Page 29 of Mr Darcy Gets Angry

“I entered, with the orderly, into Miss Henry’s chamber, even as the cries sounded from the next apartment.

Though she sought to escape, we restrained her, obliging her to remain without explanation, though all the while she pressed us to tell her what had passed.

She did not cease for a moment. Yet towards the end, I believe she understood, and sank upon a couch, pale, and plainly in fear. ”

“Mrs Avery, however, remained defiant until we departed. My opinion is that she is not at her first offence of this kind. She shewed remarkable presence of mind and composure,” Darcy said with profound contempt.

“Mr Winston stayed to deliver them when the soldiers from the garrison should arrive, and he will doubtless remain to the end, to render account.

I am persuaded he knows well how to assist the colonel.

He is a man of understanding and of probity, who discerned at once the wickedness of the ladies and the innocence of the colonel.

“Then, just before I entered the Colonel’s room with the documents, I dispatched one of the servants with the whole story to Lord Matlock.”

“Finally, Miss Henry appeared more alarmed than her aunt,” Mr Gardiner said.

“That lady is no aunt—unless Mr Henry conveyed his sister into England and altered her name. But that is improbable as she speaks with no foreign accent,” Darcy replied, searching for Elizabeth’s hand as she spoke.

“Then it is the sadder: three Englishwomen betraying their country. That Frenchman is a devil, and I hope they will seize him and give him the punishment he deserves.”

“Miss Henry said, amongst other things, while we waited, that she had agreed to draw some maps of the neighbourhood, but never to steal intelligence from the colonel.”

“I think it matters little what she knew or denied: she perceived what was passing, and her guilt is manifest. Perhaps she may yet escape with her life.”

“What are you saying?” Elizabeth cried.

“What did you suppose, my dearest?” Darcy spoke with gentleness, pained that his betrothed should be brought so near to the darkest truth of life. “The penalty for treason is death.”

That happened in books, in the tales they had read, but Elizabeth had never imagined that a story begun in their quiet countryside could end thus.

She abhorred Miss Henry for seeking to ruin the colonel’s life, yet when she remembered the young lady she had admired at Netherfield, she was sorry.

She, alone among them all, might plead the excuse of youth and of having been brought up by those wretches who had corrupted both her heart and her mind.

“The only good part is that they did not marry,” Elizabeth whispered, though they were amid desolation, and the dark night surrounded them.

“But not because he was unwilling. I am persuaded she never intended it. At least, that was not her parents’ design.”

“What if she at last loved him? The colonel is such a gentleman—and a gentle man.”

“My dear, you ladies seek love in every situation—”

“It is all we possess, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth’s tone recalled their discourses in the Netherfield parlour, and Darcy smiled in the dark.

He adored this Elizabeth, looking upon him with tender eyes.

Yet he did not wish to lose the untamed lady with witty replies for every statement that displeased her.

He fancied that he might behold again the Elizabeth who had refused him at the parsonage, while in the carriage sat the one who had ventured through the night for a friend.

He cared not which Elizabeth was beside him—the indignant one, the teasing one, or the woman in love.

When he closed his eyes, he saw her in his bed; the only vision of his dear Elizabeth he did not yet know was the woman herself—her body, her entire surrender to his love.

And he wondered whether she might not prove an enchantress who would lead him to abiding happiness.

“I would have stood at the church door and never let him enter, to prevent that marriage.”

Elizabeth could picture her future husband barring the Colonel and Miss Henry from entering the church.

“Enough of this villainy,” he said. She discerned only a shadow in the carriage’s depth, yet she felt his energy. “Henceforth, the complete story will remain between the three of us.”

And it was a command they accepted without any doubt.

In years to come, Elizabeth and Darcy might speak of those events which in some measure had brought them together. For the present, they must still the mill of thoughts that threatened to overwhelm their peace and crush their happiness.

“Mr Darcy is right,” said Mr Gardiner, speaking for them all with dignity and honour. “Lord and Lady Matlock shall know the truth, but for the rest we shall say only that the Colonel did not marry the lady.”

“And let Lady Matlock decide what is to be disclosed to Mary,” added Elizabeth. However, she felt that Mary would, in any case, come to know much of the story.

“Splendid,” Darcy exclaimed, looking with admiration at his future wife. “The tale is not ours, and it is a thorny subject. For my part, I would rather forget that we ever went to Eastbourne. What happened in Eastbourne stays in Eastbourne.”

