Page 36 of Moments Frozen in Time (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
DARCY
W ithin a few days, I received confirmation from the Gardiners that Elizabeth was not in London. That same day, but later in the afternoon, a letter arrived from the man I had sent north. He had managed to trace Elizabeth’s path along the Great North Road and was continuing to search for her.
Had the rain not begun in earnest just before this second message arrived, I would have left Netherfield at once.
As it was, travel became nearly impossible—the roads had turned to mud, and even the couriers were delayed.
Thus, I reluctantly resigned myself to remaining for Bingley’s ball, scheduled for Tuesday.
I could not bring myself to enjoy the prospect, but the delay was unavoidable.
I resolved to begin my own journey north as soon as the weather allowed it.
During those bleak, sodden days, the only news that brought me any satisfaction came from Richard.
Wickham had been removed from the militia in Hertfordshire.
My cousin had seen to it personally—Wickham had been shipped off to Portugal, where he would remain until Napoleon was either caught or killed.
Richard ensured he was placed under the command of a strict officer, one unlikely to permit any desertion.
It was a small consolation, perhaps, but a satisfying one nonetheless.
I hoped never to deal with Wickham again and was looking forward to telling Georgiana that he would never plague her again.
Alas, the storm that detained me at Netherfield was irksome in itself, yet made infinitely worse by the company.
Miss Bingley had either not heard or refused to believe my firm declaration that I had spoken in the village and to Mrs. Bennet that I was not engaged to her or to my cousin.
I had stopped short of denying any engagement altogether—I could not do so.
I was engaged, though Elizabeth’s father had not yet given his blessing, and I had not been able to speak to her since.
Miss Bingley continued to plague me, seeking my company, asking me to take a turn with her, and offering assistance that I neither needed nor wanted.
In short, she was a pest, and she was determined to capture me.
After the first day of this, I took to hiding in Bingley’s study and the billiards room since even the sanctuary of the library was no longer safe. Miss Bingley had begun ordering a fire lit in the room first thing each morning and ensured that it was kept burning throughout the day.
Before the rain settled in, I was able to inform Miss Lydia of the news I had heard from her uncle.
On Thursday—three days after Elizabeth’s departure from Longbourn—I accompanied Bingley and his sister to distribute invitations for the ball, which included a stop at the Bennet estate.
The only news I could give Miss Lydia was that her sister had not gone to London, though she had already learnt that much from the footman who accompanied Elizabeth on the first part of her journey.
The rain also delayed Lady Catherine’s visit, although several letters from her arrived in her stead.
The first came three days after Elizabeth’s departure and two days after my unpleasant introduction to Mr. Collins and his revelation that he had written to my aunt.
In it, my aunt questioned my honour, my judgement, my suitability as guardian to Georgiana, and even my competence to manage Pemberley—all based on the parson’s absurd report of my supposed secret engagement to Miss Bingley .
I replied with brevity, informing her that I was not engaged to Miss Bingley and never would be.
I clarified that the rumour was false and added, for good measure, that I was not engaged to her daughter either.
As I had done several times before, I admonished her for speaking so freely of such matters, especially to a man as prone to gossip as Mr. Collins.
It would make no difference—nothing ever did with Lady Catherine—but the act of writing the letter gave me a measure of peace.
My mother had not liked her sister—of that I had always been aware—and in the quiet moments following the encounter with her spirit at the assembly, I found myself recalling more of what she had told me in the weeks before she died.
I had not recognised it then, but she had been preparing me for a future without her.
More and more I found myself remembering little hints of things she had said about the woman I would one day marry and encouragement to care for my sister, as well as my father.
The second letter from my aunt arrived on Monday morning.
In it, she had harsh words for me, both for my letter to her denying the engagement and whatever tripe her fool of a parson had written to her about my relationship with the Bennets.
I skimmed through the letter quickly, but when I would have burnt it, I decided instead to forward it to my uncle.
He knew that I would never marry Anne and had told his sister the same, but I hoped that this time, he could address this nonsense with her.
