Mr Darcy's Torment Chapter 4, a pride and prejudice fanfic

Chapter 4

Finally dressed presentably for supper after the muddy hem debacle from earlier in the day, Elizabeth went downstairs to join the others, her head full of the particulars about banshees. Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst politely enquired as to any improvement in Jane's health, but after receiving a brief answer in the negative, they promptly moved on to other topics. Elizabeth was perturbed at how fast their concern waned when the gentlemen were present.

Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley were in attendance and both asked after Jane's health. When Bingley heard that Elizabeth was to stay and nurse her sister, he was quick to express his approbation of the arrangement. Elizabeth, initially feeling as though she was an interloper among the group, began to feel more at ease the longer she spoke with Mr Bingley. His graciousness and compassionate manner did much to soothe her ragged nerves. Darcy's presence, however, sent tingles of awareness through her.

"Good evening, Miss Elizabeth. I hope your afternoon was uneventful," Darcy looked at her meaningfully.

A shiver skipped along her spine as she recalled how it felt to be in his arms. Colour blossomed on both cheeks as Elizabeth replied that she was indeed well. Darcy observed her becoming blush and hoped that he might be the cause. While there was no doubt that he had enjoyed their earlier encounter, he had speculated for the better part of the day as to what her sentiments might have been. Her blush indicated that she was as affected as he was. One corner of his mouth turned up in a knowing smile. Elizabeth was captivated by the change in Darcy's countenance with that simple gesture. If he continued to smile like that, her heart might be in considerable peril.

Observing the tête-à-tête between Darcy and Elizabeth, Miss Bingley felt some alarm at the intimacy of their conversation. Her shrill voice from across the room penetrated their pleasant exchange and Elizabeth immediately noticed the alteration in Darcy's demeanour.

"Miss Eliza, you will be seated here if you please." She indicated a chair at the furthest end of the table and proceeded to direct the rest of the party to their places.

"From agreeable to aggravating in a matter of seconds," Elizabeth muttered under her breath. "Poor Miss Bingley, what an unfortunate talent to possess."

Elizabeth saw Mr. Darcy's eyes widen slightly as he attempted to restrain a small smile. She coughed daintily to cover her own laughter.

The party took their seats at the table. Mr Bingley was naturally at the head, with his sister, and Mr Darcy flanking him. Mrs Hurst sat next to Darcy, and Mr Hurst was situated between Elizabeth and Miss Bingley, across from his wife. Mr Hurst was not much of a conversationalist, preferring to reserve the use of his lips for eating and drinking wine. This was truly a boon to Elizabeth as it allowed her to partake of her meal mostly uninterrupted, enabling her to return to Jane with some alacrity.

As soon as politely possible, Elizabeth excused herself from the table and returned to her sister's side. The dining room door had barely returned to its frame when Miss Bingley began abusing her to the others. She declared Elizabeth to be lacking in manners, conversation, and style, and to have a surfeit of impertinence and pride.

Mrs Hurst thought the same and added, "She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild.''

"She did indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep from laughing. Very silly to come at all! Why must she be scampering about the country because her sister had a cold? Her hair so untidy, so dishevelled!''

"Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain. And the gown which had been let down to hide it not doing its office.''

"I thought Miss Elizabeth looked remarkably well when she arrived this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice,'' said Bingley.

"Most everything escapes your notice, Charles." His sister scoffed. "You observed it, Mr Darcy, I am sure, and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition.''

"Certainly not.'' Darcy reflected on his recent edict that Georgiana not be allowed outside unescorted, a repercussion of her unfortunate encounter with Wickham this summer.

"To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum.''

"It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing,'' said Bingley. Silently, Darcy agreed.

Mrs Hurst began again, "I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother and such low connexions, I am afraid there is no chance of it.''

"I think I have heard you say, that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton.''

"Yes, and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside.''

"That is capital,'' added her sister, and they both laughed heartily.

"If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside,'' declared Bingley, "it would not make them one jot less agreeable.''

"But it must very significantly lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world,'' replied Darcy with a frown.

To this speech Bingley made no answer but his sisters gave it their hearty assent and indulged their mirth for some time at the expense of their 'dear' friend's vulgar relations.

After freely abusing her sister in front of the gentlemen, the two fine ladies returned to Jane's room and kept company with her until summoned to coffee. Elizabeth refused to leave her side as Jane's health was worse than when she had left for supper. It was not until late in the evening when Elizabeth felt that she could leave the sick room as her sister was finally resting comfortably. She thought that she ought to go downstairs and join her hosts for a little while. It was, after all, the polite thing to do, even if it was not exactly how she would like to spend the remainder of her evening.

