Chapter Fourteen
Maybe those words didn't mean much of anything, but between a mother and her child, those words were all that were really needed. Mrs. Bennet was satisfied. There were many things that needed to be taken care of as they all dealt with their grief. Mary's feelings were, sadly, justified. But at least, for now, that look in her eyes was gone. Mary was human again – her stone pieces had crumpled, her straight back had broken, and her dull, sleepy eyes were alive again. They would have to pick up the pieces and put them back together, but that was alright. They could do that.
Mary was awake.
Breakfast at Netherfield the next morning was subdued. Mr. Bingley seemed perturbed but not interested in starting anything over breakfast, and Mr. Darcy was contemplative. The past week's events had given him much to consider, and he found that he was still turning things over in his head.
He knew three things.
Firstly, he knew that he was not adept at social interactions.
Secondly, he knew that Elizabeth Bennet was not only adept at those social interactions, but that she could teach him how to manage those interactions – perhaps never be comfortable, but at least to learn how to not offend everyone in the room within the first five minutes of his arrival.
Thirdly, he knew that he could never marry her – for all of the same reasons which he had objected to Jane Bennet on Bingley's behalf.
How, then, was this problem to be solved?
He supposed that he would be thrown into her company quite often by way of Bingley's marriage to her older sister (allowing, of course, that they did get married). Whilst this would give him the benefit of her company, probably without the strain of the rest of her family's presence, it would also prove difficult to maintain over a long period of time. He was no more immune to her charms than anyone else – less so. He was like a moth to her flame. If he hovered about her too long, he would eventually get burned. He could look, but not touch. Listen, but not laugh. Talk, but not confide. It would be torture. He would become worse than ever – more reserved, even, than usual for fear of falling past the point of no return. There would be no recovery from such a fall. He could not allow himself to step so close to the precipice – merely peering over the edge would certainly cause him to lose his balance.
It was an impossible situation. There was no way to win. The question therefore became: how would he cope?
Luckily, he was saved the wrestling match with himself by the timely arrival of Colonel Fitzwilliam, announced as Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were finishing their coffees in awkward silence.
"Richard! You've made excellent time!"
"Colonel! Please, sit down and have a bite to eat!"
"Darcy, Bingley, thank you – no, thank you, I'll run up and refresh first. I wouldn't want to drag my dust all over your nice breakfast get-up!" Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned broadly, but his weariness shone through his eyes. Darcy did a few mental calculations and raised an eyebrow at his cousin – in order to arrive by breakfast, he had to have left long before the sun. What had necessitated such a dramatic ride?
"Davis!" Bingley called, beckoning to a footman. "Please show Colonel Fitzwilliam to his quarters."
Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed his gratitude, assured them of his hasty return, and disappeared with the footman.
"Darcy, I wanted to speak with you before the Colonel returns," Bingley said, clearing his throat. "More coffee?"
"No, thank you," Darcy declined. Another cup of coffee would surely set his hands to shaking, which was honestly the last thing he needed.
Bingley went to the sideboard to pour himself another cup, clearly hesitant to begin the conversation.
"Darcy, I am courting Miss Bennet," he said, stirring more milk into his coffee than was probably necessary. Darcy couldn't understand why one would even bother drinking coffee when it was so diluted.
"So I gathered," Darcy noted. "You said yesterday that you were engaged?"
Bingley blushed. "Well … not exactly. We're courting. I fully expect it to become an engagement, but given her family's situation … well, I couldn't resist making it somewhat official, but I don't believe it can be any more than that for a few more months. It will, though. Which means …"
The change of Bingley's tone alerted Darcy that they were getting to the meat of the conversation. He braced himself for another chastisement. It seemed to be the only thing people said to him these days.
