Chapter 11
'If the people in Meryton could see us now,'thought Edward, 'they would surely consider their sly remarks no longer necessary.'
Following the London trip, the Longbourn and Netherfield families found themselves closer than ever, and an alliance between them was expected, not too far away in the future, by the neighbourhood. However, they could get no confirmation from the Bennets, and no-one dared ask the lofty inhabitants of Netherfield. In the intimacy of the present situation, the conclusion of that affair seemed to Edward more than foregone.
He felt his skin tingle from his toes, ensconced in his Hessians, to his uncovered face. It could not be natural to sit so still, he was sure. The fire cracked and shifted in the hearth. Edward sighed and fidgeted.
"Are you tired, Edward?" asked Jane kindly from her place besides Bingley on the divan.
"Indeed, no-one told me having one's shadow made was so demanding of one's own patience. And I, unlike Bingley, do not have a beautiful lady willing to entertain me while I sit for it."
The comment surely garnered a blush from Jane, who had earlier read aloud from a comedy to Bingley, but Edward could not turn to see it. He had to content himself with Miss Bingley's offended sniff for all effect.
"Not every one appreciates the art of silhouettes; I personally find them a most delightful accomplishment," she said haughtily.
"Especially now that this pretty apparatus exists to make it easier," said Edward motioning towards the pantograph. "But I did not mean to disparage the activity by any means. I am not a patient person; that is all."
"Edward!" cried Jane, with a hint of impatience, herself. "Can you not stay still for one moment? Miss Bingley will never be able to make me your miniature if you move about like that."
"Of course I will stay still; I was only speaking."
"And flapping your arms," added Darcy with an amused smile, from his armchair by the fire.
"I was not!"
"You were, and now you moved your head. Really, Bennet, you must remain still if you want your likeness taken. Miss Bingley will tire of you in no time otherwise," was the leisurely response.
Edward wanted to retort that Miss Bingley had probably already tired of him anyway and was doing it only as a show of politeness toward his sister, but he thought better of it. He had always thought an air of offended dignity was better affected in silence.
"It is true that not all have the patience to sit through it. Just the other summer I was asked to do Mr Harper's youngest's silhouette for his mother, and it was nearly impossible to keep him seated! It is no wonder really, at his age, and not in any way the boy's fault; I am sure he will grow out of it in no time."
Edward did not have to see her face to see her smirk; he could just as well picture it in his mind. He almost had to bite his tongue to avoid answering. Nothing he could think of saying was polite enough, or sharp enough, for his tastes. He could only try to concentrate all his will in not moving one hair from its place. A moment later he heard Miss Bingley's voice again. "There we are. I have finished. Are you sure you do not want your silhouette taken for your sister, Mr. Darcy?"
"I thank you for the offer, but she has various likenesses already."
Edward got up and stretched his limbs gratefully. It was already winter and outside the weather was as bleak as ever. It had begun to snow, and the room was wrapped in the warm light of the fire and the less than customary lamps in concession to the ladies' silhouette taking endeavour.
Edward and Jane had been invited to stay at Netherfield after the card party, in consideration of the late hours the party was sure to keep and of the inclement weather; and so they were passing the time before bed in the drawing room. The general mood was rather subdued.
Mr. Hurst snored on a settee in a corner. Mrs. Hurst, after having apparently tired of commenting on her sister and friend's artistic ability, played solitaire somewhat distractedly by his side. Bingley and Jane were talking, apparently observing the proceeding; though Edward was sure they were more entertained by each other than by anything else in the room or outside of it.
Darcy sat by the fire, patently entertained by Edward's fidgeting. He was quieter than usual, and Edward wondered at the cause of this new muted, more restrained humour. Edward could not make him out, and though he was getting used to that feeling, he still could not like it one bit.
Darcy, for he was the only one who paid him enough attention, probably thought Edward was only feeling cooped up and tired of sitting still, but the reality, though it was influenced by those two facts, went beyond that. Edward had reached a decision in the last few days; the type of momentous decision that is better to take and act upon it almost at once, so as not to allow time for one's will to waver. He felt the danger of it exceedingly.