When Elizabeth entered the drawing room, the whole party was seated at the table engaged in a game of loo. An invitation to play was issued, but seeing that they were playing the game unlimited, she declined. To disguise the fact that she did not possess the funds to play that high, Elizabeth used Jane's health as an excuse as to why she would only be downstairs for a little while. She had brought the copy of Hamlet, which she started reading earlier in the day and voiced her contentment with this activity. Mr Hurst looked at her with astonishment.

"Do you prefer reading to cards?'' he asked incredulously. "That is rather curious.''

"Miss Eliza Bennet,'' said Miss Bingley, "despises cards. She is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else.'' She recalled that during one of their earlier visits to Jane today, Elizabeth did not participate in their conversation regarding fashion and gossip. Miss Bingley was greatly puzzled at this as no accomplished woman she knew would suspend her pleasure so readily regarding those topics.

"I deserve neither such praise nor such disapproval,'' Elizabeth exclaimed. "I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things.''

"In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure,'' said Bingley. "And I hope it will soon be increased by seeing her quite well.''

Elizabeth thanked him from her heart. His manners and disposition were all that a young gentleman should be and she hoped that an attachment might be formed between Jane and Bingley. Certainly, there was a scarcity of such handsome and kind, young gentlemen in Hertfordshire; and Jane, if so inclined, should claim Mr Bingley for herself as soon as possible.

Gah! Now I sound like my mother! Elizabeth winced. She settled back against the sofa and opened her book.

His attention completely captivated by Miss Elizabeth, Darcy was having difficulty concentrating on the cards. He was astonished by his fierce attraction to her. In all his adult years he had never felt so strongly about a woman. He had listened intently to the discussion between Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst earlier in the evening when they were discussing Miss Elizabeth's lack of connexions and unsuitable relations. He knew that the Longbourn estate was entailed and that with five daughters, the Bennets would need to settle the girls as comfortably in marriage as possible. But based on the size of the estate, he knew that their dowries would be very little inducement for gentlemen suitors.

In addition, he had witnessed the 'unsuitable relations' at the assembly, and later at the party at Lucas Lodge. The comportment of Mrs Bennet and her two youngest daughters was vulgar and loud. He could not say the same for Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth; their manners and bearing were exactly what those of a lady should be. For all of Miss Bingley's pride and belief in her self-importance, the Misses Bennet excelled in the duties and decorum as befitting daughters of a gentleman. The contrast between the women was unmistakeable and reinforced what Darcy should have known already. There are some things money cannot buy, like manners, morals and integrity.

He had been indoctrinated by the edicts of the upper echelon of British society and so, held to the belief that as a Darcy, his duty was to marry well, and not necessarily for his own satisfaction. A wife with unsuitable relations and low connexions would most certainly lessen Georgiana's chances of marrying well. He sighed and then froze in alarm.

Wife?! Where did that come from? he thought, feeling flustered.

Darcy threw down a card in exasperation and belatedly noticed that he had accidentally played a card that trumped his partner's winning play. Sighing, he looked over at the sofa where she sat engrossed in her book. She absently tucked a loose wisp of hair behind one ear and bit her bottom lip in concentration. Darcy nearly groaned, and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. She was a siren and she was completely oblivious as to her effect on him.

Almost as if she sensed his scrutiny, Elizabeth glanced up from her book and met his gaze. She gasped at the intense look in his eyes, a becoming blush spreading from her neckline to her face. The room suddenly became overly warm and her breath caught in her throat.

Miss Bingley, observing the intimate look between the couple, felt no little anxiety. She had been waiting not-so-patiently for Mr Darcy to declare his intentions to her for almost six years. As he was soon to approach his thirtieth year, she was certain that the coveted declaration would occur any day now. With her manners and beauty, her sense of fashion, and numerous accomplishments, she knew she was the superior choice. She surpassed all the other ladies of her acquaintance in these areas. Being the sister of Mr Darcy's best friend had allowed her unprecedented access and she knew that he did not spend time with any other women aside from his family. This was confirmation enough for her, for who else would he marry?

In addition, she possessed a substantial dowry, unlike the Bennet sisters who were obviously in reduced circumstances. Miss Bingley regarded the dress Elizabeth was wearing tonight with disapproval. It was fashioned in a style that was all the rage . . . two years ago! And, there was not enough lace to make it at all remarkable. She sniffed in disdain. She was not going to allow this country upstart to lay claim to Mr Darcy.