"Darcy, I know that you are perfectly capable of making yourself pleasant," Bingley said. "I know that you are sometimes uncomfortable in new situations, but … this is no longer new. You've been in Hertfordshire for two months now. You have interacted with the Bennets on multiple occasions. Surely there is no cause to maintain your strict indifference. At this point, Darce, it's positively rude. You offended the Bennets with your rude entrance, not to mention the entire neighbourhood. They are going to be my family, Darcy, and they are my neighbours. I won't have it. Is there something … wrong with them? Something worse than any other neighbourhood or family? Because to behave as you have … and to a gentleman's family …"
Darcy rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. How would he explain it to his friend? What was he meant to tell him? That he was actually half in love with their second daughter?
"Bingley …" Darcy sighed. "My only excuse is that it has been a very stressful time for me. Since the … incident this summer … I have been very preoccupied, and I confess that I have not been keen to make the effort to be amenable to others. I was especially impatient yesterday afternoon, having just arrived from London upon your own particular request, which was delivered by express – by which means I assumed it was urgent. I left at an early hour, rode hard in the cold, and went directly to Longbourn – where I was met, surprisingly, by the entire neighbourhood. I assure you, I had no intention of offending anyone – much less the entire neighbourhood."
"Yet … you did, Darcy," Bingley reminded him kindly, "and they will not forget it quickly."
"How do you propose I fix that, Charles? Honestly? The best I can promise is to be as polite as possible."
"Polite is not enough, Darcy! Everyone is polite. Is it so impossible to smile now and then? To offer a compliment? To make a small comment on the state of the roads? To, dare I suggest it, dance when there are too few men to make a set?"
"What's this I hear?" Colonel Fitzwilliam's voice startled both men, causing Mr. Bingley to nearly topple his cup of coffee. "Darcy, being taciturn and unsociable? Shocking!"
Darcy's frown deepened. "Richard."
"Colonel, I –"
"Oh, no! Don't stop the chiding on my account! Little boys must learn their manners, mustn't they?"
"Richard."
"Now, Darcy, don't be embarrassed," Darcy's cousin teased, slapping his shoulder merrily. "We're all friends here. No need to be shy. Just your usual, chronic shyness back in play, is it? You know we've discussed this before, Darce."
"I am not shy," Darcy muttered sternly.
"Oh. Would you rather be considered intolerably rude?"
"Richard." Darcy's glower was positively fiery.
Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned.
"Don't worry, Bingley! Now that I'm here, he'll loosen up – if only to give me a good thrashing as soon as we're out of sight of the house. So … are we to Longbourn?"
The day after the funeral saw the Bennet household in uproar. Mr. Gardiner and Sir William were conducting interviews of all of the tenants, using Mr. Bennet's office as an interrogation room – ideal in the intimidation factor (being asked to enter the master's study!) as well as in pure bribery. A warm fire, a hot cup of tea, and some sweet nibbles were enough to entice any hard-working man or woman into chatting long and vividly about anything and everything they knew.
As such, Mr. Bennet found himself ousted from his usual roost and settled himself by the fire in the parlour. That, however, was no sacred place either. There were a few quiet minutes there with Elizabeth, the two of them sitting in companionable silence with books on their laps. Shortly after breakfast, however, they were descended upon by all manner of chaos: Mrs. Bennet fussing about the state of the room after yesterday's wake and the impending arrival of visitors (for she always had a sense about when visitors would arrive), Kitty seeking some trifle ribbon or such thing which had belonged to Lydia that she had been carrying about and promptly lost in the melee of the previous day's events, Mary hard upon the piano, belting out melancholy tones with all due gusto. Any time Mr. Bennet so much as looked up in annoyance, about to ask Mary to please tone it down, Mrs. Bennet gave him such a fierce look as to completely silence the slightest note of complaint. Colonel Forster arrived before noon, intent to persuade Mr. Bennet to defend his men against Mr. Darcy's claims until further proof could be obtained – on which, of course, Mr. Bennet had no opinion whatsoever.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. He thought that Mr. Darcy was just as rude and proud as Lizzie had described, if not more so. He thought that his claims were absurd, and he certainly wouldn't countenance them without evidence, but provided with evidence … well, he was not inclined to dismiss those charges. He had often heard Lydia mention Wickham's name with fondness. It was not an impossible happenstance…
Of course, even as he was considering these things and acknowledging Colonel Forster's monologue with the occasional hmm, Jane rose from the window seat with an unusually anxious energy (although most would call it sedate – it was only perceived as anxious energy as relative to his ever-serene Jane) to stand by the door. The cause was soon discovered – Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, and a gentleman in a very smart uniform with a packet under his arm were soon announced and allowed entry to the parlour. They made their bows, the ladies made their curtsies, and Mr. Bennet sighed wearily. More bother…
Elizabeth rose and put aside her book, her hand resting upon her father's briefly as she passed him.
