Darcy's Trial (25 page)

Helena thought for a while, then nodded. ‘I cannot really believe he is dead. I still feel him somewhere in my mind, watching me.’ She looked up suddenly. ‘Do you know, I think Arthur feels the same way. Remember at Tudor House when you asked me what I thought about the trial? Well, when we travelled up to Wistham the next time, I repeated the same argument to Arthur. I didn’t mention your name, but I asked why he was going to such trouble in order to take revenge on Mr Darcy, and Arthur said it was his duty, because he had given his word. Father had made him promise on his deathbed.’

‘Oh!’ Elizabeth withdrew her hand and resumed eating. ‘That explains a great deal. Was Arthur always close to his father?’

‘He always tended to copy things that father did or said. For instance, he would repeat father’s opinions on politics, or how to manage the estate. But he was never powerful like father. People would defer to him because of his position in the family, then laugh at him behind his back.’

‘May I ask …’ Elizabeth took a deep breath. ‘Has Arthur ever behaved badly to you?’

Helena frowned. ‘You mean, like father did? No, nothing like that.’ She shrugged. ‘He ignores me, mostly. I suppose I’m not interesting to him—or to anyone else, for that matter.’

‘How about your mother?’ Elizabeth asked softly.

Helena was silent, then tears filled her eyes. ‘Yes, mother liked being with me. We used to sew, or make picnics, or play with puppets. We once did a scene from Romeo and Juliet with puppets. She enjoyed that kind of thing.’

‘If only she had remained alive, you would have been so much happier.’ Elizabeth patted Helena’s knee and continued more brightly: ‘But things are going to change now. Your uncle will allow you to stay here, if you wish, and your father’s conspirators at Wistham will be sent packing. I think Lord Harbury intends to appoint a new steward who will make sure that Arthur learns new ways. No more disappearing maids. Abel Harte and the others will get their jobs back. Meanwhile, you will have the opportunity to go to the theatre often, and also to grand balls, where you will meet many fine people, some of whom may even find you
interesting
.’

With this she delivered a harder pat, and Helena giggled. ‘I don’t think so. But hearing you makes it almost seem real.’

After supper they snuffed the candles and Elizabeth slept, so soundly that a horse and carriage could have driven through the room without waking her. When she woke it was early, with dawn just breaking. Beside her Helena slept peacefully, and Elizabeth recalled their conversation of the previous evening, and was relieved that Helena had shown signs of resilience—and even a spark of optimism at the end.

After the traumas of the last few days, Elizabeth felt intensely homesick. She longed for the familiarity of Longbourn, for her father, for her own room, and above all for Jane. Her normal routines of reading, practising the piano, visits to Meryton, woodland rambles, now seemed like heaven. She could even feel nostalgic about her mother’s attacks of nerves, or Kitty’s gossip about the officers.

First of all, however, she had business to conclude in London. She would have to see her uncle and aunt, and recount at least some of what had taken place—enough, at any rate, to explain the bruising on her face and the sudden conclusion of the trial. She hoped for a further conversation with Lord Harbury, once they were both rested, to reassure her that Helena would be taken care of, and the promised changes at Wistham put into effect. And most troubling of all, she would have to settle accounts with Darcy.

Joining them at breakfast Lady Harbury seemed more relaxed, laying a hand on Helena’s shoulder as she swept in, and even acknowledging Elizabeth with an enquiry on how she had slept. Lord Harbury had left early for the Old Bailey, presumably to ensure that Sir Arthur kept his word; if all went well, he was expected to return before midday.

Anxiously Elizabeth occupied herself in token conversation with her hosts, until during morning coffee there came at last the sound of male voices in the entrance. A maid opened the door to admit a smiling Lord Harbury, who bowed to the assembly.

‘Coffee, a most excellent notion! I believe I deserve a cup myself, for we have done a good morning’s work. All documents are now signed to the judge’s satisfaction, and our agreement is formalised.’ He turned to Elizabeth. ‘Miss Bennet, Mr Darcy’s carriage is outside if you wish to accompany him. He preferred not to enter since he is keen to return to his sister.’

Elizabeth had been planning to leave later, but the opportunity was too convenient to miss. She thanked the Harburys, and asked for Bertha to be called. While her bag was being fetched, she drew Helena aside and made an affectionate farewell, promising to write often.

