Twixt Two Equal Armies

by Gail McEwen

  That quest would have to wait, because the small parlour was in danger of growing even smaller with Mrs Bennet’s advancing verbal onslaught once the gentlemen’s entrance was noticed. Predictably, and not from a sense of spatial charity either, Darcy instantly moved to Miss Elizabeth’s side as soon as the introductions had been performed, and although he spoke little, it was evident that he was not going to let anything as mundane as an old friend distract him. Bingley lasted a little longer and for several minutes chatted amiably with his lordship and future mother-in-law, but after Miss Bennet had sent about half a dozen warm looks his way, his concentration faltered and he started to make plans for claiming a seat closer to her, instantly losing all ability to carry a conversation.

  Unfortunately, conversation in the Longbourn parlour was anything but wanting as Mrs Bennet then turned her attention from her sons-in-law to her guest.

  “My dear Lord Baugham,” she gushed, “how good of you to come to celebrate with us. Weddings are such festive occasions, do you not agree? And we have certainly not had a shortage of them in our family.”

  “Yes, I imagine you are quite — ” he began, but before he could continue, his head was shot through with a sharp, stabbing pain by the piercing voice of his hostess.

  “Mary! Kitty! Come here!” Mrs Bennet then turned to him with a most genteel smile, “My lord, may I introduce my other, remaining, daughters?”

  If his lordship’s poor head was pained by the shrill call, or if his smile tightened slightly as the summoned daughters came forth, he was able to keep it from the notice of his hostess and soon he was flanked by the younger Miss Bennets. Miss Mary was handsome enough, if she would just smile, he thought. She was obviously studious, as she had been immersed in a book before her mother called and she came forward with the volume still clutched in her arms, but Baugham could not help but consider that her cousin, Miss Tournier, could well counsel her that a young woman could be educated and thoughtful while still maintaining an air of liveliness and spark.

  However, with the next introduction, it was obvious that Mrs Bennet had singled this daughter out for his particular attention. He suppressed a groan as he smiled woodenly and agreed that she was, indeed, nearly the prettiest of all her daughters and how fortunate it was that Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley had not met her first of all the sisters. Privately, his thoughts took a different turn; Miss Catherine Bennet was a pretty thing, but she was hardly more than a girl! She scarcely had any business being “out” of the schoolroom at all, much less to be pushed forward as an object of interest to a gentleman such as himself. His indigestion growing worse by the moment, he turned to Darcy in search of rescue from the attentions of the zealous mother and smiling daughter, but his friend was apparently engrossed in some aspect of Miss Elizabeth’s countenance. No help would be forthcoming from that quarter.

  Miss Kitty smiled and simpered in all the appropriate places and, prompted by her mother, stayed close to his side. Baugham politely inquired after her studies, which, he found to his surprise, were nonexistent, but he valiantly kept up a stream of small talk. Of course, the obvious topic of conversation was the upcoming dual wedding, though she declared she was heartily sick of the entire affair and would be happy when the whole thing was over with. The only consolation for having to endure such trials was her new gown, but what a lovely gown it was, pink, just the right colour for her as everyone says, and trimmed in the prettiest . . .

  “Miss Catherine,” he smiled in as brotherly as fashion as an only child could muster and patted her arm, “I trust you will forgive the interruption if I release you to find company more interesting than my own. I simply must go greet your sister properly. You run along now and enjoy yourself.”

  Kitty sent him a look that he did not take time to decipher, he just mumbled as she stomped off, “There’s a good girl . . . ” before turning to capture the attentions of Darcy’s beloved away from him.

  “Miss Bennet!”

  “My lord!” She clasped his hand warmly as he finished kissing hers. Her eyes sparkled with what he supposed was happiness and love or certainly confidence in being loved and giving happiness, because Darcy still had not deviated from her side and was still looking rather more at her than at anything else going on around them. “I hope you come with good news!” she said.

  “Oh yes!” Baugham smiled. “I have it on very good authority — your aunt’s in fact — that the Rosefarm party will be joining you here very soon. I think tomorrow, in fact.”

