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Chapter Twenty-Three

The following morning, Elizabeth approached Longbourn in Darcy’s carriage with a heavy heart.

The events at Netherfield weighed upon her mind like physical burdens, each revelation about Bingley and the circumstances of Caroline’s death adding to the oppressive load.

Elizabeth paused as the footman handed her down, gathering her composure before facing her family, particularly Jane, whose gentle heart would surely be troubled by the revelation that Bingley had left for America.

Darcy had spent the previous afternoon assisting with the necessary letters and arrangements, and Bingley had left before dinner.

By now, Bingley would be well on his way to Liverpool, the first step in his self-imposed exile to America.

Elizabeth could not help but wonder if justice had truly been served, or if they had merely substituted one tragedy for another.

The front door opened before she had reached it, revealing her mother in an unusual state of subdued concern rather than her habitual fluttering excitement.

“Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet greeted her, forgoing her typical effusions. “How good of you to call. Is Mr. Darcy not with you?”

“He remains at Netherfield, Mama,” Elizabeth replied, allowing her mother to kiss her cheek. “There are still matters requiring his attention given the unfortunate circumstances.”

Mrs. Bennet lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Such a dreadful business. Miss Bingley’s accident has cast quite a pall over the neighbourhood. Though she was never particularly pleasant, one would not wish such a fate upon anyone.”

“Indeed not,” Elizabeth agreed, removing her bonnet and gloves. The house felt unusually quiet. “Are my father and sisters at home?”

“Your father is in his library, of course. Kitty and Mary have gone walking; I believe they planned to call at Lucas Lodge and see Maria.” Mrs. Bennet hesitated, a rare occurrence that immediately caught Elizabeth’s attention.

“Jane is in the small parlour. She seems rather out of sorts this morning. Perhaps you might speak with her?”

Elizabeth’s heart quickened. “Is she unwell?”

“Not precisely unwell, but... quieter than usual, even for Jane.” Mrs. Bennet’s brow creased with genuine concern. “She received a visitor last evening, rather strangely.”

“A visitor?” Elizabeth repeated, though she had already begun to suspect the identity of this caller. Had Bingley truly been so bold as to call upon Jane before his flight?

“Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet confirmed. “He arrived quite late, insisted upon speaking with Jane privately. I thought, given the circumstances, that he might be seeking comfort in her company, so I permitted it despite the unusual hour. They spoke for perhaps a quarter hour, and then he departed in great haste. Jane has said nothing of their conversation, but she has been most pensive since.”

Elizabeth felt a chill despite the warmth of the entry hall. “I shall go to her directly. Thank you, Mama.”

Mrs. Bennet patted her arm distractedly. “Yes, yes. I shall have Hill bring tea.”

Elizabeth found Jane exactly where her mother had indicated, seated in the small parlour by the window, her needlework lying untouched in her lap as she gazed out at the winter-bare garden.

The morning light illuminated her profile, revealing a pensive expression that spoke of troubled thoughts.

For a moment, Elizabeth simply observed her sister, struck anew by how completely Jane’s serene beauty masked the depth of feeling she possessed.

Unlike Elizabeth, whose every emotion tended to manifest in her expressions and words, Jane contained her feelings behind a gentle composure that few had the patience to look beyond.

“Jane,” Elizabeth said softly.

Jane turned, a smile transforming her thoughtful countenance though it did not quite reach her eyes. “Lizzy, I did not hear you arrive. How good to see you.”

“Mama mentioned you might welcome some company.” Elizabeth crossed the room to sit beside her sister. “She seems to think you are troubled.”

Jane’s gaze returned to the window. “Not troubled, precisely. Perhaps contemplative would be more accurate.”

“Mama also mentioned that you received a visitor last evening,” Elizabeth ventured. “Mr. Bingley?”

A gentle sigh escaped Jane’s lips. “Yes. He came quite unexpectedly. I was surprised, especially given the circumstances at Netherfield. I had thought he would be entirely occupied with arrangements for his sister.”

Elizabeth studied her sister carefully. “What did he want, Jane?”

