I heard the bell on the door ring as I entered the parsonage, and looked around the entryway. I was not expecting any servants, so I took off my own coat, hat and gloves almost as if I were a grown man. I looked around for a place to put them, and just hung them on a rack I saw near the door.
Just as I hung them up, Elizabeth came through the door, and I thought she never looked lovelier. She was wearing a practical dress just like the one she had been feeding the poultry in, but it looked newer and tidier, though she still retained her apron. It buttoned up the front like most working women's dresses so she could dress herself without any fuss. Her hair was done up in a simple bun and covered with a lace mob cap. I noticed she seemed to have cut off quite a bit of her hair, to make it easier to manage I surmised. I amused myself for just a moment thinking she either wore the newer dress to dine, or she had dressed to impress, but then I came to my senses. It was probably just the dress she wore for supper every night. If she wanted to dress like the gentlewoman she was, she should still have all the clothes she had before she left Hertfordshire; or would she? In the despondency of a forced marriage, she may well have given all her clothes to her sisters, for all I knew. Perhaps it was best not to make assumptions. Considering her opinion of me, I would not have been surprised if she hunted down her oldest and rattiest dress with petticoats six inches deep in mud just to spite me.
Over the previous several days, I had spent considerable time trying to decide when to come clean about my involvement in Bingley's abandonment of Jane Bennet. Elizabeth had quite clearly shown that the eldest Miss Bennet had real feelings for my friend, as well as a perfectly reasonable expectation of an offer. My rational belief that her heart was unattached was clearly in error. On the other hand, subsequent facts had proven beyond a doubt that nothing would have dissuaded the Bennet parents from forcing a match on their daughter even without affection… nay, without even a modicum of esteem. They did not even seem to require all that much fortune as I could see with Elizabeth.
In the end, it did truly seem that I had been wrong, but based on what I could see at the time, I truly believed my desire to protect my friend from a loveless marriage was done for the best. The Bennets, particularly Mrs. Bennet, must own their share of the blame. My one true regret was my knowledge that simply waiting a week, or taking proper leave would have been the truly gentlemanly thing to do, and we both failed at it. Bingley and I both carried the stink of rank conduct, and who knows what Caroline wrote in that letter Elizabeth referred to, but knowing her, it was probably horrific. We both carried our fair share of guilt, and amazingly, I had not even considered what the gossip would do the Bennets after our abrupt departure.
The only question now was when to disclose my involvement, for disclose it I must if I was to have any hope of even friendship with Elizabeth, let alone… well, best not think too far out. The timing was important. Too soon and I would be tossed from the parsonage unceremoniously on whatever was left of my head. Too late, and I would lose any esteem I may have laboriously garnered. For the moment, I decided to hold my council, but knew my grace period would be short lived.
I also had to sooner or later broach the subject of whether the two could be reunited, or if Miss Bennet was even interested. Bingley was still unattached and I knew his heart could be reengaged in a matter of minutes, but had no idea how the eldest felt. I sincerely hoped the other Bennet sisters did not carry knives. Forgiving such behavior would be most difficult, but if any woman could do it, I imagine Jane Bennet was the one.
Elizabeth was still wearing her stony mask, which I considered an improvement, since I had been in the parsonage for going on two minutes and she had not asked me to leave yet.
Apparently not in the mood for ceremony, she just said, "This way, Mr. Darcy", before turning to lead through the door into what appeared to be the parlor. It had a small table set just big enough for two. I walked by a dining room that was dark and had the door closed. Looking around, I saw a stairway to the right that seemed to be covered with quilts.
Elizabeth noted my gaze and said without the slightest hint of the defensiveness, "Heating rooms takes coal, Mr. Darcy. Coal costs money and has to be laboriously carried up the stairs to each room. I am not destitute, but I choose not to spend my time and money heating rooms I do not occupy. Mrs. Hewes and I sleep in the front sitting room Mr. Collins once used to stalk the lanes. I keep Mr. Collins in his book room, and Sargent MacDonald comes by a few times a day to see to his needs in exchange for some of my poultry, breakfast every day and a few other meals each week; although I suspect he does it more for the society than anything else."