  “Oh splendid!” Miss Elizabeth said and smiled at him. “I cannot tell you how happy that makes me. I so wanted my cousin and my aunt to be here for the wedding and now they will be!”

  “You absolutely do not need to tell me that, it is perfectly obvious from your countenance. Furthermore, you must believe me to be in earnest when I confess to you I could not have withstood disappointing both you and Darcy and — I must admit — myself in failing to see to it that your wish was fulfilled.”

  “Wish?” said Darcy, and belying the dryness of his tone by sending his betrothed an openly adoring gaze. “Demand was more like it . . . ”

  THE INTERIOR OF THE CARRIAGE was completely dark and no words had been exchanged for at least an hour, though neither passenger had succumbed to boredom and monotony by falling asleep. Each woman was acutely aware that the other was across from her, awake and alert, and waiting, and when the silence was finally breached, it was almost comical that, after so many weeks of reticence, both parties spoke almost at once. Quiet words floated across the darkness and met in the middle.

  “Holly, I wish you would speak to me — ”

  “Maman, I have not been honest with you — ”

  Mrs Tournier heard the bleak despair in her daughter’s voice and she moved to her side and took her hand.

  “My darling girl,” she said, ignoring for the moment the words and concentrating on the feelings. “What do you mean? Don’t you know you can tell me anything?”

  Of course, in the face of such motherly compassion Holly’s resolve broke down and for a few moments could only weep in her mother’s arms. After so many weeks of holding back, of pretending that everything was as it should be, the release was welcome indeed.

  “I lied to you. That night when you asked me if I was upset, if something was wrong . . . I said no . . . but there is. There is something wrong and I am very upset.”

  Mrs Tournier sighed and turned her daughter’s face towards her.

  “Ah, well, my dear, but what could be so wrong, Lie-lie? What has happened that you felt it necessary to lie about it to me?”

  “I did not tell you because I was unsure of your reaction. Indeed, I am still not sure what I wish your reaction to be.”

  Holly trained her eyes on the blackness across from her and began.

  “A few weeks ago, the day after the Martinmas Fair when his lordship came for tea . . . do you remember he left quite abruptly? Well, it was not for the reason I gave you . . . He left because I was upset and confused . . . you had sent him out to find me, and we quarrelled, and then . . . quite suddenly . . . ” she turned her eyes to meet her mother’s, “Maman, Lord Baugham kissed me.”

  She dropped her eyes again and waited for the result of her admission.

  It was seldom Mrs Tournier confessed to such a thing, but at this moment she had no choice but to admit that she was at a loss for words.

  “Well!” she finally said in honest astonishment and still had take another moment to bring order to her thoughts. Despite everything, despite her pride in her observation and intelligence she had not thought she would be faced with a confession such as this!

  “My dear,” she went on in what she hoped was a calm voice that would inspire rational explanation and that would settle her beliefs and perceptions of the state of things as well, “why do you suppose he did that? What else happened?”

  “He would not say why . . . ” Holly murmured, her head still down, “only that he was sorry . . . mortified . . .
it was a terrible mistake . . . it would never happen again . . . Nothing else happened — he begged my forgiveness, I gave it. He left, I returned to you.”

  Mrs Tournier narrowed her eyes and struggled to understand.

  “Child,” she said in an earnest voice, “tell me the truth, did he force himself on you and did you reject him?”

  Holly’s voice grew very quiet as she struggled to control her breathing.

  “No, he did not. That is, he did not ask my permission, but . . . I did not even have time to reject him before he was apologizing. It was not at all like that . . . I am not fearful around Lord Baugham, just confused.”

  “Dear,” her mother went on just as quietly, “you do not have to answer this, but I must ask for I do think I am beginning to understand and I don’t mind telling you it is most upsetting. Do you regret the act or the circumstance?”

  Holly leaned on her mother’s shoulder, silent tears falling freely. “Maman, would you understand if I answered both yes, and no?”

