Consequences (18 page)

“It was always Lady Lucas who knew everything, you know,” the white-haired man said. “Since she has been gone, it seems as though I hardly know even half as much about the neighbourhood. But I do know there was some kind of rift between the two older girls and their mother, right before Mr. Collins arrived. The two girls left all of a sudden, and no one seemed to know where they went. Mrs. Bennet certainly never told anyone. I assumed both the elder sisters went to stay with their aunt and uncle in London. Very genteel people they are, too. I have met them both, and they are admirably polite and well spoken.”

“Do you know how I might get in touch with either Mrs. Bennet or the two oldest sisters?” Darcy asked anxiously.

“No, sir, I am afraid I do not. Mrs. Bennet and the two younger girls went to live with her sister, Mrs. Philips, in Meryton. Then, one day, they were not there anymore, and the house was all shuttered.” He looked shrewdly at Mr. Darcy. “What ever happened to that friend of yours, Mr. Bingley? We were certain he was going to marry Miss Bennet, you know, and then he went away and never came back.”

“Mr. Bingley is well, sir,” Darcy said carefully, “though I believe that he would have come back before now if it were not for the scandal that overtook the Bennet family.” He looked closely at Sir William and decided to take a chance. “And I do believe that, despite the scandal, he would want to know Miss Bennet is doing well and is not in distress.”

“If he only knew where she was,” sighed Sir William. “And who might
you
be looking for, Mr. Darcy? Miss Elizabeth, I would wager! I remember how you looked at her, even if you had not the slightest idea what you ought to do or say.”

Darcy felt shock ripple through him at the accuracy of Sir William’s guess. Then his shoulders slumped in resignation, as he realized it was not only useless but probably harmful to his undertaking to keep his true purpose concealed. He had held too many secrets, and look what that had gotten him!

“You are correct, Sir William. I am indeed looking for Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Is there anything you know that would help me?”

“I am truly sorry, young man,” said Sir William compassionately. “There is little enough left to tell. Mrs. Bennet evidently became quite bitter toward the entire neighbourhood, and I think she even bore some resentment toward me and Lady Lucas for the fact that Charlotte married Mr. Collins. Even though my wife continued to visit when no one else would, her conversations with Mrs. Bennet were not too fruitful. It was mainly Miss Eliza and her elder sister who were always pleased to see her, especially if there were letters to exchange or if there was news about Charlotte’s condition.”

“And what about this aunt and uncle in London? The only thing I know is that they evidently live in Cheapside. Do you know
anything
else about them? Names or an address?”

Sir William frowned in concentration, then shook his head. “I do not remember ever hearing an address, Mr. Darcy, though I did visit their home once. But I think Miss Eliza gave directions to my driver; I cannot recall the address. As for the name, I am not sure, but I believe it was something like Carpenter, perhaps. Or possibly Harvester? Sir, I am simply not sure.”

“Well, thank you for your time and trouble, Sir William. I had best be on my way since I want to make inquiries in Meryton.”

“Wait a minute, young man. My daughter, Maria, might be more helpful. She actually stayed with the family for several days when she and Miss Eliza were returning from Kent.” Sir William lost no time in sending for Maria, and when she responded, he told her Darcy was seeking information about Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle in town.

“I truly cannot remember their names, Maria,” he told her.

“It was Gardiner, Father,” she responded immediately. “Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. They were very nice. Very polite and welcoming.”

Darcy’s heart jumped at receiving such a firm reply, and he quickly asked, “Do you know their address in London, Miss Lucas?”

Maria’s eyes opened wide at the question, and she replied, “Oh, no, Mr. Darcy. I never even noticed where we were going until we got there. Lizzy knew, and she told the driver before we left, but I am afraid I paid no attention at all.”

Darcy’s heart sank as quickly as it had arisen, but there was at least a possibility . . .

“The driver—perhaps he might still remember?”

“I am dreadfully sorry, Mr. Darcy,” Sir William replied unhappily. “I had to discharge the man last year; he could not stay away from his drink. And I have no idea where he went after that.”

Darcy’s shoulder slumped, but at least he had something, and he thanked Sir William again.

“Good luck, young man,” replied the older man. “If you do find the two older girls, please give them my best wishes. This whole scandal thing . . . very bad business, very bad.”

Darcy agreed wholeheartedly, and he wished now he had not been so brusque with him and others when he first visited with Bingley. So many things might have turned out differently.

***

Darcy’s face grew grimmer and grimmer as the day passed and his inquiries of the several families in Meryton itself who were known to him met with a similar lack of success. While the Bennets had been well known to all the families in the village, none of them particularly wanted to discuss the way in which they shunned the family. Almost without exception, they stated the Bennet family virtually withdrew from all society in the year before Mr. Bennet’s death. Darcy said nothing in response and merely thanked them for their help.

His inquiries of the tradesmen were also fruitless. None could provide much information, though several did admit they only saw Mrs. Bennet and the two younger daughters a few times during the months after Mr. Bennet’s death and before they and the Philipses departed so abruptly. But Darcy persevered, talking with every shopkeeper and merchant in Meryton. By the end of the day, he learned almost nothing he did not already know. He faced the unpalatable fact that the woman he still loved might well have disappeared completely simply because he had not started searching soon enough. In English society, especially rural English society, few records were kept. Unless one committed a crime sufficient to warrant posting circulars throughout the land, finding a person or persons who were living quietly was exceedingly difficult.

Why did I not come to her sooner?
Darcy agonized, and he quailed inside as he already knew the answer.
It was seeing that flea walking down her sister’s neck in that brothel. And I cannot delude myself any longer that it was for the sake of my sister. It was because I was too cowardly to consider marrying a girl with a sister like that. I told myself that I was afraid of the disapproval of society, but it was my own prejudices that prevented it!

