Old Friends and New Fancies (31 page)

JANUARY WAS PASSING. THE weather was remarkably mild and open for the time of year, and the hunting men were rejoicing in their opportunities. The ladies were able to take their daily walks and drives, in which Mrs. Ferrars's sister, Mrs. Brandon, a very lovely and amiable woman, who had come to watch over her sister's convalescence, was often invited to join them. Mrs. Jennings had returned to London earlier in the month, sorely disappointed, after such a promising beginning, at not having seen the successful termination of even one love-affair during her stay. None of the family at Pemberley had ever understood what part she played in the catastrophe of November, except that she had shared in the general error made by Kitty's friends, nor were they aware of the destiny she had marked out for Georgiana; but Elinor, when she realized that something had gone seriously wrong in consequence of the ball, had no difficulty in persuading the really good-natured old lady to confine her lamentations, conjectures, and comments to the ears of the Rectory inhabitants only. This end was the more easily attained since, after Kitty's departure, there was no one to keep her supplied with information. When, however, that young lady returned in apparently good spirits, Mrs. Jennings was immeasurably delighted, and quite entered into her willingness to talk of Cathcart and Macdonald, and, indeed, anyone and anything but William Price, and Mrs. Jennings had only to hear that Mr. Bertram was coming to stay at Desborough again, and not at Pemberley, to be ready to console Kitty with a number of entirely new and revised prognostications as to the object of his visit.

The party at Pemberley were sitting together one evening after dinner. It was about eight o'clock, and they had all settled to their customary occupations; Darcy and his wife were reading, Mrs. Grant working and Georgiana was at the instrument, playing short snatches of music while Mary Crawford sat close beside her, and asked for one and another of her favourite pieces. Peace and tranquility reigned, and seemed as little likely to be interrupted as on many previous evenings that had been similarly spent. The sudden sound of carriage wheels, therefore, and the rapid trot of horses, startled everyone, and alarmed one at least, for Elizabeth's first apprehension was that Colonel Fitzwilliam had returned unexpectedly. Georgiana ceased playing, and all listened anxiously, but the suspense lasted for the shortest possible time required by a visitor to get into the house, and on the door being flung open, Darcy had scarcely risen from his chair, before Tom Bertram followed his name into the room with quick steps.

Tom Bertram had acted on many stages, but in none of the parts he had ever played had he made so sensational an entrance. The amazement of the inmates of the room on beholding him, the dismay of Mrs. Grant and her sister, his own disconcerted surprise at seeing who were Mrs. Darcy's guests, all tended to make the first minute one of extreme embarrassment, and it was only the knowledge of his urgency of his errand that enabled him to recover himself sooner than any of the others. Advancing to Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, he greeted them both, bowed to Mrs. Grant, and to the corner of the room where Mary was shrinking out of sight behind Georgiana, and at once began speaking very quickly to the master of the house.

"Mr. Darcy, I fear I have startled, I hope not frightened, you all by intruding at this late hour; but when you know how pressing is the need, you will dispense with apologies. I grieve very much to say to say I am the bearer of bad news, but believing that you ought to know, I constituted myself the messenger. Your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, has met with an accident whilst out hunting to-day. I regret exceedingly to tell you, but his state is considered serious, and his friends thought it would be advisable for you to come."

"Fitzwilliam? Fitzwilliam hurt! Good God, what is this?" exclaimed Darcy, completely roused out of his usual calm. "How did it happen? Tell us all about it. I will go to him instantly" (ringing the bell). "In God's name, Bertram, say he is still living? Where is he? How long will it take to get to him?"

Elizabeth, though dreadfully shocked and distressed, had the wisdom to send another servant for refreshments for Mr. Bertram, while Darcy ordered his own things to be packed and his travelling carriage be brought round, and in the slight bustle caused by these arrangements, Mrs. Grant and Georgiana were able, almost unobserved, to attend to Mary, who had not actually fainted, but had sunk down on a low couch, scarcely knowing what she did. Her sister and Georgiana supported her in between them, placed her in a more easy position, rubbed her hands and shielded her from the light; and Mary, with a very great effort, collected herself sufficiently to listen to the details which Mr. Bertram was hurriedly giving in answer to Mr. and Mrs. Darcy's inquiries. It appeared that Colonel Fitzwilliam had only just returned from London, and this was his first day out for some time. The fox had got well away, and the hunt were in the midst of a fine run, when the Colonel's horse came down with him at a blind fence. Bertram paused here to give more particulars than his impatient hearers desired, about the height and width of the fence, and the exact manner in which the horse had approached it, for it seemed that he himself had been riding near at the time, and had witnessed the accident. The Colonel was pinned under the animal, and was taken out unconscious, with a broken leg, and, it was feared, some grave injury to the spine. Fortunately, the house of the friend with whom he was staying was not far off, and he was borne thither, and the services of the apothecary were promptly obtained; but the only opinion he could form was very grave, and pending the arrival of a more experienced surgeon, who had been sent for from Leicester, no one could tell what an hour might bring forth.

