Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18

Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18 A/N: Back again! Thank you for your patience as I navigate new motherhood. Here’s our “off to London” chapter! Thank you to Roxey and Lizzy S. for prereading (and Lizzy S. especially for catching my errors and old-school spacing after periods). I did my best to clean it up. Any mistakes are mine. Readers, do let me know if you spot more errors before this gets archived! Thank you for coming back to this story with me. When last we left the Bennets, they were preparing to leave Netherfield for the Gardiners’ home in London. Amidst those preparations, Elizabeth receives two letters, which she excuses herself to read. Chapter Eighteen Having made her way to Miss Bingley’s escritoire at a removal from the rest of the company, Elizabeth opened her letter from Miss Darcy and read: “Dear Miss Bennet, “When I read from my brother’s letter that Tuesday was to mark the day of your departure, I knew I could not resist the opportunity to write once more to wish you and your family well on your journey and to extend to you the welcome of Wyeswell House at any time during your stay in London. I have thought many times about what entertainments we might enjoy whilst in town, and I find your admission that you have an ‘appetite for conversation and laughter’ most promising, for I unhappily confess it is rare that I have the opportunity to visit with ladies who speak of many subjects other than the weather or the latest innovations in fashion. Not that these topics are without interest! It is merely that they are so often visited and worn out. Be assured that I would never neglect to discuss these things with you, if you should wish it, for I am sure your original mind would find ways to embroider the most threadbare discussion of dress and would even discover some figure of amusement in the shape of a grey cloud. “Am I correct in my assumptions? I should think so. My brother never exaggerates, and he has written on the originality of your mind to such an extent that I consider you as much a curiosity as a worthy friend. In naming you a ‘curiosity,’ I know that I show my own impertinence; but somehow, I feel myself assured that you are rather more amused than wounded by my frankness. I hope I will always honour your feelings, especially on paper, where aught can be so misconstrued. “I am not a fine writer, but I attempted to arrange my feelings as best I could when I penned my first missive to you: I therefore rejoiced to read in your letter that the warmth of my concern touched you in your distress. I am also delighted to have learnt from my brother’s last letter that you seem much recovered, as well as your father and your sister. It is of great relief to know that your family has not suffered worse through this unhappy accident than what the initial incident has wrought! “I beg you would send ‘round a note as soon as you have settled in town, for even as I look forward to my brother’s return, such a wish is paired with the certainty that he will make good on our introduction upon the first opportunity. “Pray, stay well until we meet. I wish you safe travels and a warm reception on Gracechurch Street, where I hope you may find ample rest and many joys to treasure from the Season. “To this rather extended farewell benediction, I can only add my sincerity of friendship. Georgiana Darcy” Elizabeth sat back on the settee with a smile and refolded the letter. Her correspondent was certainly kind, and, Elizabeth was pleased to find, clearly as capable of wit as her brother. There was much in the anticipation of their future meetings to bring Elizabeth prospects of delight, not the least the hope of finding a new friend, but also the chance to be drawn again into the circle of Mr. Darcy while in London. That thought, and the unfairness of it towards Miss Darcy, made Elizabeth sit up guiltily. In this attitude, she turned with some chagrin to Charlotte’s letter, feeling yet more disappointment in herself for placing the correspondence of her new friend in higher precedence above her dearest and oldest. She opened it at once and read: “My dear Eliza, “I know it is unlikely that you will be able to take your leave of us yourself due to the constraints upon your journey, but I wished to write and wish you well. I also write to urge our continued correspondence, for much has happened to upset the mind (for you especially) which I think can only find proper relief through shared confidence. “I have some unfortunate news to share from the Lodge: Mr. Collins, as you know, had gone to Netherfield to visit your family on a day most unfit for such a venture; as a consequence, he returned to us somewhat altered on Saturday night. I knew at once that he would take ill, and so he did, shortly after dinner that evening. “Sunday morning he spent confined to his room for so long that he was missed at breakfast. We began to worry that he would miss church, and so when the chambermaid who refreshed his fire told us that he had appeared to her most unwell, Father sent for Mr. Jones.” Elizabeth’s cheeks colored. How could she have been in ignorance of the fact that none of the Lucases had been at church yesterday — nor Mr. Collins? Her distraction, in the form of Mr. Darcy sitting in the pew just behind her, must have been extreme. She bent again to the letter, flushed with self-awareness. “As I write this, he has not greatly improved, although Mr. Jones is convinced that such a slight cold will easily be taken in hand. Our servants have been attending to his needs, but I have also looked in on him myself this evening to observe his progress. His fever has taken a distressing hold; he is restless and speaks to his patroness as though she were present. I confess my compassion has been stirred, for he seems so friendless in his illness. I intend to read to him on Monday and see if he will rest more quietly if his mind perceives some company in the room with him. I shall keep you abreast of his condition, as I know it will be of some concern for your family.” Elizabeth shook her head, little surprised by her sensible friend’s charitable-yet-practical approach to Mr. Collins’s care. But the poor Lucases! What kindness they had shown to host Mr. Collins in the first place; now they must nurse him! Would that Mr. Collins had simply returned to Kent upon seeing Longbourn in disrepair rather than persisting in the neighborhood! Charlotte and her kin were truly goodness themselves. “Once you are in London, I pray you will write to give me word of your safe arrival and all of your news. Until then, I remain, Yours, etc. Charlotte” Elizabeth read this last request and felt resolved to do just as Charlotte asked. Not wishing to forget to write back to both her friends, Elizabeth put away her letters with care in the very top compartment of her trunk upstairs. And it was well that she did so: Tuesday morning came altogether too soon, and too chaotically. Lydia and the much-recovered Kitty began the day by arguing over whose wraps were whose, and whether or not the other would ride in the Bennet’s worn carriage or the Gardiner’s newer, better-sprung borrowed carriage on the road to London. Mary, disgusted by their performance, took to rescuing a few books from her trunk to read during the journey. Mrs. Bennet was all breathless nerves as she harassed the maids for intelligence as to whether or not they had packed such-and-so; and therefore, Jane, seeing how her mother’s pending apoplexy might inconvenience many, at once set out to calm her mother’s anxieties. Miss Bingley stood in the midst of the storm, coolly directing her own servants and lending speed to the final stages of the loading process in such a fashion as to be admired for its efficiency and clear in its intentions. Amidst this unhappy clamour Elizabeth could do little. So, after ensuring that all of her belongings and Jane’s had been cleared from their guestroom upstairs, she went in search of her father in the library. “Ah, Lizzy,” he said by way of greeting, as he set down a glass of Mr. Bingley’s fine port despite the indecency of the hour. “I am farewelling the last bit of peace I may find for a long time. I hope you do not disapprove.” Elizabeth replied in some confusion, “But, Papa, I had thought that you might come back to Longbourn by yourself after a few weeks, to see to the reconstruction — and to enjoy some quiet.” “Indeed, I had still planned to do so. But you make it sound as though it would seem a pleasure-bent journey. Not so! Nor does the prospect of it erase those many weeks unbroken in which I must anticipate close quarters with not only the full multitude of my own children but also my brother-in-law’s children, and all within the crucible of compressed time for my wife’s ostentatious wedding plans.” A sharp and sudden pang of annoyance warred with Elizabeth’s sympathy. The patience of each of her family members would be sorely tested in the coming weeks’ confinement together, but at least her father had the power, as a man, to travel back to Longbourn to remove himself if he so chose. He also had more right to be of use in the task at hand — that of restoring their home — than could she, as a woman. The thought of these ample sources of consolation within his reach, the very sources that he seemed reluctant to take upon himself, increased the bitter tension in her breast. Rather than answer her father, she turned towards the window and looked out upon the front yard. The tops and rear racks of the Gardiner’s borrowed carriage and the Bennet’s family carriage were filling to overflowing as servants scurried about. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were themselves busy in the drive, giving direction to the footmen as to the placement of the last few of the Bennets’ scanty, yet seemingly endless, belongings; then to Elizabeth’s surprise, the gentlemen themselves began testing and re-securing the luggage strapped to the tops of the carriages. She watched in transfixed fascination for several moments. Mr. Darcy’s height certainly gave him the advantage in this particular task. Next to the more compact form of Mr. Bingley, who went to the rear of the nearest carriage to stand up on the dumb irons to gain the requisite height to examine the roof, Mr. Darcy’s figure effortlessly gained him a long and careful reach, which he could manage standing on the ground, only needing occasionally to rise on point of toe. Although his service in such a low office as carriage-groom should have diminished him, Elizabeth thought she had never seen him looking so grand. She turned back to the room with a sigh. “It is nearly time to go, Papa. I think everything is packed tightly. We need only assemble.” Her father picked up a newspaper from the side table. “Be off with you, then, my dear,” he replied as he rustled the leaves open. The rest of his dismissal came from behind the pages. “I will follow, once I have my overcoat and finish my farewells here.” Elizabeth turned slowly from the room, feeling chilled. After ensuring that all the ladies in the foyer had their wraps and spencers for their journey through the brisk November morning, she and Jane led their sisters and mother outside to bid their farewells on the portico. She was mollified to see that her mother and most of her sisters made an effort to speak their proper thanks to Miss Bingley, who received such gratitude with stiffness. But Miss Bingley’s manner did soften when Jane spoke to her, enough that she clasped hands with her would-be sister in a moment of charity, and even wished her a fair journey. To Elizabeth, she gave a curtsey as both acknowledgement and dismissal. The Hursts also bowed and curtsied, somewhat formally, although Mrs. Hurst made so free as to take both Elizabeth’s and Jane’s hands, as well as Mrs. Bennet’s. Her energy, by virtue of being less cool than her sister’s, came off as nearly warm. Mr. Bingley, however, pumped each hand vigorously and expressed a jovial wish to see them soon, and seemed almost distressed by their expressions of gratitude, for of course he was glad to have cared for them at such a time, for they were to be family, after all. He was then very bold when Jane came to him, and took both of her hands in his and kissed them in their dainty gloves. Before he released his betrothed, he gave Jane a sort of sad smile of longing and begged her patience while he closed his house at Netherfield so that he could follow her to town in the coming week. More was said as the road and some plans for the winter were discussed, but Elizabeth was insensible to it as she strained her worried eyes towards the house for some sign of her father. Finally the door opened, and Mr. Bennet emerged at last, still putting on his