Chapter Twenty: …Never Did Run Smooth
Bitter tears streamed down Elizabeth's cheeks like an unrelenting rain. Why making a prudent decision and holding fast to her principles was the source of so much anguish, she dared not attempt to comprehend. There was much that was incomprehensible about her situation, really: that she was an hour ago as blithe as a moth in the company of a flame; that she was uncertain of things now with which she had felt with conviction then; that Fate seemed to be willing her to leave the calm and grassy shore and swim into the rapids of a river.
She came upon a thick grouping of heath and undergrowth and threw herself down behind it with all the violence of a woman scorned. As she lay there, insensible of her surroundings, she could not but begin to make the inevitable comparison between the three proposals of marriage she had now received. First, the image of Mr. Newbury's pompous proposal appeared in her mind. He certainly seemed to have no doubt of an acceptance! And when she did say what he thought was the impossible, she was chilled to the bone by the recollection of pure venom in his eyes. So quickly did his sentiments change! So quickly affected by caprice! As he exited that room, his expression left Elizabeth no doubt that he would have willed her to the fieriest pit in Hell had he the opportunity. And what a contrast that was from Mr. Clough's proposal! He expressed himself so eloquently and with such sweetness and warmth as would solicit any woman's heart. She had been left in no doubt as to his affection—his warming gaze that had so delighted her she did not think could be easily forgotten. She could imagine him before her, as they walked down the shady grove, and he tenderly took his hand into hers.
"My dearest Miss Bennet," was how he had begun. "Surely you cannot be at a loss to imagine my motives for asking you to come here today. It has been long since we were in each other's company in Leicestershire; but ever since we have parted I have wished to see you again. I hope that you have not forgotten me in this too-long lapse of time between our meetings; I assure you that my love has endured."
He looked into her eyes with an earnest gaze, and she was overflowing with warm delight as she spoke her assurances that not a day went by without his occupying her thoughts, and a mutual agreement that neither wished to be separated from each other for any length of time ever again.
Warm delight: that was her sensation upon receiving Mr. Clough's addresses. It was enough to elate her then; but it seemed strangely inadequate now. When Mr. Darcy had stared so openly into her eyes with unrelenting passion, when he had held her and asked her to marry him! It was nothing like that feeling of warm delight; it was like being consumed by a blazing inferno. There was all the difference between the two proposals as there is a difference between a slight headache and a blood-curdling fever. But though her emotions ran helter-skelter, never did she entertain any thought of actually changing her mind. It was all impulse, all folly! They would forget each other in a week, she was certain, and perhaps years hence laugh about it as two friends sharing an absurd experience.
Meanwhile, Georgiana Darcy was sitting on the chaise in a second story parlor and clasping an unfolded sheet of paper in her hand. Elizabeth had discreetly slipped it into her hand as she had entered the room; and as Georgiana's eyes devoured its words, her shock and mortification grew as she went on. It read:
My dearest Georgiana,
As I write this note to you, written in what is I assure you the gayest of spirits, I have a gentleman sitting next to me, and he is an angel. Mr. Clough, whom you saw me conversing with outside the tailor's shop yesterday, is to become my husband. He is to post a letter today writing my father for his consent to our marriage; and till his blessing is received (and I have little doubt of its not being so), you shall be the only creature outside of my immediate family who is privy to this wonderful news. You needn't tell your brother till a formal announcement has been made, for I should not like to have everybody in Lambton whispering about it. I will give this note to you at the first available opportunity.
Yours affectionately,
Elizabeth Bennet
Georgiana's exasperation upon perusing this note was severe. Only a dwindle of hope remained that her brother's pursuits for her friend's affections were not in vain. She knew that it was right to be happy for Elizabeth, but all she could feel initially was disappointment. Her brother had seemed so ardent in his confession to her! Elizabeth would have made the very best sister for her! Still, Georgiana could hope that upon realizing her love for Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth's sentiments would change: but when she read the note again, it seemed that it was certainly not the case. She had so little faith in her brother that Lizzy felt he could not be trusted with information of her engagement—she thought him a gossip! How very odd that she had that notion of him. She frowned and refolded the note, setting it on her lap as she considered the circumstances that had presented themselves before her. She could not bear the thought of her brother being heartbroken; and she sat for several moments in absolute silence as she wondered what would become of them all as a result of what seemed to be a grave misunderstanding. Deciding that the best and least she could do was to console her brother, she rang the bell, and a maidservant appeared before her with a solemn expression, as was her wont.
"Molly, you had better fetch some wine from the cellar."
"A glass for you, miss?"
"No, not for me: but a lot more wine is going to be required than that. Actually, you'd better make it whiskey."
Elizabeth had collected herself enough to move, whereupon she began to wander about with no real destination in mind. She stopped now, however, as she was once more overcome with that unwelcome sensation of déjà vu. Dead vegetation was all around her: all of the color in the small meadow was unsaturated; the once clear blue skies had faded to gray. There was only the trickle of a stream and the cawing of a lonely raven to be heard; only death and decay to behold. She was seeing the world through a scratched and hazy lens; but still was the familiarity of the scene present. When she closed her eyes, she could envision the plain dotted with strawberries, see the robin hopping through the yellow grasses in search of a meal, and smell the potent scent of summer wildflowers. But when she opened her eyes, none of it was there. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes once more, but furiously blinked them away. There was no one to deceive her emotions to; she only had to fool herself that she was not affected.