He had come to it quite unexpectedly whilst thinking on his discussion of Darcy with Bingley during the London trip. Thinking on what to tell Darcy of the entail business, he had suddenly realized that if he could and perhaps even should tell anyone the whole mess, it was Darcy. They were friends, perhaps even more than simply friends.
After not thinking about it for so many years (at least not actively), after not talking about it, he felt it was the worst of impostures to keep Darcy in the dark. If he understood Darcy's character at all, he would not take it well. Still, the possibility that he might discover it by any other means was dreadful. It was not impossible, Edward knew; the more time they spent together, the more he risked.
If he had had only this concern weighing on his mind, Edward might have been able to forbear, but urgent business drove him forward. Edward's father had tried to reinitiate the discussion about Edward's future more than once. Only his frequent calls with his neighbours and some rather opportune business had allowed Edward to avoid the topic. His father, it seemed, was determined.
Edward had no desire of changing his lifestyle in any way. Why would he? The only thing that kept him from facing his father again and deciding the matter once and for all was that he was not entirely sure exactly why his father was making such a deal of it now. He always had been happy to leave things as they were, why change his mind now? Even taking his words at face value, why did his father not believe him or trust him to know his own mind?
He needed advice from a sane, somewhat objective person; someone whom he could respect, and whose opinion, and discretion, he could therefore trust. Although some months ago he could not have guessed it, Darcy was in every respect suited to the task.
No sooner had he arrived at that conclusion than it seemed as if he could not get one moment alone with Darcy; or when they were alone, the situation would not be conducive to confidences. Such an intimate house party should have created plenty of opportunities, but it had not. Edward was sure that if he did not speak that very same day, he would never speak of it–to anyone besides his father–again. He was sure to lose his nerve momentarily.
A little while later Jane covered a delicate yawn and announced she was going to retire. She was followed by almost everyone else, each of them expressing as they went, how much the day had worn them out. Edward felt the exact opposite: he was full of restless energy. The prospect of trying to sleep was not agreeable in the least. Fortunately, it seemed far from Darcy's mind as well, since he had not moved from his armchair. He had even dismissed Bingley with a vague gesture, saying he did not need company besides that of the fire.
As the others filed out, Edward went to the chair next to Darcy's. He could not be still. Pacing by the fireplace did not help to calm him, but had rather the opposite effect. Suddenly though, his next action seemed obvious.
"What do you say to a game of billiards, Darcy? I cannot sleep either."
"Of course, if you want one."
Darcy's tone was not unfriendly, but seemed nonetheless unenthusiastic.
Edward could not let himself be deterred by that. He knew he could wait forever for the perfect moment and it would never come.
They went into the billiard's room in silence, got rid of their coats, and strung. To his surprise, Edward's ball hit the top and came back to almost touching the baulk cushion. He chose the spotted ball and decided to break. His careless following shot let the balls in a prime position, but he could only cede the place to Darcy with a grimace. He was not there to win a game after all.
A silence only interrupted by the methodical clack of the balls covered them and Edward was glad to suddenly spot the brandy decanter on a little table by the wall. It was most convenient. He offered and poured a glass for Darcy before serving himself. Afterwards, the silence fell over them again like a blanket.
Gazing at the table unseeingly, he wondered why Darcy was being so stubbornly silent. He wondered if he was to be condemned to be always at a loss for words in his presence. He emptied his glass in one gulp, the liquid burning his way down to his stomach, and served himself another; a look showed that Darcy's was still more than half full. It also showed that his friend, in between shots, was watching him curiously.
Finally, Edward could wait no more and begun, "My business in London went without a hitch."
"I'm pleased for you," said Darcy in a noncommittal tone, looking back at the table.
"Yes, the solicitors were quite helpful, and the proceedings went as predicted."
"Mmh" Darcy appeared concentrated in the positions of the balls, and his demeanour could not be more distracted, Edward was sure.