gloves. Elizabeth gave herself leave then to look for her opportunity and was surprised when Kitty approached her to offer it. “Lizzy, would you come with me to say farewell to Mr. Darcy? I never know how to speak to him, but I know — that is, I am certain that I might not have come out so well, that night, without his help.” A wish so near to Elizabeth’s heart could not have been more easily granted, and so she took her sister’s arm gratefully and approached Mr. Darcy where he stood by the carriages, farewelling the Gardiners. She waited to gain his attention while Kitty stifled a mild coughing fit. “Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said softly, before sinking into a curtsey, which her sister belatedly echoed beside her. “Kitty and I could not think of going without expressing our special gratitude to you.” “It is not necessary,” returned he, straightening from his bow. “I was glad to be of service.” “Service,” repeated Kitty, coloring at her own boldness. “I could not call it that. I — we are alive, because of what you did, sir.” She looked up at him from under her bonnet, and curtsied again, with a real reverence that Elizabeth had never seen in her posture before. It seemed that Kitty could not bring forth further speech after that, and so she rose up again into an awkward silence that was nevertheless full of meaning. “We thank you from our hearts, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth for both of them. Kitty nodded to second the offering. “You are most welcome, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Catherine,” he returned, acknowledging them again with another bow. Kitty, pink in both cheeks, nodded and turned back to join her gaggle of sisters, who were still sorting out who would ride in which carriage with whom. But Elizabeth, unsure of how soon she might meet with Mr. Darcy again, remained a moment, mute before him. “I was disconcerted to have a letter from my sister delivered only this morning, Miss Elizabeth,” he said suddenly. “I had rather thought that yesterday, when you received yours, she would have thought to send one directly for me as well. But it seems her enthusiasm for her friendship has nearly made her forget her poor brother; my little note was an afterthought, which bespoke more of her eagerness to see you, than me.” Elizabeth laughed a little, blushed, and said, “I confess I have looked forward to meeting Miss Darcy at last, as well. I understand she will have to await your return to London for that introduction to happen, however.” Something caught his ear at her tone, enough for him to detect the implication of what Elizabeth’s pronouncement was asking. He was glad to answer it. “I intend to return to town just ahead of Bingley, in about four days. But that will, of course, run my arrival into Saturday evening. With Sunday being assigned to worship and observance, my poor sister will therefore have to wait to call upon you until the Lord’s Day has passed us. But I shall bring her presently— early next week.” Elizabeth nodded, smiling, and fiddled with her gloves, feeling shy to hear the relishing tones with which he bespoke his plans. As she looked upon his slight smile, she felt herself at first thrilled, and then jostled, and realized that her family was beginning to file past her into the carriages. Consciously, she spoke her last words to Mr. Darcy before she reached London. “I am all anticipation,” she declared with a smile. She curtsied a final time, and as she rose up to move past him, he started up beside her and came to stand next to the carriage. From his look, his purpose and expectation could not be doubted: she in answer gave him her hand as she mounted the steps. As his touch left her, she fought silently for her seating and her composure as she nestled in among her sisters. She turned one last time to look at him as he stepped back from the conveyance. He and Bingley stood just outside the doors, each intent on taking their last vision of the ladies within. Jane was pink with the attention, and Elizabeth, scarcely less so. What was he about? Teasing, teasing man! The carriage started forward with a lurch, and they were off to London. As the miles rolled away, the noise of the constant chatter, the close quarters, and the creak and rumble of the carriages took their toll. They each arrived weary at their destination. It took several more days to feel very settled in the house at Gracechurch Street. But Elizabeth made the best of it; she managed to efficiently see to her unpacking and to write notes to Charlotte and Miss Darcy in notice of her family’s safe arrival. In these brief letters, she remarked on what little amusing misadventures of their journey and arrangements she saw fit to share, in addition to the pleasantries such friendly notes must always carry. She endeavored valiantly to keep the anxiety that began to oppress her away from such communications. And yet, such low spirits were only natural, and her hosts, perceiving them, made every attempt to revive their guests. Since their house had far fewer bedrooms available than Netherfield, there were many thoughtful ways that the Gardiners sought to ensure the comfort of their visitors while closely quartered. Elizabeth was relieved to again be sharing a bed with only Jane, although the little bedroom now was forced to admit Mary as well, who slept on a fairly comfortable chaise in the corner. Kitty and Lydia were to share a bedroom with the Gardiners’ eldest daughter, Meredith; and her parents, for perhaps the first time in Elizabeth’s memory, were to share a single bedroom. It was with little wonder, thought Elizabeth wryly upon reflection, that her father had taken to Mr. Bingley’s port to bolster himself before their removal from Netherfield. Aside from the vexations of such close company — which would only feel closer after the children returned from Mrs. Gardiner’s sister’s care — there was one unexpected point of contention that made Elizabeth’s first week in London less than pleasant. It was Charlotte’s second letter, which arrived on Friday, too soon to have been sent in answer to Elizabeth’s notice of safe arrival in London. Elizabeth had opened it out of curiosity at breakfast, only to wish she had not. The letter began: “Wednesday, the 27th of November “Dear Eliza, I hope this note may reach you well in London. I find I write with haste to acquaint you with news which may leave you surprised. First, I must report that Mr. Collins reached a point of certain recovery on Tuesday afternoon, which Mr. Jones indicated, and which Mr. Collins himself confirmed by the return of his energies and appetite. We had him downstairs to dine that very evening, although he was urged to bed soon after. “Then, this morning at breakfast, as we were all gathered, Mr. Collins approached my mother with the particular wish of having a private audience with me. You may imagine my surprise! But the request was granted, and so I met him in the drawing room to hear what he might say. He began very solemnly by thanking me for my kindness to him during his illness, and immediately followed this acknowledgement by expressing his belief that my gentleness in taking to nurse-care and my attentiveness to the comforts of a relative stranger could only endear me to his parishioners, and that he felt himself assured of his patroness’s concurrence on this matter; he then concluded by offering me his proposal of marriage. “What could I do, after seven and twenty years without offer and without hope of useful employment, but tender him my acceptance? And so it was done, and at half-past ten this morning, I became an engaged woman. “I can well imagine what you are thinking, but when you have had time to think it over, I hope you will be satisfied with what I have done. I am not romantic, you know; I never was. I ask only a comfortable home, and considering Mr. Collins's character, connections, and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most anyone can boast upon entering the marriage state.” Elizabeth’s astonishment was at this point so profound that she could not help but press a hand to her mouth. She stood up from her chair anxiously and let the letter fall into her plate before dropping down again herself into her chair from actual shock. “Why, Lizzy, what’s this?” demanded her mother. “What news? Oh! I see the hand; that is from Miss Lucas, is it not? What news does she have from Hertfordshire?” Elizabeth could not prevaricate with so direct a question. “Miss Lucas is engaged, Mamma,” she answered. “Engaged? To whom? I can think of no man coming to pay her particular attention. Indeed, the only gentleman the Lucases have entertained beyond the usual neighborhood has been —” and here she hit upon it, “Why, is it Mr. Collins?” “It is. It is most unexpected,” said Elizabeth hollowly, her cheeks filling with, then draining of, color. For Elizabeth immediately understood that her friend had lowered herself to a marriage of material concern, and worse, to marriage to a man so humiliatingly ridiculous as to never merit consideration. Added to this conclusion came the distressing conviction that it was impossible for her friend to be tolerably happy in the lot she had chosen. Such a man! So little sense! Such misery she foresaw for Charlotte! It was too much. It was also too much for Mrs. Bennet. “Engaged to Mr. Collins!” her mother cried. “What! And only just this week-end, he offered to you? I told you what a fool you were for rejecting him, and now you see what has happened! Miss Lucas — oh, that artful girl! — she will someday be mistress of Longbourn and will turn us all out the moment your father is dead, mark my words. She will not spare a thought for us! Oh, that I should see that house go to such an ungrateful chit as Miss Charlotte Lucas! Oh, Lizzy — what you have done! What a cursed thing to do to your mamma! For shame! For shame! I shall never speak to you again!” A turn of spirits then overtook Mrs. Bennet, and the subsequent Saturday and Sunday proceeded for Elizabeth with all the discomfort which a constant headache from such strain could produce. But on Monday morning, Elizabeth’s salvation arrived in two forms: the return of the Gardiners’ children from the house of Mrs. Gardiner’s sister, and a note from Miss Darcy, brought to their door directly by a smartly liveried footman. The first effect was immediate and widely pronounced, for the playful distraction that the children provided at their homecoming rendered even Mrs. Bennet more agreeable and cheerful. The second effect was restricted to Elizabeth’s feelings and the preparations of Mrs. Gardiner as hostess, once Elizabeth shared with her the most salient part of the message in Miss Darcy’s missive: “‘. . . My brother returned on Saturday night quite safe. I hope I do not impose, but if it is agreeable to you, I had hoped to prevail upon him to attend me to call upon you at Gracechurch Street and perform an introduction to you at last,’” read Mrs. Gardiner, her eyes a little wide. “To have such people as the Darcys, here, calling upon us! I should never have imagined. But we shall make them very welcome, Elizabeth, I assure you. Mr. Darcy and his sister shall be given every honour.” “Thank you, Aunt,” replied Elizabeth. “And I shall be as helpful to you today as I can, for there has been such a change in the house.” “I imagine Mr. and Miss Darcy may forgive us for a little disorder,” returned Mrs. Gardiner. “They are aware of our circumstances, and we need not feel ashamed of them.” Elizabeth glanced around the little parlour, watching the children chattering away with Jane in excited tones while the littlest one clambered about on her lap. The picture which their little company presented was very dear. “No, indeed, we need not,” she agreed softly. **** Until next time, when Elizabeth finally gets to meet Miss Darcy . . . !https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119704#msg-119704Mon, 25 May 2026 01:55:11 +0100 Phorum 5.2.22 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,120291#msg-120291 Re: Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,120291#msg-120291 Elaine Jeremiah Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 01 Mar 2016 20:22:21 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,120220#msg-120220 Re: Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,120220#msg-120220Fearful Symmetry]]> LizzyS Derbyshire Writers' GuildFri, 26 Feb 2016 23:45:58 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,120186#msg-120186 Re: Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,120186#msg-120186
I was a bit confused as to what had gone before in the story, as this is the first excerpt I've read. But I found it intriguing as to what would happen next and how events would unfold in the course of the story.