Attempting to draw his attention away from Elizabeth, Miss Bingley addressed him.

"Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?'' she asked. "Will she be as tall as I am?''

"I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet's height, or rather taller.''

"How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such composure, such manners, and so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the piano-forte is exquisite.''

"It is amazing to me,'' said Bingley, "how young ladies can have the patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.''

"All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?''

"Yes, all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know any one who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.''

"Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,'' said Darcy, "has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse, or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.''

"Nor I, I am sure,'' said Miss Bingley.

"Then,'' observed Elizabeth, "you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.''

"Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.''

"Oh! certainly,'' cried his faithful assistant, "no one can be really esteemed accomplished, who does not greatly surpass what is usually encountered. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved.''

"All this she must possess,'' added Darcy, "and to all this she must yet add something more significant, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.''

"I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any,'' said Elizabeth incredulously, one brow arching impertinently.

Although secretly pleased by the mention of this final stipulation by Mr Darcy, she found the entire catalogue of accomplishments preposterous in the extreme, especially being requisite in one singular woman.

"Are you so severe upon your own sex, as to doubt the possibility of all this?''

"I never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe, in one woman.''

Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out against the injustice of her implied doubt, and were both protesting that they knew many women who answered this description, when Mr Hurst called them to order, with bitter complaints of their inattention to the card game. As all conversation was thereby at an end, Elizabeth soon afterwards left the room.

"Eliza Bennet,'' said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her, "is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own, and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very contemptible art.''

"Undoubtedly,'' replied Darcy, to whom this remark was primarily addressed, "there is spitefulness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Any artifice used in a calculating manner is despicable.''

Miss Bingley coloured slightly at his implied meaning and decided it would be in her best interest not to continue the subject.

Elizabeth spent the remainder of the evening at Jane's bedside. It was half-past one in the morning and being an extensive reader, she had stayed awake to finish Hamlet. Seeing that Jane was resting easily, Elizabeth secured a candle and quietly opened the door to the hall. She only had to walk a few feet to her own chamber door and entered her room. The single candle barely chased away the shadows in front of her.

Sitting at the vanity, she took the pins out of her hair and sighed in pleasure as it tumbled free. She brushed it out and then braided her chestnut tresses into a single plait. After she undressed herself and donned her white, high-necked nightgown, Elizabeth climbed into the tester bed and fluffed her pillows. She leant to the side and took a deep breath to blow out the candle on the nightstand. Just as she pursed her lips and started to exhale, she saw movement in the far corner, a shadow in the shape of a person. Unable to take back her breath, the candle was extinguished and the room plunged into darkness. Elizabeth was immobilized in abject fear. She dared not move or even breathe, as she strained her eyes in the pitch-black night.

Her heart pounded fiercely, roaring in her ears. She felt as if she could hear nothing else besides it. The silence was thick and oppressive and combined with the utter darkness, the atmosphere pressed like a physical weight on Elizabeth. Still straining to see or hear something, she felt her lungs burning and she was forced to take a deep breath. The fresh air rushing into her body prompted her to action. She slowly slid out from under the bed covers and headed in the direction where she thought the door should be, arms straight out in front of her.

She felt a wave of relief as she touched the wooden door. Fumbling for the handle, she moved it back and forth but it would not release. She was trapped. A hard clench of fear knotted her belly and she broke out into a cold sweat. She rattled the door handle until finally it unlatched and she yanked the door open. Launching herself into the hallway, she used the wall to guide her way the few feet to Jane's door.

Elizabeth flung open the door to her sister's chamber and quickly slammed it shut behind her. The soft glow of the fire offered immediate comfort. She let her full weight drop against the door, gasping for breath. After a few moments she lurched towards the chair at the bedside and dropped into it, trembling. She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. She sat in that position for quite awhile thinking over what had just occurred. Eventually, her breathing slowed and the tremors subsided. Glancing at Jane, she saw that her sister was still sleeping and that she was not disturbed by Elizabeth's hasty entry into her room, she sighed in relief.

Suddenly, she stifled a giggle as she thought about how terrified she had been and how foolish she must have appeared dashing through the hallway. As she was normally self-possessed and not prone to hysteria, she puzzled over why she was so unnerved.

My imagination must be overwrought due to the strange situation I found myself in this morning, she mused, and furthermore, I have been reading Hamlet all day. I must have seen a dress hanging on the wardrobe or a few pieces of furniture that coalesced into the shape of a man in the dark. Yes, just so, only an illusion!

