Darcy's Trial (8 page)

Elizabeth glared back. ‘You think me indelicate?’

‘I think these are not suitable matters for you to contemplate.’

‘In other words I am too feeble-minded to face the realities of life?’

He slumped back, looking suddenly weary, and Elizabeth approached him gently and took his hand. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Darcy. In my impatience I am causing you stress, at a time when you need my calm support.’

He inhaled deeply, his face relaxing. ‘I have never for a moment thought you feeble-minded.’

‘I guessed right about Wickham, didn’t I?’

‘I admit nothing.’

She exhaled in exasperation. ‘Little though you deserve it, I have come prepared to entertain, or at least distract you.’ She pointed to her reticule. ‘In my bag is a copy of
Lyrical Ballads
, from which I have personally selected a number of poems guaranteed to soothe the human spirit. Do I have your permission to read to you, sir?’

Arriving out of breath at Cavendish Square, Elizabeth found Bridget awaiting her in the parlour, where she had been studying the newspaper.

‘Bridget, I’m sorry …’

‘Ha! I wonder that you dare show your face at all!’ Bridget pointed to the mantelpiece clock, which showed 5pm. ‘Have you not read the Manual of Etiquette for Young Ladies? Punctuality, Miss Bennet, is the necessary condition for civilisation. It is a matter of common courtesy that appointments be kept at the agreed time.’

Elizabeth snorted. ‘If you’ve quite finished, Mrs Beaumont, I am perfectly willing to explain why I have been delayed.’ She sat beside Bridget on the divan. ‘Alternatively you may wish to elaborate on the vital necessity of punctuality, but I can assure you that I have already been lectured on this topic by persons far more illustrious than yourself.’

‘Namely?’

‘Have you heard of Lady Catherine de Bourgh?’

Bridget frowned. ‘Hmm. I don’t think I’ve met anyone of that name.’

‘You would certainly remember if you had. Lady Catherine is Mr D’s aunt.’

‘Oh.’ Suddenly serious, Bridget pointed to the newspaper. ‘D for disaster, I’m sorry to hear.’

Elizabeth nodded. ‘And therein lies the explanation for my tardiness. I have just visited Mr Darcy, and stayed far longer than I expected.’ She touched her friend’s arm. ‘Bridget, I’m sorry about this, but it’s now so late that my aunt and uncle will be worrying about me.’ She dropped her voice. ‘I didn’t tell them about the Darcys. I said I was visiting you and would be back in time for dinner.’

‘Do you have a carriage outside?’

‘I was hoping your servant could find me a hackney.’

Bridget thought for a few seconds. ‘Why not stay to eat with us? We can dispatch a messenger immediately to reassure your relatives, then after dinner you can return in my husband’s carriage. He is at home this evening and will have no need of it.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘There is no inconvenience at all.’ Bridget lowered her voice again. ‘I think it’s important that we talk as soon as possible about Mr Darcy’s predicament, provided you feel able to do so. I have made one or two enquiries that might be of interest—though without mentioning your name, of course.’

Elizabeth agreed, intensely relieved by this turn of events. ‘Yes, I would love to stay and discuss this with you, and know not how to repay your kindness. Just name your forfeit, and I will oblige. I am willing to clean your silver, or to listen politely to lectures on punctuality—whatever you require.’

‘Hardly the latter,’ Bridget laughed. ‘We both know what Mary W. thinks of the recommended homilies on etiquette for young ladies.’ She jumped up and went to the door to call for a servant.

These arrangements made, they repaired to Bridget’s sanctuary on the second floor, where Elizabeth recounted most of her visit to the Darcys, omitting only the half-confirmed guesses she had made about the circumstances leading to the duel.

‘And do you intend to call again?’ Bridget asked.

‘I am undecided. The doctor is now confident that the crisis has passed, and that Mr Darcy will recover his health. However, he is still frail, and stressed by the disgrace to his family, and of course the possibility that he will be found guilty of murder and sentenced to death—with horrible consequences for his sister. It seems my visits have been good for his morale, except that now he is worried about my reputation, and insists that for the time being I should keep strictly away.’ She looked up to face Bridget. ‘Do you think he is right?’

‘You mean, do I think your reputation might be harmed through consorting with a man accused of murder?’ Bridget smiled wrily. ‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but that is what anyone would think, as you must know already. Why else would you conceal your visit from your family?’ She paused, before asking: ‘Why do you feel under such an obligation to this man?’

