When I learned of this, my conviction was assured that your elder sister was a witch who, through the combination of magic and feminine tricks, had enchanted my friend’s heart and sought to increase his ardor. At this time, I excluded you from a role in such a ploy; I had come to believe you too truthful to commit such an endeavor, though I did believe you capable of some magic. That morning at Netherfield which I previously referenced was the first time I believed I had seen evidence; during our argument, I was sure that you were, for lack of a better word, glowing with anger.
My suspicions did not turn to you until the night of the Netherfield Ball, when, while speaking in the alcove, I felt a great unnatural shock run through me. I could not and still cannot explain its cause, but I felt altered, intoxicated almost, as I muddled my way through the remainder of the evening. And then, all so suddenly as I’m sure you remember, the entire party was plunged into darkness, and I was overcome with the sudden and terrifying knowledge that I was in love with you.
I cannot explain how or why this revelation struck as it did, but I was unprepared for it, and I am ashamed to admit I did not handle it as a man of my knowledge and age should. I sequestered myself throughout the next day as I attempted to examine the evidence before me, and the only logical solution was witchcraft. I resolved to leave the county the next day. From that moment on, I felt confident in my answer, and did not waste time considering the veracity of my conclusion; rather, I began fighting my feelings and attempting to determine the motivation behind your actions.
I have nothing left to disclose at this time except for a true and sorrowful apology, both for thinking such vile acts possible of you and your sister, and for engaging in a form of witch hunt by giving credit to the gossip and rumors that surrounded your family. I am ashamed of myself in a way I have never been before; for I know you to be a good, true, moral Christian woman, and I am disgusted at my own accusations. I wish also to apologize for my interference in the case of Mr. Collins, though only to the degree that it has caused misfortune for your family. In truth, I cannot truly regret the actions which prevented you from marrying him, and I remain confident of my prediction regarding my aunt’s treatment of you should such rumors as I mentioned reach her ears. Please also accept a humble and sincere apology for my actions yesterday; they were ungentlemanly and coarse.
You may possibly wonder why all this was not told you last night; I was not then master enough of myself to know what could or ought to be revealed. For the truth of everything here related, I can appeal more particularly to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who, from our near relationship and constant intimacy, has been unavoidably acquainted with every particular of these transactions. If your abhorrence of me should make my assertions valueless, you cannot be prevented by the same cause from confiding in my cousin.
If, upon reading this missive, you wish to avoid further discourse and interaction with me, I will endeavor to remove myself from your presence. But if you can find it within you to forgive me and wish to attempt a reconciliation, a tentative friendship where I may atone for my actions, I bid you to meet with me, tomorrow, along the walk at our usual time. If you do not arrive, I will take your absence as an answer, and will depart from Rosings. I will only add, God bless you.
Ftizwilliam Darcy
Elizabeth read and reread the missive, her eyes devouring the message within it. Jane, an enchantress! She had never heard something so false. And to know that she had, through her careless inability to control her temper, shown her magic to Mr. Darcy. She closed her eyes against the heat that flushed her face.
He did love her. Whether he was slow to realize it or not, he did love her, just as she loved him. Surely, it was not a good beginning, but he wished to speak with her further. Things could be righted, couldn’t they?
But by the third time she read the letter, she knew that her hope was still in vain. He had apologized, true, but it had not alleviated her hurt. No matter what she had thought of him, he had thought her truly morally bankrupt. Too much had transpired between the two. Yet, more importantly, she realized that though he had come to the conclusion that she had not cast a spell on him, it did not change the fact that he clearly found witchcraft despicable. If he found out the truth, would he accept her?
He had asked her to meet him the next day, to rekindle their friendship, to start anew. What would he say if she told him the truth, and confessed it all? She knew how he felt; surely his desire to meet was a sign that he wished to eventually propose again, wasn’t it?
No, she could not marry a man who did not know her secret, and the one man she wished to marry would not be able to accept it. Tears welled in her eyes as Elizabeth realized that Mr. Darcy may love her now, but his love could not possibly survive such a confession. He would reject her very core being. How could she pledge herself to a man who could not love her for all she was?
Closing her eyes and moving to the window, she leaned her forehead against the glass. She was resolved; tomorrow she would meet him, and confess all. She had to begin to trust him, to step outside herself and stop assuming the worst. All her misfortunes had been of her own making, and she was determined to interfere no more.
***
It was dark when Elizabeth slipped quickly from the Hunsford cottage, gently closing the back door behind her as she crept quietly out of the gate, past the pigs and chickens, and down the back lane leading away from the village. She glanced around several times on her walk to be sure no one had seen her as she made her way quickly toward a far grove. She had seen it several times on her walks, and it was isolated and far from the village and Rosings, and as such she felt it was the safest place in which to complete the full moon rite. Although she was alone, she was determined to keep with her tradition, to make her offerings and connect with the earth, for she needed this strength more than ever.
Alone in the grove, she slipped off her shoes and wiggled her toes in the green grass that was just beginning to enjoy the change in weather. The ground beneath her was wet from the recent storms, and she knew she would look fearful when she was through.
