Sometimes an hour slips by too quickly, but under certain circumstances, sixty minutes seems to crawl by. I wrote this a few years ago, and just realized I never posted it here.
One Hour, And One Minute More
Bingley shook his head. "No, Darcy. That is not what I meant. Listen carefully: 'No autumn post differential, quota celery per vitam.'"
Darcy shook his head, awareness dawning slowly. "Ah, Seneca? 'Nos autem post differendo, quod celeritates per vitam.'
"Yes! As I said!" Bingley waved his finger in the air. "While we tarry, life passes us by!"
"No, the meaning is 'while we set matters aside, life speeds by.'" Darcy pulled his attention away from the window, having sated his curiosity about the day's snowfall. Deep enough to swallow a small dog. At least I am home for the evening.
"Same meaning, different words." Bingley rolled his eyes. "I do know my Latin."
Oh, Bingley is in one of his roundabout moods. Darcy crossed his legs and stared at his guest. "And your point with all this Latin? Life is passing you by?"
"Do not be sharp with me, old friend. It was you who warned me away from my true love." Bingley turned his head and began fussing with a button on his waistcoat.
"Isabel Barclay was your true love? Truly?" Darcy was puzzled. Isabel Barclay professed her goodness to all who would listen but if one looked for deeds over words, her deeds seemed more in line with those of Caroline Bingley. And the ladies were friends, he mused, sharing an amity of false modesties.
"No! Not Isabel Barclay!" Bingley shook his head violently.
"Pardon. When you nodded off in the carriage last night, I had thought you murmured her name in your sleep."
"No, I did not! Jane Bennet! Miss Jane Bennet! Their names are nothing alike. How could you confuse Isabel Barclay for Jane Bennet?"
Darcy thought a moment, chagrined to learn his friend remained fixated on that angel. "Good point, old man. I have no idea how I was confused."
Bingley almost smiled before he was recalled to his current mood. "No one is perfect, not even you, Darcy." He sighed. "Miss Jane Bennet was my true love."
One of many, my friend. "You know, Bingley, heartbreak is a lesson hard-earned."
"It is not worth the earning, Darcy. Not worth a bloody shilling."
Darcy stared at his miserable companion and offered advice his father had given him after a misbegotten childhood dare from Wickham had caused him to fall off his pony.
"Have a drink, Bingley, and recall what Aeschylus said: 'Time as he grows old teaches many lessons.'"
"Time is a he? A man?" Bingley blinked at him. "That makes no sense. You read too many books."
Darcy blanched as the memory of a pair of fine, sparkling, intelligent eyes flashed in his memory. She is one with whom I could debate and converse. It was a traitorous but entrancing thought. He had sat with her, alone in Netherfield's library, and had not dared to speak a word; would he truly cross that Rubicon of danger if presented another opportunity?
The clock chimed the hour. Darcy sighed and glanced over at it. Good god, was it possible they had been arguing over the translation of Roman philosophers and true love and fashionable sideburn length and horse flesh for better than an hour?
He stared hard at the pendulum as it swung back and forth.
Sixty-one minutes.
Everything was so dull in town. Darcy despised Sunday nights.
Time is of the essence… he thought, drawing an even breath. To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. And there was one purposeful activity that Rev. Collins was most anxious to again practise with his lovely bride of nigh two days.
Impatient as he was, Collins could not put off a small smile. Marital bliss was a wondrous thing, and his wonder now extended to curiosity. He knew so little of women and their preparations. How much longer, he mused, would his dear Charlotte require to prepare herself for this second night of wedded bliss? After last evening's joys, surely she must be all anticipation for their joining. He had heard her soft cries, and was sure he had felt her tears of happiness drip onto his shoulder; what else could explain the damp on his nightshirt?
Should he knock? Pace more loudly? She had said she would come to him tonight, had she not? His bed was the larger one, she had said. Oh, Charlotte was clever, and so thoughtful of his needs. She knew too that her bed had afforded him little room to maneuver, forcing their activities to commence quickly and leaving her prone when he had most unexpectedly fallen asleep atop her. He had meant to retire to his own bed and had had to apologize to his blushing bride after their breakfast. Her tired eyes, though, had reflected his own pleasure in the memory of their flesh, joined throughout the night.
Imprinted unto thee.
