Next thing she knew, she was swept by anger. That Miss Ashburn! Ever since Elizabeth had arrived at Rosings, she had considered Lady Catherine's companion a friend and ally. She had trusted her too much and had fallen victim to her viciousness. Elizabeth still could not believe that a woman seemingly so plain and innocent could be so vile and cold-blooded.
Why had Miss Ashburn lied so shamelessly? What was her reason to get rid of Elizabeth? Was she somehow jealous of her newfound rapport with Miss Anne? Did Miss Ashburn feel threatened in some way? Elizabeth could not wrap her head around it!
Was it possible that the young companion was simply following her mistress's orders? It had been clear to Elizabeth from the very start of her employment that Lady Catherine was not fond of her or of her methods for caring for Miss Anne. But still, why should the old woman resort to such lowly schemes to get rid of Elizabeth when she could simply dismiss her from her duties right away?
Elizabeth pressed her thumbs against her throbbing temples. A sharp headache had settled right between her eyebrows. She stood up and went to the window, throwing it open. She breathed in the night's air. Noises from the dinner that was underway downstairs drifted up to her.
She heard music, laughter, and loud exclamations, all making her feel even more scorned and alone.
She sighed and returned to packing. The sooner she was done with this place, the sooner she could hope to start putting it all behind her and start building her new life. What that might look like at the mercy of her cousin and his wife, she had no idea. At the very least, Lady Catherine had not indicated that she wished to see Elizabeth thrown in jail over the theft.
With a deep exhale, she picked up a pair of bloomers and folded it.
A memory flashed through her mind uninvited. Mr. Darcy bending down from his horse, handing her that exact same piece of undergarment. The image did not arrive on its own. With it, Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy quietly placing a forbidden book on her dresser, offering his hand to lift her onto the horse during their impromptu lesson, riding behind her in the saddle when she had injured her foot…
Elizabeth finally let go. She burst into tears, pressing the crumpled bloomers to her face to muffle the wretched sounds of her pain.
Neither Miss Anne, nor Mr. Darcy seemed to enjoy dinner much. Despite Lady Catherine's sincere efforts to keep the spirits of the assembled party high, there was an oppressive air in the room that hung around like a specter.
The several neighboring families attending the dinner appeared baffled by the odd mood around the dining table.
First, there was the unexpected short-notice invitation to dinner from Lady Catherine. Then there was her daughter, whom everyone believed to be on the brink of death and who now sat amongst them, fresh as a ripe apple but strangely despondent. Finally, there was their notoriously crotchety neighbor Lady Catherine who seemed uncharacteristically elated.
Still, the majority of the guests were thankful to be present at the dinner and did not dwell too much on the unusual circumstances, focusing instead on the exquisite food, the lavish atmosphere and the distinguished company.
Mr. Darcy was relieved when it was finally time to withdraw to the drawing room for drinks and games. Although he attempted his best to be civil to the rest of the gentlemen, he soon found an opportunity to slip away through the large French doors onto the balcony, claiming that he needed a breath of fresh air and even diverted Colonel Fitzwilliam’s offer to keep him company outside. He needed to be alone with his thoughts.
The night was cool, but pleasant. He looked up at the indigo sky prickled with luminous stars and pondered. On the one hand, he should be grateful that fate had steered his course and relieved him of making an impossible choice on his own. On the other hand, something nameless and poisonous squeezed his insides and made every breath he took a torture.
He had been given a plain reason to despise Miss Bennet and yet...
Here was proof that he had been right to be prejudiced against her roots. People of her social status rarely exceeded the limitations of their class by measure of integrity and virtue. If Miss Bennet had not turned out to be a thief, in time she was bound to be found guilty of either loose morals, pettiness or greedy ambition.
The one thing Darcy was unable to swallow was his own foolishness in allowing himself to fall in love with a fraud. What was his excuse? He had been well-bred, raised to uphold the highest moral standards, educated to be a good and fair judge of character.
