All politeness as usual, Colonel Fitzwilliam offered the use of Darcy’s landau for the return journey to Cheapside, but since the weather remained fine she opted to continue on foot to the Beaumont town house in Cavendish Square. During the walk she resolved not to mention Darcy to Bridget, at least not yet. As to the duel, she would tell no-one except for the Gardiners. In the event the issue did not arise, since Bridget was out, and not expected to return until evening. Deflated, Elizabeth left her card along with a brief message.
Chapter 6
Next morning, Elizabeth was excited to learn that a note had been left for her, but the hand, although faintly familiar, was not Bridget’s. News of Darcy, perhaps? Opening it quickly, she read the following:
4 Montague Place
Dear Miss Eliza Bennet
My brother was naturally surprised to hear from Georgiana that you had called at Darcy House. We had received no information that you were in town. It would of course be inappropriate for us to inconvenience your aunt and uncle by coming to Gracechurch Street, but if you would like to pass by this afternoon you will find us at home—shall we say at three o’clock?
Yours very sincerely, Caroline Bingley
Elizabeth read this message several times, in some perplexity. Why should Caroline Bingley, of all people, conceive such an urgent desire to renew their acquaintance? The tone was scarcely friendly—on the contrary, Miss Bingley had contrived within a few lines to deliver several pin-pricks, all no doubt carefully designed: the hint that Elizabeth’s visit to Darcy House was somehow uncalled for, her failure to communicate her presence in town, the clumsy excuse for not coming to Cheapside. No, the source of the invitation must be Bingley himself; but if so from what motive?
On arriving punctually that afternoon, Elizabeth was disappointed to learn that Bingley was away, leaving her to make do with the forced politeness of Caroline and her sister, Mrs Hurst. Once they were seated in the drawing room, with refreshments ordered, it was not long before hostilities opened.
‘It seems congratulations are in order,’ Miss Bingley said. ‘We read with interest that your sister Lydia has been so fortunate as to become the wife of Mr Wickham. Your family must be proud indeed at such a connection.’
Elizabeth thanked her matter-of-factly, without elaborating, and wondered whether Caroline knew anything of Darcy’s intervention. On balance she thought probably not, since that gentleman would scarcely repose much trust in Miss Bingley’s discretion.
‘So young to be married,’ mused Mrs Hurst. ‘I wonder that your father permitted the courtship.’
‘But then Mr Bennet has always displayed exceptional leniency,’ Miss Bingley said. ‘I remember how surprised we were, at the Lucas ball, to find that all your sisters were out, and permitted to socialise freely with the officers.’
Elizabeth saw no point in responding to this, and after a pause said, ‘I hope Mr Bingley is in good health?’
‘Oh, Charles is well enough,’ Miss Bingley said, ‘although obviously concerned at this terrible affair of Mr Darcy’s.’
‘Has he visited regularly?’ Elizabeth asked.
‘He is there now,’ Mrs Hurst said, looking up from her needlework.
Miss Bingley shot a glance at her sister, as if to discourage her from discussing their brother’s movements, then turned back to Elizabeth and asked:
‘How did you find Mr Darcy?’
Elizabeth thought for a few moments, wary of saying anything specific. ‘It seems the injuries are serious and that he is in some pain.’
‘Could he speak?’
‘A few words.’
‘I hope he was not over-tired.’ Miss Bingley glanced again at her sister. ‘Charles was surprised that you had been permitted to attend him.’
Her voice betrayed a hint of envy, and Elizabeth guessed that Miss Bingley had not been among those invited to comfort the invalid. ‘I was there but a few minutes.’
‘I suppose they had little choice, given that you had come so far.’
Mrs Hurst looked up again. ‘Did he impart any information about the, ah, circumstances of his misfortune?’
Elizabeth shook her head. ‘We spoke only of pleasanter matters.’
‘Of course. Of course.’
They fell silent, hearing voices in the hall, and seconds later Elizabeth rose to greet the smiling figure of Mr Bingley.
‘Miss Bennet, what a pleasure to see you again!’ He took her offered hand warmly. ‘Your parents are in good health? And your sisters?’