Mayhap she did not wish to appear overeager for this evening's connubial bliss, and he should allow her to see that he too was ready. Beyond ready. He was inflamed. Collins glanced down at the protuberance tenting his nightshirt. Oh yes, his manhood knew its work, had learned its path and had culminated its journey to the center of bliss. They twice had joined, once to make their marriage official, and as that had seemed to pass in but a moment—Collins was certain he had but blinked twice before he spent his seed and cried to His Lord God—he had been obliged to commit the sacred act once again. They could take no chance that dear Charlotte's maidenhead remained in place.
After all, the act was of love and filled with a rapture he had never before imagined, but its intent was to create a child. His heir. A reflection unto God. It was a duty, this coitus. And he, William Collins, was nothing if not a dutiful man. He had married a dutiful woman and he knew, his aching loins knew, that she awaited him. She needed his seed and he needed her nesting place.
He felt his knees weaken and gripped the doorknob while taking a deep, calming breath. He could not wait a moment longer.
Collins turned to his night table and picked up his watch. Ten past eleven o'clock?! It was nearly ten past ten o'clock when we rose from our chairs to retire! Had he truly been waiting now, in his nightshirt, for one hour? Nay, one hour and a minute besides! An eternity! Knock? Nay. He was her husband and he would tell her he was ready. He had waited long enough.
"Rosings is quite lovely in the spring," Darcy said to the silent woman who walked beside him. "As you see."
"The gardens are impressively groomed," Elizabeth agreed, withholding warmth in her reply as she hoped to discourage the man's insistent narration.
"But I think you prefer walking paths where the scenery is more in harmony with nature."
She did not like his propensity to understand something true and important to herself.
"Yes," came her simple response. So steady was Elizabeth's gaze on the trees that she did not see his eyes widen.
"The apple trees ahead were planted when my cousin's father, Sir Lewis de Bourgh, was but a boy. They were little more than seedlings when he was a young man, thus he never had the good fortune to climb them."
I believe I am to say something now, to make a curious inquiry. This man makes every conversation a duty rather than a pleasure.
"Did you and your cousins take the opportunity in his stead when you were boys and the trees had grown sturdy?"
"We did."
Why is he smiling? Will he never leave my side?
"Was Miss de Bourgh included in your adventures?"
"Before she fell ill, my cousin Anne would join us on occasion."
"Your aunt was well-pleased by the torn collars and muddy breeches and skirts all of you presented at tea?"
Darcy cleared his throat. "You have met my aunt, Miss Bennet. We were not of age nor manners to take our tea with her until reaching the age of seventeen. I was the youngest."
"And thus the most fortunate." Oh. I said that aloud.
"Clearly."
Darcy appeared to chuckle. She looked away and rolled her eyes.
"Yet today," she said, "your aunt would not like you to be late for tea, nor spend less time than she wishes attending her and the estate." There! A hint to go do dutiful things!
"More than just foxes and squirrels hide in these woods, Miss Bennet."
"You are hiding from your aunt, Mr Darcy?" Elizabeth cried. "Walking with me makes me an accomplice. You have endangered me!"
"I am escorting you," he replied. Noting her expression, he added, "Accompanying you."
Again, she thought.
A short distance away, she could hear the church bells beginning to peal the hour.
Can it be? We have been walking the entire hour!
"Is that the bells again or has Mr Collins once again rung them too early?"
"Too early?" her companion inquired.
Elizabeth bit her lip. "He, er, anticipates and worries he will chime too late."
Darcy coughed rather violently.
Ha. Perhaps he will fall ill and leave me alone tomorrow. Elizabeth pushed away her wicked thoughts and tightened her bonnet.
"I must return to the parsonage. I left there when the bells last chimed and promised Charlotte I would walk no more than an hour. Clearly I have overstayed myself."
Darcy pulled out his watch. "What is an hour and a minute?"
Too long, she thought. Too, too long.
Kitty's head ached. Her throat was swollen. On any other August day, she would place blame on the heat. Today, there was so much more than the hot sun and still air on which to affix responsibility for her miseries. Had ever there been a month in which she had been duller, her life made more plain by the happy raptures detailed in her sisters' letters? Lizzy and Lydia have all the fun, she sulked. Lizzy was off to the Lakes and to places north, where the land was rugged and the sun less cruel. And Lydia? She could scarcely think on her without grimacing.
Oh, Lydia. What have you done?
The post had come nearly an hour ago, followed quickly by an express from Colonel Forster. Hill had taken it to Papa. Most days, he was likely to stare for a few minutes before determining whether a letter was worth his time to open. But today, with Lizzy and Lydia both gone, he had not delayed a minute.