She had not even slowed down her pace, so I was perforce prevented from making any reply, which was no doubt for the best. I followed her downstairs to a neat and tidy kitchen. Everything was as clean and orderly as Pemberley's kitchen with a staff of ten. There was a copper washtub in the corner, which seemed quite sensible since the water would have to be heated in the kitchen. What point in going somewhere else to bathe with two women and one half-corpse in the house? Looking around I was impressed, and had to admit that however unusual I might find her decisions, I had yet to encounter a single one that did not make perfect sense. I suspected Elizabeth still expected me to show some form of disapprobation, but that was just a guess, and if that was her goal; she was destined for disappointment.
Elizabeth reached over to open the oven, and taking a towel from the hearth, she reached in to remove the chicken. She set it on a side table, then removed the potatoes as well, dumped them in a small bowel, and handed it to me, along with a pitcher of water and a bowel of butter. Then she simply nodded to the door indicating I should return to the parlor. I saw what looked like a pie on the sideboard, and went back upstairs as instructed, while she removed her apron, folded it neatly and then followed with the chicken and a basket of bread.
As we sat to table Elizabeth indicated I should carve and serve, so I did. I noticed she had a particular stillness that had not been there before. I could well remember every interaction with her, but could not remember a single time back in Hertfordshire when she did not seem just ready to explode with delight or mischievousness. Caroline Bingley would chide and insult her, and she would just show a hint of laughter in her eyes and say something the woman could not understand. I thought back in Netherfield she would deliberately pick the opposite side of an argument with me just for amusement, but those mannerisms were long gone; and with hindsight I had to admit at the time she occasionally treated me as a slightly more intelligent version of Caroline.
I had to admit to myself that I was grave and silent more often than not in her company, sometimes due to my reserve, and to be honest sometimes because she just affected me too much and it… frightened me. In our one lone dance, she could not even stay silent for five minutes whole, while in the middle of a ballroom. Now, she looked like she would be perfectly content to remain silent until the meal was done and then retire for the night with nothing but an adieu. It was clearly to be up to me to start a conversation; a role reversal so startling I had no idea where to begin.
I finally decided to try to broach a safe subject, and asked, "Are you still fond of walking?"
She may have been surprised I would remember that detail, but showed nothing, and answered, "I do enjoy it, but not as much as I did. Mr. Collins did not allow me to walk unescorted, and since he has been… indisposed, I have been too busy for more than an hour here and there. I do like your aunt's park when I can find the time."
She looked grave while saying it, leaving much unsaid about her time with Collins, and I despaired of finding any safe topic.
She glanced up and saw my countenance, and despite her stony reserve and outright hostility every time she was in my presence, she showed her good nature by saying, "Do not be alarmed Mr. Darcy. I can see you working your way up to some level of indignation, but it is unnecessary. All is well."
She still gave absolutely nothing away with her expression, but I was relieved she at least had enough concern to notice.
We amused ourselves with the commonplaces for a few minutes. I complimented her on the quality of the meal, and truth be told I was not exaggerating. Everything was done to perfection, and it caused me to wonder when I lost the capacity to enjoy the simple pleasure of a basic meal, well prepared. I thought of the agony I went through every evening at Rosings, and reflected I might be very content to spend every night of my visit here in the parsonage. Even with her stony countenance, and the inability for me to have even a basic conversation, I thought I could well spend my entire life here if I could simply undo some of the damage that horrid man had done.
As to the quality of the meal, I could not praise it highly enough, but I suspected Elizabeth looked on my compliments with a skeptical eye. I was never good with idle chat in the first place, and to try it when in this tense situation was beyond me, but I thought we must at least get through the meal before discussing what I had learned. Perhaps I could try one of the other topics she had once favored, so asked, "Do you still enjoy books?"
She replied a bit sadly, "I read much less now that I am not such an idle creature. I do not have access to very many books, and I mostly prefer the tragedies now, but please do not be distressed about it."
There appeared to be no safe topic. I thought to try yet again, and began anew with, "Mrs. Collin… Miss Benne…"
Once again, I stopped tongue-tied and colored in embarrassment, then cleared my throat and asked, "What should I call you? I noticed that both of your surnames seem to cause you some pain, and I would not wish to do that."
I saw just a flicker of a reaction, so small I doubted she even knew it was there; but I could not guess what it meant. Except for the moments where her eyes betrayed her a few times in the two occasions we had met, she had perhaps the solidest mask I have ever seen. I imagined perhaps there was just a touch of softening in it, but it was more likely I was just seeing what I wanted to see.
