With prayers and exclamations ranging through relief, excitement, and dread, the group together looked upon the startling change in the patient with mixed emotions. Jane was confident it meant that Lizzy was healing; Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were worried for the thrashing and exclamation but felt relief that there had been some response. Mrs. Hill was fearful that the strain would further complicate her favorite miss’s recovery. Only Lydia, silent and grave, saw the tear that emerged and fell from the side of Elizabeth’s closed eye, glide ominously down her cheek and disappear unseen into the pillow.
Chapter 9
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst left soon after the former’s confidential interview with Mr. Darcy though the gentleman could scarcely be relied upon to remember the particulars of how it came about. The chaos marking his emotions was so extreme that it was some time after their departure that he had even become aware of their absence. He remembered only her. Her face, pinched in pain, turned from him finally, shoulders arching in anguished sobs. It was almost enough for him to wish for her anger back. Darcy steeled himself to it though; it was what was necessary, he told himself, to end this tragic play — to force his mind to give up Elizabeth. He purposefully had caused this anguish, hoping self-preservation might win and eradicate this spectral Elizabeth.
For Elizabeth’s part, her heart had been so pressured and bruised that she could not vouch for her own wellbeing. She felt faint, extremely tired, and lost in a way she had not since arriving in this most dreaded dream-state. She felt a pain in her head, and a duller throbbing on her shoulder that made no sense to her, as she had no recollection of injuring herself there. Still those ailments were but fractions of the great pain lacing through the confines of her heart. Hateful man! To hear that he had been the means of ruining, perhaps forever, the happiness of her most beloved sister. It was just too much to bear. Her heart longed for her sister acutely, causing an ache most profound. This longing only added yet another emotion — a distress at her inability to eliminate her irrevocable connection to that hateful, arrogant, and awful man. Worse still was the fact that she knew she had begun to admire him. It was perhaps the reason for the majority of her sorrow. Disappointment in him reigned supreme, and the man she had begun to think he was could not be, not in the face of such proof — not in the face of such hurtful words.
He had orchestrated Jane and Mr. Bingley’s separation, and when given the chance — the opportunity to correct the wrong — he had perpetuated it. She could not help but feel that it was a purposeful act to push her away, to seal this terrible plan of his. Anger flared in her breast again, for not once had he asked her opinion on the matter. Not once had he deigned to ask her what could be done or how she felt about their unwanted bond. He claimed to admire her, and yet he would not ask her thoughts on the matter. Not even his reasoning that she was a figment of his imagination could acquit him now from her censure, for she did exist. She was not his — in heart or mind. She existed, if only by proof of the anger and pain she was now experiencing.
Elizabeth could hear his sister asking him if he was well. She cared not for his answer and closed her mind to his response. She felt momentarily for the girl, Miss Darcy, for she could not know what kind of man her brother was. Her admiration for him was untainted by any knowledge of his audacity.
His response was short, and soon Elizabeth felt the tug of bondage to the man pulling her out of the room. She would not look at him, and so she turned her head to the side. Her eyes filled with tears, and once again, she had cause to hate the dark sorcery that held them together, this time with a passion she had never before felt.
For the rest of the afternoon until it was time to change for the ball, Darcy remained in his study. Although he tried not to look at her, hoping to facilitate the eradication for which he wished, he could not help but see the distance she kept from him. It was not so much a physical distance — as that was a determined amount — as an emotional distance. Gone were the shocking statements, provoking smiles, and humorous attempts to draw his attention. After a while, he could take it no more, and he moved towards the sofa near the wall in his study. There he knew she would take immediate refuge in his library on the other side of the wall. She had kept to the furthest perimeters since his discussion with Miss Bingley. As he expected, she disappeared through the wall into the library. He could not expect this olive branch on his part would be noticed by her. Still, despite his avowed wish, it rankled that she disappeared so quickly.
Sinking heavily into the sofa, Darcy’s head fell into his hands. Slowly, a suspicion that had been taking root in his mind, though one that he had avoided acknowledging, came at once to his thoughts. This situation had more to it than merely a phantasmal creation of his deteriorating mind. For some reason, unbeknownst to either of them, they were destined to be together, at least for a time. Most distressing of all, perhaps this Elizabeth, his Elizabeth, was not really his in nature but her own — the real Elizabeth Bennet of Hertfordshire. This avenue of thought only increased Darcy’s distress, for it meant that she had indeed felt the hurt of his actions, but worse still it meant that her presence there might indicate that something terrible had happened to her — that she perhaps may be gone from this world except to have her spirit haunt him.
Suddenly racked with a pain more profound than any other emotion he now juggled, Darcy’s eyes welled with tears at the thought of his Elizabeth passing on, the brilliance and life swept from her eyes. It was not a thought he could well stomach, and forcing it from his mind, he collapsed against the sofa and, covering his face with his arm, attempted to slow his labored breathing and still his aching heart.
They were ironically back to where they had started: he on one side of the wall and she on the other. The only difference was that both were aware of the other in the acutest of ways.