You've kept the essence of Jane Austen's story and you're telling your way. I'll look forward to reading more.]]> Elaine Jeremiah Derbyshire Writers' GuildThu, 25 Feb 2016 15:31:30 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119932#msg-119932 Re: Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119932#msg-119932 Abbie C. Derbyshire Writers' GuildMon, 15 Feb 2016 06:34:49 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119792#msg-119792 Re: Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119792#msg-119792 Debra Mc Derbyshire Writers' GuildSun, 07 Feb 2016 19:32:41 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119783#msg-119783 Re: Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119783#msg-119783 Kakcal Derbyshire Writers' GuildFri, 05 Feb 2016 20:52:38 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119738#msg-119738 Re: Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119738#msg-119738Georgiana's letter was sweet and clever and that she is in need of female companionship.
Lovely chapter!]]> Lucy J. Derbyshire Writers' GuildWed, 03 Feb 2016 05:30:28 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119736#msg-119736 Re: Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18- ARCHIVE THIS VERSIONhttps://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119736#msg-119736
WHAT FOLLOWS, then, is the version with corrections that needs to be archived. Thank you so kindly for your speedy edits! And thank you, dear archiver, for your patience!

Chapter Eighteen

Having made her way to Miss Bingley’s escritoire at a removal from the rest of the company, Elizabeth opened her letter from Miss Darcy and read:

“Dear Miss Bennet,

“When I read from my brother’s letter that Tuesday was to mark the day of your departure, I knew I could not resist the opportunity to write once more to wish you and your family well on your journey and to extend to you the welcome of Wyeswell House at any time during your stay in London. I have thought many times about what entertainments we might enjoy whilst in town, and I find your admission that you have an ‘appetite for conversation and laughter’ most promising, for I unhappily confess it is rare that I have the opportunity to visit with ladies who speak of many subjects other than the weather or the latest innovations in fashion. Not that these topics are without interest! It is merely that they are so often visited and worn out. Be assured that I would never neglect to discuss these things with you, if you should wish it, for I am sure your original mind would find ways to embroider the most threadbare discussion of dress and would even discover some figure of amusement in the shape of a grey cloud.

“Am I correct in my assumptions? I should think so. My brother never exaggerates, and he has written on the originality of your mind to such an extent that I consider you as much a curiosity as a worthy friend. In naming you a ‘curiosity,’ I know that I show my own impertinence; but somehow, I feel myself assured that you are rather more amused than wounded by my frankness. I hope I will always honour your feelings, especially on paper, where aught can be so misconstrued.

“I am not a fine writer, but I attempted to arrange my feelings as best I could when I penned my first missive to you: I therefore rejoiced to read in your letter that the warmth of my concern touched you in your distress. I am also delighted to have learnt from my brother’s last letter that you seem much recovered, as well as your father and your sister. It is of great relief to know that your family has not suffered worse through this unhappy accident than what the initial incident has wrought!

“I beg you would send ‘round a note as soon as you have settled in town, for even as I look forward to my brother’s return, such a wish is paired with the certainty that he will make good on our introduction upon the first opportunity.

“Pray, stay well until we meet. I wish you safe travels and a warm reception in Gracechurch Street, where I hope you may find ample rest and many joys to treasure from the Season.

