Consequences (17 page)

Fitzwilliam absorbed this for a minute before he spoke again. “I agreed with your decision, Darcy,” he said. “The danger of harming Georgiana was too high. As for informing the family, I never even thought of it. I cannot think anything could have been gained by it; some questions are better left unanswered, after all.”

“Was the danger of harming Georgiana my real reason, Richard?” asked Darcy bitterly. “Or was I simply finding yet another excuse because my pride led me wrong again? How could a Darcy marry an unknown girl from the country, a girl with no fortune, no connections, and embroiled in scandal? But, now Georgiana is happily married to Adrian Hartecourt, and I can see more clearly. She was not only the most highly sought young lady of last year’s Season, but Hartecourt is a young man of firm decision. I am convinced no marriage of mine would have diminished her worth in his eyes. I believe that he would have married Georgiana if she had not a farthing to her name.”

“But you also said, how did you put it, you were ‘the last man’ she could ever marry?”

“Actually, her exact words were that I was ‘the last man in the world she could ever be prevailed upon to marry.’ But what of that? If I had an ounce of backbone, I would have gone there, made my apologies openly with her father standing beside her, and then asked permission to court her. How many young men propose marriage once a month for a year before they are accepted? You and I know of several, do we not?”

“Well, that is true, Cuz,” agreed Fitzwilliam, “including your own father, but generally when we hear of such, the poor beggar is ragged unmercifully for having more determination than sense.”

“I care nothing for that,” whispered Darcy. “Not now, not when it is too late. I cannot live any longer without her, Richard. I told you I could no longer visualize her face? Well, her voice is also leaving me, and when I can no longer hear her voice, then everything will be gone. Everything.”

Fitzwilliam said nothing to that, for he could see how Darcy’s longing was bringing him anguish. When he finally spoke again, many miles later, he asked, “Where will you start, then? Hertfordshire?”

Darcy nodded. “I will ride to Longbourn tomorrow. Hopefully, that clown Collins will at least know where they have gone. If he will not cooperate, then I shall call on some of the other families in the neighbourhood. I remember Mrs. Bennet had a sister in Meryton. Married to a solicitor, as I recall. I will inquire there also; surely one of them will tell me where she is.”

After some further miles, Darcy spoke again. His voice was calm again, and he spoke almost in a reminiscing tone. “You know, Richard, when I decided to separate Bingley from Elizabeth’s sister, my reasoning was based as much on Elizabeth’s mother’s improper behaviour as the indifference I thought I perceived in her sister. I was especially offended by her boasting of the marriage being an established fact; all that was necessary was the marriage articles and the clothing, is how she put it. But now, having witnessed the viciousness of our aunt, I can more easily put her mother’s silliness aside. Mrs. Bennet was, after all, merely boasting of the good fortune of her daughter; she was not revelling in the destruction of the innocent.”

Fitzwilliam made no comment to what Darcy said, but he agreed with him completely.

***

Tuesday, March 22, 1815

Darcy arrived at Longbourn the next morning in good time and asked to see Mr. Collins. To his disbelief, the sloppily dressed servant who answered the door mumbled something unintelligible and then closed the door in his face. Thus, when the door was opened and the servant muttered something about “the master” and “now,” Darcy was hard put to hold his temper as the fellow motioned him inside.

Years of rigid self-control asserted itself, and he was able to greet Mr. Collins with no indication of the irritation he felt from the discourtesy exhibited by what appeared to be the butler. He was surprised at the incivility because what he had heard of the household during his residence at Netherfield was generally favourable. While he never visited Longbourn himself, Bingley described it as being small but comfortable. Certainly, he would not have used those words if the door had been closed in his face.

As for Mr. Collins, he seemed almost atwitter with excitement at receiving a visitor of such exalted rank, though he also attempted to act as if he and Darcy were old acquaintances. Darcy was not offended; in fact, he was rather amused at the pretensions of the toady man. In any event, he was not there to visit but to obtain information, so he hid his emotions and quickly explained that he had just learned of the death of Mr. Bennet and wished to offer his condolences to the family.

