Beginning, Previous Section, Section XII
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Posted on Friday, 13 June 2008
Although he had been reduced to a most unpleasantly helpless state by the nature of his injuries, no amount of physical discomfort could cause Fitzwilliam Darcy to forsake his pride; and so, as Dr. Grantley prodded about his ribs during a routine examination, Darcy attempted very stalwartly not to betray even the slightest wince for the benefit of his sister and Elizabeth, who were watching attentively while the physician hummed and mumbled to himself as he went about the inspection.
It did not pain Darcy nearly so much as it had even in the previous week – the discomfort was more a sort of trifling soreness than real agony. The tenderness, although irksome, was to be expected, and Dr. Grantley assured him that his ribs had stitched together quite well; it did not appear that any resetting or rebinding would be necessary to complete the process.
At length the good doctor pulled away to scrub his hands in the nearby basin; he looked less grim than usual, which his companions had quickly learned meant the imminent revelation of some sort of excellent news. “Well, Miss Bennet,” he said mildly, replacing a few instruments into his leather handbag, “I believe you may carry on with your preparations for this evening.”
Georgiana let out a cry of pleasure, and Elizabeth reached out and grasped Darcy’s hand excitedly. “There, do you see?” she told him, her eyes bright and shining. “I knew you would be well enough!”
The physician glanced over indulgently at the ladies. “I hope you are feeling well enough to endure the enthusiastic congratulations of all your friends, Mr. Darcy?”
“I d-daresay I c-can manage th-them, th-thank you.”
“Well, I hope you may enjoy it as well as they shall,” he said. “You have my full leave to stay up and about for as long as you choose – but you must promise me that the moment you begin to feel discomfort in your side or your chest, you will return to your bed.”
Darcy, glad of the opportunity to rise from his curtained prison, did not hesitate to give the physician his solemn promise, and the two ladies immediately seconded that oath with one of their own to keep watch over him.
“Good, good.” Dr. Grantley removed his spectacles and placed them carefully in his coat pocket. “Very good indeed. I would not wish you to undo all this improvement because of any sheer perverseness of will.” The pointedness of that particular observation was keenly felt, for the doctor, who had passed a fair amount of years as the Darcys’ personal physician, was well-acquainted with Mr. Darcy’s own peculiar brand of stubbornness. “I have spoken with Mr. Jones, sir, and if you have no objections, I believe I will return to London upon the morrow. Your wounds appear now to be of such a nature as can easily be dealt with by an apothecary – I have left him with instructions on the binding of your ribs, should they begin to pain you too badly. Will that be agreeable, sir?”
Although surprised by the unexpected announcement, Darcy gave his consent readily enough. “Of c-course – you have sp-spent too much t-time here already, away from your family. I th-thank you for your attention.”
Dr. Grantley unbent so far as to smile. “You are very welcome, sir.” He gathered up his bag. “Shall you require assistance downstairs?”
“Phipps and I shall attend him, thank you,” Georgiana said; the doctor nodded, bowed smartly, and went out the door.
“Shall we go, Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth asked.
He eagerly straightened, as if the mere suggestion of departure had given him added strength. “Yes, p-please. Ph-Phipps?”
The valet appeared promptly and shooed the ladies outside. It took only a few minutes to assist Darcy into appropriate clothing, and the gentlemen soon rejoined Georgiana and Elizabeth in the hall.
The journey down the staircase was a slow process, but Darcy managed it quite well, although his legs appeared a little weak from disuse, and by the time they reached the base of the stairwell, he was forced to lean heavily on Phipps’s supporting arm.
Elizabeth hovered anxiously nearby, trying not to interfere every time she saw him falter or misstep. She knew he would not appreciate her help, for she saw it embarrassed him enough to have to rely on the assistance of a manservant to do a task as simple as walking. Beginning to understand Jane’s excessive reluctance to allow Bingley to resume his normal activities, she followed them carefully, filled with concern that more injury to his recovering body might be the lone result of this careless excursion.
After all, it had been little more than four weeks since he had been so badly hurt – and really, what need did he have of coming downstairs at all? Why, it was positively reckless! What had Dr. Grantley been thinking? Staying in bed for another fortnight – or two, just to err on the side of caution – was a much safer alternative.
Despite her fears, he maneuvered the rest of the distance to the parlor with relative ease; the real danger proved to be found in his destination, for as soon as he set foot inside, he was nearly tramped by a veritable herd of Bennets.