Setting up a pentagram of small stones, Elizabeth situated herself in the middle, and raising her hands to the sky, repeated the prayers she had heard her father say so many times.
“I take these gifts from the land, I give of myself to the Earth,” she chanted quietly, finishing the rite. Taking the bundle of herbs she had collected, she lit it gently, and allowed the smoke to fill the clearing and fill her lungs. Disregarding her skirts, she sat in the middle of the pentagram, the herb bundle smoking gently next to her.
She had never done this rite alone before, and indeed had lived in fear of the day when she would have to. When she had failed to marry Mr. Collins, she had believed that this rite would be lost to her forever — but didn’t she deserve that? So many things had gone wrong because she had taken her magic for granted and misused it. She had lost Mr. Collins’ hand in marriage, and as a result, all her family magic. She had driven Mr. Bingley away from Jane; she had allowed Mr. Wickham to spread his vicious secret about Miss Darcy; and worse yet, she had likely ruined any future she may have with Mr. Darcy.
She had begun to hope that maybe he would accept that she was a witch, but she knew he would never forgive her for her actions. She had tried to meddle, to force Jane and Mr. Bingley to confront their emotions, and she had no right to do so. And when it went wrong, instead of taking responsibility, she attempted a dangerous spell, one which could change her very heart forever, and yet, by either luck or misfortune, had instead simply succeeded in banishing a man from his home.
No, she did not deserve her magic. Perhaps losing it would be for the best after all. Hadn’t Jane wondered that herself? Taking the eggshell from her basket carefully, she set it in front of her.
“Mother Earth, Father Sky,” she said quietly. “You sent me rain when I most needed it, to wash away the misunderstandings and lies that I had wrapped myself in, to clear my eyes and allow
me to see more clearly. I thank you for your gift, and I return it to you, with a promise.”
Elizabeth gently poured the rainwater out of the shell and back into the ground, where it disappeared quickly into the still thirsty earth.
“My sister practices her faith passively, only to worship or help, never to actively interfere. I will follow her example. No more spells, no more interference. I must fix my problems on my own. I have misused the gifts you have given me far too many times, and I will not do so again. This I swear, by the ancient magics of my family: until I have learned my lesson, I do not deserve my magic. I thank you again for the rain you sent me, and the signs that guide me.”
Determined, she blew out the smoking bundle of herbs, collected the pentagram of stones, and crept back to her bed, feeling so much older.
ACT III
XXV
The drawing room of Rosings was silent as six pairs of eyes watched Elizabeth Bennet read the missive in her hand. The butler stood nearby uncomfortably, his eyes glancing at Lady Catherine, who appeared unsure if she was offended that an express had been sent to her guest.
In the corner, situated between Colonel Fitzwilliam and a sickly looking Anne de Burgh, Elizabeth’s heart was pounding as she read and reread the letter from Jane. Folding it up finally, she placed it in her pocket and stood up. Beside her, Colonel Fitzwilliam shot up.
“I beg your forgiveness, but I am afraid I must leave. I have heard from my sister Jane, in London, who has summoned me to the city as soon as I may be spared,” Elizabeth said, beginning to curtsey. Charlotte Collins, her eyes full of worry, made to stand as well, but Lady Catherine’s voice cut through the room like a knife, stopping the small brunette mid-rise.
“And what business does she have summoning you across the country at her whims? Surely nothing is wrong, or else your father would have sent for you,” the older woman said. Elizabeth’s face flushed a deep red, and she paused for a moment, scanning her mind for an appropriate excuse that would not be a total fabrication.
“My sister is staying with my aunt and uncle at their home in town, and she has written to me of a most alarming situation. I apologize, for I am not at liberty or ability to divulge much more information, but she wishes me there at my earliest convenience to aid her as I may in resolving this unfortunate situation. My uncle is expecting me in London by tomorrow,” Elizabeth rambled, her eyes twitching around the room. “Please forgive my rude departure. It is not an appropriate way to thank you for your kindness and hospitality, Lady Catherine, but I am afraid I must leave. My cousin and his wife need not accompany me, for I will see them once they return, but I have preparations to be made.”
“Elizabeth, please allow me to—” Charlotte was saying, but Mr. Collins was shaking his head imperceptibly, and his wife was silenced with a greatly disgruntled look. Elizabeth curtsied and offered apologies again, and was soon out of the drawing room and darting across the great hall.
By the time she left the Rosings gates, she was practically sprinting toward Hunsford, her legs pumping as they carried her across fields, her hair flying behind her. How could she have not suspected? She wished Jane had written earlier, but she understood her sister’s reticence. But this was entirely her fault, and she had to make it right.
She burst in the door of the cottage, shocking the maid as she bolted up the stairs and began pulling her trunk out. And to imagine, she had spent these past two weeks upset and hurt that Mr. Darcy had slighted her, when in fact he was concerned with something so much more important. She shook her head at her foolishness. Once again, she had allowed herself to assume that the world revolved around her and her emotions.
When Mr. Darcy had not been in the grove the day after the letter, she had been hurt. Had he changed his mind and chosen not to meet her? Had something happened? She returned home, irritable and upset. She had already been out of sorts, as she had not slept well at all after returning from her full moon rite. The clarity of mind she had achieved during the rite evaporated immediately when she woke just before dawn, feeling as though she had been struck in her stomach.
