by M-C Ranger
Had he been too incisive? Would she stop reading and discard his letter? No, he knew that she would be somewhat calmer and also be more just towards him, even if it was now clear that she had no inclinations towards him. Worse still, she despised him! Darcy felt the deepest sense of anguish and closed his eyes.
... I observed my friend’s behaviour attentively; and I could then perceive that his partiality for Miss Bennet was beyond what I had ever witnessed in him. Your sister I also watched. Her look and manners were open, cheerful, and engaging as ever, but without any symptom of peculiar regard, and I remained convinced from the evening’s scrutiny, that though she received his attentions with pleasure, she did not invite them by any participation of sentiment...
He had tried to be impartial. He explained to her clearly what had led him to this decision. An impartial decision...
...That I was desirous of believing her indifferent is certain...
Darcy moved involuntarily, as though driving away an unpleasant thought. And unpleasant it was; it had been creeping into his emotions recurrently for several weeks, unalterable, simply present and persistent. Had he not also acted on his own behalf, unbeknownst to his friend? The best way to distance a certain young lady from his life was to distance Charles Bingley from Jane Bennet, and that would be that. No, no, even Caroline Bingley and her sister would have reached the same conclusion at the Netherfield ball. Three people could not be mistaken to that extent, or could they? All that remained was to convince Elizabeth Bennet:
...The social rank of your family, into which he wished to enter, could not have the same importance to my friend as it did to me; however, there were other causes of repugnance; causes which existed to an equal degree in both instances... Your mother’s family, though an obstacle to me, was nothing in comparison to that total want of propriety exhibited by your mother, by your younger sisters, and occasionally even by your father... What happened on the evening of the ball confirmed my opinion and heightened my desire to preserve my friend....
Not all truths should be told... Yes, but Darcy had to be clearer; he would not have another opportunity to explain himself and come to his defence. So yes, he had no choice, and his words, while they were hurtful, truly illustrated the situations that he had witnessed. After all, he had excused himself for causing this pain and hastened to reassure her of the attitude of her older sister and herself. Would she understand his viewpoint? Perhaps. Accept it? Most certainly not. He was at least honest enough to mention his role as well as that of Miss Bingley in the execution of this matter. He even made amends by revealing to her that he had hidden the arrival of Miss Bennet in London from his friend, admitting that in this case, he was far from being irreproachable.
...If you have not been mistaken here, I must have been in error. If it be so, I have inflicted pain on your sister, and your resentment has not been unreasonable.
He hoped that these admissions would soften the anger of the young woman and show his willingness to in no way overburden her. Despite the severity of his words, he showed himself disposed to consider both sides. This last point reassured him, without, however, banishing the pain that he had been feeling since yesterday. This pain was something he would have to learn to live with, as he would not be living with Elizabeth.
It was around ten o’clock the next morning that Darcy met her. He was near the large willow when he saw her approaching. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, waiting for the pain to subside, and then he moved towards her. She retreated slightly on seeing him, which he also noticed, and it agonised him greatly. This was all he had managed to obtain from her: a reaction of rejection. Everything happened quickly. The letter exchanged hands, he bowed and disappeared before she even had the time to react. He left Kent shortly after, returning to London and his life before Elizabeth, a life that would never be as it had once been.
Chapter V
In which one must acknowledge that
correspondence has an important
role to play when it pertains to
giving others cause for thought, as written
words can be read several times over
Elizabeth had only to touch the letter that she had slipped into her reticule to recall various passages from Fitzwilliam Darcy’s explanations. And while the carriage made its way towards London, she closed her eyes so that Maria would not notice her discomposure. She had insisted on leaving Hunsford, despite Lady Catherine’s suggestion that she extend her stay. She could not nor did she wish to; she was expected in London and more so in Longbourn, where her father appeared to be suffering from a serious lack of intelligent conversation. However, before returning to the life that awaited her, she needed to recover from everything the letter had taught her about Fitzwilliam Darcy, but above all, about herself. Because once her anger had passed, she had to reconsider her words and actions, something which proved to be more painful than expected.