  Mrs Tournier sighed and kissed her daughter’s hair while she gently wiped away her tears.

  “Yes, I would,” she said. “It makes my heart ache for you, but I certainly would. And he?”

  Holly shook her head and could barely utter the words through her tears. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I think . . . I felt . . . I saw . . . ” But that was all she could say.

  They sat quietly for a while. Mrs Tournier had a fair inkling of what was going through her daughter’s heart even if her mind was muddled, but added to this a revelation of a most serious kind had left her own mind and convictions in turmoil. Suddenly behaviours she had tolerated and merely thought foolish took on a new meaning and she found herself trying to understand aspects of her friend she had never thought were any of her concern. She had seen enough with her own eyes to fit in some pieces of the puzzle and to readily acknowledge his lordship’s own troubles. Funnily enough, this understanding of his personality and appreciation for his character only brought on a fresh wave of sadness and frustration. What had he done? What did he think he was doing? How on earth did he think he could get away with it? Did he not realise there were two- Nay! Three. Nay! Four hearts involved in this blind and foolish game of his?

  Conflicting feeling raged within her maternal heart. The burden of a meeting in Hertfordshire with her daughter’s feelings what they now obviously were, battled with the burning longing to physically slap that infuriating man into sense or even responsibility! Her palm itched with the desire as she could not curse him out loud. And then, out of the very core of her understanding and affection, not to mention her own sad experiences, crept a melancholy sort of tune that took over her heart strings and made her reflect that in truth, not even a mother’s crusade against anyone out to wrong her child could ignore that more needed to be protected and championed than Holly’s heart. Life had left wounds and scars on more than one young person dear to her, and in truth, she had no inkling if true healing was even possible for either — much less for both together. So in silence she contemplated her choices while she absentmindedly caressed the hand she still held in hers.

  Finally Holly lifted her head, sniffed loudly and took the already soggy handkerchief out of her mother’s hand to blow her nose and compose herself.

  “So,” Mrs Tournier said and clasped her hands in her lap, “you are going to make up your mind about . . . this?”

  Holly dried her eyes and squared her shoulders,

  “Yes, I think I have to. It is time to put that foolishness behind me. I know what I need to do.

  “And are you going to give yourself to Dr McKenna, a gentle, quiet and respectable man, in an attempt to forget Lord Baugham?”

  “No Maman,” Holly quietly answered. “Not to forget. To accept.”

  Mrs Tournier’s jaw clenched and a strong, stiff feeling crept up her spine as she watched and listened to her child grasping for action that would quell her confused feelings in a desperate gamble that she could heal her heart by burying her hopes.

  Holly repeated herself a moment later without realising her mother had formed her own resolutions in the meantime. “To accept, Maman. Some things just cannot be.”

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, MRS ARABELLA TOURNIER looked around the entrance hall of her childhood home. She had not seen it, except briefly, for twenty odd years and she found that her mental picture of it matched reality perfectly. Nothing had changed. Well no, something had changed. She could not quite put her finger on it so she took in the walls and the floor and the furnishings as she slowly shed her garments.

  Her brother stood watching her and her sister nervously fiddled with a piece of cloth between her fingers that Mrs Tournier assumed was a handkerchief. It was obvious that Mrs Bennet had not quite yet decided whether she was too nervous of her sister to speak or too nervous to keep silent.

  Behind her, Mrs Tournier’s nieces were lined up: Jane, Elizabeth — casting merry looks at her and her cousin beside her mother, obviously impatient to have this ceremony over and done with — Mary and Catherine.

  “Sister,” Mr Bennet finally said and kissed her cheek. His wife fluttered nervously when she realised some kind of greeting was expected.

  “Brother,” Mrs Tournier said calmly and looked expectantly at her sister.

  “Oh,” said Mrs Bennet, “I most sincerely hope your journey was comfortable. Mr Darcy arranged it all, you know, and he is the most particular man, I find.”