"I'll go inform Mr. Hill to pause the proceedings after the current tenant so that you may make use of the study," she said quietly, giving him an understanding smile. He turned his hand over to squeeze her own momentarily before it was retracted and she quietly slipped out of the parlour. That was his Lizzie – always knowing what to do next.
Mr. Bennet acknowledged the men's entrance with a nod, leaving Mrs. Bennet and the girls to make them feel welcome. Jane certainly found this no hardship, he was sure, and Kitty would enjoy having a new officer to flirt with.
He chastised himself quickly. This was exactly the sort of thing he was trying to stop doing. Begrudgingly, Mr. Bennet put aside his book and got to his feet.
"Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy," he received the guests with a solemn nod, not quite able to inject much warmth into the greeting.
"Mr. Bennet!" Mr. Bingley greeted him happily, clearly still a bit silly for having seen Jane.
"Mr. Bennet," Mr. Darcy's greeting was more stoic. Good. That suited him – proud man! "Allow me to introduce my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Richard, this is Mr. Bennet."
"An honour, Mr. Bennet," Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled warmly, offering his hand. Mr. Bennet took it.
Oh, these young things.
"The honour is mine, Colonel," Mr. Bennet acknowledged wryly. "'Tis not every day a humble gentleman such as myself has the privilege of meeting a war hero such as yourself."
Mr. Bennet laughed inwardly – the Colonel blushed! Clearly he had taken him off-guard. Excellent!
"Ah, but 'tis not every day that a humble soldier such as myself has the privilege of meeting a gentleman with four such extraordinarily beautiful daughters," Colonel Fitzwilliam replied. He had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Bennet absolutely stunned for a solid ten seconds before he smiled wryly.
"Well, Colonel, you have caught me out in my own game," he confessed. "I salute you. Meantime, I believe my wife is anxious to offer you some refreshments. Perhaps you might deign to oblige her."
"Indeed, sir, I should be delighted," he grinned.
The gentlemen were promptly supplied with tea and scones and set by the fire, but hardly had they settled before Elizabeth entered and they all rose to greet her, narrowly avoiding spilling tea all over Mrs. Bennet's favourite sofa. They all acknowledged each other (what a tiresome ritual!) and settled upon the sofas again. Two sips of tea and one comment on the state of the roads later, Mr. Hill entered and announced that Mr. Gardiner and Sir William were awaiting their company in the study. Once again, all of the gentlemen rose. There was much ado, stuttering and stumbling and trying not to spill tea, but at last the gentlemen managed to extract themselves from the parlour with only a few exclamations of regret and entreaties to return quickly.
Mr. Bennet was tempted to breathe a sigh of relief upon leaving the parlour, but it was out of the frying pan and into the fire. Soon the men were closely ensconced in the small library, where the fire seemed a little too hot, the walls seemed a little too close, and the burdens of manhood seemed a little too weighty for an old man's shoulders.
Mr. Bennet listened with half an ear – he was disappointed in the Colonel's "evidence." Reports of adultery, of debt, of natural children – nothing much out of the ordinary way, and nothing which would indicate an involvement with his youngest daughter. Signed witnesses to immorality were all well and good, but there was no evidence of any wrongdoing in Meryton, much less against his daughter. Mr. Darcy was clearly very upset about this.
