Elizabeth Bennet's Impertinent Letter

by J P Christy

  Norris, who was waiting to close the door, cleared his throat. Darcy gave a decisive nod—which Norris thought was directed at him—and entered the manor. I shall speak with Mr. Phillips about leasing Purvis Lodge tomorrow.

  As happy as Jane and Georgiana were about Elizabeth’s presence, their joy paled in comparison to Darcy’s. His imaginings were a kaleidoscope of opportunities for conversation and stolen kisses: of joining Elizabeth at breakfast; of spontaneous rambles or rides through the countryside; of evenings spent challenging her at backgammon or chess; of listening to her play duets with Georgiana. Eagerly, he entered the foyer but found his sister alone there. “Where is Miss Elizabeth?”

  “In her room. She has been crying. Please do not stare at her, Brother. Now I must tell Cook we have another guest for dinner.”

  ≈≈≈

  Elizabeth was bathing her face in a basin of cool water when she heard a knock on her door. “Come in,” she called, certain that her visitor was Jane. Instead, Georgiana’s maid entered.

  “Miss Darcy sent me to unpack for you.”

  “Oh, um, thank you. You are Miss Tarvis, I believe.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “I fear, Miss Tarvis, my bag will appear to have been packed by a wild monkey.”

  Miss Tarvis smiled. “I have brothers; I have surely seen worse.”

  A wave of relief passed through Elizabeth. “Very well. I shall leave it to your capable hands, for I am quite desperate to be out of doors for awhile.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  At the door of her bedroom, Elizabeth paused. “Your kind care is just what I need at this moment, Miss Tarvis. I thank you.”

  ≈≈≈

  Darcy paced in the library, frequently glancing through the open doorway to the foyer, waiting for Elizabeth to pass. He knew whatever unpleasantness had resulted in her escape to Netherfield would also compel her to seek peace in a long walk. It had been scarcely two weeks since the rehearsal of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” when he and she had reached their understanding. How fortunate they had kept their unofficial betrothal a secret, for Fitzwilliam had the right of it. They could not reveal their intentions until the possibility of scandal was eliminated by having one of them leave Netherfield.

  The sight of Elizabeth striding past the library door interrupted Darcy’s thoughts. In a trice, he was at her side. “Are you going for a walk, Miss Bennet?”

  “Yes,” she said, slowing only to allow the footman time to open the front door.

  “May I join you?” Darcy asked, following her out.

  “I am not good company at the moment, I fear.”

  “As you know, I am quite comfortable walking in silence.”

  “Then you are welcome, sir.”

  After they had walked without speaking for several minutes, Darcy said cautiously, “Mrs. Annesley sent happy news; her daughter gave birth to a healthy girl who has been named Margaret Georgiana. As you can imagine, my sister is delighted.”

  “Please tell Mrs. Annesley the Bennets send their best wishes to her family.”

  “Certainly.” After a pause, he said, “We have not seen much of you since Mr. Bennet became ill. I trust he is better now?”

  “Yes, thank you.” They lapsed into silence again, heading toward the wooded area behind the stable. Abruptly, Elizabeth asked, “Were your parents proud of you?”

  “I … well, yes. My mother was generous in her praise of both her children. I recall her commending me for being a good brother when she came upon me one day as I was helping Georgiana with her letters. I was fifteen then. My mother died that same year. As for my father, although he did not often say, ‘I am proud of you’ or words of that sort, he made certain I felt it.”

  “I rarely envy people, but I envy you that.”

  “Keep in mind, Miss Elizabeth, this parental approbation likely contributed to my arrogant manner, which you found so charming when we first met.”

  At Darcy’s self-deprecation, she laughed softly. “You may not have charmed me at first, but lately I find you rather delightful.”

  “Delightful?”

  “Rather delightful.”

  “Fitz made an interesting observation. He said it was lucky that we are not engaged, for people might find it inappropriate for us to share the same house—even as guests—as your home is but three miles away.”

  “Oh dear! Yes, there would be gossip.”

  “I shall lease Purvis Lodge for Georgiana, Fitz, and myself, but until we relocate, you must be on your best behavior toward me. No improprieties, if you please.”