“Mr. Darcy!” Mrs. Bennet cried, elbowing through her throng of daughters to pat his cheek in a motherly fashion. “How very sweet it is to see you looking so well – although your face still is cut up something dreadful, poor, dear man.” She tittered. “But never mind that. We are all of us so very glad to see you well again. Are we not, girls?”
There was a chorus of agreement; Jane, with her tender heart, shed a few tears to see him so well recovered, while Bingley – who had lingered in the back to avoid injury to his own person – managed to wriggle forward enough to whisper congratulations to his friend for having escaped from the control of his lovely jailor – who, he presently noticed, was staying very close to Darcy’s side, one hand unconsciously hovering near his arm to support him should he lose his balance among so much bustling activity.
To put her mind at ease and prevent any mishap, Bingley suggested that they might all sit down for a spell, and Mrs. Bennet immediately set to directing her daughters and their guests to seats around the fire. Eager to see that everything was made perfect for this special occasion, Mrs. Bennet had spared no expense in arranging for a lovely meal; one, in fact, which had included such a variety of items as made it impossible for the small kitchen staff to have it ready to serve at the usual hour.
A few minutes, before the arrival of the Darcys downstairs, had been spent in a brief but intense outpouring of vexation over this conundrum; but she had eventually dealt with the delay the only way she could: as soon as everyone was settled, she rang for a tray of refreshments so that her visitors might have something to occupy themselves with in the half-hour they were to sit idle – there would then be employment for the whole party; for though they could not all talk, they could all eat, and in Mrs. Bennet’s experience, a large slice of Mrs. Hill’s gingerseed cake went a long way towards dispelling any impatient humors.
Elizabeth, so occupied with seeing Darcy safely ensconced in a chair, did not for several minutes notice the conspicuous absence of one Bennet in particular. Only when she had risen to serve refreshments from the tray Hill brought did she turn about to ask for her father’s preference as to tea or coffee, and discover that he was not there.
“Jane,” she said quietly to her sister, who had come over to help her, “where is Papa?”
Jane looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I believe he is in his library, Lizzy – there are accounts to be done, I think.”
“He will not join us?”
“I....He said he was very busy today.”
Elizabeth’s hands clenched in her skirts; she could do little but nod and turn her attention back to the cart, trying not to show her dismay.
“Lizzy?” Jane tugged discreetly at her sleeve. “Lizzy, I am sure he truly is busy; it is near to harvest, and he always has so much business to attend to.”
“Not so much that he cannot take an hour or two away from it,” Elizabeth returned. She paused and set aside the teapot, feeling a little ill. “He must be very angry with me.”
“Surely not. Your....” Jane hesitated. “....disagreement...happened days ago. He has certainly forgiven you for any offense.”
“I should be very surprised if he has. I was so angry, and so frightfully rude. No daughter ought to address her father as I did, Jane, no matter the provocation.” She nibbled thoughtfully at her lower lip and her expression darkened, for her musings gave her little pleasure. “He has not done well by us, and his behavior has been so odd these days! I thought he liked Fitzwilliam. I thought, once he knew him....” With more force than was necessary, she set down the pot, resulting in a clatter of china that drew a good deal of attention from the others.
“Lizzy, Jane, do hurry,” Mrs. Bennet fretted. “We will dine soon, and without anything beforehand if you cannot finish. Kitty, go help your sisters.”
“No, no, stay where you are, Kitty. We are almost done.” Elizabeth poured another cup before leaning forward to whisper, “Jane, Papa has been so cold to him, as if he were a stranger, as if he were not welcome here. He only came to visit upstairs once or twice and was civil, but I know Fitzwilliam must have felt it. How could he not? There was so marked a change in Papa’s manner toward him.”
“I hope it is not as you say....Perhaps there has been a misunderstanding?”
Elizabeth smiled ruefully. “I wish I could think so, but I cannot. Papa made it very clear that he does not approve.”
“He has given you his consent already.”
“Yes, and I do not think he would ever rescind his word – but Jane, that does not mean that he is pleased. He did not like it from the first; he tried to warn me away from it, telling me that the entire situation might end badly. He is not being just, not to me, not to Fitzwilliam.” She paused. “Although, all things considered, I cannot say that his predictions were entirely wrong. It will be difficult, Jane, of that I have no doubt. I have been thinking about it of late, ever since....Well, you know.”