"I met your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam at Angelo's." As he had expected, this garnered some attention.
Darcy looked at him from where he was leaning to make a shot. "Did you, now? How did you find him? And how do you like Angelo's? I did not know you fenced."
"I found him very much the gentleman. We only spoke for a moment, though."
Edward contemplated saying that he thought the Colonel talked rather too much, and said things he perhaps ought not, but dismissed it at once. He did not want to start trouble between Darcy and his cousin, and it was beside the point.
"I do not fence as such, I only know the basics," he added instead.
"A shame I have not my practice blades with me then, or we would both get some exercise."
Darcy's attention was again fully into making his shot. He was, apparently, uninterested in making conversation.
Edward felt tempted to sulk; what a difficult man! Nothing but forthrightness would do, clearly, so he said, "Bingley said you wanted to know what business I had in London."
Darcy's shot went off course then, and it was Edward's turn again.
Darcy's tone was indifferent. "Really? I am not averse to knowing, of course."
"Of course."
Two could play that game, Edward was well aware, but he had no interest in ducking questions and raising Darcy's expectation of the answers. He wanted a good angle from which to impart specific information and his friend was not being helpful at all.
"I went to pick up the deeds of Longbourn land. It is—it was, I should say—entailed, and we had to do a common recovery proceeding to liberate it."
Darcy's interest was finally fully raised, and his tone was one of worry when he asked, "Do you need money? I mean, I should not ask, but I hope I need not remind you I am your friend."
Edward could not help smiling at this, and his shot was a happy one. (Winning hazards, no less.) Indeed, he did not need any reminder; that was the reason behind this whole convoluted mess of a conversation.
"No, no need to preoccupy yourself with this, Darcy. Longbourn and I are in excellent financial condition. But I have a sister whose only future is marrying well; like every other lady she must have a good dowry." He made an involuntary pause. "And then, there is Elizabeth."
"Elizabeth?"
Edward's next shot showed that his luck was at an end. He yielded the turn to Darcy, and went to the table where his glass awaited him.
"I told you about her before, while Jane was ill."
"Oh, I had forgotten."
"So had I, for a moment," said Edward, not without humour. At a loss how to continue, Edward stared at the amber liquid, its surface trembling slightly against the glass. No sound issued from the billiard's table for a long moment
"Is something the matter with your sister, Bennet?" Darcy sounded tentative, as if he suspected he was stepping on not quite solid ground.
Edward looked up.
"Jane? No, of course not, she is perfectly well, have you not seen her?"
"No, I mean your other sister."
"Yes…No…It is more complicated than that."
He could only turn his gaze to the fire.
"I am all ears, if you need to speak of it."
"Of course."
Another lengthy silence followed. Darcy was on another winning streak. It was the perfect opportunity, the perfect occasion to say whatever he wanted, but Edward could not find where to begin. He wished Darcy were not so understanding, or perhaps not so silently understanding. He wished to be questioned, to be able to delegate the responsibility of finding the logical path of disclosure. Every new start cost him more.
"Remember what we were talking about the other day, Darcy? About marriage and women not being independent?"
Darcy readily assented, barely raising his eyes from his cue, though his expression betrayed his confusion.
"I am… perhaps I feel the matter more because it concerns me." The words trailed off. They did not want to be said, Edward was sure. They stuck in his throat and refused to be paraded in front of the light of the fire. He had to drink a little, to moisten his suddenly dry mouth.
"And, by that, I mean, personally."
Darcy only stood back with the cue held vertically at his side, watched, and waited. It only served to heighten Edward's discomfiture. When he begun again, it was in a deceptively light tone, "You know what they say, Darcy? That not every man is a gentleman?"
Edward was now resting his weight on the wall, both hands holding the port glass as if hanging on for dear life, staring intensely into the wall opposite him, but he could not avoid turning to look and see how Darcy was taking it.
"I cannot say I have heard it, but it certainly seems an accurate observation."