"Sir, I beg you to consider – this man is dangerous! To all honest men, but most particularly to women! Given the opportunity, I have no doubt that he would take advantage!"
"Given the opportunity!" Colonel Forster echoed him, his annoyance evident. "And as far as we can tell, he has had no such opportunity! All signs point to his presence in London when Miss Lydia was murdered – I would beg you to cease such allegations until you have any real evidence!"
"This is real evidence!" Mr. Darcy said sternly, his face quite pale with anger. Mr. Bennet thought it quite funny that Mr. Darcy was so worked up over the whole thing. He really hated this Wickham character, didn't he?
"But none that is relevant to my daughter, Mr. Darcy," Mr. Bennet interjected mildly, a bit of sarcasm edging his voice. "While you have certainly convinced me that I will not let any of my other daughters keep his company in the future, these 'proofs' you have offered have little bearing on the current investigation. If you would like to be of service, sir, I would beg you to assist Sir William and Mr. Gardiner with their interviews of the tenants and townspeople. Perhaps there you may find a way to make yourself useful. Thank you, gentlemen, and good day."
Mr. Bennet arose and let himself out of the study, taking a deep breath once free of the stifling heat of the book room. Perhaps a walk was what he needed. Yes, a walk would do him good.
"Hill, my coat."
"Yes, sir."
Just a quick turn about the garden to cool off – that would be the thing. Yes, yes, that would be just the thing.
Elizabeth sat in the parlour by the fire, alternately reading and fidgeting with her bookmark. If she occasionally glanced up to observe the occupants of the room, it was the barest of glances.
Jane was equally restless – although she sat sedately by the fire, working on a netting, her slippers tapped out a quick pattern on the rug completely out of time with Mary's gloomy piano pieces. Elizabeth couldn't help smiling a bit at that. It was nice to see Jane happy in such a miserable time. She hoped Mr. Bingley would return soon to keep her company. They had all heard Mr. Bennet ask for his coat and step quickly out the front door, no doubt going for a turn in the garden. He never went much further than that these days. His absence likely meant that the conference was nearing an end, and that meant that the gentlemen would soon be with them again.
The presence of Mr. Darcy, unfortunately, was less welcome than that of Mr. Bingley. While she could admit to feeling some slight sympathy for him in his social mires, she could not quite feign to like him or enjoy his company. There was something too stern, too dour in his countenance. He took himself so very seriously! Not even she was that dour, and it was her sister who had died, not his!
Elizabeth chastised herself for that unkind thought. Of course she wouldn't wish such unhappiness on him, and it was not in her nature to be unhappy for long – perhaps just as it was not in his nature to be happy and easy in company. Really, after having spent so many years at odds with her little sister, she ought to be more considerate of others' follies – perhaps, if he died, she might miss him. Perhaps…
A commotion at the front door broke Elizabeth from her thoughts. She looked up, as did her sisters and mother. Mary even ceased her playing.
"Get – in – here – you scoundrel! What do you mean hiding in my hedges?! You have no business here!"
Mr. Bennet's voice was unusually harsh – angry, even. Elizabeth stood and rushed to the parlour door, finding her father in the hallway with his cold, knobby fingers tightly grasping the ear of a young boy – perhaps seventeen? – that was clearly one of the tenant's sons judging by his attire.
"I jus' – ow – I jus' wanted to – stop! – I jus' wanted ta see if there wass any news 'bout Lydia!" the boy howled, clearly furious about the current indignity being forced upon him by the deceitfully strong elderly gentleman.
"MISS LYDIA!" Mr. Bennet roared, his face beginning to purple. "WHAT RIGHT HAVE YOU TO CALL MY DAUGHTER BY HER CHRISTIAN NAME?! WHAT RIGHT?!"
"I LOVED 'ER!" the boy shouted right back. "I LOVED 'ER, AN' SHE LOVED ME!"
Elizabeth grasped the threshold for support, her jaw dropping into an unattractive and impolite gape.
He … she … what?!