His cry of "Silly girl!" had scarcely been heard over Mary's playing. A good ten minutes passed before his door flew open and out he came, thrusting two letters at the messenger. He glared at Mary, narrowed his eyes at Kitty, and disappeared back into his library.
Oh. He would know, he did know, he knew that Kitty knew. She should flee to her room and lock the door. Or run to Maria's house. Instead, she glared at her least favourite sister and wondered how much longer Mary would pound out hymns on the pianoforte. Kitty recognized that so long as Mary played so horribly, no one would notice that she was more than dull and peevish. Better they not also see she was nervous about The Secret. A great romantic, foolish secret, to be truthful of it all. Lydia's Grand Adventure. Not only had she gone to Brighton and danced with half the regiment, she had tried sea-bathing! And now she was to be the first Bennet sister wed, and to the cleverest, handsomest man anyone in Meryton had ever met. It had sounded so glorious, in the beginning. Yet Lydia was Lydia still; untamed, unabashed, wild, noisy, and fearless. And she, Kitty, was the fool who had held the secret and who now awaited her fate. It was a secret no longer.
She glanced at the library door. Papa has been in there too long. He is forming questions and accusations. He will be so angry with me. How unfair!
Concealing their attachment had been difficult. Kitty had worried that Lizzy too might harbor feelings for Wickham. She had once admired his manners and he certainly had appeared charmed by Lizzy, that is, until neither seemed inclined toward the other. He took a particular interest in learning that she had been in Kent for Easter. One day as they walked through Meryton, he had joined them and spoken quietly with Maria Lucas, of all people. Lydia was quite steamed; as if Maria could catch herself a red coat!
Lydia caught one. They have eloped and she is a bride. For herself, Kitty would prefer a wedding breakfast, and for her sisters and cousins and friends to see her in her wedding finery. Oh! And to shop for my trousseau! Mama will be angry to have missed shopping with Lydia.
Oh this weather is so dreadfully hot. What time is it? Kitty looked at the clock.
"Mary! Can you not play anything else?! Some happy piece, something airy and light on this hot day?"
Mary stared at her.
"Please, Mary. Mama would like it."
Mary sighed. "As you wish."
Relieved, Kitty turned away. Her father stood in the doorway, staring at her. Has he always looked so old?
"Kitty, come with me," he said in a grave voice. "I believe you are key to unraveling the terrible event which has befallen us."
Kitty gulped nervously. The hour since the post arrived had ticked by so slowly. How she wished these next minutes would pass quickly. Mayhap another post would arrive soon, with news to divert Papa from his anger.
"Forty-seven minutes. They have been gone forty-seven minutes, Mr Bennet!"
Mrs Bennet spun around and sighed at her near-empty house. "What damage will Lizzy do, talking her nonsense to that hateful man? And poor Kitty, so frightened of him."
She stared at the closed door to her husband's library and turned her eyes back to the clock. Mr Darcy visits and does little but stare at our clock. Of course, he should approve of it! It may be nothing to the golden clocks of Pemberley, but it is a fine clock, bought by my father and always particularly admired by Mrs Goulding. Mary uses it for her music but my clever Lydia pays attention to the hands when she is fixing a bonnet.
Mrs Bennet sank into her chair and sighed.
I miss dear Lydia. Such a fine life she will lead.
"Mama, I have been practising…." Mary broke in, her voice hopeful.
"Yes, yes, as you always are, Mary."
Mrs Bennet watched her third daughter shuffle the papers on the piano. She will never marry. She will nurse Mr Bennet through his pain when I am gone. Oh! Think happier thoughts!
"They left so quickly, Mary! I had no time to tell Mr Darcy of his aunt's visit. Such a grand lady she was. Did Lizzy say a word to you as to why Lady Catherine left in such a hurry? I wonder what your sister did to the lady to so incite her?"
Mrs Bennet sank more deeply into the cushions, struck by thoughts that lurked ever near. "We are doomed. Oh that girl! Mr Bingley will not like to hear that his friend's relation was disturbed by Lizzy's sharp tongue, and he may take Jane away from here and leave us without Netherfield!"
The lady sat quietly for a moment, twisting her handkerchief and staring dazedly at the window. One daughter married, another betrothed, a third determined to ruin us.
"Oh Mary," she cried. "Put on your boots! You must follow them and listen to what is being said!"
"Oh no, Mama. Eavesdropping is a sin." The girl studied her hands and placed them on the proper keys. "I am occupied here."
