Page 11 of The Gossip War (Pride and Prejudice Shorts #1)
I ordinarily love my library, but not at three in the morning.
I must confess here and now that, I am mostly opposed to being dragged from my bed at three by my eldest daughter, to attend some important matter or other in said location, but that is how things played out that morning.
My second-most sensible and first-most kind daughter Jane, shook me awake, and bid me to quietly get myself hither to attend an urgent, though not life-threatening matter.
For an ordinary man, that would be like a matador waving a red cape at a bull, but for me the lack of urgency in the latter half of the statement made me more inclined to return to slumber, which I did.
When my wife pulled on my ear (harder than strictly necessary) and encouraged me to be up and about with more alacrity, I finally knew something was afoot.
It was difficult to conceive of an emergency sufficient to drag her from her bed.
I was on the staircase before I really thought about the fact that my eldest could not be ill at Netherfield and in my bedchamber at the same time.
I might point out that I am not in top form before the cock crows.
When I entered, I was once more all astonishment, because there before my eyes, in the flesh, was the ever-odious Mr Darcy, sitting in front of a roaring fire that I later learnt he lit with his own hands.
Even more astonishing, my second daughter, Elizabeth, was sitting with the odious gentleman from Derbyshire.
Ordinarily, I would have thought the first order of business was to search her for weapons, but since she was sitting close to him—and by that, I mean very-close —I eventually came to believe there was something more afoot than it seemed.
Of course, anything happening at three takes on a feeling of urgency.
My wife shoed me to my seat before taking her own, apparently contemplating whether my ear needed another tug. Usually preferring comfort to pain, I did as she suggested without complaint. “I assume there is an explanation forthcoming?”
Elizabeth and Mr Darcy looked back and forth between each other a few times, and I sat back in resignation.
I had seen that look before and had to ruefully admit that my own wife and I shared similar at some point in our distant past. It was the kind of smouldering look they probably used to light the fire.
Elizabeth finally looked at me. “Papa, Mama, this will all come as a shock, so allow me to get it all out there before either of you react.”
“Well of course!” my wife stated emphatically, as if there was no possibility of excessive reaction on her part, while I just nodded, wanting to get the distressing news out there.
Elizabeth took a good-sized breath and looked over to Jane (for comfort, I presume).
“Mr Darcy and I are engaged, and you will give your consent and blessing without delay and without teasing!”
To be honest, at first, I was annoyed about the last assertion, but whether it was because she did not take me seriously enough to believe I would never tease about such a serious subject at three in the morning, or at having my entertainment curtailed, I shall leave to others to decide.
“All right, Lizzy, I will at least defer all teasing for now. Am I to know if there is some sort of compromise involved, of if there is some… ah…”
While I was struggling for the right words to ask the proper question suitable for a maiden’s ears, my usually more sensible daughter interrupted.
“Papa, there was a compromise attempt—which Lizzy forestalled by claiming an existing engagement. She did it to rescue poor Mr Darcy from the clutches of the Bingleys, who showed themselves to be little more than heathen savages.”
Before I could get my wits about me, and assimilate the idea of Jane using such inflammatory language, my wife asked, “Did Mr Bingley hurt you, Jane?”
“Only by paying too much attention to a woman he is unworthy of,” Jane said, with a look of sadness over lost emotions but an obvious feeling of relief at having avoided the feckless weasel.
Elizabeth was struggling with what to say next, so her beau stepped in.
“As you both know, Elizabeth’s opinion of me was far from ideal at the time.
I was, and continue to be, astonished that such a good woman would step in to rescue me, little worthy as I am.
The Bingleys have been cultivating me for years, hoping for a connexion in the usual way.
Tonight, they decided the easy was not working, so they should employ the hard one.
They tried a compromise, and Miss Elizabeth rescued me. ”
I finally got my bearings. “Shall I presume Elizabeth suggested you were engaged, whilst planning to have me deny consent?”
I was amused to see both members of the couple look at me in startlement.
I had never actually discussed such a possibility, but it was the sort of thing she would think of, and it seemed such a straightforward way to avoid compromises.
I was surprised men did not keep false engagements around for such inconvenient situations.
If I were a young and eligible man, I would have an impoverished lady or actress on retainer at all times until I tied the knot.
