The day after the family meeting at Matlock House started late for Darcy. He slept in late and awoke with a dreadful headache featuring the massed bands of the Household Guards – it took a double dose of that warlock's brew concocted by his valet 'for the alleviation of hangovers and related maladies', not at all sweetened by any expression of sympathy from that good and faithful servant; several gallons of coffee black as Lady Catherine's heart; a very cold bath drawn it seemed directly from the runoff of a Baffin Island glacier; and, a single piece of dry toast, which Darcy barely kept down, before he could face the day with any equanimity. It was half past noon.
Darcy sorted through his accumulated mail into five piles: estate, mostly from the stewards at Pemberley and his three subsidiary estates; trade, which related to his many investments, mainly in mills and steam power; invitations, as a single man in possession of a good fortune, [he] must be in want of a wife, and so he was much sought after; solicitations, begging letter, after begging letter, all for very good causes that only a hard hearted person, and he was afraid he was becoming one, could ignore; and personal, from friends and family. The first two piles would be dealt with this day, the next two considered and most likely discarded, and the last would be savoured when his work was done. At the bottom of the pile was a letter addressed to him in a hand reminiscent of Bingley's but much too neat to be from Bingley.
But it was from Bingley. It read:
'Darcy:
The lady said no.
CB'
Darcy stared at the letter. Reread the letter. Looked at the back of the page to see if there were more words there. Reread the letter. Read the words out loud. Every word was legible. There were no blots. How could it be from Bingley? But it was – there was no mistaking the way those initials were scrawled. Every letter he had ever had from Bingley had been signed that way.
But what did it mean?
Had he been right the first time when he had told Bingley that Miss Bennet did not care for him? No – Miss Elizabeth's righteous indignation about Bingley having broken her sister's heart was very credible. Miss Bennet's heart had been broken; and because of Bingley's delay in seeking her out, a delay for which Darcy was responsible, after all, he had known she was in town and had lied, by omission, about that to Bingley; her heart was broken beyond repair. So, she had sent Bingley away.
When he had last seen Bingley, Bingley had been angry at him. And rightly so. Hadn't he told Miss Elizabeth that 'disguise of every sort is my abhorrence'. He had hoped that putting Bingley and Miss Bennet together would atone for his guilt. They would make up and live happily ever after and perhaps – perhaps Miss Elizabeth's antipathy towards him would soften. He and she would often be thrown together in the company of a Mr. and Mrs. Bingley. Perhaps. He shook his head. That was not to be. He was guilty. He was abhorrent.
Darcy was sorely tempted to pour himself a drink, notwithstanding the time of day, notwithstanding his agony of that very morning, but he did not. He would not drown himself in a bottle. He would make things good.
But how?
What could he do for Miss Bennet?
Arrange a marriage to a good gentleman? If only she could lose her existing connections and acquire some worthy ones in addition to a dowry equal at least to Miss Bingley's. If she could do all that she would be perfect for Mintlaw; with her beauty, poise and grace, she would make him an excellent countess. If wishes were horses… He would have to canvas his friends and acquaintances to see if there was someone who would take her as she were. And if he found such a candidate, how would he then effect an introduction? He had no idea; in truth he was the antithesis of a matchmaker; he could only do so much. But if a promising swain did appear, but was wavering, he was prepared to sweeten Miss Bennet's dowry. He could do that for her.
It might be impossible to help Miss Bennet; but it should be possible to help Bingley. Miss Bingley's plan, after they had decamped from Netherfield, was to distract Bingley with the attractions of town. It did not seem to have worked. He would talk to Bingley, have an honest talk with him about Miss Bennet, and with him, work out a plan to move forward. He would not tell him what to do; he would provide Bingley with support, not direction.
There might be some urgency. Bingley had always been of a jovial nature, but recently he had seemed to be heading in a melancholic direction. If he went too far down that path, accompanied by the black dog, he might end up losing himself in drink, or worse.
On that thought Darcy abandoned his mail and hied himself off to Bingley's.
-}{-
When Darcy arrived at Bingley House, he found two cartage wagons parked in front. They were being loaded with trunks and boxes. He went up the steps and knocked on the door jamb, the door being wide open. Darcy could hear that Miss Bingley was in high dudgeon.
Bingley's butler appeared and advised that Mr. Bingley was not in but allowed that Mr. Hurst was and so Darcy asked to speak to him. When Hurst appeared, he took his hat from the butler and motioned at Darcy to follow him down the street. This bemused Darcy as Hurst was not known for taking exercise but he followed.
"You're looking for Bingley," said Hurst.
"Yes."
"Well good luck finding him. He left this morning, heading for Cornwall. He said he's going to be looking at estates to buy but I think he's just looking for himself."
Darcy stared at Hurst. That was the most profound thing he had ever heard Hurst say. Hurst just smiled and shrugged.
"I was afraid I'd find him stinking drunk, unshaven, unwashed, wearing clothes three days old," said Darcy.
Hurst tilted his head. "Then you know what set him off."
"What do you mean?" asked Darcy.
"Two days ago, Bingley came home, in such a temper as I've never seen him, read us the Riot Act, and threw us out." Hurst waved at the wagons back at the house. "Hence the hustle and bustle. Louisa and I are taking Caroline up to Scarborough to hopefully marry her off and then we are off to Wiltshire to stay with my parents. Maybe in a decade or two we can get back into Bingley's good graces. Now why did you think you'd find him all a drunk?"
Darcy sighed. "Three days ago, I confessed all to Bingley; how Miss Bingley, your wife, and I, conspired to separate him from Miss Bennet. About a week ago I heard from a third party… " Darcy was not about to tell Hurst that it was Miss Elizabeth "… that Bingley's departure left Miss Bennet broken hearted. I understood Bingley was going to call on Miss Bennet, who still is in town, two days ago. I don't know exactly what happened, all I know was that Bingley sent me a note that said I quote 'The lady said no'. I'm worried about him."
Hurst shook his head. "He never said anything about seeing Miss Bennet. He did say you had confessed to him. It explains a lot if she turned him down." Hurst stopped walking. "There's not much you, or we, can do now. We've done too much already. Whether we meant to allow it, or not, Bingley is flying free now. Let him go." Hurst held out his hand and Darcy shook it. "I've got to get back before Caroline breaks every ornament in the house. Take care."
"Have a safe trip. If you and your wife are ever near Pemberley do drop in." Darcy watched Hurst walk back to the house. He thought that you never really know a person, do you?