“To this rather extended farewell benediction, I can only add my sincerity of friendship.

Georgiana Darcy”

Elizabeth sat back on the settee with a smile and refolded the letter. Her correspondent was certainly kind, and, Elizabeth was pleased to find, clearly as capable of wit as her brother.

There was much in the anticipation of their future meetings to bring Elizabeth prospects of delight, not the least the hope of finding a new friend, but also the chance to be drawn again into the circle of Mr. Darcy while in London.

That thought, and the unfairness of it towards Miss Darcy, made Elizabeth sit up guiltily. In this attitude, she turned with some chagrin to Charlotte’s letter, feeling yet more disappointment in herself for placing the correspondence of her new friend in higher precedence above her dearest and oldest.

She opened it at once and read:

“My dear Eliza,

“I know it is unlikely that you will be able to take your leave of us yourself due to the constraints upon your journey, but I wished to write and wish you well. I also write to urge our continued correspondence, for much has happened to upset the mind (for you especially) which I think can only find proper relief through shared confidence.

“I have some unfortunate news to share from the Lodge: Mr. Collins, as you know, had gone to Netherfield to visit your family on a day most unfit for such a venture; as a consequence, he returned to us somewhat altered on Saturday night. I knew at once that he would take ill, and so he did, shortly after dinner that evening.

“Sunday morning he spent confined to his room for so long that he was missed at breakfast. We began to worry that he would miss church, and so when the chambermaid who refreshed his fire told us that he had appeared to her most unwell, Father sent for Mr. Jones.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks colored. How could she have been in ignorance of the fact that none of the Lucases had been at church yesterday — nor Mr. Collins? Her distraction, in the form of Mr. Darcy sitting in the pew just behind her, must have been extreme.

She bent again to the letter, flushed with self-awareness.

“As I write this, he has not greatly improved, although Mr. Jones is convinced that such a slight cold will easily be taken in hand. Our servants have been attending to his needs, but I have also looked in on him myself this evening to observe his progress. His fever has taken a distressing hold; he is restless and speaks to his patroness as though she were present. I confess my compassion has been stirred, for he seems so friendless in his illness. I intend to read to him on Monday and see if he will rest more quietly if his mind perceives some company in the room with him. I shall keep you abreast of his condition, as I know it will be of some concern for your family.”

Elizabeth shook her head, little surprised by her sensible friend’s charitable-yet-practical approach to Mr. Collins’s care. But the poor Lucases! What kindness they had shown to host Mr. Collins in the first place; now they must nurse him! Would that Mr. Collins had simply returned to Kent upon seeing Longbourn in disrepair rather than persisting in the neighborhood! Charlotte and her kin were truly goodness themselves.

“Once you are in London, I pray you will write to give me word of your safe arrival and all of your news. Until then, I remain,

Yours, etc.

Charlotte”

Elizabeth read this last request and felt resolved to do just as Charlotte asked. Not wishing to forget to write back to both her friends, Elizabeth put away her letters with care in the very top compartment of her trunk upstairs. And it was well that she did so: Tuesday morning came altogether too soon, and too chaotically.

Lydia and the much-recovered Kitty began the day by arguing over whose wraps were whose, and whether or not the other would ride in the Bennets’ worn carriage or the Gardiners’ newer, better-sprung borrowed carriage on the road to London. Mary, disgusted by their performance, took to rescuing a few books from her trunk to read during the journey. Mrs. Bennet was all breathless nerves as she harassed the maids for intelligence as to whether or not they had packed such-and-so; and therefore, Jane, seeing how her mother’s pending apoplexy might inconvenience many, at once set out to calm her mother’s anxieties. Miss Bingley stood in the midst of the storm, coolly directing her own servants and lending speed to the final stages of the loading process in such a fashion as to be admired for its efficiency and clear in its intentions.

Amidst this unhappy clamour Elizabeth could do little. So, after ensuring that all of her belongings and Jane’s had been cleared from their guestroom upstairs, she went in search of her father in the library.

“Ah, Lizzy,” he said by way of greeting, as he set down a glass of Mr. Bingley’s fine port despite the indecency of the hour. “I am farewelling the last bit of peace I may find for a long time. I hope you do not disapprove.”

Elizabeth replied in some confusion, “But, Papa, I had thought that you might come back to Longbourn by yourself after a few weeks, to see to the reconstruction — and to enjoy some quiet.”

“Indeed, I had still planned to do so. But you make it sound as though it would seem a pleasure-bent journey. Not so! Nor does the prospect of it erase those many weeks unbroken in which I must anticipate close quarters with not only the full multitude of my own children but also my brother-in-law’s children, and all within the crucible of compressed time for my wife’s ostentatious wedding plans.”

A sharp and sudden pang of annoyance warred with Elizabeth’s sympathy. The patience of each of her family members would be sorely tested in the coming weeks’ confinement together, but at least her father had the power, as a man, to travel back to Longbourn to remove himself if he so chose. He also had more right to be of use in the task at hand — that of restoring their home — than could she, as a woman. The thought of these ample sources of consolation within his reach, the very sources that he seemed reluctant to take upon himself, increased the bitter tension in her breast.

Rather than answer her father, she turned towards the window and looked out upon the front yard. The tops and rear racks of the Gardiners’ borrowed carriage and the Bennets’ family carriage were filling to overflowing as servants scurried about. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were themselves busy in the drive, giving direction to the footmen as to the placement of the last few of the Bennets’ scanty, yet seemingly endless, belongings; then to Elizabeth’s surprise, the gentlemen themselves began testing and re-securing the luggage strapped to the tops of the carriages.

She watched in transfixed fascination for several moments. Mr. Darcy’s height certainly gave him the advantage in this particular task. Next to the more compact form of Mr. Bingley, who went to the rear of the nearest carriage to stand up on the dumb irons to gain the requisite height to examine the roof, Mr. Darcy’s figure effortlessly gained him a long and careful reach, which he could manage standing on the ground, only needing occasionally to rise on point of toe. Although his service in such a low office as carriage-groom should have diminished him, Elizabeth thought she had never seen him looking so grand.

She turned back to the room with a sigh. “It is nearly time to go, Papa. I think everything is packed tightly. We need only assemble.”

Her father picked up a newspaper from the side table. “Be off with you, then, my dear,” he replied as he rustled the leaves open. The rest of his dismissal came from behind the pages. “I will follow, once I have my overcoat and finish my farewells here.”

Elizabeth turned slowly from the room, feeling chilled.

After ensuring that all the ladies in the hallway had their wraps and spencers for their journey through the brisk November morning, she and Jane led their sisters and mother outside to bid their farewells on the portico. She was mollified to see that her mother and most of her sisters made an effort to speak their proper thanks to Miss Bingley, who received such gratitude with stiffness. But Miss Bingley’s manner did soften when Jane spoke to her, enough that she clasped hands with her would-be sister in a moment of charity, and even wished her a fair journey. To Elizabeth, she gave a curtsey as both acknowledgement and dismissal.

The Hursts also bowed and curtsied, somewhat formally, although Mrs. Hurst made so free as to take both Elizabeth’s and Jane’s hands, as well as Mrs. Bennet’s. Her energy, by virtue of being less cool than her sister’s, came off as nearly warm.

Mr. Bingley, however, pumped each hand vigorously and expressed a jovial wish to see them soon, and seemed almost distressed by their expressions of gratitude, for of course he was glad to have cared for them at such a time, for they were to be family, after all. He was then very bold when Jane came to him, and took both of her hands in his and kissed them in their dainty gloves. Before he released his betrothed, he gave Jane a sort of sad smile of longing and begged her patience while he closed his house at Netherfield so that he could follow her to town in the coming week.

More was said as the road and some plans for the winter were discussed, but Elizabeth was insensible to it as she strained her worried eyes towards the house for some sign of her father. Finally the door opened, and Mr. Bennet emerged at last, still putting on his gloves.

Elizabeth gave herself leave then to look for her opportunity and was surprised when Kitty approached her to offer it.