Here he was, duped.
He closed his eyes. Tonight's revelation had been nothing if not evidence that he should adhere to his family's expectations, stay at Rosings and marry Anne. At least that way, his bride would bring no unwanted surprises, no inner turmoil and no painful disappointment. After all, his own parents had been married in a similar fashion and had, in time, grown to love and respect each other.
"It is better out here, is it not?" a voice came from behind him and interrupted his thoughts. Darcy turned to find Anne standing close behind him. He had not heard her slip through the French doors.
"Anne?" he said, regaining his senses. "What are you doing here? You will catch a cold."
"I will not. Here, I brought a shawl," she said and raised a bundle of cloth for proof.
"Quickly, put it on," Darcy said, worried. From his brief stay at Rosings, he had learned to treat his cousin like a patient whose health was always at peril.
She laughed lightly.
"Do not worry, cousin. I am not as weak as you might think. Besides, it was stifling in there. I had to get out."
She was right. There was not a trace of the sickly little girl tucked amid her pillows and blankets that he had met upon his arrival at Rosings.
"Very well," he said and abandoned his argument. For a moment he debated whether it was decent for the two of them to be out here on their own, but a quick glance at the half a dozen lanterns that lit up the balcony and the proximity of the glass doors that gave a clear view outside eased his worry. He said nothing to send his cousin away.
Anne took a few paces forward to join him leaning over the railing. Both of them stared ahead into the dark park, the central path to the entrance as well as a nearby gazebo lit with torches. They were silent for a while although one could be certain that the same painful subject occupied both of their minds.
"I still cannot believe it was her," Anne said eventually. "If I had had to point to one person in all of Rosings I believed to be innocent, it would have been Miss Bennet."
Darcy shrugged.
"You should not blame yourself for not seeing her for who she truly was. You are young and you have yet to get acquainted with people's various vices and treacherous tactics. Sometimes the people we choose to trust the most betray us the worst."
"She fooled you too, did she not?" Anne said with a wry smile.
Darcy shuddered involuntarily. She had, had she not?
"I have hardly formed any opinion of her, so I suppose my disappointment is not as sour as yours. I do not spend much time ruminating the comings and goings of the help."
Anne raised an eyebrow.
"She was not simply help," she said, her words edged with irritation. "She was my friend, my only one for that matter, and the person who showed me how to enjoy my life again instead of being scared of it."
"But she is also a liar and a thief," Darcy muttered, trying to ignore the sentiment in his cousin's words.
"I keep wondering why she did it," Anne continued as if she had not heard him. "Was she desperate for money? As far as I knew, she has no sick relatives and no ailing parents at home to support. For the life of me, I cannot think of a proper motive for her to steal."
"Besides greed?" Darcy offered.
Anne snorted.
"I refuse to believe it. What could she possibly do with a set of jewels that expensive? Run away and sell them to a pawn shop? Lose her job here? She did not strike me as the type of woman who would thrive on the road, living off her ill-begotten money."<
br />
"She did not strike you as an impostor either," Darcy grumbled and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
"I keep thinking," Anne went on, "why did she wait all this time to make her move? Why not steal my jewelry during one of my naps back when I was ill and be off with it? Why not steal all of my jewelry? I have pearls and gold and rubies and—“
"Enough!" Darcy snapped. Anne took a step back and looked at him suspiciously.
"Whatever is the matter, Cousin Darcy?"
"I..." he stammered. He exhaled loudly. "It is just that... From what you are saying, one would think you believe Miss Bennet to be innocent."
"Why, it is easier for me to trust my instinct than to make sense of facts that do not logically align in my mind. Is it not the same for you?"
"And you are going to let her be treated this unfairly when she is, in your estimation, free from blame?"
Anne looked at him, agony distorting her features.