"But I am affected!" she thought; "Why is it that nothing is new to me in this place? Have I forgotten to feel the sensation of newness? Why are these inexplicable things occurring to me? Oh, to be in Leicestershire again among friends! To be far away from all of these people in Derbyshire whom I have not yet known for a year, and to have only Mr. Newbury to worry my head over!" She paced over to an elm tree, running her finger along its bark, and finally leaned against it, staring out blankly into the bleak landscape and longing for the past.
Mr. Darcy stood on the other side of this clearing. He felt hopelessly lost; not lost in his grounds, but lost in his mind. Elizabeth's being engaged to another man was as comprehensible to him as was his appendages running off in the night and attaching themselves to a stranger. And like his appendages, he felt his very existence dependant upon her. Fool he was, he had built his mansion on a bed of twigs—why ought he to be surprised when those twigs snapped, and the mansion collapsed with it? The only thing to do was to pick up the pieces and seek out firmer ground.
His eyes moved from the dried brush beneath his feet upwards; and it was then he saw her. That tree, that place, that expression; it all eerily reminded him of that one fanciful dream. He quickly shook off the thought, however, and boldly marched forward. Them both wandering around would do no good. He hadn't actually thought of anything to do or to say, and by the time that he had caught Elizabeth's eye he was regretting approaching her at all. She was clearly in no state to talk; her eyes were swollen and red from crying—she was in an obvious state of discomfiture. Yet it was too late to turn back now. He had put it in his mouth, and now he had to swallow.
Elizabeth attempted to straighten her poise upon perceiving Mr. Darcy approaching her. He was certainly the very last person whose presence she wanted to behold. She thought that she would never be able to view him in quite the same cool, indifferent manner that she had previously; she could never look into his eyes again without recalling that wild, passionate gaze he had given her; she could not imagine listening to him without recalling the intimate tones he had used with her. Oh, why did this day ever happen! It was almost enough to make her sob violently once more, but she swallowed it down.
"I'm—" Mr. Darcy began, but then stopped for a loss of words. He was a comfortable distance away from her now, but not so far that his words would be inaudible. What was he going to say? "I'm a fool"? "I'm still hopelessly in love you even though circumstance speaks against it"? No!
"—sorry," he finally decided. He looked down bashfully, which was a great habit of his when he was a five-year-old boy and his mother was introducing him to people whom he had no desire to speak with. Elizabeth didn't reply for some time afterwards. What was he sorry for? Was he sorry for having ever loved her? Was he sorry for his impropriety? Was he sorry that she refused him?
"There's nothing to be sorry for," she replied hesitantly, though her voice carried farther than she had thought it would, and though she hardly believed it. Then, when no reply was met with, thoughtfully added: "This will all amount to nothing in the end. I dare say we shan't even remember it ten years hence." Perhaps this was not such a thoughtful thing; it was more of Elizabeth's wish: and in speaking it aloud she hoped it would be made more tangible.
"You have little faith in the constancy of men," he said mournfully.
"No indeed," she protested, "I have great faith in the constancy of men; but more than that, I have faith in the sense of men. Men will not trouble themselves with loving one whose love it is impossible for them to obtain—where there is no hope. And once they realize the hopelessness of this love, it shall not even take them a week to get the thought out of their heads."
"You presume to know much about men, considering you are not one yourself. And these truths you speak of do not apply to women?" Mr. Darcy wasn't quite sure what he was about in contradicting Elizabeth; but it agitated him severely that she should imagine that his love for her was as changeable as the direction of the wind.
"No, they do not apply to my sex. Women aren't logical creatures—with sensibilities, but without sense. Man's love, in my experience, has regard to—probability." As she said this, she thought of Mr. Newbury and his capricious love for her.
"'Love' and 'sense' have never been synonymous in anybody's mind: quite the contrary, in fact."
"I can't possibly decipher your meaning," said Elizabeth, though rather fearing that she did understand him than fearing she didn't. Mr. Darcy felt that he was being taunted, and was not wholly appreciative of this feeling.
"I only mean that love has no regard with respect to likelihood, nor does it consult sense. It just does whatever it bloody well pleases, as I had suspected you may have noticed. It doesn't fade away like the morning dew, which seems to be your presumption, madam. But I shall not remain to vex you any longer. Good day."
And he abruptly turned and began to walk away, highly annoyed. It was only about halfway back to the house that he realized that his anger was in no way justified. It was all a silly conversation; whatever she thought ought to have been inconsequential to him. Ought to have been! Why, he was no better than he was several hours previous! And he felt immeasurably guilty by the time he was ascending the steps to Pemberley House, in supposing that he had upset her more. It was a foolish thing that he had spoken to her at all, so soon after his disastrous inability to contain his emotions. It was a foolish thing that he had ever proposed to her!—a foolish thing that he had ever fallen in love with her at all, really! But what other kind of love is there than a fool's?