Jane’s eyes widened a little; she picked up the teapot distractedly and then promptly put it back down. “You are not regretting anything, are you?”
“What? Oh, no, no – no, never that! How could you think so?”
“I hate to interrupt this conference,” Bingley’s voice cut into their discussion, “but I believe your mother is determined to have her tea.” He picked up one of the readied saucers and paused. “I think I would prefer tea myself, if you have one ready.”
Still absorbed with her conversation with Elizabeth, Jane absently piled a handful of sugar lumps in a teacup and thrust it in Bingley’s direction.
Startled by her abruptness, he took it and started to walk away, only to pause and stare down at the cup in his hands. “Jane?”
She looked over at him a little impatiently, wanting to return to her conversation without any more interruption.
Elizabeth saw the amusement overtake his surprise; he pressed the cup back into her hands. “I do thank you, but I prefer my sugar with a little tea.”
Pink with embarrassment, Jane hurried to fill his cup. Hiding a smile, Elizabeth helped her carry over the rest of the drinks; and occupied with cake and tea and light conversation, the remainder of the thirty minutes passed by pleasantly enough.
Mrs. Hill presently ushered them in to dine; and since the meal was to be an informal one, everyone chose their own places. Elizabeth made certain to sit across from Darcy, where she might be best able to see his face and consequently be sure that he was not being tired unduly by the activity.
Kitty, who had said little at Darcy’s first entrance, came to sit on his other side, smiling shyly at him. “Are you feeling much better, Mr. Darcy? Lizzy says you are.”
“I am, th-thank you, Miss C-Catherine. Your sister has b-been a very attentive nurse.”
Mrs. Bennet giggled. “A vastly handsome thing to say, is it not, Lizzy?”
Elizabeth smiled, the good humor pervading the room making her own spirits rise. She had missed the company of her family – as irritating and tiresome as it often could be – during her long hours spent above-stairs. “Very handsome, indeed,” she said, “but then Mr. Darcy’s opinion is not disinterested. He could scarcely give a report any less glowing in such company as this, no matter how undeserving of praise I might prove to be.”
“I sh-should not have wished for anyone else,” he murmured for only her ears, as Mrs. Bennet launched into a loud rejoinder that her daughters were certainly as well qualified to care for invalids as any other girls.
She peeked at him from over her shoulder. “Is that so? Well, I suppose I have not done anything so very wrong, but I do not think I will take up such an office in the future. I believe I spent most of my time trying to force more food upon you, or falling asleep when I ought to have been watching you. It was very mortifying, you know, to have to be woken up by your valet to find that I was sprawled in that chair with my face buried in your blankets. It was hardly a dignified position.”
“On the c-contrary, Elizabeth – I th-thought the view quite ch-charming.”
The words were spoken in his usual measured tones, but there was such a suggestive tilt to one brow as gave the statement an entirely new meaning. She felt herself begin to color, and then she laughed, swatting him lightly on the arm. “Teasing, teasing man!”
She saw his lips twitch. “I am afraid you c-cannot hold the m-monopoly on the amusement. I d-demand my f-fair share of t-teasing.”
“Oh, very well, if you insist. But you must not make me an object of too much ridicule, Mr. Darcy.”
“I never would d-dare to, Miss B-Bennet. You have b-been involved in th-this study for many years; wh-while I must c-content myself with being nothing more th-than an apprentice in the art. I have great hopes th-that I will improve as t-time goes on, b-but for now, I will not attempt t-too much.”
“I will do my best to be understanding, then,” she said, “since you are not at your full potential.”
“I d-do not suppose you c-could t-torment me now, if only for the s-sake of your own c-conscience. You must have b-been t-taught never to compound injury with insult.”
“Yes, it would make me seem the worst sort of villain. Very well, you are safe from harassment now. I hope you will accustom yourself once you are better, for I can be a merciless sort of creature.”
He smiled. “So th-there may be an advantage t-to all this after all?”
Mary, spying the opportunity for a well-placed platitude, adjusted her spectacles to peer at him sternly over the rims. “We are reminded, Mr. Darcy, that trials, sent to test our fortitude, may reveal themselves to be blessings in disguise. We ought not to despair over such trivialities, for once the tribulation is concluded, there is a reward to be found in having preserved our strength of character.”
Lydia, who had taken a chair next to Mary, rolled her eyes; and sought to turn the conversation to her own satisfaction before Mary could say anything more, leaning across her sister’s plate to tug insistently on Mr. Darcy’s sleeve.
