Yet, when she finished the letter, the candles burnt low, she was not satisfied. Had she explained herself? Would Darcy believe her, or would he believe that she really had written a letter to Wickham? In short, should she send this missive or not? She was not sure. She tried one in her father’s style, merely telling Darcy that she needed to see him, and asking him to come without giving a reason.
But when she reviewed that letter, it did not please her either. It seemed so imperious – reminding her of the dictatorial Lady Catherine – and Darcy would be irritated to receive a summons without any words of explanation, especially given the sad situation at Kympton.
Neither letter suited her entirely, but unfortunately she could think of no perfect solution. Perhaps there was none. Elizabeth walked around her room a few times, wondering which she should send. She could not reach a decision, and she was extremely fatigued. Perhaps wisdom would come to her during the night. Or perhaps she would show both letters to Jane in the morning and ask for her advice.
Elizabeth hid both letters to Darcy beneath a book, along with the letter that she had allegedly written and the demand for cash. Afterwards she rang the bell for her maid. Jeanette helped her undress and took care of her hair.
“Will that be all, Madame?” Jeanette inquired. “Shall I take away the dinner tray?”
Elizabeth told her to do so, but as Jeanette was positioning the crockery and cutlery on the tray, she noticed that the writing materials were out upon the desk. “Have you a letter that you wish for me to post, Madame Darcy?”
“I beg your pardon? No. No, thank you, Jeanette,” replied Elizabeth, a little ashamed of the disorder on the writing desk.
Jeanette departed with the tray and then Elizabeth blew out most of the candles, taking the one that was still burning over to the table beside her bed. With so much that had happened and such thoughts and threats tormenting her, how could she possibly sleep? Yet she was so fatigued!
Elizabeth extinguished the candle and lay her head on her pillow, but sleep would not come. Not all her thoughts were entirely desperate, however. Perhaps Jeanette could help her. Perhaps Jeanette could go to the field with the horse chestnut tree and watch for someone approaching the tree. It was an unusual task for a lady’s maid but perhaps Jeanette would be of assistance. Elizabeth contemplated this scheme for several minutes before she was again plagued by doubt. If someone knew her sufficiently to forge a letter so well, then that someone surely was aware of her maidservant Jeanette.
Besides, what if Jeanette herself were involved? Elizabeth had hired Jeanette only since marrying Mr. Darcy – a woman in her position was expected to have a maidservant of her own, and she had engaged one from France in order to improve her command of the French language. Jeanette had always been pleasant and dependable, and Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth had checked Jeanette’s references, but perhaps they had been misled. The maidservant could have easily found letters in Elizabeth’s handwriting and have learned enough of Elizabeth’s history to forge this letter.
Still, there were reasons not to suspect Jeanette. Jeanette’s command of English was passable, but not sufficient to compose a letter of this nature. Nor had Jeanette struck Elizabeth as particularly cunning or ambitiously greedy. Perhaps the woman had dissembled all this time – Elizabeth had misjudged people before – but Jeanette would have had to maintain a façade for many months. Elizabeth decided she was not yet ready to suspect Jeanette, but neither was she willing to confide in her.
Perhaps the perpetrator was some other servant. Or some friend, or even, alas, a relative, who wished to partake of Mrs. Darcy’s good fortune. Elizabeth trusted only a few implicitly. Jane, of course. Mr. Darcy. Her father, and even her mother. Her mother would like more money, thought Elizabeth, but she would never engage in such subterfuge; she would simply ask for it. Besides, Mrs. Bennet had a protectiveness towards her daughters that would prevent her from doing something this cruel. Nor could Elizabeth imagine Kitty or Mary being involved in such a scheme. Lydia’s innocence was less clear, but Lydia was not in Meryton and Lydia lacked the ability to imitate handwriting. Elizabeth had not seen her sister for more than a year so she might have had the time to develop such skill in the intervening months – yet even then, the steady application that would have been required seemed inconsistent with Lydia’s character.