"I have never had much say around here. It matters not what I think or feel is right. If my mother and that blasted Miss Ashburn are convinced Miss Bennet is a thief, she is one and there is nothing I can do or say to convince them otherwise. This is why I am feeling so wretched tonight..."
"Why?" Darcy asked dumbly.
"Because I am not the one to save Miss Bennet from whatever awaits her once she leaves. And there is practically no time left. Her carriage leaves at the break of dawn."
Darcy was suddenly overwhelmed by anger at his cousin.
Why did she have to come out here and disturb his peace? Why should she be so foolish, so stubborn and so blind? Why did she have to go on and plant the seed of doubt in his mind that he considered already made up?
He wanted to shake Anne, silence her reasoning, erase her words.
"I am going back inside," he said flatly.
23
Her letters sent and her luggage packed and carried downstairs, Elizabeth was ready to leave.
She stood in the middle of her nearly bare room and looked around. She had spent only a few weeks of her life in here and yet, the cozy little room carried sentiments she held dear and found hard to leave behind. She traced the polished edge of the vanity table with her finger, caressed the soft linens on the bed she had spent so many sleepless nights in and where she had dreamed so many dreams.
When she had awoken an hour earlier, she had been hit by a wave of humiliation so intense, she had found it difficult to breathe. To be singled out as a common thief, to be tried and found guilty with no chance for her to explain or defend herself, to bear the revulsion in Miss Anne and Mr. Darcy's eyes...
It had been all nearly impossible to endure.
Now, she felt strangely at peace. She reminded herself that she had done nothing wrong and if the people who had charged her with the horrendous crime were too obstinate to listen, she had no business living or working amongst them. Her conscience was clear and she knew she should feel no shame.
For a moment, she thought of Longbourn, of her cousin’s insufferable wife. Even with Henrieta at the head of the household, her childhood home felt better and safer than this foul place. Rosings was corrupted at its core.
She went to the window and looked at the dark silhouettes of the trees that lined the horizon. The charcoal tinges of the night’s sky slowly swam upwards, giving way to vibrant gold, peach and crimson. The park stretched before her eyes, its shrubs, fountains and arches like apparitions amid the swirling morning mist.
"Good bye, Rosings," she whispered. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the scents of the grand house one last time. Expensive wood and gentle perfumes. Also, evil and deceit.
Without wasting another moment in rumination, she left the room and made her way downstairs and out the front door. The carriage was already waiting for her outside. She shivered against the morning chill and huddled inside her pelisse as she walked towards it.
At least Mrs. Byrd had had enough sensibility not to expose her in front of all of Rosings' staff with her fictitious blame. The carriage driver held no prejudice against her and greeted her cheerfully despite the early hour. Elizabeth nodded and took his hand to climb into the car.
"Leaving us already, are ye?" the man said with an amicable smile. "Got a better prospect, without a doubt? I hardly ever see anyone leave their position here unless they fall sick or die." He chuckled.
"I am better needed elsewhere," Elizabeth said with a bitter smile. There was no reason to be rude or resentful of the man.
As soon as she was settled on the bench, the driver closed the door and settled at the front of the carriage. Elizabeth focused her eyes on the road in front of them. It glistened in the faint amber light of the lanterns that hung from the carriage.
She did not turn to look at the still sleeping silhouette of Rosings House even once. She was finished with this place and its people.
Mr. Darcy could not sleep. He anxiously paced around his bedroom until he felt as if he would suffocate within its walls. Neither his thoughts nor his feet would settle long enough for him to even sit down.
He left the room and started roaming the convoluted maze of hallways, corridors, stairwells and galleries of the grand house.
Was Anne right?
It was the one thought that would not leave him alone. If Elizabeth Bennet was truly innocent and he let her leave now, would he ever see her again?
Surely, he knew where she lived. He had even been to her home, accompanying his friend Charles Bingley on his one visit to the eldest Bennet daughter, Jane. Bingley still lived in the vicinity, so it was not out of the question that Elizabeth and he might cross paths at some point in life... However, that was not enough. A sense of urgency gripped him and he felt as if he might lose his sanity if he did not act immediately.
