Page 23 of Mrs Darcy’s Dilemma
All that money could do was done. Mrs. Darcy sat with the sufferer for some hours each day, little good though it did, for Fitzwilliam continued perfectly insensible.
After these piteous sittings, it was blessed relief to Elizabeth’s feelings to seek her own room and rest in her sister’s tender solicitude as a luxury that could not be enough appreciated.
Only then could she endure other company, and she descended to her own drawing-room with some reluctance, knowing what guests were waiting and no doubt tormenting her own family. The Babcocks accosted her at once.
“I hope, Mrs. Darcy, that you will have your mourning as fine as possible and not leave it off for at least six months,” Mr. Babcock addressed her earnestly.
“Black lace is thought very handsome, with the newer styles—the fuller skirts, and the wider sleeves, you know, so becoming to a lady no longer quite young. As for jewels—only jet is admissible. You will not be able to wear the Darcy diamonds now.”
“Of what are you thinking, my love? Diamonds can always be worn; it is not as if they are coloured jewels,” cried his wife.
“But poor Eliza is thinking of something besides her own dress. She is thinking of poor Fitzwilliam. To be sure it is dreadful, that poor young man dying so young. I can hardly bear it.”
Mrs. Bingley was distressed. “Please, dear Caroline, how can you talk as if Fitzwilliam had already left us? It is very unfeeling. Consider my poor sister—consider how you would feel, in like case, and say no more,” she implored.
“I can hardly imagine what my sentiments would be on the occasion,” said Mrs. Babcock with asperity, “as I am not a mother. But it is always best to face the inevitable—no use pretending—and everybody knows poor Fitzwilliam is as good as dead.”
Mrs. Bingley looked inexpressibly pained and pressed her sister’s hand.
“It is no matter, Jane,” said Elizabeth. “I must grow hardened to the pain, for it is very true that my poor son may not live, and there are comforts all around me—in your kindness and Mr. Bingley’s. Indeed there is much to be thankful for.”
“I should say so,” pursued Mrs. Babcock. “I understand—that is, I have been told—that the young man is in no pain, and it is very lucky that he can feel nothing, for otherwise he would be in awful agony. That must be a relief to your feelings. That his neck was snapped so instantly.”
“Caroline! I beg of you!” cried Mr. Bingley. “We should endeavour to console Elizabeth, not dwell upon the dreadfulness of what has happened.”
“Oh quite so; very true; we should think not of the accident but of the future, and there is much to contemplate there with pleasure, I am glad to say. Mr. Henry will be heir to Pemberley, and a worthier one there could not be. More prudent than your brother,” she nodded approvingly at Henry, “and therefore a better landlord and householder. I am sure the people round about must be glad at how things look likely to fall out.”
“Mrs. Babcock,” interposed Henry hastily, after a half-look at his mother, “the tenants and everyone here feel for the family’s anxiety; we have had visitor after visitor, people from the cottages and all around, who have known Fitzwilliam all his life, and if you think they do not feel our pain and are not offering their prayers for his life, you are quite mistaken.
Besides, I feel it,” he said in a voice that was not quite firm, “my brother’s situation, you know; and I must beg you will not refer to it again. ”
“Quite so, my love, you put your foot into the thing; you ought to say no more,” advised Babcock.
“Sure there are more cheerful topics. Your nephew Jeremy—and where is Jeremy? Gone to town and taken up with the very young woman who has given us all this trouble. Now that is a sort of behaving that could break a mother’s heart, but I must say I do admire him for showing some spirit. ”
“To think,” said his wife, “of our dear Jeremy, being taken in by that woman! Excuse me, I believe she is some relation of yours, but otherwise I should say she must be a very low down, ill-bred sort of person,” she finished, turning to Mrs. Darcy.
“She is my niece,” said Elizabeth coolly. “I have not much to say in her defence, to be sure, only that a girl in such an unfortunate situation deserves to be spoken of with compassion.”
“Ah, that is very well, very well,” said Mrs. Babcock, “but what is to be done, may I ask? While Jeremy, who has never had a thought in his head all his life but what is pure and blameless, is being hourly corrupted, I really have no patience to think of it.”
“Something is being done, my dear Caroline,” said Bingley, his irritation rising, “Darcy and I go to town tomorrow.”
“Excuse me, Uncle,” said Henry, “but I wonder if it might not be better arranged. My father has much to attend to here, and I am sure would be only too grateful if you would remain with him and my mother. I should like to propose myself for the mission. Why should I not go and spare you the journey? I will talk to the young couple and bring them back here, if it is to be done.”
“That is a consideration,” said his father. “I believe it is well thought of. To own the truth, I should prefer to remain here—and it can only trouble you, Bingley, to see Jeremy in such a situation.”
“Of course it would,” cried Bingley, “but if my son has been a rascal, I suppose it should fall upon me to remonstrate with him. And why should we expose Henry, a young man, to such a thing?”
Darcy had no fears for his son. “You cannot think Henry would be influenced in the smallest by witnessing such a sin,” he said, “he is a clergyman and prepared to deal with such things, I believe. And I would trust him anywhere.”
“Certainly; I did not mean to suggest anything else. Well, if you are satisfied, then it is Elizabeth who has the best right to decide, I conclude.”
“If Henry would go,” and her eyes appealed to him.
Mrs. Bingley indicated that she, too, would be glad to have her husband spared the journey, and Mrs. Darcy was relieved that both the Bingleys would remain.
“And you must not worry about Jeremy more than can be helped, Sister. Henry will take care of him,” said Mrs. Darcy.
“I really believe he will. Only, Lizzy, I am forgetting your unhappiness and suspense, in my own selfish concern—if only I could say something that could at all relieve you.”
“You cannot help it, Jane, and your being here is inexpressible pleasure, whatever may happen.”
It was decided that Henry would stay with the Gardiners, who had longed to be of use, while in town; this arrangement brought satisfaction to the minds of all, and so it was settled.
A comfortable dinner of spring lamb and early peas was ate, and the evening that followed was a peaceable one.
After the unvarying nightly report from Fitzwilliam’s room—that he was still lying, an insensible block, but evidently not suffering—the party tacitly, and with some guilty feelings, agreed not to mention the topic any more or to think of it as far as was possible.
It is not to be doubted that Elizabeth’s quiet thoughts stole upstairs to her son now and then, but the others were glad to think of him no more.
Mr. Darcy played at chess with his son, while the others sat placidly and wondered aloud how many days Henry was likely to be gone and who should be invited to sermonize in his place at Manygrove.