Darcy's Trial (26 page)

At breakfast next morning, Elizabeth eagerly turned to a paragraph in the Times which her uncle had circled:

Honourable conclusion

The prosecution of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire for the murder, in a duel, of Sir Osborne Kaye, has been ended by agreement between the parties. Sir Arthur Kaye, who has inherited the baronetcy of Wistham, in Leicestershire, declared himself satisfied that Mr Darcy had acted from honourable motives. Mr Darcy, for his part, accepted that Sir Arthur had acted from understandable grief at his father’s death, and foreswore any further grievance against the family. It is understood that the settlement was procured through the good offices of Lord Harbury, who yesterday declared himself content that the affair had been brought to an honourable conclusion.

Elizabeth sighed in relief, reassured both by the brevity of this piece, and its omission of her role. The former she attributed to the lack of interesting scandal—no doubt the journalist would have preferred a different outcome—and the latter to Lord Harbury’s influence, for which she inwardly bestowed him a vote of thanks.

Having experienced the most remarkable adventure of her life, Elizabeth half expected, on her return, to become a focus for general amazement and curiosity. In reality, nothing of the sort occurred. So far as her family were concerned, she had been staying with the Beaumonts, whose cultural ties were of interest only to her father. The appearance of her face naturally provoked comment, but on learning that this was due to a fall in the woods near Coleorton, her mother and Kitty paid the matter no further attention except to declare that she looked a fright—an opinion that had already been voiced with relish by Miss Bingley during the journey from town.

A similar reception greeted the news that Darcy was now out of danger. Miss Bingley was gracious enough to express her delight, as well as her hope that his reputation would quickly recover. Mrs Bennet declared she was pleased, but only for Bingley’s sake, and that in any case she had never doubted the outcome, since no jury would dare prosecute a man with £10,000 a year. Only Jane and Mr Bennet expressed genuine relief, although they refrained from making any other comment or enquiry. In short, the family was not interested in Darcy, but in Bingley, and specifically the forthcoming wedding.

Having agonised over what to tell Jane and her father, Elizabeth decided now to hold her silence. In part her motive was expediency: she needed time to recover. But she was also loath to upset Jane, in what should be one of the happiest periods of her life. It was sufficient that Darcy’s problem had been resolved, and a weight thus taken off Bingley’s mind—and also Jane’s, for she had always respected Darcy. If her father had any doubts over what had occurred, he had yet to express them. Accordingly there was no urgency; the wedding could come first.

Normal life therefore resumed, and as autumn set in, Elizabeth was content to ramble through the woods and enjoy the changing colours of the trees. Occasionally Jane or Kitty accompanied her, but for the most part she walked alone, grateful for the opportunity to collect her thoughts. It felt strange to visit her old haunts as a new person, for the summer had transformed her prospects and her outlook.

First, she would never marry; of that she was now convinced. What was more, marriage no longer seemed as important as it had formerly. How differently the institution was experienced by men and women! A man married, and still his interests could turn in many directions; a woman married, and her activities were laid out like the script of a play—she would have children, run a household, and follow her husband’s lead. Well, if those were the rules of the game, why should she play? With Jane well married she would always have a home, so why not follow her own script?

Elizabeth’s thoughts accordingly took a new direction: not what
man
am I interested in, but what
activity
. She recalled the conversation with Bridget, in which they had dreamed of studying at a university, in the daily company not only of professors, but like-minded students. Of course such an experience could never be hers. But she could still
read
, not just sporadically as she had always done, but in a focussed way, so that she covered a subject in detail, and became an expert. With luck she might find others interested in the same subject, so that they could talk or correspond. She had seen examples over the summer of how satisfying such relationships could be, for instance in Sir George Beaumont’s evident fascination in the company of men like Wordsworth or Constable. Of course she, Elizabeth, would never reach such exalted levels; but in a humbler way she might hope to achieve similar contentment.

At other times her thoughts returned to Darcy, and their painful final meeting. Too late, she realised how much his admiration and love had meant to her. Foolishly she had believed them fixed, and so taken them for granted. Now they were gone. She had seen not a trace of tenderness or respect in their last conversation, only anger at her mendacity, and distaste that she had been dishonoured by another man.
My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.
He had warned her, after all, and she had ignored him.

