Jane Austen's Pride & Prejudice Sequel Bundle: 3 Reader Favorites (82 page)

T
here had been little time to wrestle with the decision to tell Darcy about seeing Bingley and little more to fret for Jane.

The thirty miles betwixt Pemberley and Kirkland were usually traversed twice a week, once by Jane, once by Elizabeth. The seven days preceding Elizabeth’s last visit to her croft were spent upon horseback, hence she was long overdue for a visit with her sister. Wanting more time to weigh the matter and gather a perspective, still Elizabeth did not go.

Two days later, Jane came to Pemberley alone. Seeing her arrive without her children gave Elizabeth a sense of foreboding that was not to be unsatisfied.

The pleasant weather brought them outside to take tea and sweet biscuits; both remarked it a fine day. Admiration of the cloudless sky and slight breeze was cursory. In want of not thinking, and particularly not speaking about Bingley, Elizabeth at last shared with Jane the tale of Wickham’s infamous visit and unceremonious retreat (any port in the conversational storm). After Elizabeth told Jane about Wickham’s advances, Jane was properly aghast. Thereupon, Jane did the unlikely. She suggested the use of violence upon him.

“Lizzy, did you not smite him? I should have thought you would have.”

Elizabeth thought she should have throttled him too, and full curious as to how Jane might exact this comeuppance, inquired just that.

“With what should I have smote him, Jane?”

Without hesitation, Jane answered, “A fireplace poker.”

Not telling her that had, indeed, been under serious consideration and might have been employed had it not been out of reach, she said, “I shan’t have opportunity to smite Wickham with anything, for Darcy influenced Wickham of his disaffection for me.”

Having winnowed from Elizabeth a truer accounting of the long past bandit incident, Jane had since worried incessantly about safety, suggesting to her upon this occasion, “If not to use upon Wickham, Lizzy, perhaps you should carry a poker in the coach with you as I now do.”

Elizabeth thought about it for a moment, thereupon opined, “I fancy a poker is easier to wield than a gun.”

Sitting in the sun, it seemed a contradiction for two refined ladies to be discussing the merits of weaponry and upon whom to use them. When Elizabeth pointed that out, they both had a hearty laugh. Had Elizabeth been so inclined, from thence she might have embarked upon the telling of Lady Catherine’s visit.

She knew, however, the examination of that topic would cause more evasion than conversation, and in silence, searched her mind for another. Jane, however, had one quite all her own.

“Pray, Lizzy,” she said in her hesitant, soft voice, “there is something of which I must speak to you.”

Jane stood and paced about before she spoke. That foreshadowing bade Elizabeth’s attention. Jane sat before she continued, resting folded hands upon her knees, almost in supplication. At this, the premonition of ill-tidings Elizabeth had attempted to quash since her sister’s arrival reared its ugly head.

“Lizzy,” Jane started again, “I must tell you something in the severest of confidence.”

Jane looked up at her sister then, and not at all certain she wanted to hear what Jane was going to say, Elizabeth nodded her head once in irresolute encouragement. Without additional exposition, Jane made a rather firm announcement.

“Charles has begotten a child of another woman.”

This divulgement originating from Jane rather than herself, begat of Elizabeth a conflict of emotions. The utmost was undoubtedly the relief that she would not have to keep that secret, but it was closely seconded by astonishment that her sister rendered it not a secret at all. She feared for her countenance only a moment, for she was certain astonishment quite overwhelmed the subtlety of relief upon her face. Jane did not suspect she already knew.

“You are astonished to learn this I know, for your strong protest at Lydia’s tales when we were gone to Charlotte’s told me you find such indiscretions difficult to accept as true.”

Elizabeth knew her mouth was slightly agape, closed it, looked away, and then returned her gaze to Jane. Jane reached out and placed her hand upon Elizabeth’s, and gave it a comforting pat.

Elizabeth thought, “Jane is reassuring me? ’Tis I who should be offering her comfort.”

