Hi everyone! New chapter finally up. I want to thank all of you for staying with my story and for the wonderful reviews! Thanks a bunch ixi-shaj for the kind words and thank you free thinker for the praise, I'm really glad you like the characters and their imperfect way of being. Thanks again for reading all of you. Hope you like it!
Chapter 32: A failure and an engagement
The carriage shook them as they held hands silently, almost as if their tender gesture replaced the words needed in these cases. They were both looking in opposite directions, sitting one next to the other but his hand was clamped over hers. No one would have noticed it, for Mary had dropped her shawl on the seat between them. Their arms ended under the warm shawl, but their lives continued underneath.
When they were near Kent they let go without even acknowledging the gesture.
After accompanying her to the Bingley estate where all the family was residing now, he would not even stay for talks with Charles or tea. He rode away, straight to London, worried on account of his affairs and his friend, Theodore. He bid no word of adieu.
Mary was left rather wretched on the doorstep, wondering what she had done wrong to deserve such a cold goodbye from one she had held the night before. She reasoned though, that they were not animated friends that had forgotten each other's faulty deeds and were now rejoicing in the merriment of courtship. No, nothing was further from the truth. Their Platonic relation was founded on the understanding of each other in the end. She understood his ways, he understood hers. She decided she would go to church that afternoon to pray a while and ask forgiveness for the tempting kiss.
The hypocrisy of the gesture consisted in her inability to repent for having allowed the kiss. But it was omitted from her thoughts that were full of nostalgic pain for her mother.
After having received a marriage proposal, news of an unforeseeable death and a kiss, she thought nothing could disconcert her anymore. But something very small did. Her family had almost cried tears of joy to see her back among them, something which was not only a rare event for her, but also quite unprecedented in the almost twenty years of her life.
She was not used to so much affection. Now that the pivot of the family had perished, the girls and the father clung to each other like peas in a pod.
And now that Mary, who was the more sensible (for Jane was upset and in bed on account of her child and Lizzy was in much need for solace) had come to comfort them they felt better at being united.
Kitty and the Colonel spent their days in a very laborious way, or at least the latter did, for Kitty had found out that the Colonel used to write verses for his amusement and leisure and was now demanding his assistance in writing a beautiful eulogy for her mother that would be written on her gravestone.
Mr. Bennet was fasting day in, day out. He would not eat or drink, he would only sit by the window and sigh. Talking to him got one nowhere. He would occasionally write letters to his wife which he put under the pillows at night, hoping she would read them.
Lydia, the petite, was more affected than most. Her sensitive and volatile temper did not stand the news of the demise of her best and kindest defender. Her misery was expressed most deliberately in letters which she sent constantly to the Bingleys, demanding they come to see her at once.
Mr. Bennet promised to oblige her and go back to Longbourn as soon as possible.
The house was mourning as well. There were black curtains at the window, black ribbons tied to the candlesticks and they used the copper crockery instead of the silver one.
The long and humorous conversations that derived from every meal were now reduced to low whispers and silent agreements.
Mary thought this longwinded veil of sorrow did not help anybody. She also thought everyone was trying to see this as a normal death. To her, this was no natural occurrence.
Now in her old chamber, with the letters of relatives and friends scattered here and there, Mary sat lounged on the bed with her face on her pillow, sleeping and waking continuously.
For some reason, she could not forget a particular conversation she had had with Mr. Fowler before departure.
She had been called in his study, the evening before she left Derbyshire.
'How are you this evening, Miss Bennet? I fare you have arranged everything for your departure.'
'Yes, I have Sir.'
'You must be feeling dreadful…' he assumed, lighting his cigar. 'I am very sorry for your loss. Little as I knew Mrs. Bennet, I never supposed a woman like her could ever perish.'
'Neither did I,' replied Mary soberly, containing any morsel of pain. 'I always thought she would outlive us all.'
'It is an amusing thing. No matter how much we try to predict and foresee, we will always be baffled by the strange nature of destiny. You assume something, you believe in it foolhardily and you are sure nothing can shake your conviction and then, when it does happen, you cannot reason with the truth. You seek solace. But you can never really find it.'
'Are these words coming from the heart?' asked Mary who was stirred by the soliloquy.
'Oh, no, it is a rendition of a passage in a book. Not faithfully rendered, mind you, therefore I could say they are my words as well.'
Mary chuckled and pulled her feet against the roaring fire in the fireplace.