Having found reasons not to suspect the nearest members of her family, Elizabeth relaxed a little. Not being able to trust all of them would be extremely distressing. The question then followed: whom did she not trust? Who had access to samples of her writing; who knew her history with Wickham; who was in a position to send her such a letter?
Miss Bingley? Miss Bingley was a skilled artist; perhaps she could also imitate others’ handwriting. Beyond a brief note or two, Elizabeth had never written to Miss Bingley herself, but Miss Bingley, living as she did most of the time at Netherfield Park, could have easily studied letters that Elizabeth had sent to Jane. Miss Bingley was also in Meryton, which would make it easy for her to send the extortion demand, and to retrieve the bank notes from the horse chestnut tree. Furthermore, Miss Bingley had been riding frequently on horseback lately. And although Elizabeth did not believe that Miss Bingley needed money, Miss Bingley might take pleasure in damaging Elizabeth’s relationship with Mr. Darcy. And perhaps Miss Bingley did need money, either for herself or for her sister Mrs. Hurst. Many people hid their financial circumstances when they were embarrassing.
Yet much as Elizabeth disliked Miss Bingley, she did not wish to condemn her too quickly. Although she and Miss Bingley had a strained relationship, that did not mean that Miss Bingley would behave in such an underhanded and heartless manner towards her. On the other hand, Miss Bingley’s history was already stained with dishonesty and cruelty. When Mr. Bingley had first been interested in Jane, she had conspired to keep the pair apart, not letting her brother know when Jane was in London. Nevertheless this act, this letter demanding money, was so much worse! Could Elizabeth really believe it of her? Besides, if Miss Bingley had done this, and her involvement were discovered, she would anger those who were nearest to her excessively. Could Miss Bingley be so confident in her abilities to deceive that she assumed that no one would detect, or at least, suspect her? Or was Miss Bingley’s grudge towards Elizabeth so great that she would think it worth the risk?
The truth was that Elizabeth still disliked Miss Bingley, and would prefer to suspect her to nearly every other person among her acquaintance. But she had learned, from experience, that it was perilous to form judgments his way.
“Yet this is foolish of me,” Elizabeth said to herself as she adjusted her pillow. “I do not wish to suspect those whom I love, and I am reluctant to suspect those whom I do not love. Of course there are many people whom I do not know, to whom I am indifferent, but how could any of them have the information required to create such a letter? I must use reason and observation, and not be prejudiced by sentiment.”
When she went beyond her closest connections, there were many people to suspect. Mrs. Bennet liked to boast of the number of families with whom they dined: what if some friend, or rather, some acquaintance, pretending to be a friend, had stolen a sample of Elizabeth’s writing during a meal or party at Longbourn? Someone who was in debt, or someone whose prospects were poor. It could be one of Mrs. Long’s nieces. One of the Gouldings? They seemed to have all the money that they needed, but how could she know for sure? Mr. Jones or Mr. Jones – the father or the son? Aunt Philips? Mrs. Philips had been rather concerned about retaining Mrs. Smith as a tenant; was it possible that she and Mr. Philips were in debt? While Elizabeth was unclear as to the state of her aunt and uncle’s financial situation, she could not believe that Mrs. Philips would connive at defrauding her own niece. Aunt Philips had always been particularly fond of her nieces, and even if she no longer cared much about Mrs. Darcy’s opinion, given that Mrs. Darcy lived so far away, Mrs. Philips was still especially dependent on her sister. No, Mrs. Philips would nev
er risk the enmity of Mrs. Bennet, and besides, Elizabeth did not think that Mrs. Philips was cunning enough to concoct this scheme. Possibly Mrs. Philips had been used unwittingly by someone else – that was far more plausible – but as more than half of Meryton’s population visited Mrs. Philips’s apartment, the notion did nothing to narrow down Elizabeth’s group of potential suspects.