  “Quite,” Mrs Tournier said and let her eyes wander to her niece Elizabeth. She received a gentle kiss on the cheek by her oldest niece and a full fledged hug from Elizabeth while her younger nieces obviously felt a curtsey was as close to their Aunt Arabella as they ever wished or dared to be.

  As Holly received an even warmer welcome and even a few shrieks and a bit of girlish chatter, Mrs Tournier let her eyes scan the room once more.

  “New wallpaper,” Mrs Bennet instantly volunteered.

  “Really?” Mrs Tournier answered.

  “How was your journey,” her brother asked as Mrs Hill departed with the last of the traveller’s effects.

  “Excruciating,” his sister answered dryly.

  “Well then,” Mr Bennet said and showed his sister the way to his library and then closed the door firmly behind them.

  LORD BAUGHAM TRANSFERRED HIS GAZE from the open fireplace back to his opened book. As he did so, he spotted Miss Caroline Bingley wagging her slippered foot up and down and glancing at him. Lord Baugham sighed. During the time they had already spent together in the same house he had come to know Miss Bingley fairly well and from all he had been forced to learn about her, that gesture meant she was planning some course of action to break the silence of the evening that most assuredly would include him. To be perfectly honest, his lordship thought to himself, it was impossible to tell whether he feared or welcomed such an interruption as an alternative to blankly staring at the pages in his book.

  The other gentlemen were there as well, but they were not of very much help with Miss Bingley. Mr Bingley did give his sister smiles at her attempts at conversation, but when asked for an opinion, he started in his chair as if woken from a deep reverie and stutteringly admitted he was somewhat at a loss over the details of what was being discussed. Darcy did not even keep up pretence of attending to his surroundings. He steadfastly sat with his book on his knee and his gaze never wavered from its pages. However, as Baugham was quite certain Francis Bacon never wrote anything humorous on purpose, and Darcy never previously had found him unintentionally ridiculous, the slight tugging at the corners of his mouth that he displayed every once in a while and the twinkle in his eye very much gave him away.

  The reason for Bingley’s and Darcy’s enforced stay at their own house was not out of a feeling of too much familiarity with the Bennet family being imminent, but rather that more visitors were expected at Longbourn — all the way from Scotland. He had expected Bingley and Darcy to be half finished with breakfast when he came down th
at morning and busily discussing how large a portion of the day could be spent either at Longbourn or in the vicinity of Longbourn, and in the company of certain young ladies in residence. But no. Out of consideration for the weary travellers and family reunions, the Netherfield party had sacrificed a day of courting.

  Baugham sighed again.

  To be perfectly frank, the expectation of the Tournier women joining the wedding party and the impending prospect of talking with and seeing them once again, clearly overshadowed any expectations of enjoyment he held for witnessing the ceremony between his friends and their respective brides. That would be quickly enough accomplished and no great rituals or lavish arrangements were expected, and after that was over, he would certainly waste no more time in Hertfordshire. Seldom had his long overdue business up at his estate seemed like a better alternative to staying were he was. But before that . . . yes, before that . . .

  Oh, he could not help it. It would be good to see her; he pondered the upcoming meeting with equal parts anticipation and dread and he was anxious to get on with it rather than continue to wait around in uncertainty. He was not so much concerned with her reaction and feelings as he was with his own. A selfish thing to confess, to be sure, but even so, all his energies must of course be spent to assure that he did not betray himself or act irrationally. However skilled he was at hiding his true feelings and true self from the world, a practice he had been perfecting since he was a boy, this was truly uncharted ground.

  Yet, if the prospect of seeing her, here among her family, under the guise of a wedding, was confusing to his resolve and temper, seeing both of them would remind him of better days, of a calmer existence, of a truer self — someone he liked better than what he was in other company. Of course, he must start by apologising and putting right the rather strained way they had parted. But as he did so — and he had no doubts he would be forgiven — perhaps they could talk and be as they had been. And then . . . Still avoiding Miss Bingley’s eye, Baugham smiled at his page. Would anything have changed in removing south, he wondered? Would it be easier and would he be spared this restlessness? Whatever the case, it would be very good to see her again. And her mother, too.