by Laura Hile
“And now they have quarreled,” said Lydia. “Lizzy has shut herself in her bedchamber.”
Collins gave a loud harrumph. He was rewarded with Lydia’s muted giggle.
Mrs. Hill came in, along with James (the do-nothing footman) and the tea tray. This set the girls into motion. Collins watched them with narrowed eyes. Would anyone bother to bring him tea?
“Lizzy will have no objection to seeing you, Charlotte,” said Lydia.
“No indeed,” said Jane.
Collins looked up. When had Jane come in? She poured out a cup and brought it to him.
“Would you care for cake?” she inquired. When he answered in the affirmative, she brought him two pieces. Elizabeth might be the beauty of her family, but lovely Jane was certainly the kindest.
The talking continued, and eventually Miss Lucas was persuaded to speak with Elizabeth.
From behind the pages of his book, Collins gave an audible sniff. He thought better of Miss Lucas, for she seemed a sensible creature. Collins also knew that there was no counting on women; they must be loyal to their kind.
As for Elizabeth, she could stay upstairs all night. The push to his chest and the disdain in her eyes were burned into his memory.
g
Charlotte sounded amused. “You have barricaded the door?”
Elizabeth removed the chair and let her friend come in. “It’s Mother. She must fuss and fret, fearing that I will do something drastic like end the engagement. My father’s passing has been very difficult for her.”
“Do you intend to end it?”
“Of course not,” said Elizabeth. “It’s just that—”
Charlotte found a seat on the bed. “Has Mr. Collins behaved badly, Eliza? He seems perfectly ordinary to me.”
“That’s just the trouble,” said Elizabeth. “He is ordinary. And he—wasn’t.”
“I see no evidence of a change.”
“But you have not been here for weeks.”
“Two weeks,” replied Charlotte promptly. “I was here just before Mother became ill. And I must say, I was quite impressed with Mr. Collins. He asked about Meryton and my family and all the neighbors. His interest was sincere.”
“It’s as if he has become a different person.”
“People do not transform in to someone else,” said Charlotte. “It must be a mood.”
“But how can I marry—”
Charlotte interrupted. “Not marry someone who has moods? Nonsense. Everyone has moods, even you.” Her tone softened. “Imagine what your marriage will mean to your future and to your family.”
“I am imagining it,” said Elizabeth, around a sigh.
“My father is sometimes foolish, but he means well. Mr. Collins is not a bad man, Eliza.”
Elizabeth got up and hunted in a drawer for a handkerchief.
Charlotte went on. “Is romance as important as stability and a secure home?”
“Secure until he dies!” flashed Elizabeth. “Who knows, perhaps he will be struck by lightning again.”
“Supposedly struck by lightning.” said Charlotte. “I never did believe that story. It would have made an exciting end to Mr. Bingley’s ball, if anyone had seen it happen. But no one did.” She paused. “You are altogether too hard on him.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Elizabeth said slowly. “He did redeem Kitty’s necklace. And he will be giving my mother and sisters generous financial support.”
“There, you see? How a man spends money is an indication of his character.”
This was true. Hadn’t William said the same thing? After all, he had been injured. It was no wonder that he was out of sorts.
“Charlotte,” said Elizabeth, “would you care to go with me to Netherfield? I would like to consult with Mr. Fleming.”
“Today? I am afraid not. Is your business so urgent?”
“Tomorrow, then,” said Elizabeth. “And yes, I believe it is.”
46 Fain I Would
The fine weather held but it was cold, and Elizabeth could sense that her friend’s patience was wearing thin.
“I had no idea,” Charlotte was now saying, “that you meant to walk all the way to Netherfield.”
“I did not like to ask for the carriage,” Elizabeth explained. “William might have need of it.”
“Did not like to ask?” echoed Charlotte. “Did you think he would refuse?”
How should Elizabeth answer? “It is not the same as asking Father,” was the best she could do.
“I should think not. I daresay a fiancé would be fonder than ever a father could be.”