“Lizzy, would you come with me to say farewell to Mr. Darcy? I never know how to speak to him, but I know — that is, I am certain that I might not have come out so well, that night, without his help.”

A wish so near to Elizabeth’s heart could not have been more easily granted, and so she took her sister’s arm gratefully and approached Mr. Darcy where he stood by the carriages, farewelling the Gardiners.

She waited to gain his attention while Kitty stifled a mild coughing fit.

“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said softly, before sinking into a curtsey, which her sister belatedly echoed beside her. “Kitty and I could not think of going without expressing our special gratitude to you.”

“It is not necessary,” returned he, straightening from his bow. “I was glad to be of service.”

“Service,” repeated Kitty, coloring at her own boldness. “I could not call it that. I — we are alive, because of what you did, sir.” She looked up at him from under her bonnet, and curtsied again, with a real reverence that Elizabeth had never seen in her posture before. It seemed that Kitty could not bring forth further speech after that, and so she rose up again into an awkward silence that was nevertheless full of meaning.

“We thank you from our hearts, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth for both of them. Kitty nodded to second the offering.

“You are most welcome, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Catherine,” he returned, acknowledging them again with another bow.

Kitty, pink in both cheeks, nodded and turned back to join her gaggle of sisters, who were still sorting out who would ride in which carriage with whom. But Elizabeth, unsure of how soon she might meet with Mr. Darcy again, remained a moment, mute before him.

“I was disconcerted to have a letter from my sister delivered only this morning, Miss Elizabeth,” he said suddenly. “I had rather thought that yesterday, when you received yours, she would have thought to send one directly for me as well. But it seems her enthusiasm for her friendship has nearly made her forget her poor brother; my little note was an afterthought, which bespoke more of her eagerness to see you, than me.”

Elizabeth laughed a little, blushed, and said, “I confess I have looked forward to meeting Miss Darcy at last, as well. I understand she will have to await your return to London for that introduction to happen, however.”

Something caught his ear at her tone, enough for him to detect the implication of what Elizabeth’s pronouncement was asking. He was glad to answer it. “I intend to return to town just ahead of Bingley, in about four days. But that will, of course, run my arrival into Saturday evening. With Sunday being assigned to worship and observance, my poor sister will therefore have to wait to call upon you until the Lord’s Day has passed us. But I shall bring her presently— early next week.”

Elizabeth nodded, smiling, and fiddled with her gloves, feeling shy to hear the relishing tones with which he bespoke his plans. As she looked upon his slight smile, she felt herself at first thrilled, and then jostled, and realized that her family was beginning to file past her into the carriages.

Consciously, she spoke her last words to Mr. Darcy before she reached London. “I am all anticipation,” she declared with a smile.

She curtsied a final time, and as she rose up to move past him, he started up beside her and came to stand next to the carriage. From his look, his purpose and expectation could not be doubted: she in answer gave him her hand as she mounted the steps. As his touch left her, she fought silently for her seating and her composure as she nestled in among her sisters.

She turned one last time to look at him as he stepped back from the conveyance. He and Bingley stood just outside the doors, each intent on taking their last vision of the ladies within. Jane was pink with the attention, and Elizabeth, scarcely less so. What was he about? Teasing, teasing man!

The carriage started forward with a lurch, and they were off to London.

As the miles rolled away, the noise of the constant chatter, the close quarters, and the creak and rumble of the carriages took their toll. They each arrived weary at their destination.

It took several more days to feel very settled in the house at Gracechurch Street. But Elizabeth made the best of it; she managed to efficiently see to her unpacking and to write notes to Charlotte and Miss Darcy in notice of her family’s safe arrival. In these brief letters, she remarked on what little amusing misadventures of their journey and arrangements she saw fit to share, in addition to the pleasantries such friendly notes must always carry. She endeavored valiantly to keep the anxiety that began to oppress her away from such communications.

And yet, such low spirits were only natural, and her hosts, perceiving them, made every attempt to revive their guests.

Since their house had far fewer bedrooms available than Netherfield, there were many thoughtful ways that the Gardiners sought to ensure the comfort of their visitors while closely quartered. Elizabeth was relieved to again be sharing a bed with only Jane, although the little bedroom now was forced to admit Mary as well, who slept on a fairly comfortable chaise in the corner. Kitty and Lydia were to share a bedroom with the Gardiners’ eldest daughter, Meredith; and her parents, for perhaps the first time in Elizabeth’s memory, were to share a single bedroom. It was with little wonder, thought Elizabeth wryly upon reflection, that her father had taken to Mr. Bingley’s port to bolster himself before their removal from Netherfield.

Aside from the vexations of such close company — which would only feel closer after the children returned from Mrs. Gardiner’s sister’s care — there was one unexpected point of contention that made Elizabeth’s first week in London less than pleasant. It was Charlotte’s second letter, which arrived on Friday, too soon to have been sent in answer to Elizabeth’s notice of safe arrival in London.

Elizabeth had opened it out of curiosity at breakfast, only to wish she had not. The letter began:

“Wednesday, the 27th of November

“Dear Eliza,

I hope this note may reach you well in London. I find I write with haste to acquaint you with news which may leave you surprised. First, I must report that Mr. Collins reached a point of certain recovery on Tuesday afternoon, which Mr. Jones indicated, and which Mr. Collins himself confirmed by the return of his energies and appetite. We had him downstairs to dine that very evening, although he was urged to bed soon after.

“Then, this morning at breakfast, as we were all gathered, Mr. Collins approached my mother with the particular wish of having a private audience with me. You may imagine my surprise! But the request was granted, and so I met him in the drawing room to hear what he might say. He began very solemnly by thanking me for my kindness to him during his illness, and immediately followed this acknowledgement by expressing his belief that my gentleness in taking to nurse-care and my attentiveness to the comforts of a relative stranger could only endear me to his parishioners, and that he felt himself assured of his patroness’s concurrence on this matter; he then concluded by offering me his proposal of marriage.

“What could I do, after seven and twenty years without offer and without hope of useful employment, but tender him my acceptance? And so it was done, and at half-past ten this morning, I became an engaged woman.

“I can well imagine what you are thinking, but when you have had time to think it over, I hope you will be satisfied with what I have done. I am not romantic, you know; I never was. I ask only a comfortable home, and considering Mr. Collins's character, connections, and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most anyone can boast upon entering the marriage state.”

Elizabeth’s astonishment was at this point so profound that she could not help but press a hand to her mouth. She stood up from her chair anxiously and let the letter fall into her plate before dropping down again herself into her chair from actual shock.

“Why, Lizzy, what’s this?” demanded her mother. “What news? Oh! I see the hand; that is from Miss Lucas, is it not? What news does she have from Hertfordshire?”

Elizabeth could not prevaricate with so direct a question. “Miss Lucas is engaged, Mamma,” she answered.

“Engaged? To whom? I can think of no man coming to pay her particular attention. Indeed, the only gentleman the Lucases have entertained beyond the usual neighborhood has been —” and here she hit upon it, “Why, is it Mr. Collins?”

“It is. It is most unexpected,” said Elizabeth hollowly, her cheeks filling with, then draining of, color. For Elizabeth immediately understood that her friend had lowered herself to a marriage of material concern, and worse, to marriage to a man so humiliatingly ridiculous as to never merit consideration. Added to this conclusion came the distressing conviction that it was impossible for her friend to be tolerably happy in the lot she had chosen. Such a man! So little sense! Such misery she foresaw for Charlotte! It was too much.

It was also too much for Mrs. Bennet. “Engaged to Mr. Collins!” her mother cried. “What! And only just this week-end, he offered to you? I told you what a fool you were for rejecting him, and now you see what has happened! Miss Lucas — oh, that artful girl! — she will someday be mistress of Longbourn and will turn us all out the moment your father is dead, mark my words. She will not spare a thought for us! Oh, that I should see that house go to such an ungrateful chit as Miss Charlotte Lucas! Oh, Lizzy — what you have done! What a cursed thing to do to your mamma! For shame! For shame! I shall never speak to you again!”