Of course, I informed him that I did not have designs on a fifteen-year-old who was a few months younger than Georgiana, as Lady Catherine’s letter claimed.
Apparently Mr. Collins had mistakenly informed my aunt about my speaking to Miss Lydia as indicative of my interest in her and had assigned my refusal to marry Anne to my being enamoured with his youngest cousin.
Although I had already informed his wife, I also wrote to my uncle about the rumours that both Lady Catherine and Miss Bingley were attempting to spread.
Once I had that business settled, I was surprised to find another letter sent from Carlisle.
Apparently, the man searching for Elizabeth had traced her as far as Newcastle upon Tyne, but there, it had grown cold.
Now, he intended to backtrack westward and had arrived in Carlisle, intending to head into Scotland, suspecting she might have taken a different route north.
According to him, my Elizabeth had been wise, using her name at each stop and speaking to as many of the maids and innkeepers as she could, making her trail easier to trace.
She was accompanied by a maid and a manservant, so I knew she was safe, but she never mentioned a destination.
I supposed that meant that she did not know where she was going, but at least she had left these crumbs to make it somewhat easier to track her whenever she did arrive.
By late Monday, the rain had abated sufficiently that I might have departed the following morning, yet I resolved to remain.
I was unwilling to disappoint my friend by leaving so near to his ball, especially after the pains he had taken in its preparation.
A more urgent matter, however, was my need to speak with the Misses Bennet—most particularly Miss Lydia—concerning what I had learnt.
Nevertheless, I made it clear to my friend on more than one occasion that I intended to depart at first light on the morrow, regardless of either weather or circumstance.
One matter, however, was not to be debated: I would not, under any circumstance, stand up with his sister—particularly after the falsehoods she had chosen to circulate concerning me.
Rather, I informed Bingley of my intention to dance with each of Elizabeth’s four sisters, as well as with several of her friends, including Miss Charlotte Lucas.
That last name lingered in my thoughts. Charlotte was a close friend of Elizabeth’s, and I began to wonder whether she might have knowledge others lacked.
According to Miss Lydia, she and her sisters had discussed Elizabeth’s silence, but none were yet concerned—after all, it was not unusual for a letter to be delayed when travelling to or from London.
That said, tomorrow evening’s gathering might present an opportunity to speak with Miss Lucas and learn more .
As the evening of the ball drew near, I found myself wishing it concluded already.
There was the possibility that a few glasses of wine might loosen Mrs. Bennet’s tongue and elicit some overlooked detail.
I likewise hoped that Miss Lydia might have stumbled upon another fragment of intelligence to aid my search.
Ordinarily, I should not have approved of gossip or eavesdropping, yet in this instance their usefulness forbade me from censuring her for acquiring information by whatever means she could.
Despite Miss Bingley’s attempts to manipulate me into standing in the receiving line, I remained upstairs.
A few days ago, I had discovered a sitting room at the front of the house on the second floor.
Tonight, it was perfect for my purposes since it overlooked the drive where all the guests would be arriving.
Whilst I might not be able to distinguish much about each guest as they arrive, I would be able to see a carriage that contained five ladies and two gentlemen.
Unsurprisingly, the Bennets were amongst the first to arrive.
I caught sight of a flurry of gowns as the sisters—sans Elizabeth, my heart reminded me—attempted to descend from the carriage, and I nearly laughed aloud when I noticed Mr. Collins climbing down from the coachman’s seat.
Even at a distance, it was clear that the descent was no easy feat for the man—tall, stout, and thoroughly unsuited to the elevated perch.
I chuckled quietly as he scrambled awkwardly to the ground, aided by both the Bennet footman and one of Bingley’s.
I could well imagine Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty’s amusement at the spectacle.
Two of the sisters leant in conspiratorially, then linked arms and made their way up the steps behind a couple I presumed to be Mr. and Mrs. Bennet.
The remaining two followed soon after, their arms likewise entwined, leaving Mr. Collins to trail behind them alone.