I Met Mr Darcy Via Luton

by Fredrica Edward

  Creeping back downstairs, she found the carpet beater leaning against the front doorpost and returned it to its original resting place. Glancing around Charlotte's parlour, she saw the rose on the floor. It looked like his boot had crushed it. Picking up the stem and a few detached petals, Elizabeth took it to the kitchen and dropped it into the pig bucket, raking the vegetable peelings over the top. Then she snuffed the candles and retreated to her room.

  Lying in the darkness, she heard the Collinses return. But when Charlotte poked her head into the room, she feigned sleep. Elizabeth slept fitfully that night, and when the sun rose, she was glad to get outside, to escape the scene of her humiliation.

  Dressing quickly, she pulled on a cloak and set off for the grove. Walking up and down briskly, she could feel her senses calming as she breathed in the fresh air, redolent with its woodland smells. She had almost achieved a state of internal peace when she perceived Mr Darcy step from between the trees.

  She looked around and picked up a stout stick. "Keep your distance, sir!"

  "I only wish to talk to you, Miss Bennet!" he said, advancing more slowly. "I promise you are quite safe!"

  "I do not wish to talk to you, sir. Stop now."

  He took a small step closer. "Please, Miss Bennet. I am dreadfully sorry. I have written you a letter."

  She stared at him belligerently. Did he have a fat lip? "I do not want any communication with you."

  "I beg you, Miss Bennet! Please take it. There is nothing improper in it!"

  "It is improper to give me a letter."

  "Please," he begged again, "if only for your sister Jane's sake!"

  He was such a rat! she thought.

  He put the letter down on a log and retreated.

  Waiting until he had disappeared back into the trees, she snatched the letter and hid it in her cloak. Then she retreated to the Parsonage, the sanctuary of her hidden grove having been violated. Creeping into the dormant house, she stuffed the offending letter into her bedside drawer and then, throwing her cloak aside, she crept back into bed and pulled the covers over her head.

  Exhausted from her restless night and tempestuous emotions, Elizabeth thankfully fell back asleep. When she awoke again, she could hear the familiar morning sounds of breakfast at the Parsonage. Retrieving the letter from the drawer, she broke the seal and read:

  Dear Miss Bennet,

  Please accept my abject apologies for what occurred yesterday. My feelings for you are of a long-standing nature. Indeed, almost from our first acquaintance at Netherfield after your carriage accident I have felt drawn to you. I have sought to deny these feelings, but they cannot be damped. Your reaction yesterday was completely justified, and I can only be ashamed at the inappropriate avenue I have allowed my thoughts to take. I feel honour bound to offer you my hand in marriage. Indeed, I would be humbled if you would forget the actions of a fool and consider my suit. The colonel has agreed to wait on you as an intermediary. Let me know if there is hope.

  FD

  P.S. I must confess something that has been preying on my mind. On the night of the Netherfield Ball, I encountered one of your sisters in a compromising situation with George Wickham. I cannot be sanguine with my reaction, which was to do nothing, but I did not feel I was on sufficient terms of intimacy with your family to intervene. In the light of my own behaviour, it must surely seem hypocritical, but I still feel the need to advise you to be wary of George Wickham. I do not believe he has an honourable bone in his body.

  P.P.S. I have another confession to make. It is to my great regret that I interfered in the developing romance between your sister and my friend Charles Bingley. My friend is trying to establish himself as a gentleman, and I believed that he needed to make a strong alliance to cement his place in the world. At the time I thought I was acting in his best interests, being convinced not only of your sister's unsuitability, but also of her relative indifference. Alas, I feel I have not been so impartial in the affair as I thought. To my shame, I must admit that Charles is not, and has never been, in Vienna. I beg your forgiveness and pledge to meddle no more.

  P.P.P.S. I pray you will burn this note after receiving it.

  P.P.P.P.S. Really, really sorry.