When alone in the woods, it happened more than once that she imagined herself in his company, and in her daydreams they did not quarrel, but talked as they had when he was recovering from his wounds in the duel. They would joke, or tease, or exchange ideas, and all the time the conversation would be leavened by his obvious affection and respect for her—and if she was honest, by her equivalent feelings for him. One day, catching herself in such a daydream, its meaning impressed itself on her forcibly: admit it or not, she
yearned
for his company. Sternly she reminded herself that humanity had always dreamed, and that there madness lay; effective action demanded realism, and the man who believes he can fly from one tree to the next ends up in a broken heap on the ground. In any case, her idealised conversations with Darcy were in no way similar to their usual exchanges, which had been devoted mostly to quarrelling.

Having expected a regular flow of letters from Helena Kaye, Elizabeth was concerned when several weeks passed with no communication. She longed for reassurance that Helena was being well-treated, and that the evils at Wistham Court were being righted, but was embarrassed to pose these queries directly. She composed a light-hearted letter consisting mostly of local news, including preparations for the wedding, added full directions to Longbourn just to make sure, and sent it to Wistham Court with a copy to Lord Harbury’s residence in Birdcage Walk. Another week passed, before finally the reply came.

Wistham Court

Dear Elizabeth,

Thank you so much for your amusing letter, and I’m relieved to hear that your bruises are nearly gone. I know you will be cross with me for not writing, and apologise most sincerely.

When you left, I fell ill, and had to stay in bed at my uncle’s house for a fortnight. The physician called every day and bled me several times. I felt feeble, and was racked by guilt that I had disobeyed father and shamed the family. Uncle was kind, and spent many hours at my bedside talking of my mother. He said that as a child she was quiet, like me, and loved acting. They had a miniature theatre with puppets on rods which you could control from the wings. They used to make up dramas, and perform them to the family, or sometimes to the servants.

I kept asking whether there was news of Lucy Clover. Uncle said I had to be patient, and I could see from his expression that it was probably hopeless. I felt dejected about this, but slowly I began to recover and think less about father.

One day uncle showed me a letter from a man named Mr Broome whom he has appointed as steward at Wistham Court. It confirmed that all the requested changes had been made, and that I was welcome to return once my health was restored. I was eager to do this, for as you know, I have always preferred countryside to town. Next day I was much stronger and got up from my sick bed.

I am now back at Wistham and have never felt better! Mr Broome is always kind to me, but I am kept up-to-date by Agnes. She hears all the gossip through Harte, who has been reinstated as groom. It seems that when Mr Broome took over, Mr Pritchett and Mr McGill had already fled. The other servants in Mr Pritchett’s confidence remained behind, and were pardoned, since they acted under his instructions. I agreed that Mrs Partridge, and Mr and Mrs Baines, should remain in their positions, and they are now particularly attentive to me! But the groom Perkins has left, and so has the under-gamekeeper Billy Watts, who is at home recovering from a fractured ankle.

I have some news of Arthur, who has signed a private agreement under which he receives an allowance from the estate on condition that he stays away from Wistham. He remains at his London home in Tudor Street, and is reported to have found solace in religion. He scarcely ever goes to his club as he used to, but passes the day in solitude and contemplation, reads the Bible assiduously, and attends every church service. Uncle is encouraged by these developments, but says we should remain wary in case they are only temporary.

In the same letter (received today) uncle also reports the wonderful news that Lucy Clover has been found, and can return to Wistham with Mr Broome next time he visits London! Unfortunately she cannot return as my maid. She has become very weak and thin, and they think she is with child. She will live with her mother, and not return to service. However, I’m overjoyed she has been found safe, and will be happy to continue with Agnes.

Thank you for all you have done for us, and I hope we will soon meet again.

Ever your grateful friend, Helena

Elizabeth finished this letter with pleasure, perhaps even a little pride, but the relief was short-lived, and her spirits remained delicate and often melancholy.

