Everyone has a breaking point.… An unfortunate few see the cliff as a lure, and as a moth to a flame, they keep pushing their luck, edging closer and closer, once and again, until one day, they inevitably went over the side.

Fitzwilliam Darcy was one such man, and his cliff was in Hertfordshire. He met his nemesis at an assembly, or apparently insulted her there but never actually met her. She was of no fortune, no connections, no beauty, and no wit; nothing in short to recommend her, and he was thoroughly and completely finished with her before he even started.

Then she showed up on foot to take care of her sick sister. He liked to wonder if his sister would walk three miles to take care of him. It was a completely different point since he was both father and brother to her, but still. Even worse, would he walk three miles to take care of his sister? He had done more than that on her behalf more than once, but was he really doing all that a brother should do? Was he doing as much as Miss Elizabeth did for her sister? He was not at all certain he would or that he was.

Thus began his fascination and obsession with the woman that seemed destine to be his flame. At first, he could scarcely admit that she was pretty or had any admirable traits at all. Later, he found her figure light and pleasing and her manners engaging. He found she engaged his mind first, and then his body. Her flirting was so much more intelligent and witty than any woman he had met. In fact, instead of agreeing with every opinion she thought he might have, she deliberately challenged him, even to the point of arguing the opposite of what she actually believed.

Then he was exposed to her mother and her sisters and he was back from the edge. Back wandering the safe paths. He need no longer worry about her. He couldn't even see or smell the cliff from the woods they were traversing. He was completely safe; until that infernal ball. He just had to dance with her. He could see the flames. He could see the danger. He could feel the heat. He could feel the ground shifting out from under him, but he recklessly asked her to dance and she accepted. Was he to be fully engulfed, or would this be his one peek into the abyss, before retreating, back to the safety of his comfortable woods.

Then they argued during the dance. Who could argue during a dance? Nevertheless, they had, about George Wickham of all things. She had fallen for that rogue, and he was well rid of her when the dance ended. He was back safe and sound, with no cliff in sight.

He was just reflecting on how much he liked the safety of solid ground when he was bowled over by one of the numerous younger Bennet sisters, Mary he thought. Such was his distraction about his recent encounter with the flame, which left his wings singed, that he reacted by instinct without real thought, and what he said was in every way loud and uncharitable.

Before he had a chance to correct his distinctly ungentlemanlike outburst, the younger Miss Bennet set upon him with the pent up fury of a lifetime of abuse. It seemed at first that he was to pay the entire fee for all her years of disappointments. That only lasted a few moments, as Miss Mary laid about her with a scorched earth tactic that left not a single person of her acquaintance unscathed. Like a giant catapult, he was hurled back so far from the cliff it would take an expedition of months to approach the environs again. Yes, Fitzwilliam Darcy was well and truly safe once more. A quick decampment from Hertfordshire the next morning brought a sense of relief and safety that was palpable and overwhelming.

He only had one small problem; one niggling little thought; or two if he was to be honest with himself.

The first didn't come upon him for several days. One day when he was trying his best to bring his sister Georgiana out of a funk, he was forced to reflect on the incident.

Mary Bennet had done the most ill-mannered and destructive act imaginable right in front of him, but in retrospect, it was also the bravest. She and her sisters would pay a heavy price for it, but she had said the things nobody else had been willing to say, and worst of all, it had to be admitted that Miss Mary had been correct and truthful in every particular. It was brave and foolhardy, but accurate. Someday, he hoped to reacquaint himself with the fiercest of the Bennet sisters, but not just now.

That thought paled in comparison to the second thought though. The second was the idea that he was now completely safe from the cliff… that it would take a journey of months to approach it again. It turned out to be less than two months.

One morning in late January, he decided to gather a bit of intelligence. He was not going to act, certainly nothing that foolhardy… he just had to know. He called for one of his men who did this sort of thing from time to time.

"Wilson, I have a task for you."

"Yes, sir"

"Go to Meryton, the town where I stayed with Bingley last autumn. There was an incident there with a Miss Mary Bennet and myself at a ball at Netherfield Park. I wish to know how the family fares. Do it quietly. I wish no one to know of my interest. Be cautious and take your time."

Wilson was a good man, who expressed a report within a few days.

Mr. Darcy,

No subtlety was required to ascertain the information you desire. It's all over Meryton and the gossip can be heard by standing on any corner or tavern for a quarter hour.

The reputations of the Bennet sisters are tarnished beyond repair. It seems unlikely any of them will ever prosper. Their estate is entailed on a distant cousin, some parson in Kent who recently wed a Miss Charlotte Lucas, and everyone expects the worst when Mr. Bennet dies. I should have the particulars on the parson in a day or so.

There are some mysteries surrounding the sisters.

Miss Mary Bennet completely disappeared right after the altercation with you among others. She left the ball and was never seen again. Her family didn't even start searching for two days, thinking she was hiding to avoid punishment for the outburst. By the time they started searching in earnest, the trail was cold and I don't think her father is very diligent anyway. Nothing has been heard from her since, and most consider her likely dead or worse.