...My father greatly esteemed him... As for myself, it has been a very long time since I first began to judge him in a very different manner. The vicious propensities and the want of principle, which he was careful to hide from his benefactor, could not escape the observation of a young man of the same age with himself, who had opportunities of seeing him in unguarded moments...
George Wickham had confided in her that he would have liked to have obtained the parish that Mr. Darcy senior wished to grant him, but this was completely false! In fact, he had renounced this, claiming that he wished to study law, and that he was expecting to be supported in this endeavour. Fitzwilliam Darcy had generously offered him three thousand pounds, in addition to the legacy of one thousand pounds. He had spent everything in the most ignoble fashion! Then, when he learned that this same parish was once again available, he claimed his entitlement. What probity would he have contributed to the profession? It was difficult to conceive. The refusal of Mr. Darcy was fully in his honour, of this she was now deeply convinced - but it was all too late, she bitterly reproached herself.
...His resentment was in proportion to the distress of his circumstances...
His circumstances must have been terrible, mused Elizabeth, recollecting the plan he had contrived with the connivance of poor Miss Darcy’s lady companion. Forming an attachment to this young lady with whose family he had spent much time during his youth must not have been very difficult. Convincing her to elope with him must have required more persuasion, but he was a good actor and a good manipulator. Elizabeth had fallen prey to this herself, and she did not have the excuse of being young and naive. Georgiana Darcy was but fifteen when George Wickham had descended upon Ramsgate where Mr. Darcy, who had fortunately joined them unexpectedly a day or two before their elopement to Gretna Green, and was able to prevent the plan from taking shape. Miss Darcy, surely scarred and humiliated but safe, was once again under the protection of her older brother and Colonel Fitzwilliam. The two guardians of the girl had probably also experienced some highly embarrassing moments. How could they not help but feel guilty? How could they not help but reproach themselves for their lack of attentiveness? What would have to be done to allow young Georgiana to regain her tranquillity and confidence? Elizabeth could well imagine the pain that the brother and sister had experienced; even if she did not hold the master of Pemberley close to her heart, she was benevolent enough to feel a great deal of empathy.
...His chief object was unquestionably my sister’s fortune, which is thirty thousand pounds; but I cannot help supposing that the hope of revenging himself on me was a strong inducement. His revenge would have been complete indeed....
...if you do not absolutely reject this narrative as false, you will, I hope, acquit me of cruelty towards George Wickham. I know not in what manner, under what form of falsehood he had imposed on you... ...detection could not be in your power, and suspicion certainly not in your inclination...
Mr. Darcy was exhibiting a great deal of magnanimity. She did not deserve this. How could she have acted thus? She who had prided hers
elf on her discernment, who had sometimes disdained the candour of Jane, she who had dared to doubt Fanny Price’s judgement. What a humiliating discovery! Yet, how just a humiliation! Love could not have made her more blind! But vanity, not love, had been her folly. Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other, she had from the very beginning abandoned herself to her prejudices and driven reason away, where either were concerned. In the end, this is what she had conceded, with much consternation.
In the days that followed this proposal and this response, both of which were clearly unwanted, Elizabeth fled as often as possible to the woods and fields. She sought refuge in a quiet spot where, out of sight, she could reread Mr. Darcy’s letter, which she kept on her person whenever she left the rectory. On several occasions, Charlotte watched her friend disappear behind the hill and, as an intelligent young woman, she could not help but mull over the various situations that might have transpired between Rosings and Hunsford. The obvious lack of sleep evident on Elizabeth’s face and her dispiritedness at given times were signs that confirmed her concerns. Fortunately, neither her husband nor her sister Maria seemed to suspect the drama that had practically unfolded under their very eyes. She could do no more than offer her unfailing friendship and her support by justifying Elizabeth’s frequent absences: was Kent not the most beautiful county? Was not the surrounding countryside with its meadows and farms inspiring? And what about the woods of Rosings? Were the trees not magnificent, particularly at this time year? The owner of the grounds deemed the interest shown in his way of life commendable, and as William Collins had keenly endorsed this opinion, which was a compliment to his benefactress, Charlotte was able to relax. Many other subjects could be discussed, it was merely a matter of doing so with finesse. As it was, she had received news from her cousin Fanny.