Elizabeth assured him that they were all well.
‘You remind me of less troubled times,’ he continued. ‘I cannot recall a jollier occasion than our ball at Netherfield—on 26th November, was it not?’
She was encouraged to find his memory so exact. ‘I believe so!’ She dropped her voice. ‘Have you news of Mr Darcy?’
‘And of Georgiana?’ Miss Bingley added, drowning his reply. ‘I am excessively concerned that she is wearing herself out with her devoted ministrations. You must tell her so next time you visit.’
‘Thank you, Caroline.’ Bingley turned back to Elizabeth. ‘His condition is unchanged, Miss Bennet. We can only wait and hope.’
‘I am relieved he is not worse.’ She sighed. ‘I should be leaving.’
Bingley pointed to the coffee table, where tea and cakes lay mainly untouched. ‘Can we not offer you further refreshment?’
‘Miss Bingley has been an attentive hostess, but I have no wish to overstay my welcome.’
‘Then let me accompany you to your uncle’s house,’ Bingley cried. ‘My carriage is outside and can be ready in a few minutes.’
Miss Bingley wrinkled her nose. ‘Surely Charles …’
‘You are all kindness, Mr Bingley,’ Elizabeth smiled, ‘but there is no need. I can make my own way back.’
‘I insist!’ Bingley took her arm. ‘At least let me see you to the carriage.’
Without waiting for a reply, he guided her down to the hall, where they were alone for a minute while the coachman was fetched. In a rapid hushed voice, he asked:
‘Miss Elizabeth, Darcy tells me that your sister Miss Bennet was in London during the winter. I am very sorry that I was not informed at the time, otherwise I would have called on her.’
‘She would be pleased to know that,’ Elizabeth said.
‘Was she …’ He stopped in confusion. ‘Does Miss Bennet ever speak of our time together at Netherfield?’
‘It is a happy memory for her.’ Elizabeth met his eye deliberately. ‘She was exceedingly disappointed when your party left so suddenly.’
He frowned. ‘I fear she will think very ill of us …’
‘But not I think if the circumstances were explained,’ Elizabeth interrupted, desperately eager to make herself plain. ‘Jane has a most forgiving nature.’
‘Indeed, she is—angelic.’ Bingley caught himself and coloured. ‘Excuse me, Miss Elizabeth. I should not speak so.’
‘Well, I shall not embarrass Jane by passing on that remark,’ Elizabeth whispered, with a twinkle. She continued more seriously: ‘However, should you ever choose to return to Netherfield, let me assure you that a visit to Longbourn would be well received by my family.’
He nodded slowly, and said in a more relaxed voice, ‘Thank you, Miss Elizabeth. I will remember that. Ah, unless I am mistaken, your transport is ready.’ And with this he helped her solicitiously into the carriage.
Chapter 7
Sped eastwards across London in Bingley’s sportive chaise, Elizabeth was buoyed, momentarily at least, by hope of a favourable outcome for Jane. There could be little doubt what had happened. Darcy, prompted by her reproofs at Hunsford, must have confessed to Bingley not only his misperception of Jane’s sentiments, but his connivance in the plot to conceal her presence in London. It was easy to imagine what this had cost him: such an error of judgement, compounded by such a petty deception, must have been a mortifying admission to a man of his pride. Yet once again, he ha
d taken the honourable path, with an uncompromising directness that she could only admire.
How then did she regard Darcy now? On an intellectual level her view of him had certainly changed: she no longer doubted that he was a decent and well-meaning man with a sense of honour bordering on the fanatical—as attested by his rescue of Lydia, and also in all likelihood by the quarrel that had led to his present sufferings. Yet still she could not find it in herself to like him, let alone love him. His exacting standards, whether directed at others or himself, made it impossible to feel at ease in his presence. She worried constantly what he was thinking, and could not laugh and relax as she liked to do. At the same time, she felt impelled to see him again. Her first visit to his bedside had given her hope that she could at least distract him from his pain, and so repay in part the debt that her family owed him. Of course such meetings presented dangers: for one thing, they might distress Georgiana; for another, Darcy might misread her intentions and fancy her now sentimentally attached to him. However, any such misunderstandings could be addressed later; the priority now was that he should pull through.