“Are you quite as well as the doctor says?” she demanded, the instant Darcy favored her with his attention. “You do not look half so bad as you did before – we were all quite frightened for you then. Are you sure you feel so well to be out of bed?”
“I b-believe I am. I am s-sorry to hear my ap-pearance alarmed you.”
She waved her hand in a gesture that struck him as being very reminiscent of her mother’s nervous flutterings. “Not at all – you were not that horrid; besides, the scars make you look very dashing.” There was a contemplative pause as she tipped back to study his face. “You look rather like a pirate, I think.”
“Just like ‘Pagan’ Paddington Pomferrey!” Kitty giggled.
Darcy blinked. “Paddington who?”
“‘Pagan’ Paddington Pomferrey – he is the gallant captain of the HMS Marauder, of course, from Mrs. Byrne’s The Pagan Pirate,” Lydia informed him loftily. “Pagan used to be an officer under the King’s service, before he was unjustly imprisoned by the wicked Marquis of Tiebauld –”
“On spurious charges of treason,” Kitty cut in.
“– and when he was released seven years later, he renounced the navy and took to sailing the high seas with a crew of infamous brigands, raiding any English ship that dared to approach the Marauder.” Lydia lowered her voice conspiratorially. “And he steals not only jewels and spices but also any beautiful maiden who is unlucky enough to be on board a ship when it is raided. In fact, he is so wild that he was given the nickname ‘Pagan,’ for they said that he lost all regard for propriety and decency during his years in gaol.”
“But he is very handsome,” Kitty again interrupted, “and he is quite reformed after he meets Lady Seraphina Silverveil, who is the only daughter of the Lord Mayor of Gavelberry. Pagan kidnaps her right off her father’s frigate and carries her away, and they have the most marvelous adventures.”
“I s-see.”
“Kitty and I are quite wild for it – we could not stop reading once we had got it from the lending library. Would you like to borrow it?”
“I th-thank you, b-but I th-think you would b-better enjoy it than I,” Darcy said gravely.
“Oh, very well then, but you do not know what you’re missing.” Lydia wrinkled her nose at Elizabeth, who was listening with great amusement. “But Lizzy does not care for Mrs. Byrne’s novels – she prefers boring old histories, I suppose. Romances are not grand enough for her.”
“Lydia,” Jane said mildly, “Lizzy may read what she cares to. Her tastes simply differ from yours.”
“I don’t see why you should scold me, Jane,” Lydia sniffed, “for you read The Pagan Pirate twice yourself.”
Elizabeth glanced over with widened eyes at her elder sister, who reddened and looked down guiltily at her hands.
Concealing an involuntary chuckle under the guise of a cough, Darcy remarked, “I assure you, Miss L-Lydia, th-that should I ever have the d-desire to avail myself of a g-good novel, I will look to Mrs. B-Byrne first.”
Lydia favored him with a smile for that piece of diplomacy, but any further discussion of novels, good or otherwise, was forestalled by the unanticipated entrance of Mr. Bennet. There was a moment of stillness as the elder gentleman paused just inside the door, looking sedately out over the assembled company. Elizabeth hardly knew where to look or what to say – but Darcy bravely met his eyes and ventured a smile.
Mr. Bennet gave no outward indication that he had noticed; he offered his wife a brief apology for arriving late and took his seat at the head of the table. He gave no explanation, nor any other word of greeting.
The meal was promptly served, but Elizabeth could not enjoy it. Her attention returned every other minute to her father, who ate and spoke little and watched the interaction along the table with a brooding air.
At length, unable to countenance it, she made to bold to inquire, “Has your business been finished to your satisfaction, Papa?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Never had Elizabeth found it so difficult to find something to say. “I...I hope it was not very tedious?”
“Not very.” He set down his fork and motioned to the attending servant to refill his wineglass.
“Oh.”
Darcy took pity on her and added his own contribution. “Have you h-had much s-success with your harvest th-this year, sir?”
“A tolerable amount.”
“My st-steward has informed me th-that the crops in D-Derbyshire are doing rather p-poorly. The p-past few years have seen a f-fair decrease in rainfall.”
The elder man nodded and turned his attention back to his meal, but a new glumness seemed to descend upon him. Darcy exchanged a worried look with Elizabeth but said nothing more; and apart from the occasional sporadic outburst of chatter from Mrs. Bennet and her youngest daughters, the only sound in the room was the muted clink of silverware.