‘You know why.’

‘Yes, he helped your sister, to the wider benefit of your family. But nobody asked him to provide this help, for which you have now fully expressed your gratitude. If a man makes a proposal of marriage and is rejected, he has no right to renew his addresses to the woman by rendering services that she never asked for in the first place. Surely you see this.’

‘But that was not Mr Darcy’s intention, Bridget. On the contrary, he took pains to
conceal
his actions from me, so that any future alteration in my feelings would arise from affection alone, and not from a sense of obligation.’

‘Very well, then everyone, Mr Darcy included, agrees that you owe him nothing, except perhaps the gratitude already expressed. For your part, you have rejected his proposal, you claim not to like him, let alone love him, and yet,’ Bridget spread her arms, ‘and yet you go out of your way to seek his company, and to help him in any way you can, regardless of the risk to your own reputation.’ She leaned forward, dropping her voice. ‘Something is out of joint here, Elizabeth. Manifestly you are not indifferent to this man.’

Elizabeth considered this for a while. ‘I suppose you are right. I may not like him, but I am drawn to him. Partly through guilt that I judged him so unfairly before. Partly because of what my family owes him. Partly because I am flattered by his admiration. And yes, partly because although we quarrel much of the time, we also have conversations among the most rewarding in my experience.’

‘But when we spoke of Mr D before, you pronounced his company unbearable,’ Bridget grinned.

Elizabeth frowned, ignoring her teasing. ‘There has been a change, it is true. Perhaps I have been constrained by his condition to treat him more gently, instead of trying to puncture his dignity all the time as I used to. The poetry readings have also helped, by providing a neutral topic that absorbs both of us. His comments show genuine insight and taste, while he treats me with respect and good humour. I’m reminded sometimes of conversations with my father, except that Mr Darcy is emotionally more intense. My father, much as I love him, treats everything as a joke.’

Bridget thought for a few moments, her expression now serious. ‘I hardly know what to say, Elizabeth. I suppose I should counsel you to keep your distance until the trial is over and Mr Darcy’s reputation restored. And yet …’

‘And yet I cannot,’ Elizabeth said, nodding agreement. ‘I feel driven to help him—if only I knew how.’

Bridget raised a finger. ‘Then I should pass on what I know of the Kayes. Did Mr Darcy tell you anything about them?’

‘Only what I had already read in the
Times
.’

‘My husband knows them slightly because they are distant neighbours of Sir George Beaumont, who also has an estate in Leceistershire. The Kayes are influential because they are linked by marriage to the family of Lord Harbury, a friend of the Tory leader Mr Pitt. Lord Harbury’s sister Alice, who died a few years ago, was married to Sir Osborne Kaye, and bore him two children: Arthur, the new baronet, and a younger sister Helena. Although the family was based at Wistham Court, Sir Osborne spent most of his time in town, where he had something of a reputation as a gambler and—how shall I put this—as a ladies’ man.’

‘So he was not well regarded?’

‘It depends whom you ask. Many gentlemen gamble. Sir Osborne was seen as bold, outgoing, sometimes boorish and quarrelsome, but within his circle these traits often earn a man respect. He was not a man that one would want to cross. The same applies to his philandering. Eyebrows might be raised, but amongst the gentlemen at least there was an undercurrent of admiration.’

‘So what do people say of the duel?’

‘Nobody is sure what happened, but the assumption is that Mr Darcy caught Sir Osborne
in flagrante delicto
and expressed his disapproval in an insulting manner. According to the arcane rules of our male
superiors
,’—she flashed Elizabeth a grin—‘he thereby left Sir Osborne with no alternative to calling him out. In most such cases, the gentleman who has been challenged apologises for a remark made in the heat of the moment, and after handshakes all round, the men return to their clubs for further bouts of drinking and gambling. In stubbornly sticking to his opinion, Mr Darcy is therefore seen as unreasonable.’

‘And I suppose this is important, since the jury will be drawn from just the community you have been describing.’

Bridget nodded. ‘According to my husband, killing a man in a duel should result in a conviction for murder
by the letter of the law
. In practice, however, prosecutions are rare, and when they do occur, juries usually let off the accused provided that the duel is seen as well-motivated. So the jury will wonder why Mr Darcy did not simply swallow his pride and apologise, so avoiding any risk of serious harm coming to either party over what was a relatively minor disagreement.’