Elizabeth attempted a reply but was unable.
At once Charlotte linked her arm through Elizabeth’s. “I spoke without thinking just now,” she said quietly. “You father was very fond of you indeed.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth managed to say. “He was.”
“And you are a credit to him in every way. Always, he was proud of you.”
“I fear he never understood my engagement.”
“That, I believe,” said Charlotte, “could be said of most fathers.”
“Perhaps,” said Elizabeth.
How she longed to confide in Charlotte! About last night’s awkward supper, with William sitting in her father’s place, silent and withdrawn and disapproving. And how she had come down to breakfast today well before his usual time. Was it to avoid seeing him? Or was it simply because she did not know what to say?
Not know what to say to William? A man with whom she had discussed everything, and without reserve of any kind?
Elizabeth walked beside her friend for some minutes in silence. “If you must know,” she said at last, “I did not tell Mr. Collins about my plans today because he would not understand. About consulting Mr. Fleming, that is.”
“Why are you consulting him?”
“I have questions pertaining to William’s injury.”
“Resulting from the so-called lightning strike? My dear Eliza—”
“It did happen,” said Elizabeth. “In fact, I saw—”
“You saw?” Charlotte said. “What did you see?”
Elizabeth thought quickly. “The—Folly. I saw—the damage to the Folly.”
Charlotte said nothing, but she gave Elizabeth a knowing look.
“It is not far from the house,” said Elizabeth. “If you like I will show you.”
“I know where the Folly is. I can only hope that it is not surrounded by mud. You might care nothing for a dirty hem, but I do not share that opinion.”
She sounded annoyed.
“I am sorry for making you tramp all this way. Indeed you are a true friend to bear me company. I only hope that Mr. Fleming has not left for Hunsford.”
Charlotte came to a halt. “After an hour’s walk we might discover that he is not there?”
Fortunately the Netherfield mansion was in sight. Elizabeth urged Charlotte forward. “I daresay he will travel with Lady Catherine in order to look after Anne. And I cannot imagine that they would simply leave without a word to us. After all, Anne was our guest for almost a week.”
“Dear me,” said Charlotte. But she voiced no objection to seeing the Folly. Together they left the lane to enter the garden.
There were memories here, along with evidence for those with eyes to see. The wheels of the traveling coach had left scars in the lawn. And there was the hedge, behind which Elizabeth and Kitty had found shelter. In her mind she could hear William’s voice, ringing through the night air, as he confronted Mr. Wickham.
He had not wished to fight, but his fine sense of honor demanded it. Anne de Bourgh was no favorite, and yet he risked his life to protect her. And then Elizabeth became aware that Charlotte had asked a question.
“I-I beg your pardon?” she stammered.
“I said, is that not Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth gave a start. Sure enough, standing before the Folly was the man himself.
“I must say,” Charlotte added in a lowered voice, “I had forgo
tten how handsome Mr. Darcy is.”
Elizabeth drew a long breath and let it out. There was no disputing the truth of this. Even clad in a somber greatcoat, he was the picture of elegance. There was something familiar in his stance, in the way he was frowning down at the fallen stones. But no, how could that be? She must be imagining things.
“Are you not a little sorry,” Charlotte added, with a smile in her voice, “that you spurned his attentions so decidedly?”
Elizabeth’s gaze traveled to the patch of ground where William had stood up to George Wickham, and her heart swelled. She had learned a thing or two since that night at the ball. Looks were not the measure of a man, nor were his attire or his position or his wealth.
“My dear Charlotte,” Elizabeth said, and her lips curved into an answering smile. “I fear that Mr. Darcy is still not handsome enough to tempt me.”
“Perhaps that is just as well, then” said Charlotte. “For it looks as though he means to speak with us.”
g
Darcy felt as if his features had become etched with a permanent scowl, for his time at Netherfield had been anything but pleasant. He’d addressed directly his aunt’s matrimonial scheme, a thing he should have done years ago. By the look on her face, she might well consign him to Bedlam! He’d also had the footman remove the dumb-waiter from his rooms. There would be no more intimate tea-drinking with Caroline Bingley.