The dessert plates were cleared away, and before Mrs. Bennet could suggest that the ladies retire to the drawing room, Mr. Bennet rose. Linking his hands behind his back and clearing his throat, he began, “Jane, have you and Mr. Bingley set a new date?”
“No, Papa.” She looked over inquiringly at Bingley, who hastened to add, “We should prefer sometime sooner than later, sir – but not so speedily that Darcy cannot stand up for me at the ceremony.”
Mr. Bennet nodded somberly. “Mr. Darcy, would you care to have the business done shortly as well?”
Darcy was not quick enough to hide his bewilderment. “It is of no imp-port t-to me when Miss Bennet and my f-friend ch-chose to wed. I sh-should b-be happy to stand up for him any t-time.”
“I meant,” he replied, with a faintly amused look, “when you and my daughter should like to marry.”
For a moment both Elizabeth and Darcy could not speak. “Marry soon?” the former cried, forgetting herself and their interested audience. “What of the six months?”
Her father appeared somewhat pained. “I see no reason to prolong this business.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Bennet squealed. “What a fine thing, Lizzy! You shall not have to wait, for I have always said long engagements for young people never come to any good in the end – two more months is so far away...but oh! – why should you all not be married together? A double wedding! – Is that not a fine notion?”
Oddly enough, the notion was a fine one, and it took only a moment for the rest of the family to agree. Bingley and Jane did not resent the loss of exclusive attention; what could be more natural for the dearest of sisters and two intimate friends than to marry on the same day? Darcy and Elizabeth, although initially unprepared for such an easy settlement, soon grew to favor the idea, for their own eagerness to wed seemed perfectly cast for this solution.
Mr. Bennet did not provide his own opinion, and when everyone looked to him for his consent to the scheme, he only said that he would begin making the arrangements as soon as they settled upon a date. With that, he offered his brief congratulations to the four and left the dining parlor.
Elizabeth, with some alarm, rose and hurried after her father; she found him in his library, just as he was settling back behind his desk to sort through a stack of papers. He glanced up once as she came in and turned back to his business, gesturing for her to sit.
“I believe you are still displeased with me,” she said without preamble, “but I beg you would not hold Mr. Darcy to blame for what I said.”
“Correct me if I am wrong,” replied he, with an edge of exasperation to his voice, “but I do think I have just given my assent for you to marry sooner than we had agreed. That does not much speak of resentment, Elizabeth.”
“I suppose not,” she admitted. With disquieted eyes she watched him rise to stand in front of the window, his back turned to her. “But why? You were so fixed on having us wait a six-month.”
For a moment she did not believe he would answer. “I have been thinking much on what you said to me.”
“Papa, I am sorry...”
“I am not soliciting an apology, child,” he interrupted. “Pray, do me the service of allowing me to finish. I am an old man, and I have neither the time nor any patience to spare for this constant circumvention. Now let me finish, if you please.”
Elizabeth closed her mouth and waited.
“Thank you. As I said, you cast me in the unenviable position of being an enemy to either my daughter or my own conscience, by delaying your marriage.” Before Elizabeth could dispute this, he raised one hand. “Please, let me finish. Taking on that role does not settle well with me, Lizzy. I did not know that you resented a long engagement so much.”
“It was not the long engagement itself, Papa,” Elizabeth said softly. “It was that you did not restrict Jane and Bingley to one – only Mr. Darcy and I.”
“I had not thought you prone to sisterly jealousies.”
“You know that is not why. If Mr. Darcy were more like Mr. Bingley – if he were not deaf – you would have had no compunction in allowing us to marry within the normal period.”
Mr. Bennet had little alternative but to accede to that truth. “Yes, but his deafness is not a small problem, child. You have seen for yourself how it is received by others.” He bent forward across the desk, appearing more serious than she had ever seen him. “Are you quite sure, Elizabeth, that you can bear this sort of estrangement? By aligning yourself with him, you put yourself in a position of equal danger. Can you respect him, can you trust him, enough to risk your good name and secure position? Do you believe that he can adequately protect you from such things as were perpetrated against him last month? You cannot change what he is.”
