The Road to Pemberley (35 page)

He sighed softly. “I proposed to her, Bingley…there in Kent this past April.”

“Did you?” Bingley asked with benign interest until his faculties gave meaning to the utterance, and then: “Darcy! You
proposed marriage?
”

“Indeed I did, sir. Most abominably, but nonetheless I sought a match similar to that which I denied you. Do you see now what a wretched friend I have been?”

“But…” Bingley was at a loss. Finally, he stammered, “How… what did she—”

“She upbraided me most efficash…violently.” As Bingley had made no more of his own injury at his friend's hands, Darcy
continued, telling Bingley of the horror of his realization that the woman he esteemed so highly—loved most ardently—looked upon him in the worst possible manner. Bingley listened with all the attention at his disposal.

“Darcy, I do not understand. What you describe is grave, indeed—”

“Indeed. She forced me to look at myself; I could not admire what I found.”

“But…” Bingley struggled with his memory a moment to frame his question. “But did not you entertain Miss Elizabeth at Pemberley not two months past? I did not guess—could not have done—of any bad blood between you! Do you jest with me?”

Darcy took a long drink from his just-replenished wine and then admitted of more—of his letter to Miss Elizabeth Bennet (though not all its contents) and the effects it must have had in softening that lady's regard for him; of his anxious joy at their accidental meeting in Derbyshire; and of his renewed hope of a change of her heart before the crisis of Lydia Bennet's elopement had once more separated them, it seemed forever and without hope.

“No, Darcy, this will not do! If you love her, truly love her, can you now hold against her the sister's shame? The circumstance, as I have it, was sufficiently resolved, was not it? You
cannot
despise Miss Bennet, yet—”

“By God,
no!
Indeed, I—” Darcy stopped suddenly and could not go on. He had nearly betrayed information he had determined never to make public, not even to Bingley.

“Ah. P'raps I understand.”

“
Do
you, Bingley?”

“It is Mr. Wickham.”

Darcy's head snapped up at the name as his eyes fixed sharply upon Bingley.

“I know well your dislike—your abhorrence—of the man, Darcy, but—”

“Charsh, you know
nothing
of it.”

His friend quieted at that, and Darcy put his head into his hands, with his eyes closed and his face drawn tight in anguish. Finally:

“I love her, Bingley. I love her. And nothing…not her odious mother nor her silly sisters nor her lack of fortune, no, not even…
Wickham
…would keep me from renewing my suit—but the lady herself does not wish it.”

“Do you know this? How is it you know this?”

“Do you forget, Charles, our calls upon the Bennets these weeks past?”

“Of course not—you attended me to make determination of my Jane's affections, as well as my own—”

Darcy wagged his finger again at his friend. “No, Bingley, no. Or rather, it is true after a fashion. But I had other motive as well. I wished to judge if there was any hope to be had with Miss Elizabeth.”

With a longing look at his empty glass, Darcy slumped in his seat. Bingley waited expectantly, but no further communication was forthcoming.

“Darcy?”

“Yes, Bingley?”

“What did you conclude?”

“When?”

“When we called upon Longbourn!” Bingley threw up his hands in exasperation, nearly toppling his chair with the gesture. Both men winced at the scraping sound of its restitution.

“It is no use, Bingley. She cannot care for me.” He held his head up then and looked at his friend, his eyes miserable in the light of the lamp.

“Was she not civil to you? How do you draw such a conclusion? I confess I was too enamored of my Jane to take particular note, but I recall no unpleasantness.”

“No, no unpleasantness; her manners are too well schooled for such.” His face fell.

“But I found no encouragement, Bingley, no renewal of the amiability we enjoyed in Derbyshire, in her words or in her looks. Indeed, we hardly spoke but for the ‘civilities' of our comings and goings. I could take no encouragement from our few discourses. I am certain she accorded me her attentions only on the basis of my being
your
friend. You must have noted the differences in the welcomes afforded us generally.”

“But Darcy! Could you let the matter drop on such small judgment? Can you be so certain of her opinion?”

“There is yet more to my miserable tale of unrequited regard, Bingley.”

“More?”

Darcy sighed with resignation. “Only yesternight, my aunt—Lady Catherine de Bourgh—accosted me at home in town, in a high dudgeon.”

“Lady…? But—she was
here!
Or rather, at Longbourn.”

“Indeed, it was her call upon Miss Bennet yesterday that she wished to report to me.”

“But we—none of us—could make sense of it, Darcy. She simply appeared in all her state, held converse with Miss Elizabeth in private, and departed again—and Miss Elizabeth would not divulge their discourse.”

“Shall I reveal it to you, Bingley?” He proceeded to detail Lady Catherine's attack on Miss Bennet, as his aunt had recounted it.

“Oh, my. How perfectly horrid that must have been for Miss Elizabeth—and she never said a word.”

“No, I imagine she would not. But do not you see now, Bingley, the hopelessness of my situation? Miss Bennet can only despise me after this treatment at the hands of my relation. The tenuous goodwill we established this summer could not survive such an onslaught.” He stared at his hands on the table, confusion on his face, and whispered nearly to himself: “And yet she refused her, Bingley…”

“Refused her?”

“Mmm. Refused to make a promise to my aunt never to enter into an engagement with me. But does this mean that there is yet some hope, no matter how small? Or was she simply being obstinate in the face of an odious challenge? You must admit Miss Bennet to be capable of such obstinacy.”

Bingley grimly nodded his head.