Elizabeth felt relieved that she was able to formulate a rational explanation for her harrowing flight and focussed her attention on Jane. Unfortunately, she determined that she would not be able to sleep any time soon. Eager to prove to herself that she was not a silly goose in the dark, Elizabeth concluded that there was only one thing to do: walk to the library for another book. She felt no little apprehension about traipsing around the shadowy manor at this late hour, but then straightened her spine and gathered her fortitude.

Surely the others are tucked into their beds sleeping soundly. It shan't take me but a few minutes to choose a book and return to my chamber . . . or maybe Jane's chamber, just for tonight, she thought.

She procured a candle and quietly opened the door and tiptoed out into the hallway.

The fog was thick and white and hugged the ground. In the darkness, it was almost impossible to see what was more than a few yards in front of him. He was cold and wet and had been slogging through the morass for what seemed like an eternity. Every step he took was torture, like millstones were tied to his ankles. Heavy, heavy weights making him strain and pull and trudge through thick water. His sluggish progress was marked in excruciatingly slow inches. The urgency he felt to traverse the morass as soon as possible was palpable. Something, or someone, important waited at the other side. All he knew was that he had to arrive there as expeditiously as possible and he was currently moving too slow. Every minute that ticked by increased his feeling of dread.

Abruptly, the fog swirled away, wispy trails left in its wake. The morass was behind him and he walked easily along a gurgling river. The full moon radiating a bright light, illuminating the entire meadow. Crickets chirped. Frogs croaked. The very picture of a peaceful night but his anxiety had not abated. He slowed his pace when he saw a figure in white hunched over on the bank of the river. The moonlight shone on her hair, pale white and unbound. After a few moments, he observed that she was shaking as if weeping. Curious, and first and foremost being a gentleman, he advanced a few feet, his hand reaching out as if to touch her shoulder. Before he could get within arm's length of the woman, she sprung up out of her crouch and turned on him. He fell backwards in his shock, landing on the ground with his elbows supporting his body weight, his legs askew.

He knew this woman. It was his ghostly visitant from Pemberley. The woman was haggard in appearance and her eyes were fiery red. Her body moved towards him hovering above the ground, her skirts fluttering around her. As she came closer, he scuttled slowly backwards, unsure of her intent. She stopped suddenly and raised her bony finger to point at him, her mouth proclaiming unvoiced words. That feeling of anguish that always accompanied the apparition moved through his body swiftly. He moaned in despair.

The hag started to move steadily towards him again and he swiftly backed away in response. In his haste to get away, he did not notice how close he was to the edge of the river. His right hand slipped on the edge and he started to fall.

Darcy awoke with a start as he hit the hard floor with a thud. Lying on his back, he looked up seeing the shape of his bed in the dimness. With a groan, he rolled over and stood up, rubbing his backside. His nightshirt stuck to his clammy body and he walked to his nightstand and the ewer of water. Pouring water into the washbowl, he splashed his face several times. He found a small towel, patted his face dry and then returned to sit on the edge of the bed. Rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, Darcy decided what he needed was a stiff drink.

Darcy heard the library door open and froze in the wingback chair in which he was sitting in front of the cold fireplace. He had been there brooding for some time, nursing his brandy and trying to forget his dream. The glow of a candle crept across the room as someone walked in. Elizabeth entered the library and set her candle down. She crossed her arms over her chest and briskly rubbed herself in the chilly air. The fire must have burned out several hours ago. She sighed as she looked at the two small piles of books.

"What a travesty," she murmured.

Darcy relaxed when he heard her voice. For a few terrifying heartbeats, he thought it might have been Caroline pursuing him. Elizabeth picked up her candle again and walked to the shelf where she put it down so she could shuffle through the books easier. He could smell her fragrance as she strolled past him. He closed his eyes for a moment, revelling in her sweet scent.

He opened his eyes to see her standing slantwise to his left and was immediately flabbergasted by the sight before him. Bloody hell!

Elizabeth was betwixt him and the candle on the shelf, which allowed the light to filter through her nightgown. He swallowed hard and sat momentarily mesmerised by the silhouette of her feminine curves. Belatedly, he remembered that he was honour-bound as a gentleman to announce his presence. He quickly brushed aside the admonition that he should have done so when she first entered the room.

"Miss Elizabeth . . ." he quietly addressed her.

She jumped at the sound of his voice and let out a small squeak as the book she was leafing through slipped from her hands. Her arm shot up and her hand splayed out on the middle of her chest as she took in a few gulps of air. She turned to look at him.