In the street outside she found Darcy pacing up and down. He helped her graciously into the carriage, also giving Bertha a hand up before joining them. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had accompanied his cousin to the court, greeted her warmly, and livened up the journey with his account of Sir Arthur Kaye’s pompous manner at the signing. Darcy glanced occasionally at Elizabeth’s face, but took no part in the conversation. Uncomfortably familiar with this tight-lipped taciturn expression, Elizabeth tried to control her rising irritation. Why could he not behave like any normal human being, and greet this upturn in his fortunes with enjoyment or at least relief?

At Darcy House she spotted Georgiana’s nervous face at the window. With a grunted apology to Elizabeth, Darcy left her in Colonel Fitzwilliam’s care and ran immediately up the steps to pass on the good news. Georgiana’s euphoric cry could be heard from the street, and Fitzwilliam met Elizabeth’s eye with a smile.

‘We are all much in your debt, Miss Bennet.’

‘Thank you, Colonel. I might wish that your cousin saw matters in the same light.’

He sighed, but made no reply as they were shown into the drawing room. A moment later, Georgiana entered and rushed straight to Elizabeth, throwing her arms around her neck with a fresh burst of tears.

‘Dearest Elizabeth, I do not know how to thank you. You are the bravest most wonderful person in the world! I will love you always!’

Overwhelmed, Elizabeth hugged her back with moist eyes. When they disengaged, Georgiana gently explored her bruised face with a finger. ‘But Elizabeth this is dreadful. William said you had been hurt—and on our account—but I was not expecting anything like this.’

Elizabeth laughed. ‘There is no serious harm done, and in a few weeks all will return to normal.’

‘You must stay for lunch! I am so happy, so relieved that this nightmare is over. Never, never will I forget what you have done for us.’

‘Lunch would be most welcome.’ Elizabeth sighed. ‘But first I must speak privately with your brother.’

They were seated, businesslike, on upholstered chairs at a circular table in Darcy’s study. He had offered wine, but Elizabeth had accepted only a glass of water.

He examined again her face, unveiled now that she had removed her bonnet. ‘May I call my physician, Miss Bennet? He can prescribe an ointment that will bring you relief.’

Elizabeth smiled, recalling Bertha’s mother’s remedy of raw meat coated with black pepper and baking soda. ‘You are all kindness, sir, but I have already received expert attention, and time will do the rest.’

Disappointment shadowed his face. ‘It seems I can do nothing for you. I’m mortified that you have been brought to such a state in my service.’

‘You have helped my family most generously in the past, Mr Darcy, and a little traffic in the other direction will do no harm.’ She raised a hand to stave off his objection. ‘Enough of that. I want to explain more fully what happened in Wistham.’ She took a deep breath. ‘First of all, I must apologize, for the report I gave yesterday was in one important respect misleading.’

He looked up suddenly. ‘Yes?’

‘Before I begin, will you promise that whatever I relate, you will discuss the matter calmly and rationally with me before deciding on how to react?’

‘Despite the manifold defects of my character, Miss Bennet, my actions are not usually dictated by an impulsive surge of emotion.’

‘Let me be more specific. I am going to tell you something about Sir Arthur Kaye that will outrage you. Unless I am mistaken, your instinct will be to take up your pistol or sword and seek him out directly. If that happens, all that we have gained in the last two days will be lost. I am begging you, sir. Listen to me calmly, then we will discuss it.’

He stiffened. ‘What has that devil done to you?’

Elizabeth told him. She began with the story she had recounted the day before, of her investigations in Wistham and her imprisonment by Pritchett and McGill. Here at least she had been forthright. He tapped impatiently on the table as she spoke, until finally she reached the episode that had been withheld. This time she spared him nothing. She spoke of Arthur Kaye’s arrival at the cottage, his discovery of her letter, and her struggles as he forced his mouth against hers, and tried to remove her dress. Mindful of her plea, Darcy allowed her to continue without interruption, but from the workings on his face she saw he was deeply affected. At one point he became so restless that he rose and began to pace the room, while gesturing her to carry on.

