deep woods that lay in that direction; he sat, musing on various matters, as the remainder of a quiet country morning unfolded.

“’Morning, Darcy!” Bingley’s voice brought him back to himself. “Lovely morning!” Darcy put away Georgiana’s letters and agreed: “It is indeed. It would be a fine opportunity for a ride, once you have broken your fast.”

Bingley stepped happily over to the sideboard with expectant pleasure. “An excellent thought!” cried he. He casually added, “I was toying with the idea of wandering over to Longbourn; just to be sure Miss Bennet is quite well.” He began helping himself to a large portion of muffins and savoury sausages, with an Olympian dollop of jam to go with them. Darcy shook his head in horror at the thought of such a breakfast, and took several sips of black coffee to clear the imagined taste from his palate.

Agreeing to his friend’s suggestion, however, he said, “That would be a pleasant little ride. If we come back through the fields we might give the horses a bit of exercise.” He privately thought that it might be as well to test his resolve concerning Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and that this would offer a fine opportunity to do so.

Two hours later, after Bingley’s breakfast and a change of clothes, they accordingly set off for Meryton. Bingley was sharply dressed indeed, and Darcy hardly less so. Perkins had heard their destination without comment, but had been more thoughtfully absorbed than usual as he handed various articles of clothing to his master. The result, Darcy thought as he had viewed himself in the mirror, was quite acceptable; he lifted his chest unconsciously as Perkins put the finishing flourishes on his neck cloth.

During the ride to the village, Bingley chattered happily on about inconsequential matters; Darcy was content to listen in silence. The air was still and the sun bright, and the only sounds were the birds and a distant woodsman’s axe making a muted counterpoint to their horses’ hooves. The crisp air, with an occasional whiff of sharp wood-smoke to accent the damp odour of leaf mould, sharpened his mind and refreshed his body. They reached Meryton after a leisurely quarter-hour’s ride. As they rounded the corner into the square, Bingley peered ahead and said, “Darcy, is not that the Bennet ladies across the way?”

And so it was. Almost all of the Bennet sisters were gathered in a congenial knot with several gentlemen on the other side of the square. The gentlemen from Netherfield rode across to them as Bingley called out: “Miss Bennet—good morning! We were just riding to Longbourn to ask after your health, and here you are. What luck!”

Miss Bennet curtsied to them both, and Darcy bowed from the saddle in acknowledgement. Standing along with the Bennet girls there was a parson, unknown to Darcy, and one of the officers of Colonel Forster’s militia, whose name, Darcy recalled, was Mr. Denny. Miss Elizabeth Bennet stood off to one side with a gentleman whose back was to him; schooling himself not to allow his gaze to rest too long on her, he allowed it to travel to the gentleman. At that moment the man turned, and…Wickham! It was as though a gun had fired at him from point-blank range: he felt the blood surge in his veins, his vision narrowed until he could see nothing but his enemy, and he was suddenly deaf to every thing around him. Profound and riotous feelings—a fierce anger, dark and irresistible, older than justice—coursed through him in an instant, leaving him absolutely still in its wake, poised, as to strike. His mind cast about hastily for some means of crushing the hateful, evil creature before him, but there were too many people, too many witnesses. Within him a desperate urge to violence did battle with rational self-preservation. At his side, Bingley continued to rattle away, unaware of Darcy’s private struggles.

Darcy had no notion of how long the two of them held their positions thus, but at length Wickham raised a hand, late and reluctant, to his hat; to Darcy this was beyond every thing—acknowledge this creature? He gave the least of nods, giving his reviled
bête noir
to know that he had been seen, and had best look about him in future. With a long, baleful look into the eyes of his foe, he turned his horse away. He rode off, neither knowing nor caring if Bingley followed. He maintained his rigid self-command with difficulty; the effort was akin to walking down a flight of stairs holding two very full glasses of wine: every motion an exercise of will and concentration of the highest degree. He must not allow any unconstrained movement, for fear that any slightest loss of self-control would escalate into an uncontainable, irrepressibly violent rage. Wickham, here in Meryton….Wickham, standing right next to Elizabeth…. Dear God above…he hardly knew how to imagine worse. Was this possible? Was this real? His mind worked feverishly, trying to comprehend this sudden appearance of the greatest evil of his life—in this place, and at this time.