‘Mrs. Collins,’ Anne de Bourgh had quietly confided, ‘I also received a letter from Miss Price, which gave me great pleasure.’
‘Oh! Mrs. Collins, how can you not thank Miss de Bourgh, who condescends to find your family worthy of exchanging letters with!’ the pastor had exclaimed, bowing to the young lady.
‘Naturally, Mr. Collins,’ his wife agreed, in a tone that carried a hint of impatience.
‘And what news does Miss Price have, Anne? I hope that her correspondence shows proof of the respect that she owes you.’
‘Do not worry yourself, Mother, Miss Price would be the last person in the world whom I would doubt in matters of decorum. She kindly copied out the poem that you recited with her, Miss Bennet,’ added Anne de Bourgh, turning towards their guest.
When the quick gaze of Lady Catherine followed that of her daughter, the latter discreetly held a finely embroidered handkerchief in front of her mouth to stifle a coughing fit, which would have unleashed maternal concern. At the same time, Mrs. Jenkinson placed the shawl back on the young lady’s delicate shoulders while Elizabeth, who had been pulled from her thoughts by Charlotte, who was closely following the conversation, kindly replied, ‘I am very happy to hear that you truly appreciated our recitation of The Daffodils.’
‘You seem rather pensive, Miss Bennet,’ Lady Catherine noted, ever vigilant of the slightest detail that might require a comment, or better yet, advice on her part.
‘I was wondering, Lady Catherine, whether it would inconvenience you if I were to go to the library to fetch the copy that Colonel Fitzwilliam had found after our recital. Thus Miss de Bourgh could read Wordsworth’s poems. I believe that she would derive much pleasure from doing so.’
‘Anne, I think that reading might tire you. Incidentally, perhaps Miss Bennet reads a bit too much and this seems to give her ideas and opinions, making her appear rather presumptuous, if you wish my advice.’
‘Indeed, my ladyship, I cannot but agree with such a sensible analysis of the situation. One must remember that a young woman must be directed in her reading such that her character is not distracted and her modesty is preserved. In any case, a well-advised husband shall show himself to be the best of guides; incidentally, this is what I strive towards for my dear wife.’
The dear wife found it rather difficult to suppress her exasperation. Yes, even accommodating Charlotte could at times be irritated by the pretention and more so, by the conceit of her husband. Her patience was put severely to the test, but, as Reverend Collins was reluctant to provide her with multiple opportunities to put it to practice, she saw her capacity reach incredible heights. As for Elizabeth, she had to suppress a strong desire to lash out against her unbearable cousin with a vehement retort. Suddenly, she was struck by the idea that he may have seen the book by Mary Astell, a thought that made her shiver, and she promised herself that she would hide it at the bottom of her trunk as soon as they returned to the rectory. Then her thoughts turned to her friend. Poor Charlotte! To have to share her life with such a preposterous man - once again she had to shiver. Strangely, this exchange, one worthy of Reverend Fordyce, was terminated by none other than Anne de Bourgh.
‘Allow me to reassure you, Mr. Collins, that it was Mr. Darcy, knowing that I was interested in poetry, who acquainted me with this author.’
She uttered this in a detached tone, but she was unable to hide a hint of amusement in response to the reverend’s look of astonishment and embarrassment. How could it be? He had dared to discuss the choice of Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire; would his benefactress find fault with this? He broke out into a cold sweat and had to wipe his brow several times, until Lady Catherine, who had recovered from her surprise, put an end to all this.
‘Darcy, interested in poetry? I did not expect this. However, if he shared it with you, Anne, I can only rejoice, although reading holds less appeal for me than music. Nevertheless, I feel that Mr. Collins, in the role that has been granted him, was qualified to state his opinion, and for that I am thankful.’
‘Your ladyship shows tremendous goodwill,’ William Collins had whispered, giving a low bow, as low as his rotundity and his creeping servility allowed.
On this enlightening display of respect, Elizabeth was granted permission to disappear for a few moments to retrieve the collection recommended by Fitzwilliam Darcy, the one who... At this point she did not know whether to laugh or cry.
