Page 12 of Mr Darcy Gets Angry

Throughout the morning, Elizabeth had succeeded in turning her thoughts away from Mr Darcy.

Yet once returned to her chamber, she found herself unable to imagine any course of action that did not somehow lead back to him.

Indeed, the most prudent solution to the difficulty at hand would be to inform Mr Darcy as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, such a course might result in a grievous loss of time.

A letter sent to Pemberley and an answer returned to London would require not fewer than four days, and she had no knowledge of when the colonel’s marriage was to take place.

It might already have occurred. She recollected that the Matlocks had intended to leave Pemberley shortly after the Bennets’ own departure; if they had not already reached London, they were doubtless on the road.

Still, she was persuaded that Mr Darcy would attend his cousin’s wedding.

The connection between the two was too strong for him to absent himself from so significant an occasion.

Though Lady Matlock had mentioned that no formal engagement had been announced, Elizabeth was well aware that many marriages took place without a prolonged period of betrothal.

Just before dinner, she found her father in the library. He was alone, reading, and received her with his customary warmth, but the look upon her countenance made him lay aside his book at once.

“Sit down, my dear—what has occurred?”

Elizabeth had made no effort to conceal her agitation upon entering the room, and her father’s question was not unexpected.

“Come, we are quite alone. Brother Gardiner desired a little rest before dinner.”

“Papa, I must speak with you and Uncle Gardiner. And I believe Uncle Phillips must be present also.”

“Is something amiss, my dear?” His voice already bore the note of concern.

“No, Papa, it concerns neither our family nor me, but we need counsel.”

“We—?”

“Yes. Mary and I. We are troubled by a matter…of conscience.”

That was all Mr Bennet could draw from her at present.

Though curious rather than alarmed, he knew his daughter too well to treat the subject lightly.

Lizzy understood the weight of words, and to speak of conscience was no trifling matter.

That Mary should be involved rendered the affair all the more unusual.

∞∞∞

Elizabeth found herself a little daunted by the presence of the three gentlemen. She imagined that Mary, in her turn, must be quite overcome. She therefore resolved to present the matter herself and allow them to decide whether they required further particulars, which Mary could supply.

“I shall be brief, for I know Uncle Phillips must return to his office.”

“Do not concern yourself, my dear,” her uncle said with an obliging smile. “It is always a pleasure to spend time with my brothers and to be of service to my nieces. The office shall survive a day without me.”

He was plainly delighted to be consulted, and his gaze lingered on the two young ladies with affectionate amusement.

“It is a matter concerning Colonel Fitzwilliam, the second son of Lord Matlock, a gentleman for whom I have a sincere esteem. Uncle Gardiner can confirm that Lady Matlock, whom we had the honour of meeting at Pemberley, spoke to us of the colonel’s approaching marriage with a certain Miss Henry.”

Mr Gardiner nodded in quiet assent.

“My wife and Lizzy possess far better memories than I,” said Mr Gardiner with a smile. “I could not recall the name.”

“It was easily remembered, for it was not the first time I had heard it. Last autumn, this young lady was Mr Bingley’s guest at Netherfield for several days, though she departed before the ball.

And now begins the strangest part of the tale.

While she was still in the neighbourhood, Aunt Phillips and Mama were struck by her appearance and fancied they recognised her.

Of course, it was nothing but a trick of time and resemblance.

They believed her to be Miss Sophia Barrington—”

“The daughter of Mr and Mrs Barrington, who once resided in Meryton,” Mr Phillips said, now evidently intrigued.

“Indeed. It could not be Sophia herself, but the resemblance was so marked, chiefly in the colour of the hair, that the mistake was, I think, understandable.”

“They took the daughter for the mother,” observed Mr Bennet.

“Yes. Yet they could not affirm that Miss Henry was Sophia’s child.

It remained no more than a conjecture, based on a rather uncommon trait.

Lady Matlock informed us that Miss Henry’s father died many years ago and that she now resides in the North with her mother.

Uncle Phillips, I believe, knows more of the Barrington family than any of us. ”

“I do. I managed the sale of their house in Meryton. The documents I received stated he was Sophia’s husband, perfectly entitled by his father-in-law to sign in his name.

If he is indeed the young lady’s father, then the first falsehood in her account is already plain, and the matter is both complicated and most disagreeable for your friend, Colonel Fitzwilliam. ”

“So he was…Mr Henry,” Elizabeth hesitated as if she still wanted everything to be nothing but a bad dream.

“I confess I do not remember the name, I will search for it in my documents,” Mr Phillips replied with his well-known love for correctitude.

“Then let us be fair for now and say we do not have enough facts to draw a truthful conclusion,” Mr Bennet decided for them all. “What proof have we that Miss Henry is truly Sophia’s child?”

“Mary may answer that,” Elizabeth replied. All eyes turned to her sister, who, abashed, silently entreated Elizabeth to continue.

“Mary borrowed some books from the library at Netherfield, and some weeks passed, she found within one of them a letter written by Miss Emmeline’s mother.”

Mary, with evident hesitation and frequent blushes, read the letter aloud, as she had done the day before.

“Her mother knows our wives!” Mr Bennet spoke gravely. “And she is familiar with Meryton. That is suddenly too great a coincidence to be ignored.”

“Undoubtedly,” the other gentlemen echoed.

“Due to her fears regarding Mrs Bennet and Mrs Phillips, Sophia is almost sure Miss Emmeline’s mother, but she is certainly married to a Frenchman, who signed the documents in London,” said Mr Gardiner.

“While the colonel is employed at the War Office, and our country is at war with France,” Mr Phillips added. “The matter grows more and more peculiar.”