And he had torn up pages of perfectly good paper in an attempt to write to Elizabeth Bennet. As if another letter would do any good.
And then there was Fitz and his scheme. Yes, Darcy would relish setting his cousin straight.
If only he could regain his strength! Even now he felt as weak as a cat.
To escape the house he’d come out to the Folly, though God alone knew why. There was no longer any mystery to unravel; he was again himself. And yet here he was, pacing back and forth to keep warm, halting to examine the inscriptions. Presently he glanced toward the house—and realized that he was no longer alone.
“Elizabeth,” he said aloud.
For there she stood, wrapped against the cold in a plain black cloak. Her face looked unusually pale, no thanks to an ugly black bonnet. Beside her stood Miss Lucas.
A heaven-sent opportunity! How long had Elizabeth been here? And how would he tell her of what had taken place? Speak, he must ignore his dizziness and speak!
“Mr.—Darcy,” he heard Elizabeth say. The reluctance in her voice was unmistakable.
Darcy nodded to Miss Lucas without taking his eyes from Elizabeth. “Rather cold today,” he said. Not the most brilliant conversational opening, but he had to say something.
He knew she thought him arrogant and aloof. He must somehow counteract this impression.
“A curious structure,” he went on, “What do you know about it?”
“About the Folly?” said Miss Lucas, before Elizabeth could answer. “Only what I have heard, that it was built by Lady Mustow.”
As Collins Darcy knew that Miss Lucas and her family were relative newcomers. He turned to Elizabeth. “A prideful sort of woman, would you say?”
Her eyes met his. “Why do you ask?”
He caught himself shrugging, as Collins would do. “I have been studying the inscriptions on each keystone,” he said. “I suspect that Lady Mustow must have struggled with pride.”
“Or else her husband did,” said Elizabeth. “I have heard that he had a temper.”
“Yes, that would explain a few things.”
Darcy saw Miss Lucas give Elizabeth a look. He decided to ignore her.
“Perhaps the Folly was meant as a message,” he said. “A sermon in stone if you will. Allow me to show you.”
Would Elizabeth follow? Would she converse?
“Between Cain and Abel, just there,” he added, “can you make out the inscription? The stone has been worn by the elements.”
Elizabeth’s gaze was intent. He had aroused her interest.
Darcy drew the Bible from his pocket and found the book of Proverbs. “Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit? There is more hope of a fool than of him.”
“There is nothing unusual in that,” said Miss Lucas. “It seems perfectly reasonable, considering Cain’s attitude.”
“And all the more if Sir Mustow was a braggart,” said Darcy.
“I daresay,” was Miss Lucas’ only comment.
Darcy coughed. “I was thinking, Miss Elizabeth, that this text might also have a present-day application. Such as, for instance, my own conceit.”
Against the white of her skin, Elizabeth’s eyes were large. “Yours?” she said.
He felt his lips curve into a smile. No, a grin—Collins’ foolish grin! “I am beginning to wonder,” he said, “whether I have inherited more from my Aunt Catherine than I know. Namely, her fondness for always being in the right.”
“Have you?” she said.
“That’s the rub, isn’t it? For you see, so often I am right.”
“A happy thought.”
Darcy bit back a laugh. “Isn’t it just? Over there, between Peter and Judas, is the next inscription.”
Elizabeth walked with him to the next arch.
“I’ve always had a soft spot for Peter,” Darcy admitted.
“But not, I hope, for Judas,” said Miss Lucas.
“And the inscription?” said Elizabeth.
“Short and to the point,” said Darcy. “Pride goeth before destruction and an haughty spirit before a fall.” He paused and then added, “Rather like old Nebuchadnezzar.”
This was something he’d pointed out as Collins. Would she make a connection? She was thinking, he could see that.