“I have no wish to change what he is.” Elizabeth chose her words carefully, wanting above everything to make her father understand. “Some people look at Mr. Darcy and all they can see are the differences. They hear the oddity of his speech, not what he is saying. They see that he cannot hear, not that he can understand them despite it, that he can feel and think and act as everyone else can. He is...he is so much more than his limitations, Papa.
“His deafness is a part of him, yes. I would be a fool to pretend otherwise...but do you not see? I don’t care for him in spite of his difficulties, but rather because they are a part of who he is. I have little doubt that, had he never been struck with that fever, he would have been a different man. Could I have loved that man too? I suppose I shall never know.
“He is not a tragic hero – he is not always easy to love, or even to like – but he is still the best man I have ever known, and I do not say that lightly.”
Mr. Bennet did not immediately reply, and Elizabeth, having said all that she possibly could, waited in quiet suspense.
“Well, Lizzy,” he said at last, “I must give you credit for eloquence of argument, if nothing else. You appear to comprehend the man very well, and I daresay you are old enough to know what you are doing.”
Hardly listening, she studied his expression for some indication that he understood, but she saw nothing to give her comfort.
“Your implied criticism, by the by,” he continued, “has been acknowledged – I shall endeavor to be more than uncommonly civil. If you like, I may flatter and fawn over him as much as your mother does.”
Elizabeth was tempted to observe that even Mrs. Bennet’s excessive and possibly insincere treatment of her future son was both kinder and more reasonable than his persistent disapprobation; but she did not say it, for stirring up more discord could only result in another argument and worsen her father’s opinion of her own judgment.
“I will say no more to try and coerce you into anything else. I can see that it is a fruitless effort, and it ought not to have ever been attempted.”
It was as near an apology as she was going to receive, and Elizabeth accepted it as graciously as was possible under the circumstances.
“If that is all, you might as well rejoin our guests in the drawing room. Mr. Darcy will be wanting your company, I am sure.” He glanced over his shoulder and briskly waved one hand toward the door. “Go on, then.”
She went to the threshold but hesitated there, turning round. “Thank you.”
“Do not thank me,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed on the darkening sky. “A father wants everything best for his daughters; but you are a woman now, and you must make your own choices and your own mistakes.” He sighed and leaned against the window frame, looking suddenly both very old and very tired. “Uncertain I may be about the wisdom of your choice, Elizabeth, but I will not stand in the way of your happiness.”
After their brief visit to Longbourn a week before, Mr. Breckenridge and his constable had not made any further contact with Mr. Darcy, whether it was out of disgust for his refusal to help or a simple need to divert their attention to where it could benefit their efforts most.
It was a surprise then when Mrs. Hill again entered the parlor to tell the ladies that Mr. Cameron was waiting in the hallway to speak with the gentlemen. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were duly fetched from the gardens and the company of their respective fiancées, and were shown into the drawing room, where the constable awaited them.
“Gentlemen,” he began, bowing politely as Bingley assisted his friend into a chair. “It is a pleasure to see you looking so well recovered.”
“Thank you.” Bingley took a seat next to Darcy and invited the other man to sit as well. “May we assist you with something, Mr. Cameron?”
The constable smiled. “Not this time, sir. Mr. Breckenridge sent me to tell you that there is no longer a need for identification of the three men we spoke to you about last time.”
“No n-need? Have they c-confessed?”
“Not exactly.” Mr. Cameron settled himself more comfortably on the settee, his round face alight with satisfaction. “One man confessed to his own involvement...as well as everyone else’s. Seems the poor lad didn’t have the stomach for crime. We hardly had to do anything; he only required a little coercion to spill out the entire story. Gave us all the names, he did.”
Bingley and Darcy exchanged uncertain glances. “What will you do with them?” the former asked nervously, imagining three hangings at dawn or dismembered heads rolling about on the lawn in front of the gaol.
“They’ll be shipped off to Newgate for deportation, I imagine,” the constable said cheerfully. “No need for a trial, since we have all the confessions. It won’t take much to have them sent off first thing next week.”
Relieved that the penalty wouldn’t involve anything as ghastly as a public execution, Bingley released an indrawn breath. “Oh.”
As if reading his thoughts, the constable chuckled. “Aye, they’ll not be strung up like they ought to be, but a ship bound for Australia will be punishment enough. I imagine they’ll wish they were dead by the time they arrive there.”
This dire prediction did little to reassure Bingley. “How long will they stay there, if they are sent away?”
“Seven years at least, and then they will be up for review. Provided they live that long, of course.”