She had to consider her dearest friends, the Lucases. Sir William and his wife Lady Lucas could never concoct such a scheme, but their daughter Mrs. Collins was more clever than most of the neighborhood and she had sketched when she was younger. Elizabeth had always been extremely fond of Charlotte, so the prospect of her as the perpetrator was extremely unpleasant, but she tried to consider the facts objectively. Mrs. Collins and Elizabeth corresponded frequently, and so she had many samples of Elizabeth’s handwriting. Mrs. Collins also appreciated money; her reason for marrying Mr. Collins had been completely mercenary, as her best preservation from want.
But Charlotte, recently widowed, still suffering from the trauma of the death of Mr. Collins – even if she had married him out of prudence, he had been her husband – could she really be engaged in such an intricate scheme just now? How could she have the emotional fortitude? And yet the death of Mr. Collins might provide an incentive for such an act. Mrs. Collins might have reasonable expectations for the future, as her son Lewis was the heir to Longbourn – but that could be many years away, and she might need funds now.
Elizabeth did not wish to suspect Mrs. Collins – she was fond of Charlotte – but she also did not want to be blinded by her affections. Was there any reason not to suspect Charlotte, her friend of so many years? Mrs. Collins might like having money – there were few who did not – but Elizabeth had never known her to do anything dishonest or unkind. Furthermore, Lucas Lodge was full of people these days: Sir William and Lady Lucas and their other children, not to mention Lewis Collins and all the servants. How could Charlotte could have managed, with so many people about, to forge the letter and to write the demand for money? The letter purporting to be from Elizabeth showed real craftsmanship; whoever had penned it had surely created several drafts. And how could Charlotte, with her young son to care for, even be at the horse chestnut tree to retrieve the money? She could only manage something like this with assistance, and whom could Charlotte trust with such an errand? Certainly neither of her parents would be complicit in such a scheme. Sir William, a former mayor of Meryton, prided himself as being a pillar of the community, and his wife would never do anything to jeopardize their position in the neighborhood. Besides, few of the Lucases could keep a secret.
Elizabeth was glad to be able to have solid reasons for moving Mrs. Collins off her mental list of possible perpetrators.
She needed to sleep. She needed to be clear-minded in the morning, so that she could decide on an appropriate course of action. Alas, it was one thing to resolve to fall asleep, and quite another to actually do it.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door, so soft at first that Elizabeth was not sure if she had heard it or imagined it. But then the person outside knocked again, more loudly and a little more sharply. “What is it?” Elizabeth called.
“Elizabeth, please come.” The voice on the other side of the door belonged to Mr. Bingley.
Her irritability changed to alarm. “Mr. Bingley, what is it?”
“Jane is in labor!”
CHAPTER XXXI
Elizabeth and Miss Bingley both attended Jane in her room, while Mr. Bingley was banished to the library. Both Elizabeth and Miss Bingley were anxious to do everything that they could to assist Jane, but they were unable to advise her whether she should sit or she should stand, whether she was better walking around the room or lying on her bed. They could only recommend that she should do whatever made her most comfortable, and at present nothing seemed to help.
“How useless we are,” remarked Elizabeth, after she and Miss Bingley had inquired minutely after every twinge but were unable to make any suggestions with assurance.
“Are you in much pain?” inquired Miss Bingley solicitously.
But even this question Jane could not answer properly, because she had no basis for comparison. “I suppose it is bearable, as I have not cried out.”
“Cry out if you wish to,” said Elizabeth, “this is no time to be restrained.”
“But I do not wish to – not really. I just feel peculiar. I just did not expect it to be tonight.” With effort Jane walked around the room, then paused by the window to look out at the night sky.
“It appears it will be tonight, and that in the morning we will meet little Caroline Louise,” said Miss Bingley. “Of course, I am teasing. I know you are planning on Jane Elizabeth. Unless the child is a boy.”
“You have been saying that you wish it would happen soon,” said Elizabeth, attempting to be encouraging. “So, here we are.”