He walked into the parlor with the impulse to do something rash—what he thought he ought to do, he hadn't yet planned. But when he threw open the door his plans were thwarted upon finding that Georgiana was already awaiting him, with a bottle of whiskey in her hand and a glass on the table. She was typically opposed to his unfortunate habit of turning to drink when faced with a dilemma; but she realized this was no time to quarrel with him now. She had only the intention of being accommodating. And Mr. Darcy probably would have found it very strange right away that she was situated in such a manner, seemingly anticipating his disappointment, if he had been less in an unpleasant mood. With a sigh, Georgiana poured the amber liquid into the waiting glass and handed it to him as he approached.
"I'm very sorry, Brother," she said mournfully as he stared into the glass he held before his eyes, expressionless.
"How did you know?" he asked finally. Georgiana, who had been anticipating this too, handed him the note which Elizabeth had given to her, and took the glass from him so that he might read it, and with the hope that he might not want any of it after all.
His eyes quickly scanned over the note. He could not but feel slightly sick to his stomach upon learning that if he would have only gone to her the day before—but, he reminded himself, even then, she may have still rejected him. But what if she wouldn't have! If he would have had the prospect of reliving the past several days, he surely would have seized it and thrown himself at Elizabeth's feet at the first possible opportunity. But alas! It was not to be. There was the truth written in that lady's hand plainly before him: she was engaged to this Mr. Clough, and she was happy. And shouldn't he have been happy too? He could not but think that
Love seeketh not itself to please,
Nor for itself hath any care,
But for another gives its ease,
And builds a heaven in hell's despair.
And perhaps this was so, when viewed in one light. But this was not the light with which his love was being viewed. It was another, which stated
Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to its delight,
Joys in another's loss of ease,
And builds a hell in heaven's despite.+
He could think of naught but how his happiness, his prospects, and even his life, apparently, had been destroyed by the ominous Mr. Clough. Had he known how much misery that gentleman would make him the object of when Mr. Darcy had fixed his eyes upon him, he surely would not have been so composed and so indifferent. He had been so preoccupied in convincing himself that he ought to marry Elizabeth that he had not thought that he would need to convince her. As he turned to face his sister, he could read the signs of earnest distress on her face: and he couldn't bear it. He couldn't bear dear Georgiana being perplexed over his misfortunes.
"My dear, you had better go," he said wearily, placing the note back into her hand. She silently acquiesced, picking up the bottle and glass and preparing to quit the room.
"No: leave that there," he added, gesturing to the whiskey. Georgiana only set them down upon the table and left without another word.
Georgiana did feel suppressed by the circumstances surrounding her as she paced down the hall. Her head hung low, her own happiness inevitably affected by the utter lack of it within everyone else. Elizabeth would have no wish to remain at Pemberley any longer; she would have to check her words before speaking of her brother before her friend; both would have to conceal their own displeasure and pretend to be joyous of Elizabeth's engagement. It was not a very agreeable thing to do, yet there it was. Who would have guessed that an upcoming marriage would be so bittersweet! It was certainly not the case when Mr. Bingley or Amelia had gotten married; it was an occasion for real celebration.
Georgiana started when she looked up and saw Elizabeth standing only a few meters away from her. They locked eyes, both emanating their melancholy humors. Elizabeth was actually quite pleased to see her friend, even if her expression did not indicate it; for she felt herself desperately in need of advice, and her young friend was the only one from whom she could receive it. They drew closer to each other, and eventually stopped when their proximity was very near. They spoke no words of greeting, but merely hugged each other as one would hug somebody whose mother had just died.
"Come and sit," said Georgiana affably and lead her friend into the study, which was the room most expeditiously reached. They sat next to each other on the sofa, holding each other's hands, and sharing a silence which was not uncomfortable, till Elizabeth broke it by saying:
"Do you think that I made the right decision?"
Georgiana's immediate impulse was to tell her that no, she had made a horrid mistake, and that she had better go and tell her brother she had changed her mind before he became too drunk. But that was not advice; that was fancy: that was what would make the situation more agreeable to herself and her family. So instead her response was:
"It is hard for me to be impartial, considering that I know Fitzwilliam better than anybody in the world, and I have never exchanged a word with Mr. Clough. But if you believe that the latter will make you happier than anybody else, I have no right to advise you against it. In matters such as these, I think you just have to follow your heart."
"That would be easy enough if one's heart was fixed in one position and not floating out in the abyss," muttered Elizabeth to herself, though Georgiana had no trouble hearing this comment.
"Oh Lizzy! This must all be very sudden; very unexpected—" began Georgiana warmly, but she was cut off by an inquiry of Elizabeth's.
"How long have you known?—Known that your brother was in love with me, I mean?"
"I only learnt of it for certain five minutes before you entered the room today; indeed, we were still speaking of it when your entrance was announced."
Elizabeth only nodded as a response, and then excused herself, declaring that she needed to be alone.
+The two stanzas quoted are from the poem "The Clod and the Pebble" by William Blake as a part of his 1794 collection, "Songs of Experience".