Courtship and Confusion

by Laura Maybrick

  But as it was, Elizabeth was eager to get away and meet with Mr Darcy again. Perhaps he had come up with a solution. To be quite honest she had been surprised by his frank admission of having been wrong. Who would have thought, that the proud Mr Darcy was capable of such reflection and especially of his own failures? Certainly not her.

  But as it was, they had reached a rather dilapidated cottage, that at long last put her mind to other things. The inside was even shabbier than the outside would have suggested and seeing the old woman lie on her rickety bed, touched Elizabeth's heart.

  “Oh, Mrs Collins, I am so glad to see you,” the woman cried out, attempting to rise from her bedstead.

  Charlotte swiftly kept her from doing so, putting the basket she had been carrying onto the table before walking over to take the woman's withered outstretched hand, softly pushing her back down onto her pillow.

  “Good morning, Mrs Turner, how are you this morning?”

  “Oh, Mrs Collins, I can hardly say without complaining and you know I don't like to do so. It never helps anyway. But quite truthfully, the pain has been really bad these past few days. Mark my words, there is a storm coming. I can feel it in my bones. And trusty old bones they are. They always know when the weather will turn,” she chuckled before starting to cough.

  “And what about your cold?” Charlotte inquired, her face looking worried as she felt Mrs Turner's forehead in a motherly gesture.

  “Oh, it's gotten much better. If only the house were not so very damp, this time of year. But alas, with John away at sea and Mary working in London, what am I to do?”

  “Be as it may, I have tried to speak to Lady Catherine repeatedly but unfortunately her Ladyship has so many other things on her mind, that she did not have a chance to see to it, yet.”

  Well, that was a very polite way of putting it, Elizabeth thought to herself seeing that it was blatantly obvious that as long as nothing actively needed to be done, Lady Catherine enjoyed giving her advice while as soon as some practical help was needed, she was nowhere to be seen. She had no illusions there and by Charlotte's mien it was clear that neither had her friend.

  “Well, at any rate I brought you some broth and a new bottle of ribworth syrup for your cough as well as some dried sage to make a nice hot draught.”

  “You are always so good, Mrs Collins!” the old woman exclaimed with tears in her eyes.

  It was blatantly obvious that she apparently had not received much kindness in her life.

  “And this is your younger sister then?” she asked after she had had another coughing fit in which Charlotte had calmly walked over to the fire place to stoke the fire and heat up some water so she could see to her patient drinking some tea as soon as it boiled.

  “No, this is my dearest friend Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

  “I am very happy to meet you, Miss Bennet. And such a pretty young lady. You sure must turn all the young men's heads, Miss.”

  Laughing, though with a heavy heart Elizabeth replied: “By no means, Mrs Turner.”

  “Are you quite certain? If I were a man, I would definitely look at you again and hope to be graced with a smile. Has anybody ever told you that you've got very lovely and soulful eyes? And at the moment I can see pity in them. Don't pity me, Miss Bennet, I've had a good life and my children are well situated. And once I recover I can start working again and earn a little money and then see to have my cottage fixed. All will be well.”

  As much as Elizabeth hoped the old woman was right she did not dare hope it and apparently Charlotte did not either.

  When they left the cottage again a half hour later, her friend sighed deeply and wiping away a tear that had escaped her eyes she remarked sadly: “She is dying, Lizzy, I can see it in her face. And to think that she will die all alone and without her family around breaks my heart. If at least her daughter could be here, it would not be so bad, but she is in service in London, working as a chamber maid for the Earl of Matlock.”

  “But is that not Lady Catherine's brother?”

  “Yes, he is, that is how she got the position as far as I understood it. But that was also as far as Lady Catherine's charity extended. Yet the money Mary sends back home to her mother is barely enough to buy food. William told me that she has been ill all winter and while during summer she keeps her garden when it gets cold she would normally make baskets and sell them and make ends meet. The one I carry was made by her, and is it not lovely.”

  It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship that Elisabeth had admired on more than one occasion and sturdy on top of looking pretty. A rare combination of something useful and intricate.

  But before Elizabeth could think any more of poor old Mrs Turner, they had reached their next destination and without much warning were surrounded by a whole brood of children all looking fairly unkempt and unruly. Their mother was busy with the youngest of the lot while her husband held his leg up on stool sitting tiredly and querulously at the table of their tiny abode. There was not much guessing needed to come to the conclusion that he had injured himself some way or other, seeing that the once crisp white cloth wrapped around his lower thigh was now brown with dried blood.

  “Good morning, Mrs Harold, Mr Harold. How are you?” Charlotte tried to sound cheerful but somewhat failed.

  Not much surprising considering that three of said children were tugging at her mercilessly trying to glimpse into her basket.

  “I brought you some eggs and fresh bandages. How is your leg faring, Mr Harold?”

  “Getting better but slowly,” he replied sounding fairly resigned before turning querulous once again at addressing his children: “Now will you shut up and go play outside? And leave Mrs Collins in peace! Where are your manners?”