  “Teasing man!” Elizabeth slid her hand into the crook of his arm, and they strolled along a path that wound through a grove of beech and chestnut trees.

  Confident there were no prying eyes to observe them, Darcy moved close and murmured in her ear, “Call me ‘Will.’”

  “Is that short for ‘willful’? For you certainly are.”

  “It is short for ‘willing,’ as in ‘I am willing the days to pass quickly so we may wed soon,’ dearest, loveliest Elizabeth.”

  “My darling Will,” she said as Darcy pulled her to him, and they kissed.

  ≈≈≈

  At Longbourn, Lydia sat alone in the garden. Through an open window, she had heard Bingley tell Mrs. Bennet, “I will not subject my guests to Miss Lydia’s moods.” Now, she felt embarrassed, a rare experience. Nearly a month had passed since Wickham had left—sneaking away in the night. Bored and lonely, Lydia thought how her life might be if she persisted in defending Wickham. The possibilities were not pleasant.

  Following Jane’s wedding, Mrs. Gardiner had inquired about Lydia’s estrangement from her family. After listening to her niece’s convoluted explanation of her commitment to Wickham, she had said, “Dear girl, the fellow isn’t even here to witness your devotion. Suppose he never returns? Then what? How will this situation resolve itself?”

  For the life of her, Lydia could not conjure a reasonable response.

  ≈≈≈

  Georgiana’s welcome dinner, which all declared to be the perfect summer meal, included mulligatawny soup, chicken fricassee, tomatoes, mashed turnips, Shrewsbury cakes, and strawberries. Later, everyone relaxed in the music room and listened to Georgiana play her latest favorite compositions. Elizabeth and Darcy, who were sitting in wingback chairs separated by only a small table, felt envious of Bingley and Jane, who sat on the sofa and held hands.

  Fitzwilliam, who lounged in the window seat, envied both couples. Recent experiences had intensified his desire to marry, and as Lady Penelope’s official mourning period was over, he knew it was time to tell her of his feelings. Well aware that his savings were insufficient to support a family, Fitzwilliam glanced at Darcy and found himself smiling at his cousin’s besotted look.

  Darcy would lend me the funds to buy a property, but I am not eager to begin my married life in debt, even to my closest friend. Mother would be over the moon if I left the army and would likely to contribute toward my effort to establish myself. But is there money to spare if the rumor of a dispute with our neighbor in Nottinghamshire is true? I should talk with Mother about the property in Scotland that she offered to me last year. Perhaps I could sell it ….

  I shall speak to Darcy after I have given this more thought. I cannot let my pride get in the way of my happiness. I have never even mentioned Lady Penelope to Darcy—won’t he be surprised!

  But a voice in his thoughts reminded, I must also finish my investigation of the poison horse tonic; the Collinses are the key.

  ≈≈≈

  July 2, 1811

  The next morning at breakfast, Fitzwilliam asked Elizabeth if she could discretely arrange a meeting with Mrs. Collins. He said, “I am hesitant to say much, but I am investigating a matter for the army, and it might involve Mr. Collins, who has already declined to answer my questions.” Elizabeth assured him she would speak with Charlotte as soon as she was able.

  ≈≈≈

  Mr. Phillips, t
he husband of Mrs. Bennet’s sister, Serena, was happy to prepare a six-month lease of Purvis Lodge. Darcy hoped that well before the end of the lease, he and Elizabeth would be settled at Pemberley with Georgiana; still, he saw no disadvantage to securing the property for those months. Perhaps Bingley and I can share of the cost of purchasing the lodge so that when Mr. Bennet passes, Mrs. Bennet and any of her unmarried daughters can remain in this neighborhood far, far away from Derbyshire.

  ≈≈≈

  July 4, 1811

  Elizabeth called at Lucas Lodge, asking Charlotte to come with her to Meryton and advise on a new sash for her gown for the next assembly. Because only two could fit in her pony cart, Mr. Collins could not join them. Thus, after Elizabeth assured her cousin that her father’s health was improving daily, the ladies farewelled the parson, who responded with a disappointed wave.