In spite of Mary's best efforts, hope surged a few minutes later when Mrs Bennet espied Bingley and Jane on the lane. Her arm was firmly tucked in his, and they wore broad smiles on their faces. They have had a happy hour of walking after all, she thought with much satisfaction.
Mrs Bennet heard the church bells begin to chime. "It is past the hour, Mary! A full minute past the hour! What has Lizzy done with Mr Darcy?"
Puzzled and perturbed, she waved her handkerchief. "Oakham Mount is not so far. Truly, no one can enjoy an hour at the top of it."
Lady Catherine was still now, her rage subsided and her pacing ceased. She sat unmoving in her chair, the only signs of life her incessant finger tapping and cane thumping.
Her daughter watched her closely. I too will hold still and she shan't recall I am here.
Anne wondered how much longer it would take Cook to procure a bottle of brandy to lace her broth. How long ago had she handed the note to the fat-cheeked footman? It felt as if days had gone by! Yesterday's soup had been so plain and lacking in flavour.
"It must be over now," Lady Catherine muttered. "He has married that country girl."
"Do you think so, Mother?" Anne ventured.
"Of course! His jingle-brains friend, that Bimmingly man, was to be married to another of those wily Bennets. The two of them with their ceremonies and their silly wives have read their vows and had their lectures and signed their names."
Lady Catherine pounded her cane on the marble floor. "A wedding is the work of an hour, or not much more. A wedding of two fools should take equal time. Mayhap one minute more!"
"I see," Anne whispered miserably. She had considered Miss Bennet to be rather pleasant company. Perhaps if Mother drank brandy she would not always be so sour.
"Do you, Anne?" Lady Catherine shook her head. "I think not. Your cousin has lost his sense, his good name, and his alliance with Rosings. Our houses shall no longer be bound together."
That is not true, Anne thought. I am a Fitzwilliam, and there is Matlock and our family there.
"House de Bourgh, Mama? We shall still be bound as Fitzwilliams."
"Richard? You shan't marry him. You shan't marry anyone, I fear."
Anne's eyes welled. She sneezed. Where is that brandy?!
"Mrs Jenkinson, take Anne to her room. She is unwell."
"But…. Mother…."
"We have sat in mourning for one hour plus one minute. The deed is done."
She, Elizabeth Darcy, had been a bride for near an hour now. She had accepted the congratulations and the knowing smiles, the teary embraces and the gentle pats. All those who had gone before her down the aisle and into the marital state had provided words of wisdom or folly based on their own joys or trials. No matter the position of anyone else, she was the happiest girl in England this hour. And her groom, her dearest husband, was and had long been, the happiest man in the world. He told her so every day.
"You know, Lizzy," came a familiar voice. "Your life is just beginning."
She turned and smiled at her father. "Yes, Papa. I anticipate much joy, but I think of my life before today with much fondness."
"Good," he replied. "Then do be patient with us. It is difficult to let you go and yield to your young man."
"My husband," she corrected him, smiling softly.
Elizabeth found the object of her affection across the room, suffering the compliments and, she feared, advice from men whose wives often had sat at Longbourn complaining about the dearth of wisdom and gentleness in their husbands.
He is wearing his mask of polite indifference, she noted, though his eyes betray his joy.
Her husband felt her attentions and raised his eyes to hers. She could feel his yearning to leave the celebration.
"Now, now, Lizzy. You and your Mr Darcy have tolerated us for a mere hour. No need to scamper off. You have your lives ahead of you."
"One hour, Papa, is what we promised. Not a minute more. We must leave for London."
"Don't be missish, my dear girl. If you stay here for even one more minute, you can boast of your 'visit of long duration.' Think how it would please your mother to proclaim that Mr and Mrs Darcy celebrated among the neighbours for more than an hour!"
Elizabeth pulled her eyes away from those of her new husband and looked at her father. He wore an amused expression but his eyes betrayed his melancholy. She would miss him, but he would grieve her absence.
She glanced at the clock, the one on which she had learnt to tell time, the one whose pendulum had helped teach her to count, and to time the length of one sister's tantrums and another's musical offerings.
An hour is such a short measure of time. What is a few minutes more to permit her mother a bit more glory? She had her lifetime ahead of her. Then she felt a familiar presence at her side.
"We have passed one hour most dutifully, my dear wife."
Elizabeth leaned into him. "One minute more, Fitzwilliam? It would be a small courtesy."
Darcy smiled and clasped her hand. They watched her father stroll away.
"Small courtesy?" Mr Bennet snorted. "Is that what we now call it?"
And that is all, for now. Was it enough?