His question as to the whereabouts of the remainder of the Bennet family met evasiveness. Remembering what he learned from his aunt, Darcy persevered, and Collins finally admitted he did not know the family’s present location. Darcy pretended amazement, but he was not surprised.

The question is
, he thought,
does Collins know but does not want to say? Or is he truly ignorant of their location? My task here is to locate Elizabeth’s family, and I had best be about it in a methodical fashion.

“I am not sure I understand, Mr. Collins,” Darcy said in seeming perplexity. “I know the estate was entailed to the male line, but surely the Bennet family is still residing in the area?”

“I . . . well, I do not . . . that is, when they left . . .” Collins stammered.

“Did they not have relations in Meryton?” asked Darcy.

“Well, yes, that is true, they did have,” admitted Collins, “but it appears that all of them have departed Meryton, presumably in an attempt to outreach the scandal. In any event, I have no information of their destination.”

“Well, I can understand why the family might have moved to another location, Mr. Collins, but surely
you
would have their present address,” said Darcy in feigned amazement.

Collins again tried to evade answering, but eventually he admitted he and the Bennet family had not parted on good terms.

Darcy decided there was no more to be gained by pretending ignorance so he dropped the charade.

“You did not really demand they vacate their home immediately, did you? Or even before you arrived?” Darcy demanded, his eyes blazing as he leaned forward. “My aunt said she advised you to do so, but I refused to believe you would do something so far beyond the bounds of civility. They were your relations, after all.”

“Well, yes,” said Collins, appearing to gain courage at being reminded of his patron’s guidance. “Lady Catherine’s advice appeared most sound. I did not want my residence in Hertfordshire to begin by appearing to approve of loose and licentious behaviour. I am still a man of the Church, you know.”

“Any loose and licentious conduct was exhibited by only one daughter of the five, and she was guilty more of stupidity than anything else,” said Darcy, seeking to bring his anger back under control. “None of the rest of the family had anything to do with what Lydia Bennet did, and she was not the first young lady to be deceived by George Wickham. Certainly, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth were always most well-mannered and proper young ladies. I can see no reason why a Christian, especially a member of the Church, would act so vindictively.”

This charge caused Collins to rise to anger. “I was initially prepared to forgive and even to offer an olive branch by renewing my offer of marriage to Miss Elizabeth,” he retorted. “That would have not only provided for her future but would have secured the welfare of the rest of her family. But this kind offer was rejected, sir, rejected! She failed even to answer my letter!”

“Making an offer of marriage with your own wife barely six months in her grave is not at all proper, Collins,” said Darcy coldly. “It is also exceedingly unwise. There is a reason society expects at least a year’s bereavement; it is necessary to gain a secure footing after the shock of death.”

Then Darcy realized what else Collins had said. “‘Renew,’ you say! You renewed your offer of marriage? When did you make your first offer?”

“On the morning after the ball at Netherfield,” Collins replied angrily. “And her refusal then was most embarrassing, especially when I had already secured the agreement of her mother to the match.”

“But you did not secure the agreement of her father,” said Darcy frostily, “nor do I ever think you would have done so. I did not know Mr. Bennet well, but he seemed much too wise to have a fool like you as a son-in-law. At least the family will have some money to live on, for I heard that Mrs. Bennet had a modest fortune that should provide a small income.”

Upon seeing the sudden alarm on Collins’s face, Darcy leaned closer. “Tell me that the Bennet daughters will at least receive their inheritance, Collins,” he said in a deathly quiet voice. “Do
not
tell me that you have not only ejected them from their home but have somehow managed to also cheat them out of their due.”

“There was no inheritance,” Collins stammered. “Mr. Bennet . . . Mr. Bennet had . . . wasted it through . . . through mismanagement before the estate came to me. My solicitor, Mr. Silas Worthington, went over the books carefully and showed that uncle of theirs—Philips, I believe his name was—he showed him where Mr. Bennet had exceeded his income and had consumed his principal. What was invested in the Funds was not even sufficient to cover his debts.”