Back at Gracechurch Street another note awaited her, and this time Elizabeth with excitement recognised the flamboyant hand of Bridget Beaumont.
Cavendish Square
Dear Elizabeth
Since you were understandably vexed with me for ignoring your party during dinner in the inn at Ambleside, I have decided to throw myself on your mercy and beg a second chance.
My husband and I would be honoured if you would let bygones be b., and consent to join us for dinner one evening at Cavendish Square, in the company of your aunt and uncle.
Tomorrow at 6pm would suit very well, if you are free. And should you arrive a few minutes early, you can make the acquaintance of my little pride and j., before he is packed off to bed.
With best wishes and much anticipation, BB.
Elizabeth’s pleasure at this invitation was mixed with anxiety, partly over Bridget’s motive for including the Gardiners, and more prosaically over what she should wear. Did Bridget sincerely wish to meet her aunt and uncle, she wondered, or was she seeking to reassure her that her family connections were no obstacle? After reflecting awhile, Elizabeth concluded that once again her suspicions were unwarranted; any embarrassment over Mr Gardiner’s profession was hers, and hers alone. Accordingly she went immediately to show the invitation to her aunt, who confirmed that they had no engagements for the following evening.
With a servant tasked to carry their acceptance to Cavendish Square, Elizabeth’s thoughts turned to the second problem—the dress. She had packed a grey silk gown in addition to her usual muslin frocks, and with so little time to visit a modiste, she decided this would have to do.
Next morning, Mrs Gardiner set off with the children for their customary walk in the park, and Elizabeth passed the time by accompanying them. The children as ever kept her occupied in games of paper-boat racing and feeding the ducks, but she took part on automatic, with her thoughts still occupied by Darcy. How could such an intelligent man have embroiled himself in a duel, of all things, so subscribing to the absurd notion that the justice of a cause could be proven by success in combat? And why pistols, when by all accounts Darcy was an accomplished swordsman? Did this mean that he had issued the challenge? She longed to quiz him properly and get to the truth—but not yet, while his condition was so delicate.
At the end of an afternoon spent mainly in retouching their dresses, Elizabeth and Mrs Gardiner were obliged to wait for Mr Gardiner, even though the hired carriage had arrived. Eventually he joined them, after dealing with some unexpected business with his accountant, and they were on the point of leaving when a man in footman’s livery approached, and Elizabeth recognised Darcy’s servant Burgess.
‘Madam!’ Burgess trotted the last few steps and handed Elizabeth an envelope. ‘My apologies if this is not an opportune time. Miss Darcy asked me to deliver this message promptly, and if possible to take a reply.’
The Gardiners exchanged a grave look, as if fearing bad news, and Elizabeth returned to the privacy of the porch before opening the envelope and reading the following short message:
Dear Miss Bennet
Please forgive my indisposition during your visit. My brother has told me of his pleasure in seeing you again, and of your offer to read to him. Would it be possible, or do I ask too much, for you to call again tomorrow afternoon?
The fever is worse, but the doctor says this is to be expected.
Sincerely, Georgiana Darcy.
After studying this note carefully, and weighing in particular the final sentence, Elizabeth secured it in her reticule and turned to Burgess, who by now had got his breath back and was waiting beside the carriage.
‘Please thank Miss Darcy and tell her I will call tomorrow afternoon at three.’
He bowed, and with a racing heart Elizabeth rejoined her aunt and uncle.
The Beaumont residence in Cavendish Square was elegant but not large, and the interior struck Elizabeth as more homely than imposing. They were received in the parlour by Bridget and her husband Thomas, a small ascetic-looking man with a pleasant quiet demeanour. Both were modestly attired, with Bridget still in muslin, and their welcome was warm and without affectation.
‘Come upstairs!’ Bridget beckoned to Elizabeth, once the Gardiners were seated. ‘Someone wants to meet you!’