  Quickly dismissing Mr Darcy's apology and unsurprised by any additional revelations on Mr Wickham's character, it was the novel piece of information on Mr Bingley's whereabouts that reverberated in Lizzy's head. Not in Vienna! Had she not long suspected Mr Darcy's influence in Mr Bingley's removal from Hertfordshire to London? But, oh, it was far worse! He had conspired to keep her sister and Bingley apart when Jane was in London. It was unforgivable!

  Elizabeth was still seething with indignation when there was a knock at her bedchamber door. She hastily stuffed the letter under her pillow before the door was opened a crack, and she heard Charlotte's voice.

  "Lizzy, may I come in?"

  She assented, and Charlotte entered the darkened room, noticing the cloak flung on the chair as she did so.

  "Lizzy, are you still unwell?" she asked cautiously.

  "I've felt better," replied Lizzy truthfully.

  "Lizzy, the colonel is downstairs. He wanted to bid you farewell. He and Mr Darcy are to leave Rosings this morning."

  "Oh, Charlotte, will you make my excuses? I am not fit for company," Lizzy replied.

  Charlotte hesitated. This did not seem like her friend at all, but something stopped her from pressing Lizzy further.

  She returned downstairs and regretfully informed the colonel that Lizzy was indisposed.

  The colonel looked very mournful at this, but he graciously stood and made his farewells. He expressed the wish that he might in future be able to return and play more tunes on the goat piano, though he knew in his heart that he was unlikely to ever encounter Miss Elizabeth there again, and it would not be the same without her.

  Chapter 28: The pig bucket

  Lizzy did not come down for breakfast, and when she also refused lunch, Charlotte became genuinely worried for her. After setting the kitchen to rights after the meal, Charlotte set off to feed the pigs. Tipping the bucket over the fence and setting it down, she leant over to scratch her favourite pig, Cromwell, between the ears as he fed. That was when she saw the unusual colour peeking from under the peelings. She found a stick to investigate.

  After advising her husband that Lizzy's malady was likely nothing more than an epidemic cold or the influenza, and thus assuring he kept his distance, Charlotte assembled a tray of food.

  Knocking, she entered the room where the curtains, uncharacteristically, were still drawn.

  "Lizzy, I've brought you a bite to eat, " said Charlotte, putting the tray on the bedside table. "How are you feeling?"

  "Just a bit down in the dumps."

  "You haven't been rereading Jane's letters have you?"

  Lizzy smiled wanly.

  "Please eat something," begged Charlotte.

  Lizzy sat up and surveyed the tray disinterestedly, before picking up a roll and pretending to nibble on it. She knew it was going to feel like lead in her stomach. She would throw it out the window later.

  Charlotte poured a cup of tea; then said gently, "Did he make you an offer, Lizzy?"

  Lizzy looked at her friend in amazement.

  "How did you know?" she croaked.

  "I just fed the pigs."

  Turning her back on her friend, Lizzy hunkered down in the bed, still clutching the roll, and burst out crying.

  "Lizzy, you didn't refuse him did you?"

  Lizzy tried to control her sobs. "Charlotte, it is not what you think. He asked me to be his mistress."

  "Oh! Oh!" said Charlotte, for once at a loss for what to say. Who would have thought it of Mr Darcy? He seemed so very prim and proper!

  Charlotte climbed onto the bed to hug her friend. "My poor dear!" she said as she rocked Lizzy in her arms.

  In the next room, Mariah had frozen near the interconnecting door, knowing she had overheard something she was not mean
t to hear. When she heard her sister whispering to Lizzy, she crept away as noiselessly as possible, hoping that a floorboard would not creak.

  Darcy had waited impatiently just out of sight of the Parsonage for his cousin Richard's return. He didn't hold out much hope. Indeed, in the light of day, the revelations he'd made in the postscripts of his letter had probably added insult to injury. But he knew she was a direct person, and he had wanted to make a clean breast of things, to show he was truly contrite. As a youth, he had always believed that disguise of all sorts was abhorrent. Somehow he had drifted away from his core principles…

  When he saw Richard returning, surveying the grass as he walked, Darcy knew there was no hope.

  Once Richard reached him, they continued silently back to Rosings.

  "What did she say?" Darcy asked tentatively.

  "Wouldn't see me. Mrs Collins said she was indisposed."

  Once they reached the house, Darcy gave the order for their departure.

  An hour later the carriage was ready to set off for London. The cousins climbed in and adopted their usual positions in opposite corners of the coach, with Darcy occupying the left of the forward-facing seat.

  "Did Aunt notice your lip?" asked Richard as they set off down the drive.

  "Of course. I told her I'd caught myself with my riding crop." There it was again: more disguise. He imagined a more truthful answer: "Dear Aunt, I was given a deserved thrashing by a righteous woman."

  "Your riding crop!" scoffed Richard. "And what did she say to that?"

  "She told me of the proper way to hold a riding crop."

  Richard grunted in amusement but couldn't manage a laugh.

  As the carriage swayed towards London, the cousins were silent. Darcy stared out the window; and seeing his cousin didn't want to talk, Richard took the opportunity to have a kip, a habit he had developed while on active service in the Peninsula.

  Darcy thought of his life and all that was wrong with it. He and Richard had argued after breakfast about Madame Amelie's. Darcy was determined he would never set foot in the place again. Richard saw nothing wrong in frequenting the brothel. For him, it was just a matter of class: there were some women you could dally with, who inhabited brothels; and others you could not. Surely Darcy could see the difference?

  Darcy refused to accept these categories; after all, he was fairly sure that his chère-amie Genette was of gentle birth based on something she had let slip once. No, he argued, the problem lay with himself. First and foremost, what he was doing with Genette was adultery; but more particularly, he just should not be using women that way: for his own self-gratification.

  Richard thought he was overreacting.

  The closer Darcy got to London, the more resolved he became. When Richard's eyelids fluttered open an hour later, Darcy motioned for him to come sit beside him on the forward-facing seat. Then he told him his plans.

  The next day Darcy arrived at Madame Amelie's in the afternoon and spent half an hour in her office before heading upstairs.

  He found Sarah reading to Genette in the parlour again. He had discovered during his recent afternoon visits that Genette was teaching Sarah to read. Sarah had been a milliner's apprentice before joining the brothel. She had only learned her letters at a village school before being indentured.

  He signalled to Genette that he wished to join her in her bedchamber. After she closed the door, he sat down on the bed.

  "Would you mind pulling off my boots?" he asked.

  She complied.

  He lay down on his back on the bed and indicated she should do the same. Then he grasped her hand as he stared at the ceiling.

  "Genette, you told me something once that made me think your father was a clergyman."

  She blushed and timidly replied, "It is true."

  "Do you ever think that perhaps we should not be doing this?"

  Her heart sank; she had been dreading this. He is engaged. All the worries that sometimes nagged her, particularly when she woke in the morning, rushed to the fore.

  Genette was not in love with Mr Williams. Truth be told, she was a little afraid of him. He had such hauteur. But he never turned up drunk and was not brutal, or even rough, which was more than could be said for many of the other clientele of the establishment. He had not been passionate in his lovemaking, but he was an attractive man, and he had been considerate; she had to admit she had enjoyed their encounters in a base sort of way, although she knew it was not heartfelt.

  But her dread encompassed something more than losing Mr Williams as her protector: it was something that was not specific to him, but to herself. He had been her first, and thus her only; and while that remained true, she had shielded herself from the grim reality of her situation: that there would be many others. She would likely lose her place on the third floor. She was not so beautiful as other members of The Elite. She knew Madame Amelie had recommended her to Mr Williams on the basis of her youth, her gentility and her innocence. He had not seemed to mind her relative inexperience, and between his gentle instructions and Sarah's knowledge, she had managed to please him.

  She steeled herself for his next words.

  "I have spoken to Madame Amelie about terminating our contract."

  Her stomach lurched. There, he had said it. In the silence that reigned, she was all too aware of her fast heartbeat, and she forced herself to breathe.

  "You said something once that made me think you come from Yorkshire. Do you ever wish you could go back?" he asked.

  "I cannot go back," she replied quietly. "I am a fallen woman."