They stopped upon the main street of the hamlet of Polegate.

When they alighted from the carriage, a comforting stillness encompassed them.

A man with a lantern awaited them, bowed respectfully, and led them to a cottage.

A wondrous night and a heaven full of stars received them, as though mindful that they were in love.

Elizabeth was pleased with all she beheld.

The night had lent its mystery to the world about them.

The thatched cottage seemed taken from a fairy tale, and the little garden before it breathed the fragrance of roses.

“My family sleep near at hand, sir,” the man said to Darcy. “We have only two chambers. I trust your lady will be satisfied.”

Astonished, Elizabeth looked at Mr Darcy, who smiled. Watson never would have presented her as his wife unless Darcy had directed him.

“Yes, she will be satisfied, I am certain.”

“My wife has prepared supper for you.”

Indeed, in the first room, they found a meal awaiting them, and in a short while, they were refreshed.

“You must forgive me, but I need sleep. We shall impart this room, the two of us.” Mr Gardiner said at last, looking at Darcy, who nodded.

“I shall lead Miss Elizabeth to her room,” he said, but in the little hall between the rooms, he whispered, “Are you weary?”

“No, let us go outside for a few moments,” she replied, divining his thought.

They sat upon a bench, admiring the sky, shivering from the night air but still more from their emotions. Love encompassed their world. At last, they might permit happiness to overwhelm them—body and soul.

Darcy tried to draw her into his arms, but she slipped aside.

“Be still, my lady, let me hold you. You heard our host: you are my wife.”

“I could live with you anywhere,” she whispered, gazing upon the little garden.

“I know, but you still prefer Pemberley,” he teased her.

“I was only trying to tell you how much I love you, and you are mocking my words.”

“I beg your pardon, my love.”

“Liar—you are not sorry. You delight in teasing me.”

He smiled in the dark as he kissed her brow. “I probably do, but only because I strive to hide the depth of my love for you. It is a trick men practise—”

“Promise me we shall be happy every day of our lives.”

“I promise.”

“Even if we quarrel, we shall never begin a new day angry with one another.”

As he did not answer, Elizabeth turned to look upon him, and without words she perceived his thought, and blushed.

“You degenerate,” she lovingly reproached him.

“What better way to end a quarrel than with love? If we were now at Pemberley, I should take you straight to my chamber—vows or no vows.”

“You would dishonour me?” She laughed within his arms.

“Assuredly—and then I would marry you.”

“Well, as we are in Polegate and not Pemberley, heading to London, you must marry me first.”

It was his turn to laugh with all his heart, until she placed her hand upon his lips, fearful he would wake the hamlet. He kissed her palm, then each finger in turn, and at last—despite her resistance—he pressed his lips gently upon hers.

“Will you be my wife?” he murmured.

“I thought I had already said yes to that question.”

“I know, but I long to shorten the betrothal. Do you think your parents would come to London if Mrs Gardiner invited them?”

“Yes, I am certain my aunt could find the words to persuade them. ‘Pemberley’ would be persuasive enough for Mama, and ‘my happiness’ would content Papa.”

“You mean your mother will approve me because I am wealthy?”

“Yes—why should I dissemble?”

“Because you might desire your husband to esteem your mother.”

“Well, sir, I might say that there is no perfect creature in the world, and even a gossip may occasionally do some good. Mama loves to spread reports and to meddle in the affairs of others. Yet, this time her recollections—together with Mary’s indiscretion—brought this story to its end.”

She was right: his aunt and uncle would have accepted her and the Bennet family less readily without an incident that endangered their honour forever.

“Lady Matlock never would have accepted me…”

“ Never is such a big word…let us say less easily and plainly.” He knew that a moment of candour would not dispel the reserve she had observed in him at Pemberley.

“You hesitated to marry me because of it,” Elizabeth said, and he shivered in the dark. That woman could read his very thoughts.

“I was too proud,” he admitted.

“I had some prejudices regarding you and your family,” Elizabeth confessed.

“And when you spoke in anger, madam, you cut like a knife.”

“But at least I know how to declare my love…something you will have to learn.”

They laughed together in each other’s arms.

“We shall be married within a week, do you consent?” he said.

“What choice do I have? I long to see Pemberley in autumn.”

“My dearest, we shall leave for Pemberley as soon as we are married, but you shall see autumn only from my chamber. Perhaps winter also—and the spring.”