But do what?
He decided to go downstairs to the drawing room and pour himself a drink to ease his agitation. That way he could hope to get at least an hour of sleep before dawn arrived.
The house had been dark and quiet for hours after the last of the servants had gone to bed. The guests had left even earlier and now there was no sign that there was ever a dinner taking place. Everything was put back in its original spot, all lights and fires extinguished. Apart from the creaking and sighing of the old house settling into itself, there was no other sound to disturb the perfect silence.
Except...
Darcy stalled for a moment and strained his ears. Nothing. His exhausted mind must have played a trick on him. He continued on his way.
Wait. Here it was again. A giggle. The vague noise came from somewhere in the same section of the house Darcy was in, one he rarely frequented. If he was not mistaken, it was where his aunt’s rooms were situated. He turned and inspected the dark corridor he had just traversed.
Yes. There it was. A faint strip of light coming from under one of the doors. He must have missed it when he had first walked by.
He retraced his steps to the door and stilled his breath to hear better. Soon he became aware of a soft murmur coming from inside the room. There was no mistake. There were people still awake and talking inside.
A morbid curiosity gripped him even though it was quite unlike him to spy. It was probably his desperate need for a distraction and the unusual set of circumstances that brought him even closer to the door. There was that giggle again, followed by another, throatier laugh, one that belonged to an older person. Who would be awake at this ungodly hour? And laughing?
Before common sense returned to him, Darcy was already at the door, nearly pressing his ear to the wood. Only now the sounds from inside the room became clearer. He heard the soft timbre of a woman, speaking continuously and evenly as if she were reading. After a while, he was even able to discern certain words from what she was saying.
“…nor will be prevailed on by any booksellers, or their authors, to make his appearance in high life.”
A hearty laugh erupted, one that did not belong to the person reading. Another woman. Only w
hen she spoke did Darcy realize without a doubt that it was his aunt. There was no mistaking her stentorian voice. He must be standing in front of her bedroom or private parlor.
"Ah, I have not enjoyed myself this much in years!" Lady Catherine said. "It is a pity it ended."
"I am certain there must be others like it where this one came from. There were several of them in her chamber. She must have braved her way into the library often.”
"Too bad we cannot ask Miss Bennet to point us to the exact spot where she found it."
Both women burst into laughter.
Darcy cringed at the mention of Elizabeth Bennet's name. He was almost certain that his aunt's companion, Miss Ashburn, was the other person in the room.
"What time is it?" Lady Catherine asked when she eventually calmed herself. "It is almost light outside. I cannot believe we have stayed up all night reading. I have not done such a thing since my girlhood years!"
"It must be near dawn," Miss Ashburn confirmed. "We have Miss Bennet to blame. I should have never taken the blasted book from her room in the first place. Well, seeing how much you have enjoyed yourself, I suppose I have done the right thing..."
"Well done! This, and playing your role so brilliantly earlier," Lady Catherine said. "If I did not know any better, I would have fallen for your little performance just as well."
Darcy's pulse quickened. His mind was slowly working through what he had heard, trying to make sense of it. His aunt probably only meant Miss Ashburn's performance at the piano after dinner earlier. She could not possibly be referring to...
"Do you think we should have called the constable?" Miss Ashburn asked after a short respite. "It might have made everything appear more credible."
"No," Lady Catherine said quietly. "As inconvenient as she was, I would not want to see the poor Bennet girl thrown into jail over nothing. We have had enough disturbance among the staff as it was. If the constable were here, I would have needed to point fingers in front of the whole household and it is something I would rather avoid. It is best that we dealt with the matter under wraps. After all, it is enough for me that she is finally gone and her name discredited before those who matter…”
Too Close to Mr Darcy Page 16