“And yet,” Elizabeth said slowly, “Peter and Judas were not damaged by the storm. It was Moses.”
So the leap was too great. But they were conversing, that was something.
“He lost a hand, I believe,” Darcy said. “Moses is on the other side. Would you like to see?”
“Eliza,” he heard Miss Lucas whisper.
“Come and see,” urged Darcy.
“Eliza, our errand?”
“In a moment, Charlotte. I would like to see the damaged statues.”
“I thought you said you’d seen them,” Miss Lucas said.
“Yes, but I would like to see them again.”
Darcy knew better than to appear too eager, and so he strolled away. Elizabeth followed.
“See here,” he said, indicating the fallen keystone and the inscription. “It’s Matthew VI,” he said. “Not the fifth chapter as I originally thought. And here is something else I did not see, a small letter i. Which would make this Matthew 6:1.”
Again Darcy brought out the Bible, but his fingers were awkward from the cold.
Then too, his attention was distracted by the appearance of a chaise-and-four coming along the gravel drive. Behind it lumbered an enclosed wagon, painted black, pulled by horses of a more rugged breed.
His jaw tensed. Unless he was mistaken, here was his cousin Fitz.
“If you please,” said Elizabeth, “I will gladly read it for you.”
He passed the book to her and she found the text. “Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them,” she read. “Otherwise ye have no reward of your Father which is in heaven.”
“An unusual choice for Moses and John,” Darcy observed, keeping an eye on the wagon.
“And does it have a present-day application?”
“Meaning me?” said Darcy, smiling. “Very probably, although I have tried to do otherwise. On the other hand,” he added, “it perfectly describes Coll—” He caught himself.
Elizabeth appeared lost in thought, gazing at the Bible.
Miss Lucas spoke up. “I wonder if you can tell us, sir, whether Mr. Fleming is at home.”
Elizabeth closed the book and returned it. “We were afraid that perhaps he had departed for Hunsford,” she said. “But you were saying? About the inscription?”
“Mr. Fleming
is here,” said Darcy slowly.
Fitz and another man had climbed out of the chaise and were approaching the house.
“And do you think he is available to see Miss Elizabeth?”
“That I cannot say, Miss Lucas.”
Darcy had a sudden thought. “Has someone at Longbourn become ill?”
“Not precisely,” said Elizabeth. “I have several questions to ask him of a medical nature. In reference to a friend.”
Did she mean Collins? Darcy felt his lips twist into a rueful smile.
“Unless I miss my guess,” he said, “Mr. Fleming will be occupied for some time. But you are most welcome to wait.”
An expression of reluctance crossed Miss Lucas’ face but she said nothing.
“Thank you,” said Elizabeth. “I believe we shall.”
47 Jump at the Sun
Elizabeth knew she ought to leave the Folly, for Charlotte was cold and impatient. But there was something about Mr. Darcy—as if an unasked question hung between them. But that could not be right. She had no question to ask!
“Eliza,” she heard Charlotte whisper. “Shall we go?”
“In a moment,” Elizabeth whispered back. “I feel as if I ought to speak with Mr. Darcy.”
Charlotte’s face was pinched with the cold. “You already have.”
“Yes, but I feel as though he has something to tell me, something more about the stones, perhaps. Something that will shed light on a mystery.”
There was a pause. “What mystery would that be?”
Elizabeth had no answer. Of course there was no mystery. All the same, something was not right.
“To be honest,” Charlotte continued, “I suspect that Mr. Darcy would prefer us to leave. He’s done nothing but scowl since we arrived.”
“Has he?” It seemed just the opposite to Elizabeth. There was something about his faint half smile and the shine in his eyes, as if they were friends sharing a secret. But Mr. Darcy was not her friend. She scarcely knew him!
And yet Elizabeth knew she must speak with him.
Mr. Darcy looked surprised, but not at all displeased. She said nothing and waited for him to speak. He did not disappoint.
“I apologize for provoking your cousin yesterday,” he said. “I ought to have known he’d become upset.”