'It will be hard, seeing my family now.'
'Yes, but tragedy appears to unite people more than good fortune.'
'It is this union I am not ready for.'
'Why is that so?'
'Certain events have marked me, I suppose,' she replied uneasy.
Mr. Fowler placed his hands together, as if in prayer.
'Mr. Prowler is an odd sort of man, not to my liking, I confess,' he said, his face darkening with worry and something resembling compunction.
'Mr. Prowler?' Mary asked surprised.
'He is very bold indeed to come here and profess his love, where all can see him.'
Mary blushed deeply, understanding he had seen the kiss.
'Had I not been an ill man I would have said a thing or two, but then again you are a youth Miss Bennet and youths deserve to be happy.'
'There was nothing happy in it. It was improper of me,' she protested.
'Perhaps, but we do a great deal of improper things in life, don't we? I am such a paradigm of impropriety myself. And I have changed a great deal. I've told you before. And I am afraid that from now on my nights will be weary. I am afraid of what my mind shall conceive. Thoughts will not let me sleep. You see, having a conscience is a terrible possession.'
'Should you ever come to Derbyshire again perhaps I shall be more prepared and I will have taken a decision,' he added.
'What decision is that?'
'A decision I have formed in my head a few hours ago,' he replied, not wishing to say more.
'Do please write to me about your family's welfare for I would be interested to know,' he mumbled hastily.
'I shall.'
'Mary. You have not forgiven me, have you?' he inquired testily.
Mary looked at him firmly and shook her head softly.
'No.'
James felt as easy as a feather as he stepped into dreary London. He was floating above the flotsam of the town slums and seeing them in a new light. The poverty there seemed a little kinder, life seemed freer between bedraggled children with torn shoes. The incongruous buildings seemed a little less tall. The carriage drove slowly through the streets where he had the feeling everyone was watching him.
He thought this was the beginning of a new age, because there never had been a man and woman like Mary and he were. At least, if others existed, none shared the blunt feeling of complete understanding they had. Most of them loved each other, treasured their presence and hoped to marry some day and have a warm home, but Mary and he were just glad to know each other, without the need to speak. Their connection was like nothing he had seen before. They taught each other about life constantly. He was experienced, she was not. Yet maybe that is what he needed, a little less experience.
And it was strange that they had never talked a great deal or shared a great deal of intimate accounts, and yet they still felt they knew all there was to know about one another.
But now he would better put her out of his thoughts. He had one man to think of and one only.
Theodore was looking very gaunt these days, though he kept some of the old twinkle in his eye. He first asked his friend if he knew anything of Georgiana. James felt touched by his staunch love to one little, rich girl who might not sacrifice so much for him in return.
'Have you stopped eating, my friend?' James asked worried.
'I cannot eat this stale bread, it is a stone between my teeth. I caught a rat the other day but I felt too much pity towards it,' he said tiredly. His forehead was shining through the bars.
'Are you with fever?' he inquired concerned.
'Fever for freedom, perhaps. I was never confined between sober walls. I feel out of place,' he smiled. 'Margaret's been here to see me. She has been complaining how I abandoned her. I suppose I haven't been such a good brother, have I?'
'She's a fool! You have always taken care of her. It is only that now you must take care of yourself. You know that your place is not here, that Morel should lie here and not you. I've already settled things with Mr. Darcy. I wrote to him yesterday. He shall be in London soon and we will take this to court.'
'Is he bringing Georgiana with him?'
'That is wishful thinking, my friend. Why would he bring a lady into this matter? As far as I know, Georgiana is in Bath with an aunt. But she has been called home so I suppose she shall be with her brother soon.'
'What if I never see her again? Then everything would have been in vain.'
'Pull yourself together! That won't happen. Have some faith in me.'
Theodore wished he could, but the damp air, the stale bread, the cold bones, the hard pain in his chest were making it difficult.
Mr. Darcy arrived in London as required and was welcomed at Mr. Prowler's house for the time being, before court day. They established certain arguments in court and agreed on a modest tactic of combat that would not harm Mr. Darcy or put him in danger in front of Morel.
The petition was sent to the magistrates and in a fortnight they were called at the stand.
Mr. Prowler fought tooth and nail for the case, thinking all the time of Theodore. He showed the counsellors and juries the blatant evidence of the there being forged documents against the actual documents of Mr. Darcy's property.