* * *
The ride to his aunt’s house was thick with tension. In a turn of fate that seemed designed by the devil himself, Darcy was unable to send his regrets, perhaps claiming some illness. Colonel Fitzwilliam, seemingly possessed of supernatural precognition and suspecting decampment on the part of his cousin, came to Darcy House with the express purpose of riding together to the ball.
Darcy, wishing less to face his cousin’s inquisition than to attend a ton event, readied himself with little care and climbed into the equipage. Elizabeth still kept her distance and never so much as looked in his direction. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s own serious mien proved to Darcy his poor mood was not hidden sufficiently.
Though he would act as if the intrusion on his personal affairs bothered him, in truth, Darcy was grateful for the close friendship he had with Richard. His judgment and good humor were often welcome and had helped him to come to the right decision about serious matters in the past. The overwhelming chaos that had enveloped his life since waking early New Year’s Day was the most profound life event Darcy had experienced to date and also the only thing he had ever ventured to keep from his cousin.
The weight of it stood before them like a wall of secrets that Darcy could not like but also could not help. It would not do to have his cousin and best friend know of his lunacy, if indeed it were such. If it were the other, more distressing idea — that I am being haunted by the woman I . . . No, I cannot say it. It could not be true, both the sentiment and the reason for her presence.
None of the passengers, either physical or spiritual, said anything along the way to the ball. And upon reaching their destination, Darcy immediately exited the carriage and escaped into the throng and revelry. His purpose soon found — a glass of his uncle’s scotch — he took up position along the back wall of the ballroom.
He could not see Elizabeth as she purposefully took advantage of the pillar against which he leaned, continuing in absentia from his other senses. He heard no laughter, no witty remarks about the guests or any inane comments about the number of couples or size of the room. It was a silence that echoed loudly in his ears. He lifted the drink to his lips again as his sto
rmy eyes took in the festivities before him.
Elizabeth focused all her energies into feeling and experiencing the cool texture of the marble pillar. Sinking into it, she was grateful for the obstruction it provided. She could not see him and, unless he spoke, could almost believe herself rid of the horrible man.
For some time the pain in her breast was cooled by the lack of sight. It was as if she could breathe again after the disappointment she had earlier experienced at his hands, a disappointment more profound than if had she been indifferent to him. But soon her peaceful recollections were disturbed by the sound of Mr. Bingley greeting his friend.
Curiosity drove her forward, and she emerged enough from the pillar to take in his appearance. She did not imagine he looked less lively and acted less cheerful. She felt she was not biased in this, and though she would not deign say as much to her unwanted companion, she hoped he would notice.
“These balls begin to hold little enjoyment for me these days, Darcy.” Bingley paused to sip his own drink. Laughing without real feeling, he continued. “Perhaps I grow too much like you, my friend. After so many of these town events, there is not much of interest anymore to capture my attention.”
Elizabeth had the satisfaction of seeing Darcy wince at the feigned laugh that followed Bingley’s words. “I sincerely doubt that you have any need to fear becoming like me, Bingley, for your amiable nature will always render events such as these easy while I will always feel ill at ease amongst so many people.”
Bingley shrugged but added, “Still, I perhaps now see the virtue in standing about the perimeter of the room as you do. It is damned uncomfortable — a crush like this.” His tone registered frustration.
The men remained silent for a moment. Darcy was acutely aware of the change in sentiments from his friend, who once said he would not be so fastidious for a kingdom when it came to crowded ballrooms or their inhabitants.
Bingley turned to his friend and with sincere remorse said, “Forgive me, Darcy, for my intemperance just now. I must be in a foul mood; perhaps I ought not to be in company. I have grown tired of London; ’tis suffocating really. I have been thinking of going to Scarborough to visit my relations for a time.”
Darcy gave his friend a pat on the shoulder. He was a good man. Even though he had barely raised his voice just now, he still felt the need to apologize. Darcy thought of Miss Bennet’s impending trip to London and seized the opportunity to protect his friend’s still tender heart.
“Yes, perhaps it may be a wise choice. I had thought of retreating to Pemberley myself,” Darcy said by way of agreement, though now the idea had merit.
Bingley nodded his head, firming to his resolution, it seemed. “I think I will go up north to my relations. Caroline can remain in town with the Hursts. You are a good friend, you know, Darcy. I can always rely on your judgment.”
Darcy smiled tightly in response and emptied his glass. The nagging guilt and doubt he had once acknowledged only yesterday at his club was now more profound than ever. A part of him wanted to stop his friend, call him back when he departed. But what good it would do, Darcy did not know, for it did not change the fact that Miss Jane Bennet did not love his friend. He was still quite certain of that. Her easy, contented behavior while in Bingley’s presence portrayed only amiability, not love in his opinion. They both would be destined, it seemed, to be addled by a lady in the Bennet household. As soon as Bingley left, Darcy noticed Elizabeth once again sink back into the pillar. Equal parts relief and disappointment warred for precedence in his heart at her desertion.