“The young lady was pushed to marry an officer,” Elizabeth continued simply.

“This may not be the ordinary case of a young woman seeking a husband,” Mr Gardiner completed. “It looks like a scheme—one of deliberate design—to extract information from the colonel for the benefit of that French scoundrel who calls himself emperor.”

“If this is so, then the colonel is in grave danger.” Mr Phillips’s worried voice made them all tremble.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam may be made a traitor without even knowing it. I must tell you, when I met the Frenchman in London, I had the impression he was not at ease in my presence. I wondered at the time whether he had taken some offence during our business dealings. I found him a peculiar fellow. And if Miss Henry is truly his daughter, and they have plotted to entrap the colonel in such a scheme, he must be warned.”

“I agree,” Mr Bennet said, “yet we cannot simply go to the colonel and tell him such a tale. At present, it resembles more a collection of curious facts than a confirmed threat.”

“Besides, the colonel is not in London at present,” Elizabeth said, the worry plainly clouding her beautiful countenance.

“And a man nourishing affection would hardly believe so singular a tale about a lady to whom he is attached,” Mr Gardiner spoke with a conviction of a man knowing his fellows.

Elizabeth thought, with some irony, that only Mr Bingley might be so easily swayed.

“Yet we have a moral obligation to share the information with someone who commands his trust,” she said. “Even if all we have is a strange collection of circumstances—Mama, Aunt Phillips, Miss Henry resembling Sophia…the letter…then the Frenchman who signed the documents.”

“Could you speak with his father?” Mary asked Mr Gardiner in a quiet voice.

“With Lord Matlock? No—certainly not. We exchanged a few civilities, but I agree with my brother Bennet. It is not a tale one gentleman tells another. We do not even know with certainty that Miss Henry is Sophia’s daughter. All we possess is a chain of inferences.”

Elizabeth sighed. She comprehended the reasons behind her father’s and uncles’ restraint, yet she could not bring herself to leave the matter alone.

“Then perhaps I might write to Mr Darcy,” she suggested, attempting to disguise her unease.

“That may be done,” Mr Gardiner said. “I have met the gentleman, and I believe he would understand our concern. We may be mistaken, but if we are not, then Colonel Fitzwilliam is at risk.”

Both Mr Bennet and Mr Phillips agreed that such a letter would be suitable.

“We could write it together,” Mr Gardiner proposed, “and state only what is known, leaving Mr Darcy to draw his own conclusions. If he knows the young lady well, he will know how to judge our report.”

“Indeed, you are quite right,” Mr Phillips nodded, satisfied by the solution.

Under Mr Gardiner’s direction, and with the aid of the others, they drafted a letter that presented the facts plainly: that a letter had been found, seemingly addressed to Miss Henry, containing remarks that suggested knowledge of Meryton and of the Bennet family, as well as curious references to her conduct towards Colonel Fitzwilliam.

They stated no conclusions, merely entrusted Mr Darcy with the task of determining whether the concerns raised had any foundation.

Elizabeth’s thoughts were in disarray. A part of her longed for a simple explanation—that Miss Henry merely wished to secure a husband—and that all suspicions were unfounded.

Yet another part feared a darker truth. And, though she tried to repress it, she could not deny a secret hope: that Mr Darcy, upon receiving their letter, would return to London—and that he might seek her out.

She and Mary felt the need to stroll in fresh air, their minds still full of the morning’s events. They talked until there was no more to say, and upon their return, Elizabeth went in search of her uncle.

“I should like to go to London with you,” she said. “Mr Darcy cannot arrive for several days. I believe it would be wise to speak with Lady Matlock. I am confident she would receive me, and she may possess knowledge of Miss Henry that could clarify this affair.”

Mr Gardiner looked at Mr Bennet, who gave a thoughtful nod.

“Yes, perhaps it is the best course. A mother may influence her son’s judgement more than we.”

“I agree,” Mr Bennet said. “Though I must confess, I remain uneasy. There are too many elements in this tale that align too perfectly for mere chance, yet we do not have certainties.”

“That is my belief also,” said Mr Gardiner. “It is what Brother Phillips said before he hastily left, eager to see the name of the fellow who signed the documents. On the other hand, it would be a great misfortune for such a gentleman to be deceived.”

∞∞∞

“Would you like to come to London with me?” Elizabeth asked Mary, though the answer was already written upon her sister’s delighted face.

Mr Bennet chose not to disclose the whole of the matter to his wife or younger daughters. Once in London, Mrs Gardiner might be informed, as necessary.

“You did well, Mary, to say nothing of the letter. It is a secret that must remain between us.”

To forestall endless questions, Mr Bennet gave a partial account of the affair to his family, thus explaining Elizabeth’s journey.

“My dears, for once, your tittle-tattle has proved useful. We believe Miss Henry kept some information regarding her family from Colonel Fitzwilliam. Together with your uncles, I have resolved to inform the Matlock family of our doubts concerning her. Owing to the friendship between our families, we would rather give a false alarm than allow Colonel Fitzwilliam to make a grave mistake.”

“Elizabeth and Mary shall accompany us to London,” Mr Gardiner said, and the tone of his voice ended all discussion.

Once upstairs, Jane embraced her sister and whispered, “Thank you—thank you.”

“For what?” Elizabeth asked, surprised.

“For taking Mary to London. I could not have gone myself. Papa has received a letter from Mr Bingley.”

Elizabeth’s heart leapt.

“And…?”

“He has asked permission to call upon us once he arrives at Netherfield.”

“And Papa—?”

“He has sent word to Netherfield: Mr Bingley, you are welcome at Longbourn. ”