‘So if the case goes to court,’ Elizabeth concluded, in a trembling voice, ‘Mr Darcy will probably be found guilty.’

‘At the very least, he will be in great danger.’

As the dinner hour approached, Bridget begged leave to honour the daily ritual of settling her little boy for the night. The atmosphere accordingly changed, as from the dark complexities of Darcy’s predicament, they entered Georgie’s world of play, which on that day was ruled by the idea that all objects came in pairs: left boot with right boot, knife with fork, apple with orange, and so forth. On entering the nursery, Bridget and Elizabeth were invited to admire a procession that ran halfway across the room, including all his shoes and gloves, carefully matched up, along with more arbitrary pairings based on mere resemblance. A difference of opinion then arose, Bridget insisting that these objects should be put away, Georgie that they should be left out overnight. Elizabeth watched with interest as Bridget displayed a sterner side to her character, and after a brief tantrum, the objects lay in the cupboard, and Georgie in the bed—paired with his bear.

As she joined in this game, Elizabeth was grateful for the discussion with Bridget, which had left her feeling stronger, if not happier. If Bridget’s information was accurate, Darcy’s prospects were black indeed, but at least she now had a clearer picture of the likely sequence of events, and hence the possibilities for intervention.

Dinner passed pleasantly in the company of another guest, a friend of Thomas Beaumont’s. Elizabeth had feared that Darcy’s duel might be raised as a topic of current scandal, and it was a relief when the gentlemen embarked instead on a political discussion concerning the prime minister Pitt’s conduct of the war with France, and in particular his new overtures to the Russians, Austrians and Prussians. Listening closely, she tried to divine whether Mr Beaumont’s sympathies lay with the Tories or Whigs, but without success: he seemed interested above all in the facts of the case, and treated all politicians with equal scepticism.

After dinner, the servant returned with an acknowledgement from the Gardiners, and the party split again on gender lines, with the gentlemen returning to Mr Beaumont’s study, and the ladies to Bridget’s sanctuary, where they drank weak Chinese tea from small cups.

‘Do you have a view on the proscecution of the war?’ Bridget asked. ‘I don’t think you expressed one over dinner.’

Elizabeth shrugged. ‘I suppose if we wish to defeat Bonaparte, we should assemble the widest possible coalition. Luckily he seems determined to assist us in this endeavour by attacking everyone in sight. But I’m not knowledgeable about war, nor in truth very interested.’

‘Nor I,’ Bridget admitted. ‘But perhaps we
should
be interested. Have you had time to look at the book I gave you?’

‘Yes, and with great attention.’

Bridget leaned forward excitedly. ‘You see, I would really like to understand whether it is right that certain spheres—I mean politics, business, science, and so forth—should be left exclusively to the gentlemen, while we are left in what is essentially a supportive role. On what is this division based?’

‘Presumably, on the desire of men to keep control over the levers of power, while relegating us to the role of their playthings.’

‘But surely we must allow that there might be a real difference in aptitude. Physically, for instance, men are undeniably stronger. On average they would best us in hand-to-hand combat.’

‘As they in turn would be bested by gorillas,’ Elizabeth pointed out.

‘So the question is whether there is a similar distinction in mental competence, and here our male brethren can muster some powerful evidence in support of their claims. Can we find even one clear example of a woman showing superior ability in philosophy, or musical composition, or scientific discovery?’

Elizabeth considered. ‘I have heard women who excel in musical
performance
.’

‘That’s right. We perform, but we do not compose. We draw prettily, but we are not great artists.’

‘Nor are most men. The answer may be that excellence requires both aptitude and encouragement, and that only men are favoured with both.’

‘Yes …’ Bridget thought about this for a few moments, then raised a finger. ‘But I’m not sure
encouragement
is the right word. We recently attended a chamber concert of works by Telemann, and in his introduction the conductor gave some details of the composer’s childhood. It seems Telemann took lessons in singing and playing the organ at the age of ten—both activities seen as fitting for the son of a clergyman. However, the boy by his own initiative taught himself three other instruments, and began to compose his own arias and motets. The family disapproved, wishing him to follow a different career, and his mother confiscated his instruments and forbade him to play or compose. But the boy was determined, and kept his interest alive by composing in secret, until he was old enough to leave home and attend school, where the masters recognised his ability.’