“But Mr. Philips did not agree, I warrant,” Darcy said sternly, and one look at Collins’s face told him of the accuracy of his estimate. “I would imagine that he accused your solicitor—recommended by my aunt, I believe?—he likely accused your solicitor of trying to cheat the Bennets of their inheritance, did he not?”

“Well . . . it was . . . you see . . .” Collins mumbled. Then a sudden anger took him, and he challenged Darcy. “What is all of this to you? You are not a member of the family! And your opinion was not solicited!”

Darcy rose to his feet, and his looming height and his obvious rage made Collins’s pitiful anger transmute quickly into fear.

“You are correct, Mr. Collins,” Darcy said icily. “I have no connection to the family. I am only appalled by such a rampant act of greed and betrayal. No, do not see me out, sir; I can find the way myself.”

As Darcy started to exit the room, he turned back to the sweating clergyman. “But tell me, Mr. Collins,” he said with seeming nonchalance, “has your betrayal of your own relations had its expected results? How many of the local gentlemen have called on you?”

Collins made no retort; he just seemed to shrink into himself.

“Very few, correct?” continued Darcy mercilessly. “Or, more precisely . . . none?”

Again Collins’s face could not hide the truth.

“And did you have more success when you called on the neighbourhood families? Or did it somehow transpire that they were all indisposed when you called?” Darcy’s smile had absolutely no humour in it as he watched Collins wilt under his cold gaze.

“I thought so,” Darcy said in a conversational tone, his teeth still bared. “I do hope your thirty pieces of silver give you solace in this lonely, lonely house. As a churchman, I am sure you will recognize the allusion.”

With that, Darcy departed the house, slamming the front door as he left. He was not surprised that he did not find his horse waiting for him; there had not been time for Mr. Collins to inform the groom, even assuming he would have been so inclined. Darcy stalked around the house to get his horse, still furious from his interview, and his temper was not improved when he saw Marlborough had not been stabled while he visited but only tied to the rail. Inwardly, he seethed as the groom came out of the stable, but outwardly, he was calm as he civilly thanked him. When he asked whether the groom knew the whereabouts of the Bennet family, the response was disturbing.

“No, sir,” the groom replied. “They was gone afore I was engaged.”

“Then you did not work for the Bennet family?” said Darcy in surprise. “Could you ask one of the other staff who worked for them?”

“I’s most sorry, sir,” the groom said, scuffing his feet. “All the old staff been gone for quite some time. They left soon after the present master took over.”

“All of them?” exclaimed Darcy in surprise.

“Yes, sir. I heard most of them was gone in a matter of weeks. Begging your pardon, sir, but I be leaving myself next week, and I only been here not a year.”

“So Mr. Collins is a hard master,” said Darcy grimly.

“I canna say you’re right, and I willna say you’re wrong, sir,” said the groom. “But if you be looking for information on the old family, I’m certain not any of us knows anything. Very sorry, sir.” With that, the groom walked back into the stables.

“He cannot keep his staff,” Darcy muttered as he mounted. “Just like my aunt but even worse.”

Darcy was accordingly unsurprised to find no information available from the Longbourn chapel, either. The chapel itself was locked, and the adjoining house for the parson was obviously abandoned.

Darcy’s smile was bitter as he contemplated the fact Mr. Collins had evidently offended the entire neighbourhood: gentry, clergy, and ordinary folk.

Quite an accomplishment
, he thought to himself,
even for someone trained by my aunt!

His inquiries with those families with whom he was acquainted produced little information concerning the months after Mr. Bennet’s death. Sir William Lucas was the most informative, though Darcy was grieved to learn Lady Lucas had passed on shortly after her daughter died in childbirth. Sir William thanked Darcy for his condolences and told him what little he could.