The ladies were sick with horror: Mrs. Grant was weeping silently, and Georgiana, as she held Mary's cold hand, felt that this was indeed the last and crowning sorrow, for poor Cousin Robert to die without knowing the happiness that ought to have been his.

"The pulse is so very weak; I think they fear a collapse of the whole system, even if he does recover consciousness," said Bertram, in too low a tone to be heard by those at the other end of the room. "They were trying stimulants of various kinds when I came away."

Elizabeth's face was hidden. Darcy was too much overwhelmed to speak for some moments, till with a sudden start of recollection he exclaimed: "And you, Bertram? how came you to be there? and how come you are here now?"

Bertram, with a return to something of his nonchalant manner, explained that he, too, had been staying in the same neighbourhood, with a friend, who was, in fact, the master of that pack of hounds, and with whom he often spent a few days in the hunting season, as it was little over twenty miles from his own house, Mansfield Park. "I had been talking to Colonel Fitzwilliam during the morning," he continued, "and helped to carry him back to Ashley's place, and when Ashley said his relations ought to know, I decided at once to come with the news. I only delayed to change my clothes and have the chaise got ready, for I knew time was an object, and I could get over the ground quicker than anyone else they could send."

"I am sure we are deeply indebted to you, Bertram," said Darcy, grasping him warmly by the hand, while Elizabeth joined him in expressing the sincerest gratitude. "You could not have done us a greater service, and it is one we shall never forget. It was an impulse of true goodness and unselfishness that prompted you to ride straight to us, disregarding your own fatigue and inconvenience; few men would have done as much."

Bertram disclaimed, and as Georgiana came forward to add her thanks to those of the others, he bowed to her with gallantry, assuring her that fatigue was nothing, if he could be of use to friends whom he so greatly esteemed, and he only wished that he could have brought news to relieve anxiety, instead of creating it.

By this time word was brought that the more substantial meal which had been ordered for Mr. Bertram was ready in the diningroom, and Darcy escorted him thither, to attend to his wants and to obtain the particulars as to his journey from Leicestershire. The distance was forty-five miles, and Darcy proposed to start within half an hour, and reach his destination some time during the night, but he pressed his visitor to stay at least until the next day, and if he would, to rest himself and his horses.

Their peaceful evening had been turned into confusion and wretchedness. The quiet circle in the drawing-room was broken up, and Mrs. Grant, fearing greatly for her sister, was thankful to lead her to her own room, there to recover as best she might from the frightful shock of Tom Bertram's news. Darcy soon went upstairs to prepare for his journey, and his wife busied herself with helping him, and with placing in his luggage any article she could think of that might conduce to the sick man's comfort, while a maze of thoughts occupied her mind, chilling fear, apprehension, and dread of what might be happening to the loved friend at such a distance, and anxiety on account of Miss Crawford, whose trembling and distressed condition had not escaped her.

A few minutes later Georgiana came to her door, showing traces of tears, but quite calm, and begging to be made useful. Elizabeth was just then giving some directions to the maid, so Georgiana waited until they were done, and then, coming close to her sister, she said: "Elizabeth, do you think we could do anything for Miss Crawford? I went to wish her good-night, and she tried to smile and say something sympathizing, but could hardly utter the words. I am sure she is terribly concerned about all this. She almost looks like a different person, so pale and stricken. Do you think she can possibly be caring for Cousin Robert all the time, and not know it till now? Oh, dear Elizabeth, is it not dreadful to think it may be too late?"

Elizabeth gazed at her sister, listening intently, and pondering all Georgiana said. True, indeed, that it would be a dreadful thing to contemplate, if Mary really loved Fitzwilliam, and the knowledge came too late to do good to either. And even if Mary knew her own heart at last, was it not too late, when pride sealed her lips, and Fitzwilliam was lying near to death, forty miles away, perhaps never more able to see her or hear her? Elizabeth experienced a momentary feeling of despair; the powers ranged against her seemed almost too strong to be attacked; but rallying her forces, and putting in the front of her mind the one hopeful thought that Fitzwilliam might live till Darcy reached him, or longer, she said to Georgiana: "I think I shall try; I will ask her to send him a message, if it is as we think; it will be better than nothing, even if he is only just able to understand it."

"Oh, yes, yes," exclaimed Georgiana, clasping her hands in intense eagerness, "do ask her, dear Elizabeth; she will surely tell you, and my brother will tell him. Whatever happens, she will be glad to think she has done it. Do ask her; do not lose a minute; there is so little time."

Voices were heard in the corridor; Darcy was speaking to the servants, who were carrying out his luggage. Elizabeth hesitated no longer, pausing only to say: "Dear Georgiana, would you mind going to sit with Mr. Bertram? I am afraid it may be tiresome for you to entertain a stranger just now, but he is alone, and it would be only a kind attention, after what he has done for us," and to receive Georgiana's assent, before going swiftly to Miss Crawford's room.