  Once Lucas Lodge was well behind them, Elizabeth revealed that Colonel Fitzwilliam wished to have a private word on an army matter. Charlotte said she would be happy to help and, when the ladies neared Meryton, Fitzwilliam joined them. Guiding Laird to Charlotte’s side of the pony cart, he explained he was seeking information on Dr. Nicoll’s tonic, which was found at an army stable, Rosings, Longbourn, and Lucas Lodge. “Mrs. Collins, does your husband create herbal concoctions?”

  “Colonel, my husband can scarcely make tea. However, he has a brother who has mentioned his regret that he did not have the opportunity to become a doctor.”

  “I had forgotten he has a brother,” Elizabeth said. “His name is Donald, is it not?”

  “Yes, Donald Rufus Collins. He is younger by a year.”

  “Rufus?” Fitzwilliam repeated.

  “Apparently, it is a family name. The Collinses insist they have some connection to William the Conqueror. You may recall the Conqueror’s son William Rufus was once a king of England.” With a laugh, Charlotte added, “Sometimes, Donald signs his letters ‘DR Collins’ implying that he truly is a man of medicine.”

  “Have you been in company with Donald Collins recently?”

  Charlotte hoped the shadow from the brim of her bonnet concealed the faint blush warming her cheeks. “I have not seen him since he visited Hunsford in February.” Then, she recalled a particular detail. “On that visit, he gave me two bottles of Dr. Sillcon’s tonic for large animals. I got rid of them after he left.”

  “Dr. Sillcon? Good lord! Where might I find Donald Collins?”

  “He has a printing business in Kingston. I cannot recall the direction, but it is on the Thames, and it bears the Collins name.”

  “Thank you, you have been most helpful. By the bye, last spring at Rosings, your husband became, shall we say, indignant when I asked him about Dr. Nicoll’s tonic, insisting he could not recall where he got it. Should he learn that we spoke today, I suspect the news would irritate him.”

  “My husband has much on his mind of late. It would be unkind of me to burden him with trivial matters,” Charlotte said with an innocent smile.

  “You are a most considerate wife,” Elizabeth said.

  After farewelling the ladies, Fitzwilliam returned to Netherfield, where he wrote to Corporal Tinkler about Donald Rufus Collins and his print shop. Before sealing the letter, he found himself staring at the names, plagued by the notion he was overlooking something. In a spark of inspiration, he knew: “Collins” could be rearranged into the names “Nicoll’s” and “Sillcon.” Why did I not see this sooner! I am a distracted fool! After adding a footnote about the names, he posted his letter.

  Scarcely an hour later, an express arrived from Cornwall, brought by the same courier who had delivered Master Penn’s first letter; as before, he was sent to refresh his horse and himself. Although nearly a month had passed since that first letter, Fitzwilliam was unconcerned. Because their correspondence flouted propriety, frequent contact was ill-advised; it was enough to know the lovely widow still thought of him.

  Master Penn’s second letter was much shorter and soberly written, yet it contained welcome news; Lady Penelope and her twin brothers would be traveling to London, where they would make certain the nursery at Trelawney Hall was ready for the much-anticipated baby. Writing as Master Penn, Lady Penelope had noted, “I share her ladyship’s hope that you will have time in your busy schedule to visit your mother, so we may join you for tea and hear of your progress with your schemes.”

  You may count on it! Fitzwilliam said as much—and more—in his letter, posted under the name of “Lady Fitzwilliam,” that was dispatched to Cornwall the next day.

  32

  “He expects me to run away with him on Tuesday.”

  July 5, 1811

  It was a sunny afternoon in Brighton when Peter Shelton climbed the narrow stairs to the railed platform on the roof of his house. “I thought I would find you up here, Nora.” After handing his sister a cup of tea, he sat on the low stool beside her chair. “The sea looks beautiful today.”

  “Thank you for the tea. I do enjoy the view from here.” Mrs. Jenkinson raised the cup to her lips but paused. “Has a letter come while I—no, of course not; you would have brought it. Forgive my foolish question. You must find it inconceivable that a member of the ton would behave so heartlessly toward her child.”

  Having been a solicitor for a decade, I have no difficulty in believing anything reprehensible about England’s most exalted families, Peter thought but did not say. “Do you think the De Bourghs might have returned to Rosings?”