On a cloudy afternoon in early December, Elizabeth was reading in the drawing room when she heard the grind of carriage wheels in the forecourt. Puzzled, she glanced at the clock. Jane, accompanied by Kitty and Mrs Bennet, was away shopping in Meryton, a regular occurrence now that the wedding was just a week away. Unless they had displayed unusual dispatch, they could hardly be back already. A minute later Mrs Hill tapped on the door, and announced:

‘Gentleman to see you, madam.’

Elizabeth’s heart missed a beat. Could it be …? She jumped up as Mrs Hill showed in a gentleman holding a flat rectangular parcel in one hand, and after a moment of confusion Elizabeth recognised Thomas Beaumont, Bridget’s husband.

‘Mr Beaumont!’ She curtsied, almost as an afterthought, before blurting out: ‘What brings you to these parts?’

‘Special delivery from London,’ Beaumont replied with a smile. ‘Item one, your trunk, which is now being unloaded by my driver. Item two, this gift, which I have been requested to pass on to you.’ He laid the parcel carefully on a side-table. ‘May I?’

Still in confusion, Elizabeth watched as he removed the brown paper, revealing a painting that she recognised as a view of the church from Coleorton Green.

‘There!’ He held it up for her to view properly. ‘Do you recognise the hand?’

‘Of course! Mr Constable. But why …’

‘When Mr Constable left Coleorton, he stacked a number of canvasses in the studio, to be boxed and sent on later. A few days later he wrote to my cousin Sir George Beaumont, requesting that this particular sketch be separated from the rest as a present for Bridget’s friend Miss Bennet.’

‘Thank you so much.’ Momentarily entranced by the loveliness of the painting, Elizabeth suddenly woke up to the practicalities of the situation. ‘But Mr Beaumont, you should not have come so far on my account. You could have left the trunk with my uncle and aunt in London, to be brought here next time they visited.’

‘It is no inconvenience. We are bound for Leicestershire again for Christmas, and this route through Hertfordshire is as good as any.’

Elizabeth gasped. ‘Then Bridget …’

‘My wife is outside in the carriage with Georgie.’

Elizabeth looked away, trying to mask her disappointment. ‘She wishes to avoid me.’

‘On the contrary, she is afraid that
you
wish to avoid
her
.’

‘Then let us fetch her!’ Elizabeth ran to the door, then caught herself and turned back to her guest. ‘Excuse me, Mr Beaumont. Perhaps you would prefer to go yourself, while I arrange refreshments.’

‘Lizzy?’ Mr Bennet, who had been reading in his study, put his head round the door. ‘Hill tells me we have visitors.’

‘Indeed father. May I present Mr Thomas Beaumont. I would like, if I may, to invite his family to join us. They are presently outside in the carriage.’

Mr Bennet greeted this news with an amused shrug. ‘Oh well, the more the merrier, I suppose.’

In the forecourt Elizabeth spotted Georgie, running around under the watchful eye of a nanny, but no sign of Bridget. Wrapping her shawl a little tighter, she ran over to the carriage and looked inside. In the far corner Bridget watched with a nervous frown as Elizabeth climbed in and pulled the door shut.

They regarded each other for a few seconds, each trying to make the other out, before Elizabeth said:

‘Have you decided to forgive me?’

Bridget grimaced. ‘Perhaps it is
you
that should forgive
me
.’

Elizabeth spread her arms. ‘I was not myself, Bridget. I was obsessed with Mr Darcy’s predicament to the exclusion of every other consideration.’

‘To good effect, from what I hear.’ Bridget dealt her a suspicious glance. ‘Why did you leave Coleorton so early in the morning?’

‘To avoid another confrontation.’

‘In doing so you also avoided any possibility of reconciliation.’ Bridget sniffed. ‘After passing a sleepless night I was hoping we could at least part on better terms.’

‘How was I to know that? I didn’t sleep any better myself.’

‘I don’t understand why I was so severe.’ Bridget looked out of the window, smiling momentarily as Georgie scampered past. ‘I suppose it was because our friendship had meant so much to me. I’d never met someone like you before, with whom I could talk freely. To discover that you had been using me for another purpose was unbearable. I could have throttled you there and then.’