Page 33 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
I had just turned to speak to Miss Lydia, hoping to issue a warning about Wickham, when the clergyman I had barely noticed earlier stepped forward and addressed me with overbearing enthusiasm.
“Mr. Darcy!” he cried. “Did I hear that your name is Mr. Darcy? The Mr. Darcy of Pemberley? The nephew of my most esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. What an honour! You will be pleased to know that your aunt, whom I had the privilege of seeing just yesterday before leaving Kent, is in excellent health—as is your betrothed, the charming Miss Anne de Bourgh. She?—”
His stream of obsequious praise came to an abrupt halt as I turned to face him, my expression darkening with fury.
“You presume far too much, sir,” I said icily.
“I am not engaged to my cousin, and you have no right to speak of private family matters of which you clearly have no full understanding. Moreover, you have taken it upon yourself to address me without the courtesy of a proper introduction—and in front of these ladies, who, I presume, are your hosts and, it seems, your relations.”
“But I am a clergyman, Mr. Darcy,” the man replied, puffing himself up, attempting to make himself taller, but still, he was several inches shorter than me.
“Surely that grants me a measure of leniency regarding society’s stricter conventions.
And how can you contradict your beneficent aunt?
Lady Catherine herself assured me that you are engaged to her daughter—that the arrangement was made between her and your late mother.
Surely their wishes must carry weight in your marital prospects? ”
“Sir,” I said, my voice now sharp with rising anger, “I must insist you stop speaking on matters you neither know nor comprehend.”
I turned to Miss Lydia, striving for some explanation. “Miss Lydia, who is this man, and why does he presume to speak to me in this manner?”
“I cannot say why he presumes to speak, Mr. Darcy,” she replied with a shrug and a spark of impertinence that called Elizabeth instantly to mind, “but he is my father’s cousin—Mr. William Collins, a rector from Kent.
He has come, as I understand it, on his own invitation, to ‘extend an olive branch’ to our family. ”
“On his own invitation,” I murmured to myself, nearly laughing aloud at the absurdity of such a man inviting himself into his cousin's home. I wondered what sort of ‘olive branch’ he believed he was extending—and, more pressingly, I wondered what that had to do with Elizabeth’s absence.
Before I could pursue either line of thought, the man once again forced himself into my attention.
“I have been told, sir, by my hostess, Mrs. Bennet,” he said loudly—far too loudly— “that there is a lady here in Meryton who claims to be secretly engaged to you.” His voice carried across the street, drawing the curious glances of several passersby.
“Naturally, I assured her she must be mistaken. I have already posted a letter to my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine, for I am certain she would wish to be informed of such a bold claim.”
A humourless chuckle escaped me, and beside me, Bingley turned sharply. “Is he—? Is he referring to my sister? Has Caroline been telling people in Meryton that you and she are secretly engaged?”
“Yes,” Lydia answered before I could speak.
“I have heard whispers of it myself. But when it was mentioned to me, I told the person they were being utterly foolish. Mr. Darcy would never enter into a secret engagement—least of all with Miss Bingley. If he were inclined to marry his friend’s sister, he would first speak to that friend, openly and honourably.
The only reason for secrecy might be if the lady’s parents refused the match for no good reason—but even then, Mr. Darcy strikes me as the sort who would prefer matters handled plainly and with integrity. ”
I inclined my head slightly towards her in gratitude. Miss Lydia Bennet, for all her youthful exuberance, had surprised me once again. From her words, I deduced that Elizabeth had told her of our understanding, and I wondered if she had information that would relieve my mind about her whereabouts.
“Miss Lydia, where are you going next?” I asked, making a conscious decision to ignore Mr. Collins entirely.
“We are to call on my Aunt Phillips,” she said aloud, then lowered her voice. “I will do what I can to contradict the nonsense that Miss Bingley has been spewing. Lizzy told you about what Mama and that lady said, did she not?”
I gave a slight nod, and Lydia continued without hesitation.
“She has written you a letter. Mama sent her to the Gardiners yesterday afternoon—or so my parents claimed. Lizzy promised to write, but I overheard Mama and Papa speaking last night, and I began to suspect they might have sent her somewhere else entirely. I cannot be sure, but I thought I heard Mama mention Scotland. Scotland, Mr. Darcy! I have no idea why they would send her so far, but I listened long enough to realise they are making sure she cannot send or receive letters. Miss Bingley’s name came up more than once, and Mama is convinced that keeping Lizzy away from you is the only way to help Jane secure your friend. ”
For a moment, I was struck silent, stunned by the implications of what she had revealed .
“As your elder and as someone who intends to one day be your brother, I ought to scold you for eavesdropping so often,” I said finally, “but it is difficult to object when you bring me such valuable intelligence. I will write to the Gardiners immediately and attempt to determine whether she is truly in London. If she is not, then I must begin searching elsewhere.”
I hesitated, already dreading the logistics.
“Since you and I cannot correspond directly, we must find a way to communicate once I leave here. Perhaps you might write to my sister Georgiana and include a few lines meant for me. But if I am travelling to search for Elizabeth, it may not be easy to receive your letters in a timely manner.”
Miss Lydia’s brow furrowed. “Then we had best act quickly. If they mean to keep her hidden, we cannot allow them too much of a head start. You should send men to enquire at the inns along the road. They will not have used our family’s coach for the entire journey—Papa said it was to return later today—so they must have hired post horses or secured a fare somewhere.
Since they departed at noon yesterday, you can estimate how far they may have travelled by nightfall. ”
I could not help but smile at the girl who, in her own way, was becoming nearly as dear to me as Georgiana.
“An excellent suggestion, Miss Lydia. I shall go at once to the general store to purchase paper and ink so I may write my letters and send them directly. Is there a tea shop or somewhere nearby where I might sit and compose them?”
She pointed out a modest tea room just beyond the market square, and we agreed to meet again in an hour.
First, I engaged a boy to ride to Netherfield with instructions to fetch one of my footmen and a horse for him to ride.
The man I intended to send north to make enquiries would require ready funds and the means to change horses frequently.
I would direct him to visit the inns I believed Elizabeth might have reached by nightfall, in the hope of discovering some clue that could lead me to her.