“I suppose. Perhaps – perhaps we should send for Mamma?” Jane turned back from the window, and her countenance was so anxious that both her sister and Miss Bingley realized how inadequate they were to this situation. To their credit, they did their best to reassure Jane by offering to find more competent assistance. Miss Bingley said that she believed that her brother already had sent the coach to Longbourn, and if Jane wished, she could send a man for one of the Mr. Joneses (she added, however, that she had little confidence in the local apothecaries). Elizabeth suggested that as fetching their mother could take two hours or more, that they should determine if any of the servants had any useful experience in these matters.
Miss Bingley and Jane considered and agreed that Mrs. Nicholls, the cook, who tended to the servants when they were injured or ill, might be a source of practical advice. Miss Bingley went to summon her, so Jane and Elizabeth were alone for a few minutes.
Jane trembled from a contraction; Elizabeth took her sister’s hand and squeezed it sympathetically. “Jane – everything will be all right, I promise you. Both you and the baby will be fine.”
“Of course we will,” said her sister, when she could speak again. “And truly it is not as bad as I expected. But perhaps it will take many hours, and the terrible pain is to come later. Our mother has told me many times that first deliveries are the longest.” She changed the subject. “I am so sorry to disturb your sleep – especially when you were so worried. Have you decided what to do about the letter?”
“Do not concern yourself with that,” said Elizabeth earnestly. “And I would not be anywhere else tonight, Jane, but with you.”
A knock on the door and more discomfort for Jane ended their tête-à-tête. Miss Bingley arrived with Mrs. Nicholls, middle-aged, stout and confident.
Jane apologized to the cook for rousing her in the middle of the night, and Mrs. Nicholls told Mrs. Bingley to think nothing of it; she had already instructed an undercook to bring some hot water and to make a pot of tea. Mrs. Nicholls then took command with as much authority as if Mrs. Bingley’s bedroom were part of the Netherfield kitchens.
The cook ordered Mrs. Bingley to walk around the room; Jane obliged. Mrs. Nicholls told her to continue then asked how she was feeling – if the pains were more intense or less.
Jane replied, with hesitation, that they were less. “I understood that walking was supposed to hurry labor, not slow it down.”
“Indeed it is. But, Mrs. Bingley, you are not in labor.”
Mrs. Nicholls’s pronouncement astonished all three young women. They protested, and described Jane’s symptoms. Mrs. Nicholls was nevertheless adamant in her assessment. She explained that Mrs. Bingley would have a baby very soon, certainly within the next month, but not within the next day. The baby was not yet quite low enough, and several other symptoms were also missing.
Jane was mortified by the commotion which she had caused. Mrs. Nicholls, pouring out the tea that the undercook had brought, told her not to be. “Your time will come soon enough,” she said, “but I expect it will be at least another fortnight.”
Mrs. Bennet hastened to Jane’s room, Mary and Kitty yawning in her wake. Mrs. Bennet was at first reluctant to accept the diagnosis of Mrs. Nicholls, as Mrs. Nicholls was only Mrs. Bingley’s cook and not Mrs. Bingley’s mother. Moreover, Mrs. Bennet had been counting on holding her first grandchild that morning, which made her predisposed to prefer genuine labor. Yet Mrs. Bennet’s priority was the safety of her daughter, and after a quarter of an hour she concurred that Jane’s labor had not yet begun.
Jane apologized again for ruining everyone’s sleep; the ladies united in telling her no apology was needed.
“Papa said he would not come till later this morning,” added Kitty. “He said these things take time.”
“As much as a fortnight, apparently,” said Miss Bingley.
The fatigued women found Miss Bingley’s remark extremely diverting; they burst out laughing. The sound brought Mr. Bingley to the door; he was expecting cries of pain, not peals of merriment; and he was confused and concerned. The ladies opened the door and explained that the baby had not yet arrived and was not expected for several days.
Mrs. Bennet, who had completely recovered her spirits, gave her opinion. “It will happen, dear Jane. I went through this myself. But perhaps I should stay at Netherfield till the child arrives.”
The Meryton Murders Page 18