“The baby is but a half-year old,” Jane continued. “The…mother is consumptive and is not expected to live out the year.”

Even more earnestly, she explained why she was confiding then, “Lizzy, I cannot bear to think of a child of Charles’s to be handed to strangers. I want to have the baby with us, but Charles does not know I know of it. It might grieve him to know that I do. I could not bear that.”

Elizabeth stifled a highly inappropriate snort of a laugh. Not that she thought anything at all humorous. But the incongruity of Jane’s concern for Bingley’s feelings, and that she weathered his betrayal with such restraint, assaulted Elizabeth’s every notion of the verity of love. Elizabeth swept rationale and solicitude of Bingley aside.

She wanted to take the flat side of a shovel across Charles Bingley’s head, but prudently kept that inclination to herself. For the manner of Jane’s remarks told her that she had reason more for speaking of it than just sharing a confidence.

The vexed expression that overspread Elizabeth’s countenance did not take Jane unawares. She knew well that would be her sister’s initial reaction.

Hastily, she went on, “I must ask something of you that will take great generosity. The bother is not lost to me, thus you know how important it is.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath, for until that moment, Jane had not once asked anything weighty of her. Without hesitation (but with no little trepidation), Elizabeth assured Jane that there was nothing she would not do for her.

“I want you to bring the baby to Pemberley.”

Dumbstruck, Elizabeth said only, “But why?”

“If I could I would take the baby myself, but Charles must not know I know. Yet I cannot bear a son of my husband not knowing love, nor, in time, his father. I know that a more loving home than yours cannot be found. Charles should see him here frequently. The woman is tenant to Pemberley, he would not question you taking the baby in light of you having none of your own thus far.”

Pemberley was great, servants abounded. The baby would be of little physical trouble, but one did not take on a human life without serious consideration. Yet Elizabeth made no hesitation.

“Of course, Jane. I shall apply to Darcy. The decision shall be his as much as mine.”

Jane nodded, thereupon embraced her sister, “I thank you, Lizzy. There is no other of whom I could ask such a undertaking.”

Elizabeth could not help but worry the issue, “But Jane, how can you forgive Bingley for such a betrayal? I thought no man more in love than Mr. Bingley with you. How could he do this to you? How can you simply submit to it?”

“Lizzy, it is a knotty thing for you to comprehend, this I know. Charles’s love for me has not altered, this I know as well. But as I have been confined much of our marriage and Charles is…he needs…attention. If he called upon another woman, it was for other than affection.”

Clearly, Jane could pardon a weakness of the flesh in her husband, however, she could not share his love. Her sister’s generosity in this matter was only astonishing to Elizabeth because it came from Jane. Many a gentlewoman accepted her husband’s transgressions so long as they were exercised with lessers. There was no perceived threat to position or marriage there. As Jane had no interest in position, she
apparently found no undue injury so long as her marriage was sound. Elizabeth recognised that she, quite profoundly, was not of the same mind.

Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s arm in reassurance, nonetheless, and said nothing. Her resentment was so ample, however, she found quite enough to compleatly drown Bingley and lap at the hem of her mother’s skirt as well. Because of Mrs. Bennet’s ill-advice, Jane had denied her husband consolation for much of her marriage. (That was no excuse for Bingley, of course, but the poor man’s ballocks were probably a bright shade of blue more often than not.) Her ire fully piqued, she reckoned she should be angry at herself as well, for had she pursued the subject of Jane pleasing her husband and herself more relentlessly, perchance things might have been different…But Elizabeth made herself not think of it.

The afternoon waned and Elizabeth accompanied Jane to her coach, not daring to query her more. In time, she might address those questions to Jane, but for then, she bid her good-bye. Jane waved a little wearily out the window of her coach, unquestionably as relieved as Elizabeth that they did not have to keep any more skeletons in the cupboard. And as she stood and watched her sister take leave, Elizabeth silently pondered just how she and Georgiana had actually overlooked a consumptive person to nurse upon Pemberley lands.

