Page 15 of Mrs Darcy’s Dilemma

“No, Lady Catherine ordered breakfast to be brought to her own room today,” said Mrs. Clarke, who always knew such things, through her habitual close questioning of the servants.

“Cook was quite put out, but she would have it so; she says she always does it, the morning after a household is distracted by a ball. I took especial care that all was arranged properly, you may depend upon it. I was glad to spare my sister from such worry. And I believe Lady Catherine found the eggs very fresh.”

“But Betty?” wondered Lydia, looking about vaguely. “Where is she?”

There was a pause, as Mrs. Darcy caught her husband’s eye in alarm, and they both turned to look at Cloe, whose confusion and distress were evident.

“I was asleep when Bettina came to bed,” she faltered, “and I have not seen her this morning. Sometimes after she has been at a ball, or an assembly-dance, at home, she does not sleep at all. I thought she must have gone out for an early walk.”

“Gone out with Fitzwilliam,” said Elizabeth with energy, pushing back her chair.

“Hush, my dear! Calm yourself. They have only gone riding and surely will be back directly,” protested Mr. Darcy.

“I should not have thought that a man and a maid riding about the countryside could be countenanced in a Christian household,” said Mr. Collins gravely, “and I am sorry for it. I fear, Mr. Darcy, you are remiss in your duty. Young ladies under your protection ought to be properly chaperoned, and how Miss Wickham can so forget herself, I cannot imagine. There has been grievous mismanagement here, depend upon it, and when they come in, I had better have a word with both the young people.”

Mr. Darcy had it on his tongue to angrily retort, when Sykes reappeared.

“Sir—the stable man tells me that Mr. Fitzwilliam took out the town chaise and his matched hunters before first light this morning. He told Thomas he was taking the London road and expected to be in town by tomorrow nightfall, and, sir, he had the young lady with him.”

There was a dreadful silence, and Mr. Darcy broke it by trying to question the servant farther, but there was no more information to be elicited. It was certain that Fitzwilliam and Bettina were gone and that they were now beyond the power of the fastest horses to retrieve them.

“But there is the train, Mr. Darcy,” said Lydia with unexpected presence of mind, “which my daughters took only the other day; sure you could go to town on that. The main line can be got at Manchester, and from there it goes to London in a whirl. You could get there ahead of them and make them marry, could you not?”

This speech, considering Mrs. Wickham’s own past history, was dreadful to Elizabeth, who gave her husband one wild, despairing look.

“This too much recalls scenes of the past,” he said grimly, “which I prefer not to revive. Indeed, I do not believe that I ought to go. Fitzwilliam is of age, and he has, it seems, taken his own way. No doubt, we will hear from him soon.”

“But my Betty! My darling child!” exclaimed Lydia, her hand on her heart.

“She accompanied him of her own volition, in full accordance, I have no doubt, with your teaching, and whether or not she will become his wife, I have no power to foresee.”

There was now a disturbance at the other end of the table, as Cloe grew suddenly very pale and laid her head down upon her arms, as if she might faint.

Everything was done that is usually done in such cases; Jane fetched water, the suffering lady was fanned, and her wrists chafed.

When she was able to stand, Jane, Lydia, and Mrs. Clarke escorted her to her room, to lay her up in lavender, while the others of the Pemberley house party consulted as to what was best to be done.

Mr. and Mrs. Collins withdrew to the drawing-room, to enjoy a thorough contemplation of its ornaments and the family morals, while Lord Frederick, thinking his presence more likely to be burdensome than helpful, made arrangements for an early departure, though considerately assuring Henry that he should return at a moment’s notice, if he could be of any use.

Henry joined his parents, who had withdrawn to his mother’s room.

“Father, excuse me for presuming to remonstrate with you,” said he diffidently, “but I wish you had not said such a thing before that poor girl—that her mother’s teachings should have such a result as that. It is an insult to her. No wonder she felt it.”

Mr. Darcy was concerned. “I am very sorry, Henry. I would not have done so for the world. I was not thinking; I was provoked, as you certainly can comprehend. Yes, poor girl! You are right. I shall say something to her when she comes downstairs again.”

“But can you get no word of them?” asked Elizabeth anxiously.

“They will not hide themselves,” said Darcy. “I cannot believe Fitzwilliam so entirely dead to decency as that. We will have letters as soon as possible, I have every hope.”

Elizabeth passed her hand over her face. “It is so like Lydia—as if that dreadful time has come again. I can hardly credit it.”

Her husband looked at her soberly. “Console yourself, Elizabeth,” he said.

“Probably, Fitzwilliam means nothing so very reprehensible, after all. He knows we disapprove of his choice of wife; he marries privately. Much to be deplored, but there may be nothing left to do but to welcome our new daughter and to try to see the match in the best light.”

“Do you think it will be a match?”

“You know as much as I do.”