A turn of spirits then overtook Mrs. Bennet, and the subsequent Saturday and Sunday proceeded for Elizabeth with all the discomfort which a constant headache from such strain could produce. But on Monday morning, Elizabeth’s salvation arrived in two forms: the return of the Gardiners’ children from the house of Mrs. Gardiner’s sister, and a note from Miss Darcy, brought to their door directly by a smartly liveried footman.

The first effect was immediate and widely pronounced, for the playful distraction that the children provided at their homecoming rendered even Mrs. Bennet more agreeable and cheerful. The second effect was restricted to Elizabeth’s feelings and the preparations of Mrs. Gardiner as hostess, once Elizabeth shared with her the most salient part of the message in Miss Darcy’s missive:

“‘. . . My brother returned on Saturday night quite safe. I hope I do not impose, but if it is agreeable to you, I had hoped to prevail upon him to attend me to call upon you in Gracechurch Street and perform an introduction to you at last,’” read Mrs. Gardiner, her eyes a little wide. “To have such people as the Darcys, here, calling upon us! I should never have imagined. But we shall make them very welcome, Elizabeth, I assure you. Mr. Darcy and his sister shall be given every honour.”

“Thank you, Aunt,” replied Elizabeth. “And I shall be as helpful to you today as I can, for there has been such a change in the house.”

“I imagine Mr. and Miss Darcy may forgive us for a little disorder,” returned Mrs. Gardiner. “They are aware of our circumstances, and we need not feel ashamed of them.”

Elizabeth glanced around the little parlour, watching the children chattering away with Jane in excited tones while the littlest one clambered about on her lap. The picture which their little company presented was very dear.

“No, indeed, we need not,” she agreed softly.

***]]> Abbie C. Derbyshire Writers' GuildWed, 03 Feb 2016 04:41:41 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119732#msg-119732 Re: Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119732#msg-119732 Cecilia Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 02 Feb 2016 23:11:05 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119730#msg-119730 Re: Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119730#msg-119730 ShannaG Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 02 Feb 2016 22:15:36 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119718#msg-119718 Re: Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119718#msg-119718 LizzyS Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 02 Feb 2016 17:42:45 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119715#msg-119715 Re: Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119715#msg-119715
Since you wrote:

Quote

Readers, do let me know if you spot more errors before this gets archived!

I’ll mention a few things I noticed.

“on Gracechurch Street”
If you examine Jane Austen’s novels you’ll see that she doesn’t use the ‘on’ X Street phrasing. Instead, it’s always ‘in’ X Street.

“would ride in the Bennet’s worn carriage or the Gardiner’s”
“the Gardiner’s borrowed carriage and the Bennet’s family carriage”
In the above lines, you’ve used singular possessive where plural possessive is meant.

“the ladies in the foyer”
Foyer did not have the meaning of entrance hall until 1859.

I’m looking forward to chapter 19. It should be a good one!]]> JanetR Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 02 Feb 2016 17:07:17 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119709#msg-119709 Re: Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119709#msg-119709 Petrina Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 02 Feb 2016 12:21:47 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119708#msg-119708 Re: Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119708#msg-119708
I sure hope that the darcy's visit will help raise Lizzy's spirit.

I enjoyed this chapter very much and hope to read more soon.]]> Estee Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 02 Feb 2016 08:29:31 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119706#msg-119706 Re: Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119706#msg-119706
I didn't notice any typos my first read through, but I want to re-read it (such a pleasure)!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!]]> EvelynJean Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 02 Feb 2016 06:14:47 +0000 https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119704#msg-119704 Fearful Symmetry - Chapter 18https://www.dwiggie.com/phorum/read.php?5,119704,119704#msg-119704
Thank you to Roxey and Lizzy S. for prereading (and Lizzy S. especially for catching my errors and old-school spacing after periods). I did my best to clean it up. Any mistakes are mine.

Readers, do let me know if you spot more errors before this gets archived! Thank you for coming back to this story with me.

When last we left the Bennets, they were preparing to leave Netherfield for the Gardiners’ home in London. Amidst those preparations, Elizabeth receives two letters, which she excuses herself to read.

Chapter Eighteen

Having made her way to Miss Bingley’s escritoire at a removal from the rest of the company, Elizabeth opened her letter from Miss Darcy and read:

“Dear Miss Bennet,

“When I read from my brother’s letter that Tuesday was to mark the day of your departure, I knew I could not resist the opportunity to write once more to wish you and your family well on your journey and to extend to you the welcome of Wyeswell House at any time during your stay in London. I have thought many times about what entertainments we might enjoy whilst in town, and I find your admission that you have an ‘appetite for conversation and laughter’ most promising, for I unhappily confess it is rare that I have the opportunity to visit with ladies who speak of many subjects other than the weather or the latest innovations in fashion. Not that these topics are without interest! It is merely that they are so often visited and worn out. Be assured that I would never neglect to discuss these things with you, if you should wish it, for I am sure your original mind would find ways to embroider the most threadbare discussion of dress and would even discover some figure of amusement in the shape of a grey cloud.

“Am I correct in my assumptions? I should think so. My brother never exaggerates, and he has written on the originality of your mind to such an extent that I consider you as much a curiosity as a worthy friend. In naming you a ‘curiosity,’ I know that I show my own impertinence; but somehow, I feel myself assured that you are rather more amused than wounded by my frankness. I hope I will always honour your feelings, especially on paper, where aught can be so misconstrued.

“I am not a fine writer, but I attempted to arrange my feelings as best I could when I penned my first missive to you: I therefore rejoiced to read in your letter that the warmth of my concern touched you in your distress. I am also delighted to have learnt from my brother’s last letter that you seem much recovered, as well as your father and your sister. It is of great relief to know that your family has not suffered worse through this unhappy accident than what the initial incident has wrought!

“I beg you would send ‘round a note as soon as you have settled in town, for even as I look forward to my brother’s return, such a wish is paired with the certainty that he will make good on our introduction upon the first opportunity.

“Pray, stay well until we meet. I wish you safe travels and a warm reception on Gracechurch Street, where I hope you may find ample rest and many joys to treasure from the Season.

“To this rather extended farewell benediction, I can only add my sincerity of friendship.

Georgiana Darcy”

Elizabeth sat back on the settee with a smile and refolded the letter. Her correspondent was certainly kind, and, Elizabeth was pleased to find, clearly as capable of wit as her brother.

There was much in the anticipation of their future meetings to bring Elizabeth prospects of delight, not the least the hope of finding a new friend, but also the chance to be drawn again into the circle of Mr. Darcy while in London.

That thought, and the unfairness of it towards Miss Darcy, made Elizabeth sit up guiltily. In this attitude, she turned with some chagrin to Charlotte’s letter, feeling yet more disappointment in herself for placing the correspondence of her new friend in higher precedence above her dearest and oldest.

She opened it at once and read:

“My dear Eliza,

“I know it is unlikely that you will be able to take your leave of us yourself due to the constraints upon your journey, but I wished to write and wish you well. I also write to urge our continued correspondence, for much has happened to upset the mind (for you especially) which I think can only find proper relief through shared confidence.

“I have some unfortunate news to share from the Lodge: Mr. Collins, as you know, had gone to Netherfield to visit your family on a day most unfit for such a venture; as a consequence, he returned to us somewhat altered on Saturday night. I knew at once that he would take ill, and so he did, shortly after dinner that evening.

“Sunday morning he spent confined to his room for so long that he was missed at breakfast. We began to worry that he would miss church, and so when the chambermaid who refreshed his fire told us that he had appeared to her most unwell, Father sent for Mr. Jones.”

Elizabeth’s cheeks colored. How could she have been in ignorance of the fact that none of the Lucases had been at church yesterday — nor Mr. Collins? Her distraction, in the form of Mr. Darcy sitting in the pew just behind her, must have been extreme.

She bent again to the letter, flushed with self-awareness.