Solitude was necessary for Elizabeth fully to appreciate what had just come to pass. With her chin resting in her palm, she deliberated upon her sister’s nature from a window seat in the music room.

Each of the five Bennet sisters had their attributes assigned almost from babyhood. Mary was prim, Kitty flighty. Lydia was outlandish, and Elizabeth, bold. Jane was, and always had been, gentle, kind, and naïve. Was Elizabeth to admit it, however kind, she also thought Jane to be fragile. Strength had been her own trait, not Jane’s. She was the Bennet sister who was forthright and strong. However, had their positions in this sordid mess been reversed, Elizabeth could not ascribe to herself the benevolent fortitude to see to the well-being of all those involved as had Jane.

Soon her thoughts drifted to the dreaded mission of telling her husband of Bingley’s sin against his wife. And she dreaded what lay before her as much as any anticipated event she could recall. She methodically went over several times in her mind what she must tell him, giving each version contemplation, deciding the exact approach she wanted to employ to cite the facts.

However pleasant the possibility of reprieve, Elizabeth knew telling Darcy about Jane’s entreaty and Bingley’s extramarital “bonus” could not be put off for long, thus she stood and aimed herself for Darcy’s library. He was seated at his desk in all good humour of unprecluded ignorance. Blissfully, he studied his books, unaware that his wife peeked at him with trepidation from behind the door. Elizabeth pushed open the door and took a deep breath. Looking up, he smiled when he saw her, thereupon leaned back in his chair and turned to her in welcome.

She knew he expected her to come to him as she always had, but after taking only a few steps in his direction, she altered her course. Once at the window, she stood silently looking out. He watched her mute contemplation with a hesitant concern that
was betrayed only by a worrying of his ring. She realised he must be in some disorder, wondering what surprise next lay in store. Wickham. Another woman. Now this.

“My poor husband,” she thought, “how I do try your patience.”

She walked to him, knelt beside his chair and, sighing, rested her head upon the arm. She thought this sigh a little too melodramatic, however she could not help but do it once more in preparation for her plea. He reached out to draw her onto his lap, and whatever temptation it was to whisper her shocking disclosure in his ear, she decided to take a chair facing and moved it close to his. Knee to knee, eye to eye, she would say what had to be said.

“We promised to keep nothing from each other ever again. I have been waiting for the right moment to tell you this, but now the moment has chosen me.”

Elizabeth sighed once more before continuing, “Jane visited me today…no, I must begin before then.”

Taking both his hands in hers, she looked away for a moment, for her practised speech had vanished. Desperately, she endeavoured to find a kind way to tell him his dearest friend was a…detestable scourge and blight upon humanity. An execrable, letching infidel. A scurrilous, walking dung heap. A…

Taking a gulp of air, she started again, “What I withheld from you of my observations of the woman your aunt bade me visit, was that, I, of course, did not see you there, but I did see a man visit that cottage that last day.”

Darcy gave her his full attention.

“I espied a man ride thither, kiss the woman, and hold the baby.” She did not prolong the drama, “It was Charles Bingley.”

His astonishment at the revelation was obvious.

Elizabeth had once dared to ask him if Bingley ever went with him to the infamous house of accommodation he visited in London. Darcy had responded with the emphatic announcement that it was exceedingly dishonourable to speak in violation of a friend’s privacy.

That pronouncement made, he nonetheless said, “No, he did not,” apparently believing defence of repute not a transgression of privacy.

It was obvious he had not thought this of Bingley, or at least did not know of it. Not until seeing surprise upon her husband’s face did Elizabeth consider Bingley might have told Darcy. Surely men talk of such things, and Bingley was his closest friend. Elizabeth saw this a positive for her own husband’s devotion, for if Bingley did not tell him, he must have expected disapproval. This train of thought was abandoned, for Elizabeth did not want to obtain any sort of self-satisfaction from her sister’s circumstance.