Darcy had kept silent throughout the men’s discussion, looking contemplative. “What of th-their families?”
Mr. Cameron seemed taken aback by the question, as though the thought had never occurred to him. “I suppose they will have to do as anyone else in their position does: turn to relatives for assistance, or perhaps to the church. They will scrape out a living somehow. People will pity them and help – I very much doubt that anyone will starve for their folly.”
“Mr. S-Simmons’s wife has a very young ch-child – little more th-than a b-baby, I th-think.”
“Yes, well, Mary Ellen is a sensible sort of woman. She’ll manage tolerably well – indeed, I imagine she’ll be better off without that fool husband of hers. He misspent what little money he did earn as it was.”
“D-Do any of the others have ch-children?”
“None but Hattie Watt, and her sons are all grown and married. The other man isn’t married – he’s still a boy himself – and his mother has been under the protection of the church for some years now.
“Out of the first group we arrested, four had wives,” Mr. Cameron paused, trying to remember the exact numbers, “and I believe that three had children. Those men have been deported for a few weeks already, though – if their widows needed help, Dr. Lawrence would have been alerted to it by now.”
“Their widows?”
The constable seemed amused by Bingley’s ignorance. “Aye, for their husbands are as good as dead to them. Even if they survive the prison colony, they can never return to Meryton for shame of it, and no decent woman would take them back if they did.”
This sobering reflection was enough to quiet Bingley’s curiosity. The constable, recollecting the other item of business that had drawn him forth to Longbourn, promptly added, “Mr. Darcy, I had meant to inquire if Colonel Fitzwilliam is also available today.”
“No, I am afraid he isn’t – my c-cousin is in London at p-present, attending to some b-business there.”
“Bad luck, then. I had hoped he might be here; the lad gave us some other information which I thought might be useful to the colonel’s search. Well, perhaps it can wait until he returns to Hertfordshire. Have you any idea when that might be?”
“What s-search?”
Mr. Cameron looked at him queerly. “For Mr. Wickham. I understand the colonel has been trying to sniff him out for weeks. Hard to find anyone in London – it’s not too remarkable that he hasn’t found any sign of him yet.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “I s-see. And you were g-given information about Mr. W-Wickham’s whereabouts by this gentleman?”
“Not exactly – the boy just confirmed that the lieutenant had been involved in the scheme. Mr. Wickham apparently did not participate in the attack itself, but he encouraged the men’s actions. The rumors are nothing new to you, I am sure, but Wickham had been spreading some highly unsavory things about you and Miss Darcy in the taproom.”
“He spoke of my sister?” An angry flush rose up in Darcy’s cheeks.
“And Miss Bennet, I believe. Supposedly he intimated that you had somehow forced her into an engagement and had a past history of...” Mr. Cameron broke off upon seeing the young man’s expression. “Well, perhaps that is best left unsaid. In any case, he certainly instigated the assault.”
“Mr. W-Wickham fled t-to London?”
“He was traced as far as the outskirts of the city. I believe Colonel Fitzwilliam made contact with your sister’s companion, but she disappeared as well before he could obtain Wickham’s direction.”
“And so my c-cousin has b-been looking f-for him all th-these weeks.”
“Yes, of course.”
Darcy’s frown deepened; Mr. Cameron, somewhat confused, decided that the interview had better come to a conclusion, and he rose. “Well, gentlemen, I hope this has put your minds at ease.”
“Yes, it has,” Bingley said, when Darcy did not immediately answer. “Thank you for taking the trouble to inform us, Mr. Cameron.”
Darcy shook himself from his contemplations long enough to second the thanks and shake the constable’s hand. Mr. Cameron, content in having done his duty, left in good spirits, leaving the two men to mull over this startling development.
Bingley, not one for lingering in gloomy reflection, wished for Jane’s steadying company, and suggested that they might return to the garden and more amiable company. Expecting Darcy to follow, he went all the way out the door before realizing that his friend was not behind him.
Darcy, left alone in the room, walked slowly over to the escritoire, easing himself down into the chair and wincing a little at the pull of tense muscles. After drawing out a crisp sheet of parchment, he set to sharpening one of the quills.
Bingley poked his head around the doorjamb. “Darcy?”
“G-Go on without me,” he said grimly, flipping open the inkpot, “and k-kindly t-tell Elizabeth I will rejoin her as s-soon as I c-can – I have a l-letter to write first.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine