Page 26

By now, Darcy and Elizabeth were walking side by side towards the gate and the waiting carriage. “I know it may sound to you rather ridiculous that I cling to this notion of concealing the truth when the news of what my sister has done must surely be spreading rapidly even as we speak. I confess to taking a small measure of comfort in knowing that I still have some time, however fleeting, to accustom myself to the truth and rally my strength for the disdain and derision that is sure to come and henceforth to follow my other sisters and me wherever we go.”

“Perhaps you will arrive at your uncle’s home to news that the situation has been dealt with. Perhaps Wickham has done the decent thing and married your sister after all.”

They were steps away from the carriage. Elizabeth stopped, causing Darcy to do likewise. “Sir, you are too generous to admonish me for foolishly clinging to my belief that Mr. Wickham was an honorable, respectable man and for my steadfast defense of his character. However, you know him too well to suppose such a thing is even possible in the absence of a strong inducement,” she said. “Perchance the wrong end of a loaded gun,” Elizabeth added, evincing a lightness of spirit that deep down inside she did not truly possess.

Reaching out to take her ungloved hand in his and assist her into the carriage, Darcy smiled a little, no doubt at this picture of his former friend. “Then perhaps there is hope indeed.”

The abruptness of Mr. Collins’s entrance into Charlotte’s parlor—the one she reserved for her particular use and where she and Elizabeth had spent a fair amount of time of late—gave her such a fright that she immediately tucked her letter behind her back.

“Mrs. Collins, thank heavens you are all alone, for I am in possession of the most alarming news from Hertfordshire. It has to do with the Bennets.” Halting his speech, the vicar tossed a surreptitious glance over his shoulder as a means of doubly reassuring himself of their privacy.

“I am afraid this news has such grave implications that it is no longer feasible to allow your friend Cousin Elizabeth to remain under our roof—not if we want to avoid her family’s shame ourselves. No, I am afraid Cousin Elizabeth must go.” He dashed over to the window and peered outside in the direction of the parsonage gate. “Where is she? We must tell her without a single moment’s delay. Oh, this is grave indeed.”

“My friend Eliza is not here,” said Charlotte, her voice trembling.

“Yes, of course. No doubt, my cousin is wandering aimlessly about the lanes as she is wont to do. I do hope that is indeed the case, and that she did not go to Rosings today. We must send that young woman on her way at once.”

“No. Eliza is not out walking, nor is she at Rosings. She is gone.”

Collins spun around on his heels. “Gone? Do you mean to say she has left Hunsford of her own accord, thereby denying me the chance of banishing her from our home as a fitting means of saving face after what her youngest sister did? You are aware of what I am speaking of, are you not?”

Charlotte shook her head on all accounts.

“Where has she gone? What means did she employ to take her leave?”

“She has gone to London with—with Mr. Darcy.”

The appalling shock of hearing his wife’s troubling revelation completely robbed Mr. Collins of what little equanimity he theretofore possessed. He could not help but consider that his cousin had used her arts and allurements to entice his noble patroness’s nephew and future son-in-law and cause him to forget what he was about in committing such an outrageous offense. It was too much to bear. Clutching his hand to his chest, he slowly threw himself into the nearest chair.

“What must Lady Catherine think when she learns of this?” His lamentations would not be repressed. Sweat poured from his head and streamed down his face. “After all the kindness she has shown my cousin, this is to be her ladyship’s reward. Surely she must certainly blame me⁠—”

Here Collins directed his grievance towards his wife. “Nay, her ladyship will blame you, Mrs. Collins, for inviting your impertinent friend into our home—for throwing her into the path of such noble, upstanding people, and for giving her a glimpse of how her life might have been had she accepted my offer of marriage.”

Collins reached for a glass of water that Charlotte had left unfinished on the side table. After taking a long sip, the vicar went on to say, “In seeing all that she had given up by slighting me, my cousin set her cap at what she must have considered the next best thing—Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, an honorable gentleman not unlike myself with the only possible exception being the extent of his blessings: splendid property, noble kindred, and extensive patronage.”

“Mr. Collins, I really do not think that is the manner in which events unfolded at all.”

The aggrieved gentleman glared at his wife. “Do you dare contradict me, Mrs. Collins? It is precisely as I say. That ungrateful young lady knew precisely what she was about in coming here. That is the way it is with young women of her ilk—always in want of that which is beyond their designated station in life. Is there any wonder her younger sister threw herself into the power of a man more than twice her age? Such lack of principles is deeply rooted in those people with whom I suffer an unfortunate connection owing to the circumstances of my birth.”

Now significantly recovered, no doubt through the power of his own testimony, Collins stood and straightened himself up. He gave his neck a resolved twist and his waistcoat a sharp tug. “Now, I must go to Rosings and assure my noble patroness that I am in no way to blame for this travesty.”

“Shall I accompany you, sir?” Charlotte asked, fully prepared to face Lady Catherine’s wrath and serve as the voice of reason if need be.

Collins held up a reprimanding hand. “Have you not done enough already to bring about this household’s shame and what might well be its collapse? I shall see Lady Catherine alone.”

When they arrived at the changing station at Bromley, it was necessary for Darcy to leave the ladies alone while he attended to some business having to do with the horses. Fortunately, the matter did not require Elizabeth and Georgiana to leave the carriage and there the two of them waited for Darcy’s return.

The first part of the journey had been filled with silence. All three of them had appeared to be engrossed in their respective books. Elizabeth’s mind was certainly not on the pages before her. All she could think about was Jane’s letter. She questioned whether she might have missed something. The letter was hastily written, clearly evincing more than a few starts and stops, half sentences, as well as several redactions.

By now, she could not adequately recall what Jane had said and had not said nor did she know just how much of the turmoil in her mind was the consequence of her own memory, misery, and misgivings. As much as she did not wish to be rude, she could not help it. Elizabeth retrieved her sister’s letter from her reticule and commenced reading it yet again.

What a mistake that turned out to be. This reading did more to reawaken her pain than refresh her memory. The tears that she had fought so hard to contain for the past few hours would no longer be repressed. She quickly refolded the letter and tucked it away. In so doing, she noticed Mr. Darcy’s handkerchief. He had given it to her earlier that day after he gently wiped away her tears. She seized hold of it as though it were a life-preserver and she a drowning woman and dabbed her eyes.

All of this Miss Darcy must have been paying close attention to. Shutting her book, she eased closer to Elizabeth’s side of the carriage. “I did not want to intrude earlier, but seeing you like this, I can no longer help myself. Pray what is the matter? Is there anything I can do to help?”

Elizabeth sniffed. Silently cursing herself, she said, “I beg your pardon. I—I confess that I am anxious about what I might expect upon arriving at my uncle’s house.”

“Yes, my brother spoke of a family emergency. Perhaps it would help if you were to talk about what it is that has you so uneasy. Confiding in another always helps me sort through painful events.”