Elizabeth said, “Yes, that was it, but we—”
She had the look that I vaguely remembered of a woman who has been most thoroughly kissed but not otherwise interfered with. I assumed Mr Darcy had made his case without stooping to behaviour I would be obliged to do something about.
My wife asked, “You look like you are in love, Lizzy,” with a wistful expression that made me wonder if there might another love story that could be rekindled—though that was obviously a problem for another day.
Elizabeth may or may not have nodded, but she looked to my future son in a way that left no doubt, while Jane gave a smile that made her usual serene countenance look like an ordinary woman’s pout.
“Walk me through it,” I asked gently.
Mr Darcy looked to Elizabeth for permission, which I thought showed a remarkable sense of self-preservation. I thought they were likely to get on well, and it would certainly do her sisters’ matrimonial prospects no harm.
“I have had a number of compromise attempts over the years, and thought I had adequate protections.”
“Tell me about them,” I asked, not especially interested, but thinking it might be useful to know how far the Bingleys went in their scheme, which would in turn give a glimpse into how desperate they were, and how likely to cause further mischief.
“I have a set of oak wedges, chains, and metal bars I use to bar the door. Nobody can enter without an axe or battering ram. I do the same for the servant’s door and window. I thought my room as impervious as Newgate.”
“Go on.”
“As far as I can tell, someone removed most of the putty on one of the windows in the balcony doors. Last night, Bingley climbed down from the roof on a rope, removed the weakened windows, reached in to remove the wedge and lock, and gained entry to the room. After that, it was a simple matter to remove the rest of the mechanisms and unlock the door from the inside.”
I saw Jane and Elizabeth looking startled, so I imagined this was news to them. They had obviously had other things to think about at the time.
“Bingley and I shared some brandy that I suspect was dosed with laudanum, and I was asleep just before eleven, and very muddled when I awoke. He opened the room and admitted his sister dressed like a—”
He stopped his description, but Elizabeth amusingly took up the slack. “My first thought was that I could read a newspaper by candlelight through her nightgown.”
My wife laughed awkwardly, while I remembered a time when I had been privileged to see such a thing on a lady fifty times as pleasant as Miss Bingley, and I wondered why I let all that go.
Darcy continued, “We met your daughters on the way to the study to discuss things. Miss Elizabeth whispered that it was a rescue, and not a compromise, then announced our engagement. Her plan was as you surmised, but I am the luckiest man alive. She forgave my many offenses and somehow fell in love with me over a couple of hours.”
Jane showed herself to be more astute than most gave her credit for.
“I do not think so, brother. She has never in her life taken an insult so hard, nor taken such an abrupt dislike to someone. I always suspected the lady doth protest too much. You did not insult her at the assembly—you disappointed her.”
My future son chuckled in good humour that I though presaged good tidings, both for Lizzy and myself. “That in no way negates my assertion that I am the luckiest man alive.”
“No, sir, it does not! Emphasises it, more like.”
My wife slightly surprised me with an astute question. “Where did you leave it with the Bingleys?”
“We agreed to meet in the library at one,” Elizabeth explained.
“Unless they set spies on us, they probably do not know we left. Fitzwilliam told them to ensure there are no rumours, but I am not sanguine about them following directions. They will look for whatever advantage they can get, but it is difficult to guess what they will think as the best strategy. They obviously lack honour, so I imagine we should be prepared for anything.”
I was certain that she was unaware of how she pronounced the gentleman’s name, but I could discern that my wife was keenly so. I suspected that the wedding might need to be rather expeditious for more reasons than one.
My wife asked, “Do you think they will retreat with their tails between their legs or continue their scheme.”
Darcy thought a second, and finally said, “They bet everything on a single roll of the dice, knowing full well that their entire precarious position in society is dependent on me. I doubt they will relent if they think there is any chance of success—or more likely, extracting something to keep quiet. At the very least, they will hope to somehow keep me from publicly cutting them.”
“Is there a threat?” I asked in mild alarm.
With a voice that sounded like his heart was breaking, the young man gave us the story of his sister’s attempted elopement with the son of his father’s steward, and his childhood companion. This Wickham fellow sounded like a real piece of work, and I was happy I was unlikely to ever meet him.
My wife got a look in her eye that would put fear into the heart of any sensible man and spoke emphatically enough that she may as well have pounded her fist on the desk.
“Those fools want to start a gossip war! With me ?”