“As I write this, he has not greatly improved, although Mr. Jones is convinced that such a slight cold will easily be taken in hand. Our servants have been attending to his needs, but I have also looked in on him myself this evening to observe his progress. His fever has taken a distressing hold; he is restless and speaks to his patroness as though she were present. I confess my compassion has been stirred, for he seems so friendless in his illness. I intend to read to him on Monday and see if he will rest more quietly if his mind perceives some company in the room with him. I shall keep you abreast of his condition, as I know it will be of some concern for your family.”

Elizabeth shook her head, little surprised by her sensible friend’s charitable-yet-practical approach to Mr. Collins’s care. But the poor Lucases! What kindness they had shown to host Mr. Collins in the first place; now they must nurse him! Would that Mr. Collins had simply returned to Kent upon seeing Longbourn in disrepair rather than persisting in the neighborhood! Charlotte and her kin were truly goodness themselves.

“Once you are in London, I pray you will write to give me word of your safe arrival and all of your news. Until then, I remain,

Yours, etc.

Charlotte”

Elizabeth read this last request and felt resolved to do just as Charlotte asked. Not wishing to forget to write back to both her friends, Elizabeth put away her letters with care in the very top compartment of her trunk upstairs. And it was well that she did so: Tuesday morning came altogether too soon, and too chaotically.

Lydia and the much-recovered Kitty began the day by arguing over whose wraps were whose, and whether or not the other would ride in the Bennet’s worn carriage or the Gardiner’s newer, better-sprung borrowed carriage on the road to London. Mary, disgusted by their performance, took to rescuing a few books from her trunk to read during the journey. Mrs. Bennet was all breathless nerves as she harassed the maids for intelligence as to whether or not they had packed such-and-so; and therefore, Jane, seeing how her mother’s pending apoplexy might inconvenience many, at once set out to calm her mother’s anxieties. Miss Bingley stood in the midst of the storm, coolly directing her own servants and lending speed to the final stages of the loading process in such a fashion as to be admired for its efficiency and clear in its intentions.

Amidst this unhappy clamour Elizabeth could do little. So, after ensuring that all of her belongings and Jane’s had been cleared from their guestroom upstairs, she went in search of her father in the library.

“Ah, Lizzy,” he said by way of greeting, as he set down a glass of Mr. Bingley’s fine port despite the indecency of the hour. “I am farewelling the last bit of peace I may find for a long time. I hope you do not disapprove.”

Elizabeth replied in some confusion, “But, Papa, I had thought that you might come back to Longbourn by yourself after a few weeks, to see to the reconstruction — and to enjoy some quiet.”

“Indeed, I had still planned to do so. But you make it sound as though it would seem a pleasure-bent journey. Not so! Nor does the prospect of it erase those many weeks unbroken in which I must anticipate close quarters with not only the full multitude of my own children but also my brother-in-law’s children, and all within the crucible of compressed time for my wife’s ostentatious wedding plans.”

A sharp and sudden pang of annoyance warred with Elizabeth’s sympathy. The patience of each of her family members would be sorely tested in the coming weeks’ confinement together, but at least her father had the power, as a man, to travel back to Longbourn to remove himself if he so chose. He also had more right to be of use in the task at hand — that of restoring their home — than could she, as a woman. The thought of these ample sources of consolation within his reach, the very sources that he seemed reluctant to take upon himself, increased the bitter tension in her breast.

Rather than answer her father, she turned towards the window and looked out upon the front yard. The tops and rear racks of the Gardiner’s borrowed carriage and the Bennet’s family carriage were filling to overflowing as servants scurried about. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were themselves busy in the drive, giving direction to the footmen as to the placement of the last few of the Bennets’ scanty, yet seemingly endless, belongings; then to Elizabeth’s surprise, the gentlemen themselves began testing and re-securing the luggage strapped to the tops of the carriages.

She watched in transfixed fascination for several moments. Mr. Darcy’s height certainly gave him the advantage in this particular task. Next to the more compact form of Mr. Bingley, who went to the rear of the nearest carriage to stand up on the dumb irons to gain the requisite height to examine the roof, Mr. Darcy’s figure effortlessly gained him a long and careful reach, which he could manage standing on the ground, only needing occasionally to rise on point of toe. Although his service in such a low office as carriage-groom should have diminished him, Elizabeth thought she had never seen him looking so grand.

She turned back to the room with a sigh. “It is nearly time to go, Papa. I think everything is packed tightly. We need only assemble.”

Her father picked up a newspaper from the side table. “Be off with you, then, my dear,” he replied as he rustled the leaves open. The rest of his dismissal came from behind the pages. “I will follow, once I have my overcoat and finish my farewells here.”

Elizabeth turned slowly from the room, feeling chilled.

After ensuring that all the ladies in the foyer had their wraps and spencers for their journey through the brisk November morning, she and Jane led their sisters and mother outside to bid their farewells on the portico. She was mollified to see that her mother and most of her sisters made an effort to speak their proper thanks to Miss Bingley, who received such gratitude with stiffness. But Miss Bingley’s manner did soften when Jane spoke to her, enough that she clasped hands with her would-be sister in a moment of charity, and even wished her a fair journey. To Elizabeth, she gave a curtsey as both acknowledgement and dismissal.

The Hursts also bowed and curtsied, somewhat formally, although Mrs. Hurst made so free as to take both Elizabeth’s and Jane’s hands, as well as Mrs. Bennet’s. Her energy, by virtue of being less cool than her sister’s, came off as nearly warm.

Mr. Bingley, however, pumped each hand vigorously and expressed a jovial wish to see them soon, and seemed almost distressed by their expressions of gratitude, for of course he was glad to have cared for them at such a time, for they were to be family, after all. He was then very bold when Jane came to him, and took both of her hands in his and kissed them in their dainty gloves. Before he released his betrothed, he gave Jane a sort of sad smile of longing and begged her patience while he closed his house at Netherfield so that he could follow her to town in the coming week.

More was said as the road and some plans for the winter were discussed, but Elizabeth was insensible to it as she strained her worried eyes towards the house for some sign of her father. Finally the door opened, and Mr. Bennet emerged at last, still putting on his gloves.

Elizabeth gave herself leave then to look for her opportunity and was surprised when Kitty approached her to offer it.

“Lizzy, would you come with me to say farewell to Mr. Darcy? I never know how to speak to him, but I know — that is, I am certain that I might not have come out so well, that night, without his help.”

A wish so near to Elizabeth’s heart could not have been more easily granted, and so she took her sister’s arm gratefully and approached Mr. Darcy where he stood by the carriages, farewelling the Gardiners.

She waited to gain his attention while Kitty stifled a mild coughing fit.

“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said softly, before sinking into a curtsey, which her sister belatedly echoed beside her. “Kitty and I could not think of going without expressing our special gratitude to you.”

“It is not necessary,” returned he, straightening from his bow. “I was glad to be of service.”

“Service,” repeated Kitty, coloring at her own boldness. “I could not call it that. I — we are alive, because of what you did, sir.” She looked up at him from under her bonnet, and curtsied again, with a real reverence that Elizabeth had never seen in her posture before. It seemed that Kitty could not bring forth further speech after that, and so she rose up again into an awkward silence that was nevertheless full of meaning.

“We thank you from our hearts, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth for both of them. Kitty nodded to second the offering.

“You are most welcome, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Catherine,” he returned, acknowledging them again with another bow.

Kitty, pink in both cheeks, nodded and turned back to join her gaggle of sisters, who were still sorting out who would ride in which carriage with whom. But Elizabeth, unsure of how soon she might meet with Mr. Darcy again, remained a moment, mute before him.

“I was disconcerted to have a letter from my sister delivered only this morning, Miss Elizabeth,” he said suddenly. “I had rather thought that yesterday, when you received yours, she would have thought to send one directly for me as well. But it seems her enthusiasm for her friendship has nearly made her forget her poor brother; my little note was an afterthought, which bespoke more of her eagerness to see you, than me.”

Elizabeth laughed a little, blushed, and said, “I confess I have looked forward to meeting Miss Darcy at last, as well. I understand she will have to await your return to London for that introduction to happen, however.”