  Darcy winced. He had been responsible for her fall. He could reason that if it had not been him, it would have been someone else: but he knew those were the thoughts of a sophist.

  "I want to help you. Do you wish to continue here, or do you wish to do something else…?"

  What did she wish? She wished she could return to her adolescence, to sew and pick flowers all day, to the time before men took an interest in her: such a stupid, impractical wish.

  "I wish I could go back to the country," she replied, "preferably to Yorkshire, but anywhere else would do. To live in a cottage, with chickens and a garden."

  "That might be possible, but you would need a companion. Does Sarah, or any of the other girls, have a similar wish?"

  "Not that I know of."

  "Is there anyone else you can think of?"

  "I often wonder what happened to my governess. She had no relatives and was already fifty when she moved on from my family's home."

  "Do you have a forwarding address?"

  "Yes, but I do not know if it is current. I stopped writing once I ran away."

  His question came too quickly and harboured a note of alarm. "You ran away?"

  Genette blushed, realising she had divulged too much.

  After gentle prodding, she revealed her history: the fat suitor; the flight on the Mail; her failure to find a respectable post.

  Now Darcy really felt like a scoundrel.

  After further silence, he levered himself into a sitting position.

  "I'll see what I can do. I'll arrange with Madame for you to stay here until I can find a solution, but I won't be visiting you any more."

  He got up to pull on his boots and tailcoat.

  "Goodbye," he said, kissing her hand and giving her a small smile.

  He walked to the door.

  "Mr Williams?"

  "Yes?"

  "Congratulations."

  Darcy was confused for a moment and then looked at the floor, realising the mistaken direction of her thoughts.

  "Thank you," he replied, unwilling to explain the truth.

  A trusted footman, sent off in plain clothes to Yorkshire, arrived back with the required information, and arrangements were made for the ladies to occupy a cottage on a small estate Darcy's father had inherited in Yorkshire. The property itself was leased by a Colonel Brandon, lately of India, who had it on an option to buy. But the colonel was happy to re
negotiate the lease to accommodate an old family friend and her niece. He was even happier when he met the niece, a very pretty girl named Ruth.

  Chapter 29: Not a bonnet

  The final week at Hunsford could not go quickly enough for Lizzy. She mostly kept to her room, stealing out at dawn and dusk when few people were about for short walks. She knew it was not logical, but she was finding it difficult to shake off her shame.

  To her husband, Charlotte continued to maintain the fiction of Elizabeth's illness, which was now deemed to be definitely the influenza. Having alerted her friend to Mr Darcy's interest in her, Charlotte felt guilty of somehow encouraging the whole debacle and vowed to herself never to play matchmaker again.

  Lizzy still had no appetite, but managed to eat small amounts from the trays prepared for her, enough to satisfy Charlotte. The morning of their departure finally arrived. After Mariah returned from the Collinses' morning visit to Rosings, where she had bid her Ladyship farewell, Lizzy opened the interconnecting door to Mariah's room, so they could assist each other with the final details of packing. She was aghast to find Mariah pulling the clothes from her trunk instead of preparing to close the lid. Upon enquiry, Mariah explained that Lady Catherine gave her directions as to the best method of packing and was so urgent on the necessity of placing gowns in the only right way that Mariah thought herself obliged, on her return, to undo all the work of the morning, and pack her trunk afresh.

  "Goodness, Mariah," exclaimed Elizabeth, "they are your gowns! You may pack them anyway you wish. Lady Catherine will never know."

  At length, the chaise arrived, the trunks were fastened on, the parcels placed within, and it was pronounced to be ready.

  The Collinses walked the departing ladies to the front gate, and Mr Collins began a long and florid goodbye that ended with his stating, "Only let me assure you, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that I can, from my heart, most cordially wish you equal felicity in marriage. My dear Charlotte and I have but one mind and one way of thinking," he simpered, as he held his wife's hand and caressed her bare arm below the elbow. "There is in everything a most remarkable resemblance of character and ideas between us. We seem to have been designed for each other."