Jane’s fingers played with the embroidery hoop in her lap, a rare sign of agitation from one usually so composed. “He came to make me an offer, Lizzy. A most unexpected offer.”

“An offer of marriage?” Elizabeth prompted.

“Yes, but more than that.” Jane finally met Elizabeth’s gaze, her blue eyes troubled. “He proposed that I accompany him to America immediately. He spoke of beginning a new life there, away from the memories and constraints of England.”

Elizabeth could not contain her shock despite having suspected as much. “America!”

“He was most passionate about it,” Jane continued.

“He said that Caroline’s death had shown him the fragility of life, that we must seize happiness while we can.

He spoke of opportunities in America, of building a future together where social hierarchies matter less and enterprise is rewarded on its own merits. ”

“And what did you say?” Elizabeth asked, though she could guess from Jane’s presence at Longbourn that she had declined.

“I told him I was honoured by his regard but could not consider such a proposal,” Jane replied simply.

“To leave England, my family, everything familiar, on such short notice... It would be most imprudent. Furthermore, I explained that while I had once held him in the highest esteem, my affections had... evolved.”

“Because of Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth supplied.

A gentle blush coloured Jane’s cheeks. “Yes. I could not in good conscience accept Mr. Bingley’s proposal when my heart is engaged elsewhere. I told him so, as kindly as I could.”

“How did he receive your refusal?”

“With more composure than I expected, given the intensity of his proposal,” Jane admitted. “He wished me happiness, bowed, and departed. It was all rather abrupt.”

Elizabeth felt a knot of tension ease in her stomach.

Bingley’s proposal, made on the eve of his escape from justice, struck her as desperate.

Had he truly believed Jane would abandon everything to join him in exile?

And what might he have done if she had agreed, only to discover later the truth of Caroline’s death and his flight from its consequences?

“Lizzy,” Jane said quietly, interrupting these troubling thoughts. “You do not seem surprised by any of this. Did you know Mr. Bingley intended to leave for America?”

The moment had come sooner than Elizabeth had anticipated. She had planned to ease into the revelations gradually, but Jane’s perceptiveness had forced her hand.

“Jane, there is something you must know about Caroline’s death,” Elizabeth began. “It was not an accident, at least not in the usual sense of the word.”

Jane’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

Elizabeth took Jane’s hands in her own, meeting her gaze directly.

“Fitzwilliam and I discovered evidence suggesting that Caroline did not simply fall down the stairs. There was a confrontation between her and Bingley in the early hours after the ball. Words were exchanged, cruel words on Caroline’s part, regarding you and Bingley’s position in society. ”

“A confrontation?” Jane repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Bingley struck her in anger,” Elizabeth continued, forcing herself to speak the difficult truth.

“He claims he did not intend to cause her death, that she fell down the stairs after he slapped her. But the fact remains that his actions led directly to her death, and he then attempted to conceal what had happened.”

Jane’s face paled, her hands trembling slightly within Elizabeth’s grasp. “I cannot believe it. Not Mr. Bingley. He has always been so gentle, so kind.”

“Even the gentlest of men may harbour depths we cannot see,” Elizabeth said softly.

“Caroline had manipulated him for years, controlled his life, his social connections, even his romantic attachments. When she mocked him about your preference for Colonel Fitzwilliam, after all that had happened last year... something in him broke.”

Jane pulled her hands away, rising to walk to the window. The morning light now seemed to emphasise the distress in her countenance rather than her beauty. “How did you discover this?”

Elizabeth explained about the blood trail, Helen’s testimony regarding the argument she had overheard, and finally, Bingley’s confession when confronted. Throughout her explanation, Jane remained silent, her back straight, her gaze fixed on the garden beyond the window.

“So his proposal, his desire to leave for America...” Jane began.

“Was part of a plan devised by Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth admitted.

“After Bingley confessed, my husband suggested that exile might serve as an alternative to the public scandal and legal consequences that would otherwise follow. Bingley will establish himself in America and then write to confess the truth to the magistrate, once beyond the reach of English law.”

Jane turned back to face her, her expression a mixture of confusion and distress. “And you agree with this solution?”