He was nearly out of the square when he finally realised that Bingley was riding next to him, speaking urgently. He turned blankly towards him and eventually brought his features into focus. Bingley stared at him, concern etched in every line of his face. “Darcy, what is it?” he demanded. “What has happened? Are you unwell? Stop, man, and tell me what I can do!”

“I am well,” said Darcy in a broken voice. “It is…I am not…there is nothing wrong…that is, I am not ill. I will be well in a moment.” With the return of speech, his mind seemed to become his own again. He drew a deep breath and looked about, re-establishing himself in the world.

“Dear God, Darcy, you gave me a turn! What on Earth has happened to you?”

Darcy reached out and leaned his hand reassuringly on Bingley’s shoulder for a moment, but made no immediate answer. They rode on some little distance before he could reply. “That man: have I ever mentioned that name to you?”

“Mr. Wickham? Not that I recall. Are you acquainted with him?”

“Yes, but I try not to speak his name, if I can avoid it. He…I have….” He breathed in deeply. “Perhaps you remember my once having spoken of people who are nothing but a stain on our land: he is just such a one. He is in every way unworthy to draw breath, yet he roams England freely and unhindered. How is that right? How is that just? God help me—what is he doing
here
?”

“Great Heavens, Darcy—what has he done?”

This gave Darcy pause: he must not blurt out too much in his present state; no one outside himself and his cousin Edmund knew of Georgiana’s intended elopement last summer, and he was particularly anxious that Georgiana’s character be preserved where Bingley was concerned. He said cautiously, “I can tell you some things, the least of his transgressions, but the rest involves others and I must hold what I know in confidence.”

“Tell me what you can, then.”

Darcy deliberated within himself as they rode on. At length he replied: “Very well; but, Bingley, I would have this go no farther. Please tell your sisters only that an antipathy exists between us from prior injuries—that will suffice.” Bingley nodded his agreement and Darcy went on: “All my life he has been an evil to me; he grew up on our estate. His father was Pemberley’s steward under my father. He was a very worthy man, a very skilful man, and my father was grateful to him for his service. My father therefore became the younger man’s godfather, and liked him exceedingly well—for, as we know, the Devil can play a very charming rôle if He chooses. My father was therefore most liberal in supporting and advancing him. He hoped to see him enter the Church—imagine it, the Church! —and had left it with me to give him the best living on the estate, should he wish it. I, on the other hand, had seen him grow from petty thieving in the pantry to outright larceny and worse, but always careful, so careful, to disguise it from my father. And lies—good God, Bingley, the lies he told! I tried for years to open my father’s eyes to them, but Wickham always found a way to win him over, while I was left to look the villain myself, for always picking on a younger man, less well-off than myself. After a while I stopped trying; it only cost me my father’s esteem without correcting the fault, or even urging my father to caution.

“After his father’s death and that of my own, the fellow spurned the living that my father had intended for him, and applied to me for more immediate remuneration in its stead. I was greatly relieved, as I knew well enough that he must never become a clergyman. He spoke of studying law; that seemed appropriate, I thought: let the Devil take care of His own. I therefore sent him three thousand pounds—and, mind you, that was in
addition
to the thousand my father left him in his will.”

“Most generous,” murmured Bingley.

“I thought so, too, and felt it all the more so when he cleared out of Derbyshire leaving several hundreds of debt behind him, which I was obliged to discharge,” said Darcy with some heat. “But I wished, out of respect for my father’s memory, to honour his intention of securing the man in some profession. I suppose I knew he would never make a serious study of it, but when he said he wished to read law I took him at his word. To tell the truth, I was only too glad to pay him off and be done with him. From time to time I heard rumours of a very dissipated lifestyle; drinking, gaming, wenching—the full extent of sins open to a man—but, as I had washed my hands of him, I paid little attention. Then, a little over a year ago, he came back at me for the preferment of the living.”