Over the next weeks, Darcy conducted an extensive search throughout Cheapside, but since he did not have the address for the Gardiners, his search was severely handicapped. He actually did call at the Gracechurch Street house, after he learned the home had recently been sold by a family that had moved to the south. But, since the present tenants were only renting the home and had no information about the previous residents, he had no reason to know how close he had been. He also consulted the rental agent, but the man could tell him nothing. He was only collecting the rents for the new owner, who lived in Ireland and had never seen the property. Eventually, Darcy abandoned this line of search, believing it fruitless.

After a month with absolutely no progress, Darcy could not continue. The night he finally decided to stop searching was possibly the most miserable night of his life. The next morning was little better, since his pounding headache and roiling stomach protested the quantity of brandy he consumed before stumbling off to his quarters. He had not even called his valet before tumbling into his bed fully clothed.

It would not be the last time Darcy sought the forgetfulness of the brandy snifter, and he had many struggles before he was finally able to turn his back on the bottle.

Chapter 10

“He has outsoared the shadow of our night;
envy and calumny and hate and pain,
and that unrest which men miscall delight,
can touch him not and torture not again;
from the contagion of the world’s slow stain,
he is secure.”

—Percy Bysshe Shelley, English poet

In the years that followed, Elizabeth and Jane settled into a comfortable routine, instructing and guiding their employers’ children and visiting often when the sisters who employed them called on each other. The children usually accompanied their mothers on such visits so they could play with their cousins, and their governesses, of course, were included. Also, Jane and Elizabeth’s letters to Kitty and Mary were regular, but only Mary was anything close to a reliable correspondent. And, though they reconciled to their mother within a year, Mrs. Bennet had never been a faithful writer and had become even less so since the death of her husband. Her spirit had taken such a shock as a result of that tragedy, she never returned to what she once was. The combination of calamities was simply too much for her to endure: losing her youngest daughter, then her husband, being betrayed (as she saw it) by both her favourite and least favourite daughter, losing her home to the dreadful Mr. Collins, and especially the disaster befallen the marital prospects of all her daughters. As a result, her health began to wane in 1817, and Elizabeth and Jane were not surprised to receive a letter from Mary in January of the next year. She wrote from the small town in Surrey where the Philips had settled that their mother had died in her sleep and had been buried in the small churchyard at the edge of town.

After that point, the return letters from Kitty and even from Mary grew more sporadic until they finally ceased altogether. Still, it was a tremendous shock when the next letter Elizabeth received from Surry was from a Reverend Perry, who informed her that all the Philips household, including their sisters, had succumbed to the smallpox and been buried in the same churchyard beside Mrs. Bennet.

Sunday, March 4, 1826

The sun was not yet risen when Elizabeth was awakened by a servant, who brought a message from his mistress. The servant held a candle close so Elizabeth could read it:

Sylvia, please bring Miss Bennet immediately. Her sister is very ill. The apothecary has already arrived, and Mr. Stewart has sent for the surgeon. Please hurry. Stephanie.

Elizabeth was already throwing back the covers before she finished reading the note, and she shivered in the cold March air as she dressed as quickly as she could. Mrs. Peters was waiting for her downstairs and the carriage was already at the front door with thick blankets to provide a measure of warmth for the chilly ride.

When they arrived at Mrs. Stewart’s home, both Elizabeth and Mrs. Peters hurried upstairs to Jane’s room. The apothecary looked very worried when they entered, and Elizabeth flew to Jane’s side. As soon as she picked up Jane’s hand, she cried out in horror.

“She is burning up with fever! Oh, Jane, Jane, can you hear me?”

In addition to the fever that ravaged her, Jane was having great trouble breathing, and her breath could be heard bubbling in her chest. Within a quarter-hour, the surgeon arrived, and, after a quick examination, he ordered pillows brought so Jane could be propped up in a sitting position.

Her breathing eased, and the surgeon ordered Jane be soothed by the application of cloths dipped into cool water and then applied to her forehead, behind her neck, and to her chest. He also encouraged her to drink liquids, water mixed with wine or juice.

“It is vital her fever be brought down, or she will not survive the morning,” he told the servants summoned to assist Jane. “You must keep washing her down with the cool cloths, but it is also critical that the cloths not be dripping with water. She must be cooled without being exposed to a chill that would sap her strength. And she must drink, for her body needs liquid inside as well as out.”

As the servants began following his instructions, he turned to Elizabeth and the two sisters. “I am afraid the lady has lung-fever or what Hippocrates described as peripneumonia,” he told them. “There is little that can be done beyond what I have ordered. If she has enough strength and if the fever can be broken, she might survive, but I have to tell you I am not hopeful. Her fever is frightfully high. You must prepare yourself.”

Elizabeth stayed behind with the servants, helping to lave Jane’s burning skin. Mrs. Peters and Mrs. Stewart often visited, but Elizabeth’s heart, already feeling a cold hand clamping around it, grew more and more heavy. Jane’s fever lessened somewhat, so she survived the morning, but she never regained full consciousness. While she would drink if a glass were held to her lips, she did not eat. In the afternoon, she weakened further and eventually began to have greater difficulty breathing. Finally, she stopped drinking, and her fever returned to its former level. Her breathing became a series of short, rapid breaths, sometimes punctuated by coughing fits leaving her weaker still, and she died soon after dusk.

Elizabeth felt dead inside as she continued to hold Jane’s hand, even after the surgeon stood up and shook his head sadly. “I am afraid that she is gone, Miss Bennet,” he said.