His words seemed to take the change of subject in stride, but his eyebrows were raised questioningly.
"I… What would you say if I were to tell you that not every gentleman is a man?" And he hurried on, to keep on talking, as Darcy had opened his mouth to speak in what seemed total confusion. "What would you say if a friend of yours—dash it all, this is ridiculous—if I were to tell you that I am a woman and not a man at all?"
"What would I say…" Darcy's voice trailed off, and he closed his mouth. His face was expressionless; it did not seem that he was about to speak again any time soon, so Edward felt it his duty to continue.
"I am, you know, a woman. I am Elizabeth. Edward, my brother, died not much later than my mother. My father took pains to hide it, of course, and made up the story about relatives wanting children; though he did not make up my uncle, only that they are raising any child of his. It is all because of the entail. My father felt it exceedingly that he, on top of being deprived of his wife—he loved her very much, you see—could not leave his home to his children, by a trick of fate. If I would have died, for example, instead of my brother…"
Edward stopped and pushed himself off the wall. Without his voice ringing nonsensically, the room was very silent again, except that now, those words were left to swim in it, and turn it into an oppressive silence instead of a comfortable one.
It suddenly struck him most forcefully. If he, if she, would have… How strange, what would have been the difference? Had not Elizabeth died after all? To say that he, that she, was Elizabeth, was not that a lie as well? He took a gulp from his glass and stared into it.
"But, then, that is not right, either, is it? In nearly all respects, I am Edward. And it is Elizabeth who died. Only now, for some reason my father begins to regret his decision. He begins to talk of settling Longbourn on the girls. And what am I to do with that? Truly, Darcy, I know this must be a rather unexpected shock, but I am in need of advice."
Talking to his glass, Edward missed the moment Darcy left the billiard table. When he came to, his friend was standing in front of the fireplace, a fist covering his mouth, his back to him. His cue lay abandoned carelessly by the wall. He did not appear to be angry, but then, when had Darcy ever been obvious with his feelings? Edward did not have Bingley's experience to be able to interpret them effortlessly; it was like trying to divine the thoughts of a statue.
Edward could only wait. More words would have been useless, unless Darcy wanted an explanation, and for now he seemed content to think about it in silence. The moment stretched on forever for Edward. He downed his glass, and could only stare at it again until he heard Darcy's voice.
"Am I to understand, then, that you have been deceiving us all this time, Mr. Bennet?"
"Miss, if you please," answered Edward, but even to his own ears it sounded a weak attempt at humour.
"Is that how you would prefer to be addressed by me from now on?"
Darcy's tone was acid, his back unyielding.
"I… You know that I would not, Darcy. 'Tis true that I am not exactly the man you thought me—not a man at all, actually—but I am unchanged in every other regard; I am every bit as I have always been."
"Why say anything at all, then?" asked Darcy, turning to look at him at last, but his tone was more resentful than curious, his eyes glinting cold and hard. Edward straightened up to his full height and gestured with his now empty glass.
"Because you are my friend, my best friend, and as such I thought you ought to know." He tried to smile, and added, "Bingley said to me that you were quite disposed to offering advice to your friends whether they wanted it or not. Well, I need it."
"That is all very well, but it does not belie the fact that all this," he gestured vaguely at Edward, "is merely playacting."
"Our friendship is not playacting," said Edward seriously, "at least not on my part. I am who I am now; I was raised this way, Darcy. I did not choose it."
"You will excuse my incredulity on both accounts, I hope, Madam."
The pause lengthened into a dreadful, heavy silence, and Edward could not meet Darcy's eyes. It was Darcy who finally spoke again, "if you will excuse me, I will retire."
And then, under Edward's now helpless gaze, he turned, bowed briefly, and went out.
Sleep that night proved impossible.
A/N: So here we are. All is known now, no? Come on, which of you had already guessed? Spill. :) The good news is that the last chapter (17) is written, so it's now really a matter of editing to post here. Thanks to my betas Heather and Julie, and to those of you that reviewed!