When she was through there was a long silence, and Elizabeth recalled a similar moment after her confession to Helena at Wistham. It was as if her whole future turned on his reaction now. Would his first impulse be one of tenderness for the harm she had suffered? Or would he now see her as
tarnished goods
, a woman who had been debased by another man, and was thus no longer a fitting object of his interest?

At least he did not keep her waiting. After pacing the room one last time he faced her with an expression of distaste, and said coldly: ‘I am astonished and dismayed that you kept this from me yesterday.’

Deeply upset, she stared back with equal hostility. ‘And suppose I had told you, what then?’

‘I would have refused to settle of course, and if acquitted, would have called him out, as would any gentleman worthy of the name.’ He stamped in frustration. ‘But it is not too late. He is still in residence in Tudor Street, is he not? I will send a message directly.’

Elizabeth jumped to her feet. ‘You will do nothing of the kind, Mr Darcy! Remember your solemn promise not ten minutes ago. Remember also that you have signed a legal agreement to let bygones be bygones. My abuse at Sir Arthur’s hands is now in the past. Unless he accosts me again in the future, your hands are tied.’

‘But I signed in ignorance, because I had been deceived.’ He glared at her with frightening intensity. ‘Deceived by you, madam. You have made me a laughing stock, and I will never forgive you.’

‘I don’t care about your forgiveness, sir. I am grateful that you are alive, and that Georgiana will grow to womanhood secure under your protection, rather than being stigmatised as the sister of a condemned murderer.’

He paused, as if considering this alternative viewpoint, before muttering: ‘You had no right to treat me thus, Elizabeth.’

‘It was a regrettable necessity, sir. And I don’t recall permitting you the liberty of using my Christian name.’

His features contorted at this rebuff. ‘Miss Bennet, then. The point stands.’

‘Mr Darcy, I beg you, promise that you will take this no further.’

He thought for a moment before replying: ‘My hands are tied, Miss Bennet, as you have so bluntly stated. In conspiracy with my enemies, you have contrived to render me helpless. Sir Arthur can rest easy in the knowledge that he has defiled that which was most precious to me, while escaping any redress. You may be satisfied with such an outcome, but I am not.’

She stared at him, and replied with a shaking voice: ‘It is
I
who was the victim of his abuse, Mr Darcy, not you. If any vengeance is due, it is mine. You do not own me, sir.’

He regarded her with an expression suffused with pain, before turning up his palms in a gesture of submission. ‘I see no point in continuing this conversation, Miss Bennet. I perfectly understand your feelings, and can only hope that one day you will understand mine.’

She met his eye bitterly. ‘Have no concerns on that account. I understand your sentiments exactly. I also agree that this conversation cannot be too soon concluded.’ She took a step towards the door. ‘Kindly inform Georgiana that I am unable to accept her invitation to lunch. And if you would be so good, ask Burgess to call a hackney. I am eager to return with Bertha to my uncle and aunt.’

After this encounter with Darcy, Elizabeth’s only wish was to leave town at her earliest convenience, and return home. Fortunately, while taking her leave of the Darcys, she learned from Colonel Fitzwilliam that Mr Bingley planned to leave for Netherfield next day, and would surely have room for an extra passenger in his carriage. With her travel arranged, she could focus her attention on the one remaining issue: how best to explain her adventures to her uncle and aunt—and subsequently to the rest of her family.

While approaching Gracechurch Street in Darcy’s chaise—he had vetoed the hackney—she prepared two versions of her story. The first, which she planned to tell the Gardiners, included her investigations at Wistham, but attributed her injuries to rough treatment by Pritchett and McGill. The second mentioned only her visit to Sir George Beaumont’s estate at Coleorton, where she had supposedly tripped over a root and bruised her face on a tree stump. This version would serve for almost everyone else, including her mother and younger sisters. She had not yet decided whether to open her heart to Jane.

Even in its watered-down form, her tale shocked the Gardiners; her uncle in particular was furious that she had broken her word by resuming her association with the Kayes, so placing herself in serious danger. The news put Mr Gardiner in a quandry: on the one hand, he felt honour-bound to inform Mr Bennet; on the other, he accepted that Elizabeth had been injured in a noble cause, and was reluctant to expose her to further censure. He decided after some discussion to wait for Monday’s newspaper, which would contain an account of the end of the trial. If Elizabeth’s presence had caught the eye of the press, then some kind of explanation would be unavoidable.