Mr. Morel had not bothered to attend the trial but had merely sent one of his spokesmen to deal with the matter, which was an overlooking on his part, for he knew not that James had the real documents.
The ownership papers were analysed and inspected carefully. The State Archives were applied to and the fake ownership documents were taken out and compared.
For five gruelling days the documents were debated and discussed over and over again. On the fifth day, Morel appeared in court in all his honour and wealth. He glanced over the forged documents and denied any implications. He put the blame on Mr. Buddley, the one who had sold him the property, saying Mr. Buddley had given him this "forged document", implying he had thought the document real. This, of course, was a lie. Mr. Buddley had given him the real papers and he had forged new ones. On being asked why the real papers were found in his home he said he had never known them to be there. Though farfetched, his brother, judge Laurel Morel, patched the situation by giving full rights to Mr. Darcy on the Bartley property and rendering only a sufficient sum from his brother for his inconsistent defence.
Yet it was a small victory for James, if it could be accounted.
After another fortnight, the high signature of the King was placed on the verdict of the jury and Mr. Buddley was found accused of forgery. There was an issued order to search for him throughout the country. Though Mr. Buddley had committed certain illegal deeds, surely he was not the perpetrator at hand. But for now, James could do nothing but wait for everything to unfold.
He tried to impress on the judge and the jury that it had been Theodore Stoddard who had found the documents willingly, risking his own safety to help a gentleman. This showed he had indeed turned a new leaf.
However, the court was not very sympathetic with his cause. They did consider his request of sparing Theodore's sentence, but they only agreed to shorten it by three years. They justified this decision by saying the convict still needed to pay for his lawless deeds.
That meant he would still have to serve two years in that dreaded place.
For James, this was a very hard blow. His entire success in having secured Mr. Darcy's property went to smoke. His friend would still have to suffer.
He recalled Theodore had once told him "I must atone." Maybe, this was what fate required, maybe the cleansing of his soul was necessary before stepping out of prison.
Yet, if this was true, why was he a free, sinful, unethical man? If this was Providence's punishment, why was he not punished as well?
He felt like a bad man, a bad man with no scruples. He felt he ought to be in Theodore's place. How could he redeem himself another way?
He tried to comfort himself by saying he had done his due with his relations and connections, he had helped others a great deal, he had sacrificed his peace for the Darcys. But it did not mean much to him. It was a drop in the ocean.
What was missing? What was the one act that could redeem him?
Perhaps saving Theodore was the act. But he had failed.
'You've done a good job, my friend,' Mr. Darcy comforted him, placing a hand on his shoulder as they were sitting in the carriage.
My friend. This he called Theodore.
And now, looking at Mr. Darcy, he saw a very tired man. As if he had aged over night. The problems at home had brought this change about. And Mr. Prowler was sorry to see such a gentleman in a weak position.
That night, before he came home he went to buy some cigars. When he stepped inside his house, he found it quite devastated. Mrs. Lemond was nowhere to be found. His chests of drawers were broken and lying in pieces on the landing. Down the winding stairs he saw ripped documents and papers. His pianoforte was missing and a lot of silvery and porcelain had gone too. Luckily, he had not much wealth or possessions to boast, therefore he did not feel the emptiness too heavily.
But it was a warning from a dangerous man. A warning he would pay heed to.
When Mr. Darcy returned to Kent he was a relieved man. Though weary and silent, he was ready to bring his wife good news and perhaps alleviate her pain.
They were planning to stay there for another fortnight, until Jane gave birth.
The Bingley household was numerous indeed, now that both families dwelt there, but the atmosphere was peaceful and content.
Or, at least it had been peaceful for the past couple of days.
However, right on the day of Mr. Darcy's arrival, there came a fateful letter addressed to Lizzie and her husband. It was from Georgiana.
She was announcing her engagement to Mr. Bancroft.
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Special Note: Hi again! For those of you who have forgotten who Jonathan Bancroft is, you need only turn to Chapter 18: A fair wedding part 2 and read about him if you like. He is joined by his sister at Kitty's wedding as the Colonel's guests. And a hint that Mr. Bancroft had some intentions towards Georgiana, though small one:
"From time to time Mr. Bancroft would glance furtively at Georgiana then look quickly away. Mary noticed this and was about to inquire of it, but at that moment a group of youths reached their table."
Excerpt from Chapter 18.
Well, you shall find out more about them in the following chapter. Thanks for reading.