Darcy laughed hoarsely, and his voice nearly broke as he added: “I cannot continue without some resolve. I had to come immediately. I must know, for good or ill. Had I set aside my pride, my reserve—had I spoken sooner, in Derbyshire some weeks ago perhaps…but I fear it is too late. I am half hope, half agony. My feelings have not changed; I admire and love her and would have her for my wife. I had hoped with Lydia settled and your understanding with Jane concluded, that proximity to Miss Bennet might allow me to make further amends to her. But
this
…this
outrage
of my aunt's! I believe it to be more than can be overcome.”

Darcy had come to the end of his tale. In the ensuing silence, Bingley concentrated for some time before adding,“But just this morning, she asked after you.”

“Did she?”

“Yes, or…well…I believe it was she, was not it?”

“Bingley! Think, man! This is critical to me. Was it Miss Elizabeth? What was her manner?”

“Yes, yes, all right. I am certain it was she.” He closed his eyes tightly to help him remember. “Yes, yes, it was, and she was all civility. She asked me if you still intended to return to Netherfield soon…”

The sun shone brightly as Bingley and Darcy approached the lane to the Bennet house—a little too brightly, perhaps, for their preference that morning. They squinted as they walked to relieve the sun's assault on strained eyes. Bingley's carriage had, by his direction, set down the gentlemen at the top of the turn to Longbourn, both men admitting that a bit of air and exercise would well serve to prepare them for the coming meeting. Their rescue from Bingley's cellar had come eleven hours after their incarceration—and, if it may be revealed, seven bottles of wine had been consumed in the interval without the benefit of food to offset its effects.

When Mr. Bennet and his family had arrived for their dinner engagement and Bingley did not appear to greet them, Mrs. Nicholls undertook to discover his whereabouts. No one could recall having seen him for some time, and his man, Hodge, who had been given the evening for his leisure after Bingley had dressed, was visiting away from Netherfield and could not be applied to for intelligence. At last, a servant was found who suggested Mr. Bingley might have gone off with the man with whom he had been seen approaching the billiard room; but when questioned further by Mrs. Nicholls, the servant—who had been taken on only within the past fortnight—could not identify Bingley's companion, beyond that he was certainly dressed in the mode of a gentleman. He could offer no further description, as his own concentration had been directed toward disappearing from the hallway at the master's approach, so that he himself would not be seen.

As no guests beyond the Bennet family had been expected for the evening, this new information carried with it as great a mystery as that of the master's whereabouts. Mrs. Nicholls took charge then, establishing the Bennets in the parlor with a footman to serve them drinks while the remaining staff began a search for Mr. Bingley and the unknown visitor. After an hour, the flustered housekeeper had the onerous task of returning to the parlor to report their lack of result, grieving at the understandable distress this caused the eldest Bennet daughter.

After much discussion, Mrs. Nicholls convinced her master's guests to adjourn to the dining room for dinner, providing assurances that she herself could not wholly trust that Mr. Bingley would arrive midcourse with some reasonable explanation for his tardy appearance. Such event did not transpire. Indeed, two courses came and went, and Mr. Bingley's absence was still felt.

Mr. Bennet seemed to quite enjoy his repast, acting for all the world as though nothing were amiss. His wife made amends for his indifference, spending the entire evening caterwauling about the effects of Mr. Bingley's neglect on her nerves and appetite, while said appetite became fully sated from the selection of meats, savouries, and vegetables appearing at each course. Miss Bennet, it need not be said, ate nothing, but sat staring in silence at her dishes in obvious distress. Miss Elizabeth Bennet ate but little and concerned her discourse with attempts to console her sister. Their sister Mary Bennet held forth on Mr. Bingley's breach of manners, while the youngest sister in attendance, Miss Catherine Bennet, offered that perhaps Mr. Bingley had changed his mind concerning his betrothal, and then, following a swift kick under the table from Miss Elizabeth Bennet, spoke no more but glowered at the table in front of her as she ate.

The family did not remain for dessert or coffee when, ninety minutes later, Mr. Bingley had still not appeared; rather, they called for
their carriage and departed in various states of curiosity or anxiety, the entire departure narrated by Mrs. Bennet's high-pitched squawk.

Although Mrs. Nicholls was relieved at their departure, still the mystery of her master's whereabouts was yet to be resolved. A servant had been dispatched to Meryton at once on the discovery of Mr. Bingley's absence—a footman who could be trusted to approach inquiries with discretion, so as not to excite gossip—and he had returned, having discovered nothing. No one he had engaged in converse admitted to seeing his master that day. The house at Netherfield had been searched from ground floor to top, as well as the stables and gardens: what if Mr. Bingley had met with an accident and was incapable of calling out for assistance? As the evening wore into night, such thoughts came more frequently and with greater intensity.

In the wee hours of the morning, Mr. Bingley's man returned from his leave to a house in an uproar. One mystery he could solve. The gentleman with Mr. Bingley could be confirmed, in fact, as Mr. Darcy, who had returned before schedule from London. But this information did not offer intelligence as to where, indeed, these gentlemen might now be found. If anything, it compounded the confusion, being that he was not a visitor Mr. Bingley was likely to have left the estate with for any reason, nor had Mr. Bingley indicated any intention of going out until morning. It also occurred to Mrs. Nicholls that the heretofore imagined accident scene might be less likely, for which she was grateful, but for the fact that she now had
two
missing gentlemen to account for.

Subsequent to this intelligence, however, Mr. Darcy's customary suite of rooms—which had been prepared the day before in anticipation of his return in two days—was visited. His man, Grayson, was found in the dressing room, where he had rested in perfect ignorance, absorbed in reading a novel, since he had seen to his master some hours previous. A glance from the housekeeper was
all it took for a maid to admit to neglecting to search these rooms initially, assuming that they were unoccupied. This spurred yet another full house search, leaving no room or closet untried. Immediately, Grayson joined in the search with the others.