Two flights up they entered a smallish bedroom, and Bridget with a wink declared, ‘Now I’m sure Georgie will be here tucked up in bed. Oh my goodness gracious! He’s disappeared!’
A giggle from behind the curtains betrayed the true state of affairs, but Elizabeth, all too familiar with this kind of game, joined her friend in an intensive search.
‘Is he behind the chair?’
‘No. Have you looked under the bed?’
‘I think I heard a noise from behind the curtains.’
‘Probably mice. How about the cupboard?’
After much more of the same, the little boy ran out with a cry of triumph, and Elizabeth gravely shook his hand. They continued making a fuss of him for some minutes more—scarcely conducive to sleep, Elizabeth thought—before leaving him in the calmer stewardship of the maid.
‘Come!’ Bridget danced along the corridor to another small room, this time furnished like a small library with a bureau, bookshelf, and two comfortable chairs.
‘My sanctuary.’ Now that they were alone, she greeted Elizabeth anew with a quick hug. ‘It’s so good to see you!’
Elizabeth sat opposite her, anxious at temporarily deserting the Gardiners, but excited to let her hair down in Bridget’s lively company. ‘Your little boy is lovely.’
‘I realise I pamper him.’ Bridget lowered her voice. ‘We all do, and Sir George in particular, for my Georgie is the heir.’
‘You mean he will inherit the baronetcy if Sir George Beaumont dies?’
‘That’s right.’ Bridget spread her arms, her usual lively tone returning. ‘But enough of my imp. I was so relieved to hear that your, ah, difficulty has been satisfactorily resolved.’
Elizabeth hesitated. ‘That’s a long story.’
‘We have half an hour before dinner.’ Bridget smiled archly. ‘Of course I would not intrude on a family secret …’
‘Hardly a secret, now that the outcome has been announced in the Times.’ Elizabeth pretended to read: ‘Lydia, youngest and silliest daughter of Mr Bennet of Longbourn, is now wife of Mr George Wickham, officer in the regulars and unmitigated scoundrel. All arranged at no cost to the happy couple, and great trouble and expense to everyone else. Said couple now dispatched to the far north of England—though not far enough,’ she added, ‘for my liking.’
‘The Outer Hebrides?’ Bridget suggested.
‘Better the North Pole.’
‘They might be eaten by polar bears.’
‘We can but hope.’
Bridget giggled. ‘But dear Elizabeth, without wishing to dispute your narrative ski
ll, your account appears to lack some crucial details. How were the fugitives found? How was Mr Wickham persuaded to tie the knot?’
Again Elizabeth hesitated, before continuing: ‘In short, through a mysterious benefactor. The trouble is, this person wishes to remain anonymous, and I am sworn to secrecy.’
‘Then assuredly you must keep silence,’ Bridget said with mock gravity.
‘I suppose.’ Elizabeth met her eye. ‘But perhaps the general outline could be related to someone exceptionally trustworthy?’
‘Oh, I am discretion incarnate,’ Bridget assured her.
‘Prove it!’ Elizabeth teased.
‘I told no-one of your distress at Ambleside.’
‘Not even your sister?’
‘Frances? You must be joking.’
‘Nor your husband?’
‘No, as it happens,’ Bridget said, more seriously. ‘But Thomas is entirely trustworthy, Elizabeth. If you knew him better you would have no concerns.’
‘I’m sorry, I was impertinent.’
‘I like your impertinence. Have I passed the test yet?’
Elizabeth took a deep breath. ‘Very well. Last year, I met a certain gentleman. Call him Mr D.’
‘D for distinguished,’ Bridget suggested.
‘Perhaps, but also proud and, on occasion, extremely rude. His first utterance in my presence was to declare me unfit to dance with him.’
‘D for disdainful.’
Elizabeth put a finger to her lips. ‘Shush. There were further meetings, mostly unpleasant, until one day this man made me a proposal of marriage.’
Bridget’s eyes opened wide. ‘D for devoted!’
Darcy's Trial Page 4