  “I doubt it. Lady Dragon is desperate for Anne to marry a man with an estate. I suspect she wants to have Rosings for herself and to keep Anne at a distance. Thus, being in Kent would not suit her schemes. They must be in London now unless Lady Dragon has perpetrated some other plot. But if I were to write Anne there, Spicer would make certain my letter did not reach her.”

  “Miss Anne cannot be married against her will,” Peter said. At his sister’s doubting look, he added, “Well, not legally.”

  “If I knew where her cousins were, I would write to them. But Mr. Darcy could be in Derbyshire or London, and the Colonel may be back with the army on the Continent.”

  “Don’t give up hope. Miss Anne will write you when she can.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt. What worries me is how Lady Dragon controls the company her daughter is allowed to keep. I fear she may be preventing Anne from writing to anyone.”

  Peter squeezed his sister’s shoulder affectionately. “You will think of something, and I will help you execute it. I am a very successful solicitor, you know,” he declared with mock gravitas. “Until then, take comfort in knowing how happy Mama and my family are to have you here with us.”

  ≈≈≈

  July 6, 1811

  It was late on Saturday afternoon when Mrs. Sophia Palmer, better known as “Sophie of the Golden Swan” followed the path along the river bordering the western edge of Meryton. Her work at the village’s largest public house was sporadic and did not pay well, so she supplemented her meager income by selling baskets—such as the one now hanging from her arm—woven from the sturdy reeds growing along the riverbanks. As she neared an out-of-the-way spot where the reeds were easy to reach, she saw George Wickham squatting bare-chested and barefooted at the river’s edge. He was washing his shirt and did not notice her until she spoke. “Well, look who’s back.”

  Alarmed, he jerked his head in Sophie’s direction, but he relaxed when he recognized her. Standing slowly, he bowed. “Ah, Mrs. Palmer. Good afternoon.”

  Both were content to maintain a wary distance. Sophie knew the rumors about her reputation, and while there was a bit of truth to them, she had never turned her attention to Wickham and would not do so now. “Always a gentleman, eh?”

  “I hope I am. I don’t suppose there’s food in your basket?”

  Only a very sharp knife for cutting reeds. “Sorry, no.” After a pause, she added, “You are aware the Darcys are still about.”

  “So I had heard.”

  “Have you
also heard Mr. Darcy seems to have an affection for Elizabeth Bennet? As I recall, you had an interest in her once.”

  “Did I? Well, I am just passing through. I’ve had a run of bad luck lately.”

  You’ve had a run of bad choices, she thought and then asked a question she had been pondering for awhile. “Did you ever give the youngest Bennet girl a green gown?”

  “Seduce that silly child? Amorous congress with little Lydia Bennet? Certainly not!”

  “Well, Miss Lydia has been so dedicated in her defense of you, I thought perhaps you had been her lover. She is in disgrace with her family and is no longer out in our little society. She is not even

  allowed to attend tonight’s assembly. According to gossip, Miss Lydia will remain at Longbourn with her invalid father.”

  “It is comforting to know at least one person in Meryton hasn’t turned against me.” Longbourn is not far, and Lydia will surely give me some food.

  “Well then, I shall leave you to your laundry,” Sophie said, preferring to return when he was gone.

  “Would you keep it to yourself that you’ve seen me?”

  Knowing only a fool would say something that might make a desperate man more desperate, Sophie shrugged. “I have no reason to speak of you and no one to tell.” When he bowed, she dipped a shallow curtsy and retreated for several steps before turning her back to him and walking away.

  Wickham wrung out his shirt and hung it on a tree branch. The lightweight linen would dry quickly in the summer breeze. By the time he was on his way to Longbourn, it would be too dark for anyone—even the Darcys—to recognize him. Wait … what had Sophie said? Darcy has a tendre for Elizabeth? Well, what would the high-and-mighty master of Pemberley be willing to pay to keep scandal from the Bennets’ door?

  ≈≈≈

  In the days preceding the assembly, Darcy and Elizabeth had danced at Netherfield on several evenings. He claimed to be unfamiliar with some country dances (a slight exaggeration), so she practiced with him as Jane and Bingley made the foursome. Sometimes Fitzwilliam took the place of one of the other gentlemen, and sometimes Elizabeth played while Georgiana danced.