Elizabeth sat silently for perhaps half a minute, which would have been an eternity in the conversational life of Elizabeth Bennet, and finally said, "I am surprised you noticed. Nobody else has. Do not concern yourself sir. I will have the name Collins for the rest of my life, so I may as well accustom myself to it."
She paused, and then said, "However, if it distresses you, feel free to simply call me Elizabeth. As you can see, I am a stranger to propriety these days, and to tell the truth, I do not miss it very much."
I abandoned all hope of canvassing a safe topic, and decided to just follow the conversation as it was.
As usual with her, I either said nothing or let my tongue run away without thinking, and said, "I am surprised you would say that. You will be a respectable widow soon enough. Will you not remarry?"
If I was looking to produce a reaction, I had apparently stumbled on the right question. Her face went rigid, and her hands holding her water glass started to shake before she put it down abruptly. She took a deep breath, and said most vehemently, "Never!"
In a blind panic, I said, "Please Elizabeth, I did not mean to distress you. Please forgive me. I am trying my best but…"
I looked at her sheepishly, and finally continued, "… I fear my best is not very good, but I will improve if you give me a chance."
After a surprisingly short time considering how distressed she had been, she had the stony mask back in place, but perhaps we both were starting to realize it would not survive forever. She said, "It is all right Mr. Darcy. I have not had a conversation of any real substance with anyone other than Mrs. Hewes in a year… Perhaps I have lost the skill."
For a moment I lost all sense, and reached my hand out to hers, but did nothing but place three of my fingers lightly on top of the back of her hand which was again lying beside her plate. She looked down at it, but did not say anything or move her hand away.
I very carefully, but probably unwisely asked, "Do I ask too much to know why you will not marry?"
She looked at me as if I was a simpleton, or perhaps I was reading too much in the glance. She then unexpectedly stood up, pushed her chair back several feet from the table, and sat down again. Then she asked, "Do you truly wish to know, Mr. Darcy? You may not like the answer. Is it so important to you?"
I caught the challenge in her eyes, and thought frankly at this point I would accept any reaction at all if it would allow me to stay in her presence longer. Not trusting my voice, which I suspected would be choked in emotion, I simply nodded.
Having no idea what to expect, I was startled when she, grabbed the sides of her dress with both hands, and lifted the hem up to her thighs. The scars on her legs shocked me worse than anything I had ever seen. She was not wearing the long stockings that were typical for gentlewomen, so I saw perhaps the first bare legs of my life, but it was not the experience I had dreamed of. I was nearly overcome with a dual desire to reach down and offer comfort to those legs with a gentle caress, and the conflicting desire to proceed to the book room and finish the job the fever had started by killing Mr. Collins with my bare hands.
Elizabeth looked confused and distressed, as if she had no idea why she had done such an insane act, with me of all people. Perhaps she thought the shock would finally send me on my way forever, but there was little if any chance of that. In fact, if she was trying to get rid of me forever, this was the exact opposite of what she should do.
She whispered, "Tell me Mr. Darcy. Would you enter an arrangement where your wife could do this to you, and you had no recourse? No protection from the law or the state or church or friends or family? No hint of disapproval from your own father or your wife's patron? Surrounded by servants afraid to challenge the will of the master for fear of discharge without reference in a world of vindictive gentry, perhaps with a beating of their own, and their own children to feed? Afraid to tell your sisters about it for fear of destroying their own chances to trust their husbands and perhaps find happiness one day? Nothing to prevent another occurrence except perhaps running away to live in poverty and shame, or your own propensity for violence, which is as likely to end with your own head in a noose as not? Would you enter an arrangement where you would be sorely tempted to kill your partner for life just to be done with it?"
She stared at me with an intensity that could burn a tree to the ground in a moment, but I did not think it was actually me she was seeing. Whatever had caused her to confide in me, this speech was not for me. I felt certain she was near her breaking point, and needed to tell somebody, and I just happened to be the only convenient recipient.
She continued relentlessly, "Besides all that Mr. Darcy. Suppose I could overcome my fears, and insecurities, and trust someone once again. Suppose that I managed to do that, as unlikely as it seems. Do you think any respectable man will want to see this in his marriage bed night after night for the rest of his life? No, Mr. Darcy! I shall never wed again. Once was one too many!"