After some time, Darcy decided to walk the perimeter of the room. His movement was calculated to force Elizabeth from her hiding. It was cruel of him, or perhaps more accurately, it was selfish of him. He felt trapped upon a difficult precipice. On one side, he wished to see her, and on the other, he knew his earlier actions had been designed to rid himself of her. His circuit was without design except to avoid places where she might hide from his vision. He stopped occasionally to speak to an acquaintance as he made his way in an attempt to act naturally.
However, Elizabeth was not without her own form of revenge either, he noted. On one occasion when he had stopped to speak with Mr. Kingsley, a friend from his university days, she ventured so much as to speak, though he could not like what she said.
“He is a handsome man, is he not?” Elizabeth said as she lifted onto the tips of her toes to lean closer to the gentleman’s face. Darcy watched her overt admiration as she commented on Mr. Kinglsey’s fashionable attire, becoming smile, and pleasing manners.
Darcy discerned her intent to make him jealous, and despite that, he feared it was working, for as quickly as he could without being deemed uncivil, he removed himself from his friend’s company and resumed his walk, pulling her decidedly away from the handsome and pleasing Mr. Kingsley.
He returned to the pillar, whereby her departure into it was welcome to both parties. He decided to remain there for the rest of the evening.
“A rousing success, would you not agree, sir?”
Darcy almost groaned when he felt Miss Bingley’s arm snake through his and her voice disturb his ears. He noticed that Elizabeth did not venture out with the appearance of this acquaintance. He did not blame her; at the moment, he wished he, too, could hide in the pillar. The thought of doing so brought humor to his mind for the first time in hours as he pictured what she would do if he could invade her hiding spot.
“Miss Bingley.”
“Come, Darcy, I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance!” she said playfully with a swat of her fan to his shoulder.
If she thought her humorous prodding was going to get her an invitation to dance, she was mistaken. “I am sorry to disappoint you, Miss Bingley, but I have decided not to dance this evening.”
The lady laughed uncomfortably as her motive had been all too apparent. After it seemed that he would not further the conversation unassisted, she decided to introduce a topic she knew would interest him. “It just so happens that suits me perfectly, Mr. Darcy. I do not wish to dance at the moment either. I have some news, though, that might ease that scowl upon your face.”
Darcy’s frown deepened, but he looked down at her anyway. Satisfied with his attention, Miss Bingley continued with gleeful tones. “We are saved! For I have had another letter from Miss Bennet just this very day. It arrived, amusingly, while I was at tea at your house.” She then laughed at her own drollness, grating upon her companions’ nerves — both the seen and unseen.
Darcy was suddenly intent on what she might have to say. He was not worried that Elizabeth’s ire might be further stoked, for he was certain he could not add any more to her ill opinion, but something Miss Bingley had said struck him. She had said they were saved, which only could mean they would not have to worry about Miss Bennet’s arrival in London. His earlier ruminations about Elizabeth’s possibly coming to some disastrous end now caused his heart to beat wildly. He must know she was well.
“And . . . Miss Bingley, what is it that Miss Bennet writes?”
Miss Bingley considered what to tell. She had not thought to share any of the letter with Mr. Darcy, as she was certain that his own infatuation with Eliza Bennet had not fully come to heel. It would not do to have him know of her unfortunate accident. He might do something rash like run off to Hertfordshire!
“Oh, merely to say she cannot come to London after all,” Miss Bingley evaded easily. “You see all our worry was for naught.” Her laughter was hollow.
“Was there anything else?” Darcy urged, noting that Elizabeth had come out of the pillar again with a strange look on her face, confusion in her eyes. He noted in the edge of his vision that she rubbed along the side of her head as if it pained her — as she had when they had argued earlier.
“Why is Jane not coming?”
“Does Miss Bennet give a reason for her change in plans?”
“Nothing of intere
st, I assure you.”
Recklessly, Darcy pressed further. “And her family, they are in good health?”
“Oh perfectly, I am sure.” Miss Bingley, though comfortable with disguise of any sort, had a difficult time meeting his eyes after this last prevarication. She wished she had not brought up the topic after all. With relief, she noted that she was spared from further inquiry by the approach of Darcy’s cousin. She surmised that Colonel Fitzwilliam did not like her and yet could not ever fault him for his manners.
“Miss Bingley, Darcy. I hate to interrupt your tête-à-tête but I came to give Miss Bingley a message from my mother.”
The lady perked up at the news, ever eager to ingratiate herself with members of the ton. She curtsied to the gentlemen and releasing Darcy’s arm said, “What does her ladyship need, Colonel?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled benignly at her and replied, “She wished to speak to you is all. You will find her near the refreshments.”
Miss Bingley flushed with pleasure and quickly made her escape in the direction of the refreshment room. Darcy looked upon his cousin with a skeptical brow.
Laughing, Colonel Fitzwilliam replied to the unspoken statement. “You will owe me now, Darcy, for dispatching the gel, but I am afraid I have done an injustice to my mother just now.”
“And how is that?” Darcy could not help himself, and his mouth perked up into a smile.
“She absolutely did not ask for Miss Bingley and will, no doubt, not thank me for sending the lady.”
Haunting Mr. Darcy Page 11