In December, one of the other daughters, a Miss Lydia was found to be increasing. She won't name the father. One of the members of a local militia company is suspected, but neither the girl nor any militiamen are confessing. In January, another of the girls, a Miss Catherine or Kitty followed the other, so there are now two unclaimed babes on the way at Longbourn.

The two oldest daughters, a Miss Jane and Miss Elizabeth have both left for parts unknown. The family puts out that they've gone to stay with relatives in town, but nobody in the village knows them, or if that's true. Some speculate that the eldest are in the same way was as the youngest, but most don't believe it. They believe the eldest have gone out to make their way in the world free of the scandal.

I will stay a few more days to await instruction, but I doubt I will be able to get any more information without applying to the family directly, and it seems unlikely that application would be successful.

Yours etc&
Malcolm Wilson

Well, that put paid to that account. He was mightily happy that he had never actually aligned himself with such an unsuitable family. He was now completely safe from the cliff, and Miss Elizabeth would be gone from his head and his heart forthwith. He enjoyed a leisurely month well away from the cliff; until the unthinkable happened.

Fitzwilliam Darcy did not do rash things. He thought through every action carefully, weighed the consequences and took thoughtful action. Thus had it always been, and thus would it always be. He was therefore somewhat surprised to find himself at the end of February, making a clandestine approach to Longbourn. He just could not stand it. He had to know.

Darcy managed to apply to the housekeeper quietly and get into Mr. Bennet's study without the rest of the household being aware, and hoped to escape the same way. He could hear the younger sisters flitting about the house and talking, and they sounded as silly and improper as ever, and he chose to ignore them. What he saw shocked him. Mr. Bennet was a shell of the man he'd been at the ball. He looked like he had aged a decade or more in the last few months.

"Mr. Darcy, what brings you here? I thought all of our business with you and your friends was concluded to your satisfaction in November."

"Mr. Bennet, I have no desire to cause you any additional pain, but I am… unsatisfied with the resolution in November, and wish to know somewhat more of the dispositions of your daughters."

"And why is that Mr. Darcy. Did you have designs on one of them? It seems unlikely in the extreme, and even if you did, what Mary said was uncharitable and rude, but accurate. You were not held in any favor when you were here. Perhaps now that our family's reputation is completely ruined, one of them might be tempted though, so if you like, you are welcome to take your pick of the lot."

This was worse than he thought. The man had given up all pretense of fatherhood.

"Sir, I have no designs on any of your daughters, but I have been bothered by my uncharitable words to Miss Mary at the ball. It was clearly the very last in a long line of offenses that cannot all be laid on me, but I would like to apologize for my part and perhaps make reparations if I may."

Mr. Bennet looked critically at him. At another time, he might have been amused by the follies and inconsistencies of the ever‑amusing Mr. Darcy, but he just did not have it in him anymore. He did not have much of anything in him anymore.

"Mr. Darcy, if you can find Mary, you are welcome to say or do anything you like with her. I am done with her."

"Surely, you do not blame her for all that has befallen your family?"

"Once again, my accounts are my business to settle as I please and not yours Mr. Darcy," Mr. Bennet said with more force than necessary.

Darcy could see that the man seemed to have just given up, on his family, on his duty, on himself. There was nothing more to be done here, but the last piece of information he wanted… no needed! It wasn't the last thing he needed… it was the first.

"And can you tell me where Miss Elizabeth is?"

Here he saw a little bit of Mr. Bennet's native intelligence shine back into his eyes for just a moment. He was putting two and two together, but just as quickly he saw the eyes shift toward the port bottle. He would not be doing any sums today.

"Mr. Darcy, I would tell you if I could, but I cannot. Both Jane and Elizabeth left a month ago, and I know not where, or when or even if they will return. They left me a note explaining that they had 'tasks' to complete and would visit again one day, but no details. They are as lost to me as Mary."

Darcy was stunned. This was completely unexpected, and he took some time to come up with a response.

"Tasks, you say"

"Yes, 'tasks'

"Do you know what these tasks entail?"

Mr. Bennet sighed resignedly, "No, Mr. Darcy I do not. Elizabeth does not trust me with the information. In fact, I'm not sure she trusts me with anything anymore. She and Jane cooked up some scheme and left a month ago. I suspect they've either gone husband hunting among my brother in law's connections in trade, or gone to seek employment. They could write me through her uncle Gardiner in Cheapside, but they have sent nothing except a short note stating they had arrived safely wherever they planned to go. I do not even know if they are together."

Of all the possibilities he had considered, this was not one. Fitzwilliam Darcy did not allow others to control situations, he was the master and he arranged others' lives. Now, he just wanted to talk to one woman for a few minutes to try to purge her from his soul, and it did not appear likely he would even be able to find her without considerable effort and possible exposure, which he could not risk.

With a resigned sigh, Darcy took his leave of Mr. Bennet and left through the same route he had come in by, with none other than the housekeeper the wiser.