The air had been expelled from her chest, and she was panting and sweating horribly. Throwing back her covers, she had run to the window and looked out in the direction of Rosings, though she knew not what to expect. All she could think of was Mr. Darcy, and she felt terrified. Or did he feel terrified? She thought she was experiencing his emotions again, but she could no longer distinguish where she ended and he began.
And then when he had not appeared in the grove, she had begun to fear the worst. But at dinner that evening, everything at Rosings appeared normal: Lady Catherine was her talkative, formidable self, and though Colonel Fitzwilliam was more reserved than normal, she had attributed it to the presence of Anne de Burgh, who spoke hardly a word throughout the entire meal. Mr. Darcy was missing — he had chosen to ride to town on business, according to Lady Catherine — and nothing else was said to indicate that anything was amiss. Surely, if some tragedy had struck, Colonel Fitzwilliam would have gone with him?
Slowly she had forgotten about her frantic awakening, and allowed that no great calamity had drawn Mr. Darcy away, but instead he had fled from her. Like a raw nerve, this ate at her and needled at her, but slowly settled into a dull ache, and she had gone about her life as usual — and though not in as cheerful spirits as usual, she managed to pull herself out of her misery passably well, for, after all, she was not one who preferred to be out of spirits for very long.
But this letter from Jane changed everything. Once again, she had been so wrong! Hadn’t she vowed to listen to her instincts, which had told her something was dangerously amiss? And yet once again she ignored them, believing she knew better.
Elizabeth had packed fully and brought her trunk down the stairs when Mr. Collins and Charlotte returned. Mr. Collins rushed to her as soon as he entered the cottage, capturing her hands in his, and drawing her close.
“Dear cousin, tell me now, is your family well? Is your father well? I know you wished to not discuss family matters at Rosings, but tell me how I may help,” he insisted anxiously. Elizabeth stared at him. Was he truly attempting to be helpful, or was this a veiled excitement at the thought of inheriting Longbourn?
Shaking the thought from her mind, she shook her head and pulled her hands gently from his grasp.
“Do not worry, Mr. Collins, my father and the Bennet family are well. My sister stays with my mother’s brother, a Mr. Gardner, and it is to there I go. I do not have very much information, and I’m afraid it is a rather sensitive matter. I will be sure to communicate with you if you can be of aid in anyway, but for now I must simply ask you to oblige me in helping me procure passage on a carriage to London. My father will reimburse you for the expense, as I am afraid I have little money on me.”
Mr. Collins was nodding his agreement and repeatedly encouraging her to not worry, and in short order Elizabeth’s things had been moved toward the door and Mr. Collins was calling for the maid to go retrieve the cart in order to convey Elizabeth to the nearest coach stop, when a knock at the door of the parsonage froze them all in place.
“Please forgive my intrusion,” called a deep voice from the entry way. “I understand that Miss Elizabeth is traveling to London tonight, and as I was planning to depart for the same destination tomorrow, I thought I might move up my trip and offer her use of my carriage.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s tall frame ducked under the doorway of the parlour and appeared in front of the shocked party, his hat in hand and a grim smile on his face.
“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth started, her mouth set in a tight line, but the man held up his hand to silence her.
“Please, Miss Elizabeth. I go on family business, and I confess I am eager to leave sooner than intended, and if I may be so bold, I feel confident your family would be much more comfortable if you were to travel with a known acquaintance rather than brave a public hackney,” he said, turning to Mr. Collins. “Mr. Collins
, as her acting guardian, would you be comfortable with this arrangement?”
Mr. Collins was staring at the taller man suspiciously, apparently unable to formulate a response. Stepping forward, Charlotte laid a hand on her husband’s arm and nodded.
“We thank you for your generosity, Colonel Fitzwilliam, but it would not be appropriate for Miss Elizabeth to travel with you unaccompanied. I’m sure you understand.”
The colonel nodded briskly.
“Of course. I have taken the liberty of asking a maid from Rosings to accompany us on the trip, in order to safeguard Miss Elizabeth’s reputation. Would that be acceptable?”
“That was very kind of you to consider, Colonel,” Charlotte said kindly.
“It was rather presumptuous,” Mr. Collins muttered quietly, earning a sharp look from his wife. Clearing his throat, he shifted on his feet and nodded. “Yes, yes, well, I suppose you have considered everything. You have been excessively kind to make such an offer, and I trust that my dear cousin and charge will be safe in your company.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam clapped his hands.
“Excellent! My carriage is just outside, I’ll have my man load up her luggage and then we will go retrieve the maid and be off. If I may make an indelicate request of you though?” he said pausing. “Please do not mention this to my aunt. She knows I am leaving early, but I think it would displease her greatly to have to discuss it further. My only desire is to ensure her happiness, and as she is rather peeved at me right now, I do not wish her to have to dwell on it any more in polite society. I’m sure you understand, Mr. Collins, how important it is to keep my aunt happy?”
An Unnatural Inheritance: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 24