She found that Georgiana's description had been all too accurate. Miss Crawford had not wept, but her expression of hopeless misery sent a pang through Elizabeth's heart. She had sent her sister away, and had been sitting on her bed, too stunned for action, almost for thought, and she made no resistance when Elizabeth placed her on the couch, sat beside her, and taking both her hands, began to plead with her, quickly and simply, without premeditation.

"Dear Miss Crawford, I have come to ask you to do something for my poor cousin, something which only you can do. You heard what Mr. Bertram said, of his dangerous state, and it distressed you as much as us, I know. I would not for a moment seek to pry into your inmost feelings, but we are come to matters of life and death, and it is on
his
account that I do venture to ask you, if you feel that you could listen to him if he were here, then will you send him a word, a message, something to show that you are thinking of him?"

Mary replied after a minute or two, in a stifled voice: "I would send him such a message, but do you think he would care to have it?"

"I do, indeed, most truly. I understand your hesitation; you think you cannot speak of love to him, when he has not spoken to you; but I would stake my life on his devotion and faithfulness. The words you send him will bring comfort and peace of mind, whatever the issue."

Mary shuddered, and withdrew her trembling hands. "Mr. Bertram seems to think he will die."
"We cannot tell; he is a strong man and had not had the best advice when Mr. Bertram was there. We can only hope, and my husband is starting almost immediately, and will carry any message you feel able to send, trusting that he will be in time to deliver it."
"Oh, yes, yes," exclaimed Mary, raising and walking restlessly about the room; "he is so good and generous that if he still cares, he would overlook all, he would pardon the errors and foolishness that have led to this misunderstanding--but the past, Mrs. Darcy, does he know and forgive that? I wish I could tell. Seeing Mr. Bertram brings it all back again--my brother, his sister--the divorce--what Lady Catherine heard, the world believes, you know--and just when one repents it all most, it comes back just like a spectre to haunt one."
Elizabeth replied very earnestly: "At such a time as this, it would be cruel to mislead you, and I only say what I sincerely believe, that Colonel Fitzwilliam knows everything to which you refer, and it makes not the smallest difference to him. It would not, you should be aware, to any man whose love was worthy of the name. That should not weigh with you for a moment. The only thing that signifies in the least is whether you can return that love: the only barrier between you is being unable to return it. I would not urge you against your will, or take advantage of a moment of strong emotion; you alone know whether it would make you happier to send a word of hope to him."
"Happier? Ah, I do not know," said Mary sorrowfully. "I do not seem able to think of happiness. And yet, I should be glad for him to know, since you think he still cares to know, and it is all I can now do for him. You need not be afraid of my not trusting my feelings, Mrs. Darcy. This has shown me all too late what they really are, though my folly and obstinacy have blinded me all these months."
"We will not say too late, dear Miss Crawford," said Elizabeth, going up to where Miss Crawford was standing by the mantelshelf, leaning her head on her arm. "We do not know that it is too late, and I believe that it will be an immense comfort to you to take this one step. Explanations can come after. I am not afraid of Colonel Fitzwilliam being unable to clear away all doubts and fears when he is able to speak for himself again."
There was a moment's pause, and Elizabeth continued: "I must not stay now. Mr. Darcy is so impatient to be off, but I will be back to you. Will you tell me what I may say? so little will suffice; or would you rather write it?"
Mary shook her head, still keeping her face hidden, and said in a barely audible voice: "Ask Mr. Darcy, if he will be so kind-- explain things to him how you like--but say I send Colonel Fitzwilliam my--my love; that I beg his forgiveness; and that I hope--he will soon--be able to come home--to me."
Elizabeth just caught the last words, waited to assure herself there was no more, and pressing Mary's hand, went quietly out of the room. Though much moved by their interview, the exigencies of the moment demanded that she should quickly recover her composure, and brace herself for the parting with her husband. There would be time--all too much time--for thought when the moment of action was over; there would be hours of suspense to be borne and another sufferer to console. As she came out upon the gallery, she heard persons talking and moving in the hall below, and distinguished her husband's voice saying: "I ought to be with him soon after one o'clock," words which revived her courage, and she descended to find Darcy, Georgiana and Mr. Bertram standing by the hearth, Darcy completely equipped for his journey, and the servants waiting by the front door.
Georgiana, who had been enduring keen anxiety during Elizabeth's absence, and had been exerting herself to keep the gentlemen occupied in eating and talking, so that Elizabeth might not be interrupted too soon by Darcy's haste to depart, gave her a nervous glance, which was tempered by relief when she saw her sister draw Darcy into the library for a few parting words. She could scarcely attend to Mr. Bertram's amiable chatter, or reply to his inquiries for Mr. and Mrs. Bingley, and the other friends he had met on his previous visit, for picturing in her mind what was going on in the library and trying to decide whether Elizabeth had been successful in her mission.
At last the door opened; they reappeared; Darcy was grave, but Georgiana thought his brow had somewhat lightened since he went in, and Elizabeth gave her a bright and reassuring look. There was no time for more, and the carriage was already waiting; the farewells were quickly spoken, and in another moment Darcy had passed out and was gone.