  “They are just excited, dear,” his wife threw in, ignoring the noise but putting down the baby which immediately started to cry.

  “Be as it may, but they should behave better, Anne. And give me the baby, for heaven's sake! The last thing I need is his incessant crying.”

  “But he is teething...”

  “I didn't say that I blame him, just that I don't want to listen to his continuous wail.”

  “Oh dear, had I known we would have brought something to ease little Timmy's discomfort...” Charlotte sighed before handing Elizabeth the basket and picking up the little boy herself since his mother was just now busy clearing a space for them to sit.

  The whole house was in disarray to say the least though overall, there was not so much the feeling of poverty but plain disorganisation.

  “We should have something around, but as it is, one of the children misplaced it...” Mr Harold sighed taking his son from the parson's wife. “But thank you for all your kindness, Mrs Collins, it is very much appreciated, I assure you. And my leg can really do with a new bandage. But I did as you suggested and kept it nice and clean and at last it is healing. Not as quickly as I would like, but I would say that within the next week I should be able to work again. And anyway, better now than during the planting season.”

  “Very true,” Charlotte agreed, before giving his wife a bit of a hand to get the house at least in some kind of order.

  Though feeling as if she was somehow intruding, after she was finally able to put the heavy basket down, Elizabeth herself gave a hand as well and though the place was still pretty messy, at least when they left she could see that indeed, it could be a nice little home, if only some effort was put into it.

  “I know what you are thinking, Eliza,” her friend remarked when once again they were on their way, “but you are very likely wrong.”

  “And what am I thinking?”

  “That Mrs Harold is as bad a housekeeper as one can find anywhere and too lenient with her children. Well, if it were all her children, you would most certainly be correct, and also if it were not for the fact that she had had as yet any time to adjust to their new circumstances. But one would not know that six of the eight of them are not hers, seeing that both she and her husband threat the
whole lot with the same kindness. They are their nephews and nieces. Mr Harold's brother and his wife passed away some months ago and they took them in even though they had just had weathered some troubles of their own. Mr Harold used to have a business of his own, over in Westerham but was betrayed by his companion, losing everything. Mrs Harold is the daughter of the innkeeper here in Hunsford and that is where her husband is now working and where he sustained his injury.”

  Goodness! Slowly but surely Elizabeth started to feel silly for pondering so much over her own comparatively insignificant troubles. And yet, it could hardly be helped, could it?

  Thankfully the last visit was a quick and easy one and comprised of dropping of some apples at a young widow's who, though temporarily in a difficult situation joyfully informed them that she had found herself a position as a nursery maid in Canterbury where she would go in two days time.

  Chapter 10

  At last the afternoon came and with a swift step Elizabeth turned once again into the narrow lane that would lead her down to the old stone bridge. Though she was early, Mr Darcy was already waiting for her walking up and down though not with the slightest hint of impatience. It appeared more as if he was deep in thought.

  And indeed, she had to address him twice before he became aware that she was finally there as well.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Bennet, I have to apologise but I was just thinking things over again.”

  For a moment she was worried that he had changed his mind about helping Jane in her plight, but apparently not for he continued with a smile: “I was just wondering how I will manage to get away from Rosings any time soon, seeing that my aunt insists I stay over Easter. But I will have to go to make certain Bingley attends the ball, I fear. It is the only plan I could come up with as yet – and admittedly not without the help of my cousin Anne. How are you faring, Miss Bennet?”

  “Not much better, I am afraid. The only way I have found was to write to my aunt and tell her vaguely about the details and hope they will be able to persuade Jane to go with them.”

  “And can they be trusted?”

  “Yes, utterly and completely. And as it is, Miss Bingley has not made the best of impressions when she finally called on Jane, making it, by all accounts, perfectly clear that she has no wish to continue the acquaintance.”

  “Good. Then I suggest you write to your aunt. I you say she can be trusted, I take your word for it.”

  Offering her his arm they wandered around for a little bit, though the actual purpose of their meeting had been resolved and so quickly at that. Yet surprisingly enough, his company was quite pleasant and Mr Darcy was so very different from how Elizabeth had known him to be in Hertfordshire. Even the silence that had erupted between them was not an uncomfortable one, rather the opposite. Had she not already wondered whether she had misjudged his character, now she would have been almost certain. And that begged one question.

  After near a quarter of an hour, Elizabeth broke the silence by asking: “Mr Darcy?”

  “Yes?” he smiled back at her.

  A smile so kind and warm it almost took her breath away.

  “I do not quite know how to begin, but something has been on my mind lately and seeing that there are always two sides to a story I hope I will not upset you by asking what your dealings with Mr Wickham were...”

  There she had said it. And immediately her companion stiffened his expression turning grim.

  “Perhaps you might want to start by telling me what he has told you about them himself, for there were so many dealings with him, that telling them all might get a bit tedious,” he eventually replied after what seemed a moment of contemplation.

  “Well, for one he claimed that he, as the son of your father's steward, grew up with you and that your father was his god-father of whom he said he had been a favourite.”