Every day that led to the end of her stay in Kent, Elizabeth went out for a walk of at least three miles, benefiting from the solitude to delve back into her reading of Mr. Darcy’s letter. A solitude during which she was able to peacefully indulge in the delight of stirring up unpleasant memories. Something she managed to do quite well! For example, Mr. Darcy had spoken of her family in the most mortifying of terms, and deservedly so; she felt the cruel emotion of shame. The justice of the charge struck her too forcibly for denial, and the circumstances to which he particularly alluded as having passed at the Netherfield ball, and as confirming all his first disapprobation, could not have made a stronger impression on his mind than on hers. And thus the time passed, moving between doubts and reproaches, the former diminishing as the latter grew stronger. The examination of conscience which she inflicted upon herself in these solitary moments left her with little reprieve. Only the solicitude of her friend Charlotte and the benefits she derived from seeking refuge in nature provided her with some comfort. One could therefore doubtless believe that the young woman who had arrived in Kent a few weeks earlier was not entirely the same when she left.
Elizabeth felt Maria’s hand on her arm. She turned to her and smiled.
‘Good gracious,’ exclaimed the girl, ‘it feels as though we only arrived yesterday! Yet so much has happened.’
‘Yes, so much,’ sighed Elizabeth.
‘We were received for tea or dinner more than ten times at Rosings. But Elizabeth, you missed one of these visits. Your migraine prevented you from enjoying a lovely evening. However, I must admit that the atmosphere was somewhat strained when Colonel Fitzwilliam noticed that Mr. Darcy was absent. Lady Catherine seemed discontented and even pointed out her nephew’s lack of c
ivility, which discomfited all of us, it must be said.’
‘Truly? Now that I am aware of this, my disappointment is perhaps somewhat more bearable,’ stated the young lady, in an ironic tone that her young companion did not notice.
‘No matter! Imagine, Elizabeth, all the things I will be able to tell on my return!’ exclaimed Maria, enthusiastically.
‘And all the things I will have to keep to myself,’ whispered the young lady, turning her head to look out of the carriage.
Bromley could be seen in the distance; the clouds had accumulated and it looked as though it might rain. Elizabeth closed her eyes. Soon she would see Jane, who was expecting them at the Gardiner’s. Jane. How sad to think that her family’s lack of good sense and etiquette had deprived her older sister of a match that held the promise of happiness! No, she could not share this with her; her sister did not at all deserve to suffer such agony a second time. She had not even deserved it the first time. It was enough to bring one to tears.
*****
Seated comfortably in her aunt Madeline’s small drawing room, Jane reread the letter she had just received from Elinor Dashwood, and, although she was relieved to learn that Marianne was doing better, and that the mild spring was greatly helping her restoration to health, as were the pleasant visits from Colonel Brandon, she could clearly sense the melancholy woven into her friend’s words. This caused her to recall her own anguish, and she lifted her gaze for a few moments, forcing back the tears brought on by the memories of this autumn, a time that had seemed almost blissful. It took all her strength of will and an intense desire to not cause anyone the slightest distress to keep her from abandoning herself to regrets that could alter her health and disturb the tranquillity of those dear to her. And Elinor, who had to take care of Marianne, who had to swallow her anguish, with no hope of being consoled... She had just returned to reading the letter when she heard the sound of cheerful voices. She put the letter on the side table and rushed to the entrance, and into the arms of Elizabeth. She returned her soothing embrace. How lovely it was to have a sister! This is certainly what they both thought in that instant. Their reunion was a happy one, and in the presence of the entire household, the news they exchanged was light and entertaining. It wasn’t until they had withdrawn to the room that they were to share that the two sisters disclosed certain confidences. If the eldest did her best to appear serene, the younger showed herself to be rather preoccupied. Elizabeth confided to an astounded Jane the terrible misadventure of Miss Darcy, and in her account, the true nature of George Wickham. Jane was unable to believe that in all of humanity there could be as much malice as there was in a single man, as had just been revealed to her! Perhaps there has been some misunderstanding, perhaps this was no more than a terrible rumour. And such was Jane’s character, convinced of the goodness of everyone.