"Forgive me for startling you."

"Oh my goodness, Mr Darcy!" she gasped. "I had no idea there was anyone else in the room, sir."

He watched as her chest rose and fell rapidly, the candlelight now illuminating her from the side. Never had he looked upon a woman so intimately. He knew the curves of her body would be burned in his memory indefinitely. Darcy finally tore his eyes away from her lithe figure and Elizabeth met his heated gaze. She wondered at his intense expression as the candlelight highlighted the planes and angles of his handsome face. Her mouth went dry as he slowly stood upright and took a step towards her. She instinctively stepped back until she was pressed against the shelving.

He was so close now she could see the shadow of the stubble on his jaw, and she wondered how it would feel to touch him there. He raised his hand and slowly caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. She stopped breathing for a moment. Her heart pounding, she wet her lips and saw Darcy's gaze lower and focus on her mouth. His hand gently cupped her cheek.

"Elizabeth . . ." He whispered her name.

Without warning, an icy blast of air forcefully hit her body. Their sharp gasps could be heard as the room was thrown into darkness. The candle was abruptly extinguished and the moon light streaming through the windows cast sinister shadows. She heard a low keening sound from the far corner of the room and the hair on her arms stood up, a feeling of dread coming swiftly upon her.

Darcy heard the moaning from the corner and quickly turned to face the unseen threat, wrapping his arm around Elizabeth's waist and pulling her close. Neither of them spoke or even breathed, waiting to see what would happen next. A shimmering form materialised from the inky darkness of the corner. Elizabeth stiffened and Darcy pressed her tighter to his side. The form took on the shape of a pale-haired woman hovering above the floor, her crimson eyes glowing eerily in the dim room and her hair floating weightless around her. The apparition opened her mouth and the same low moan broke forth as she raised her skeletal hand to point in their direction.

The familiar anguish emanating from the spectre flooded through Darcy as it had during the many other terrifying nights he had been haunted by the fiend. But for the first time, he heard the keening sound that accompanied it and it made his gut clench in apprehension. Her bony finger was pointed directly at him and he felt a great weight of foreboding sweep through him as she continued to keen. He stood rooted to the floor, prepared to protect Elizabeth if necessary. He felt her trembling and she clutched him closer as the spectre moved towards them. The banshee suddenly transformed into an old hag with missing teeth and stringy hair. She charged towards them and in a powerful explosion of speed, her essence passed through the couple leaving a searing, stinging feeling of bitter cold in her wake.

Elizabeth turned fully into Darcy's arms and buried her head in his chest, clutching at his shirt and shaking. Reeling from the spectre's forceful departure, Darcy could do nothing but stand there and hold Elizabeth tight. They stood quietly in that manner for a few minutes. Recovering her wits first, Elizabeth lifted her head and looked at the man who was embracing her.

"Sir, I believe we were just violated by a banshee." A twinkle of excitement flashed in her eyes.

Darcy looked at her in surprise, impressed by her bravery. He expected her to be in full hysterics by now. Instead, she looked at the entire encounter as some kind of adventure.

He gently separated himself from Elizabeth and led her to one of the wing-backed chairs flanking the fireplace. Then he sat in the opposite chair and regarded her carefully.

"Miss Elizabeth, I will assume that we were subjected to the same phenomenon just now." He cleared his throat nervously. "You witnessed that, did you not?"

"Most undoubtedly, sir. I saw and heard the banshee, again."

Darcy sighed in relief. Then he looked at her warily. "Again?"

"This evening's encounter was not my first."

"Ah, that is what frightened you so badly this morning, was it not?" She nodded her head.

"Banshee? Are you sure that is what it was?" he asked.

"I am almost positive, sir. My maid told me about the legend of the bean sidhe earlier tonight before supper. What else could it have been?"

"You were discussing banshees with your maid?"

"Are you familiar with the legend of the banshee?" she asked eagerly.

"My great aunt Margaret would tell me tales from her childhood. I thought that they were just that," he waved his hand dismissively, ". . . stories, make-believe." He looked away towards the window, a frown upon his face.

"Is something troubling you, Mr. Darcy?"

"I have been visited by the banshee for the past few months," he admitted.

Elizabeth gasped. "What does she want with you, sir?"

"I have yet to discover that, Miss Elizabeth. However, if my aunt's stories are in fact, true, then I am afraid that someone is marked for death."

A/N: Thank you for all the fun reviews! I love how creative you all are.

Text and dialogue was directly and slightly modified from Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice (1813)