  “That as yet is all perfectly true,” Darcy pressed out from between his lips. “His father was a very good and trustworthy man and both were held in high esteem by my late father.”

  “He claimed that he had been destined for the church and was promised a living. - One that you denied him, leaving him to fend for himself instead.”

  Even as Elizabeth spoke those words, they suddenly started to seem all wrong. Again a few moments passed and his expression had turned positively angry now.

  “That true is true though only by half. I presume Mr Wickham did not bother to tell you that he himself initially declined the living that had been set aside for him as soon as it was available, stating that he had no interest in the church. Instead Wickham declared that instead he intended to study the law. I granted him a compensation of three thousand Pounds, which seemed to be appropriate for the valuable living he otherwise would have had and thought everything to be resolved between us. At that point I had already known too much of him and his dissolute ways to agree with him, that a career in the church was not what he was made for.”

  Speechless Elizabeth stopped in her tracks and stared at the man beside her. Had he told her as much even last week, she would not have believed him, but now? Now, however, she did.

  “I see you are taken aback,” Darcy smiled grimly though his anger was clearly not directed towards her.

  “I confess, I am.”

  “Which is only natural, Miss Bennet. But perhaps now you can understand why, when Wickham approached me again, to make his claim for the living which he clearly had forfeit, I refused.”

  “He approached you again?” Elizabeth cried out with some incredulity. “But... - but why?”

  Three thousand Pounds seemed a more than generous amount to pay for his studies and even for Mr Wickham to set up a business, though naturally the exact cost of such an undertaking was beyond her knowledge.

  “Yes, it should have been and how he lived I know not, but alas, not even three years later, he had gone through the whole amount, of both the compensation as well as well as the one thousand Pounds my father had bequeathed to him. If you need any testimony of the truth of what I have just told you, Colonel Fitzwilliam knows of all the particulars and I can offer you documentary proof as well, if you require.”

  Now she really did not know what to say anymore. And while she had never questioned Mr Wickham before, Mr Darcy's story quite honestly made much more sense than Wickham's ever had. All of a sudden his turning away from her to court Miss King had to be seen in a completely different light. He was not just looking for a good match, he was decidedly mercenary. Her Aunt Gardiner had been correct in her assessment when saying that his behaviour was wanting in delicacy.

  “There is more...” Darcy carried on, startling her before abruptly stopping mid-sentence.

  More? Was that not enough already? Were there no proof for the truth of his words, Mr Darcy would never have offered to give her such, while Wickham had never done anything but spread rumours, relying on his charming behaviour to make him believable. Thinking about it, he had to be considered a dangerous man.

  “But perhaps I have shocked you enough for one afternoon and seeing that the clouds are gathering overhead, perhaps it is just as well that we make haste and get you back home.”

  Elizabeth had not noticed the change in weather, though Mrs Turner's words came to mind: 'There will be a storm, mark my words.' The old woman had very obviously been correct in her prediction. And thinking about that poor old lady, Elizabeth again had a none too pleasant topic to address despite the looming rain.

  “Mr Darcy, just one more thing. This morning Mrs Collins and I were visiting the poor and there was this one old lady who I think needs more help than my friend and her husband can give her...”

  Her sudden change of topic obviously surprised him, but yet another small smile crossed his face as he nodded slightly for her to continue.

  “Her name is Mrs Turner and while she seems to have always been able to fend for herself by making baskets, she has fallen ill and cannot do her work. Her cottage is in a pitiable state and I do worry about her. Her children
are either at sea or in town and cannot leave their positions to look after their mother, nor do they have the means to support her much. You would not know what to do?”

  “Mrs Turner the basket maker?” he inquired looking puzzled.

  “The very one, Mr Darcy.”

  “Well, that explains why I could not find a basket for my sister as I had promised her one. I will see what I can do for her. Where does she live?”

  He appeared slightly ashamed for not knowing, yet how could he seeing that he stayed here but a couple of weeks each year to visit his aunt?

  “On the other side of Hunsford village – I do not know what lane, just that it leads off the main street. I never much ventured in that direction seeing that this part of the village is much more scenic,” Elizabeth trailed off. “I could ask Mrs Collins, if you like.”

  Thoughtfully her companion nodded as if he was already thinking about what he could do but not for long seeing that at that very moment the first few heavy drops of rain started to fall. They were still a fair distance from both Rosings or the parsonage and before they could even decide in which direction to go, it began to pour down. If only they had been the heroine and hero of one of Kitty and Lydia's romance novels, then they certainly would stumble across a summer house or the like within paces from them, but unfortunately, this was the real life and with that there was nothing else to do but put on a resigned face and get soaked to the bone while hastening home. Rosings in this instance seeing that it was slightly closer than the Collinses abode. The rain this time of year was pretty icy, a fickle whim of April's indecisiveness regarding the weather, and the gusts of wind made both of them shiver. In no time at all her pelisse was dripping and walking with and speed was made difficult by her attire clinging to Elisabeth's legs once in a while making her stumble. There was nothing to it, they had to slow down lest she would take a fall and thankfully Mr Darcy did.