Something caught his ear at her tone, enough for him to detect the implication of what Elizabeth’s pronouncement was asking. He was glad to answer it. “I intend to return to town just ahead of Bingley, in about four days. But that will, of course, run my arrival into Saturday evening. With Sunday being assigned to worship and observance, my poor sister will therefore have to wait to call upon you until the Lord’s Day has passed us. But I shall bring her presently— early next week.”

Elizabeth nodded, smiling, and fiddled with her gloves, feeling shy to hear the relishing tones with which he bespoke his plans. As she looked upon his slight smile, she felt herself at first thrilled, and then jostled, and realized that her family was beginning to file past her into the carriages.

Consciously, she spoke her last words to Mr. Darcy before she reached London. “I am all anticipation,” she declared with a smile.

She curtsied a final time, and as she rose up to move past him, he started up beside her and came to stand next to the carriage. From his look, his purpose and expectation could not be doubted: she in answer gave him her hand as she mounted the steps. As his touch left her, she fought silently for her seating and her composure as she nestled in among her sisters.

She turned one last time to look at him as he stepped back from the conveyance. He and Bingley stood just outside the doors, each intent on taking their last vision of the ladies within. Jane was pink with the attention, and Elizabeth, scarcely less so. What was he about? Teasing, teasing man!

The carriage started forward with a lurch, and they were off to London.

As the miles rolled away, the noise of the constant chatter, the close quarters, and the creak and rumble of the carriages took their toll. They each arrived weary at their destination.

It took several more days to feel very settled in the house at Gracechurch Street. But Elizabeth made the best of it; she managed to efficiently see to her unpacking and to write notes to Charlotte and Miss Darcy in notice of her family’s safe arrival. In these brief letters, she remarked on what little amusing misadventures of their journey and arrangements she saw fit to share, in addition to the pleasantries such friendly notes must always carry. She endeavored valiantly to keep the anxiety that began to oppress her away from such communications.

And yet, such low spirits were only natural, and her hosts, perceiving them, made every attempt to revive their guests.

Since their house had far fewer bedrooms available than Netherfield, there were many thoughtful ways that the Gardiners sought to ensure the comfort of their visitors while closely quartered. Elizabeth was relieved to again be sharing a bed with only Jane, although the little bedroom now was forced to admit Mary as well, who slept on a fairly comfortable chaise in the corner. Kitty and Lydia were to share a bedroom with the Gardiners’ eldest daughter, Meredith; and her parents, for perhaps the first time in Elizabeth’s memory, were to share a single bedroom. It was with little wonder, thought Elizabeth wryly upon reflection, that her father had taken to Mr. Bingley’s port to bolster himself before their removal from Netherfield.

Aside from the vexations of such close company — which would only feel closer after the children returned from Mrs. Gardiner’s sister’s care — there was one unexpected point of contention that made Elizabeth’s first week in London less than pleasant. It was Charlotte’s second letter, which arrived on Friday, too soon to have been sent in answer to Elizabeth’s notice of safe arrival in London.

Elizabeth had opened it out of curiosity at breakfast, only to wish she had not. The letter began:

“Wednesday, the 27th of November

“Dear Eliza,

I hope this note may reach you well in London. I find I write with haste to acquaint you with news which may leave you surprised. First, I must report that Mr. Collins reached a point of certain recovery on Tuesday afternoon, which Mr. Jones indicated, and which Mr. Collins himself confirmed by the return of his energies and appetite. We had him downstairs to dine that very evening, although he was urged to bed soon after.

“Then, this morning at breakfast, as we were all gathered, Mr. Collins approached my mother with the particular wish of having a private audience with me. You may imagine my surprise! But the request was granted, and so I met him in the drawing room to hear what he might say. He began very solemnly by thanking me for my kindness to him during his illness, and immediately followed this acknowledgement by expressing his belief that my gentleness in taking to nurse-care and my attentiveness to the comforts of a relative stranger could only endear me to his parishioners, and that he felt himself assured of his patroness’s concurrence on this matter; he then concluded by offering me his proposal of marriage.

“What could I do, after seven and twenty years without offer and without hope of useful employment, but tender him my acceptance? And so it was done, and at half-past ten this morning, I became an engaged woman.

“I can well imagine what you are thinking, but when you have had time to think it over, I hope you will be satisfied with what I have done. I am not romantic, you know; I never was. I ask only a comfortable home, and considering Mr. Collins's character, connections, and situation in life, I am convinced that my chance of happiness with him is as fair as most anyone can boast upon entering the marriage state.”

Elizabeth’s astonishment was at this point so profound that she could not help but press a hand to her mouth. She stood up from her chair anxiously and let the letter fall into her plate before dropping down again herself into her chair from actual shock.

“Why, Lizzy, what’s this?” demanded her mother. “What news? Oh! I see the hand; that is from Miss Lucas, is it not? What news does she have from Hertfordshire?”

Elizabeth could not prevaricate with so direct a question. “Miss Lucas is engaged, Mamma,” she answered.

“Engaged? To whom? I can think of no man coming to pay her particular attention. Indeed, the only gentleman the Lucases have entertained beyond the usual neighborhood has been —” and here she hit upon it, “Why, is it Mr. Collins?”

“It is. It is most unexpected,” said Elizabeth hollowly, her cheeks filling with, then draining of, color. For Elizabeth immediately understood that her friend had lowered herself to a marriage of material concern, and worse, to marriage to a man so humiliatingly ridiculous as to never merit consideration. Added to this conclusion came the distressing conviction that it was impossible for her friend to be tolerably happy in the lot she had chosen. Such a man! So little sense! Such misery she foresaw for Charlotte! It was too much.

It was also too much for Mrs. Bennet. “Engaged to Mr. Collins!” her mother cried. “What! And only just this week-end, he offered to you? I told you what a fool you were for rejecting him, and now you see what has happened! Miss Lucas — oh, that artful girl! — she will someday be mistress of Longbourn and will turn us all out the moment your father is dead, mark my words. She will not spare a thought for us! Oh, that I should see that house go to such an ungrateful chit as Miss Charlotte Lucas! Oh, Lizzy — what you have done! What a cursed thing to do to your mamma! For shame! For shame! I shall never speak to you again!”

A turn of spirits then overtook Mrs. Bennet, and the subsequent Saturday and Sunday proceeded for Elizabeth with all the discomfort which a constant headache from such strain could produce. But on Monday morning, Elizabeth’s salvation arrived in two forms: the return of the Gardiners’ children from the house of Mrs. Gardiner’s sister, and a note from Miss Darcy, brought to their door directly by a smartly liveried footman.

The first effect was immediate and widely pronounced, for the playful distraction that the children provided at their homecoming rendered even Mrs. Bennet more agreeable and cheerful. The second effect was restricted to Elizabeth’s feelings and the preparations of Mrs. Gardiner as hostess, once Elizabeth shared with her the most salient part of the message in Miss Darcy’s missive:

“‘. . . My brother returned on Saturday night quite safe. I hope I do not impose, but if it is agreeable to you, I had hoped to prevail upon him to attend me to call upon you at Gracechurch Street and perform an introduction to you at last,’” read Mrs. Gardiner, her eyes a little wide. “To have such people as the Darcys, here, calling upon us! I should never have imagined. But we shall make them very welcome, Elizabeth, I assure you. Mr. Darcy and his sister shall be given every honour.”

“Thank you, Aunt,” replied Elizabeth. “And I shall be as helpful to you today as I can, for there has been such a change in the house.”

“I imagine Mr. and Miss Darcy may forgive us for a little disorder,” returned Mrs. Gardiner. “They are aware of our circumstances, and we need not feel ashamed of them.”

Elizabeth glanced around the little parlour, watching the children chattering away with Jane in excited tones while the littlest one clambered about on her lap. The picture which their little company presented was very dear.

“No, indeed, we need not,” she agreed softly.

****

Until next time, when Elizabeth finally gets to meet Miss Darcy . . . !]]> Abbie C. Derbyshire Writers' GuildTue, 02 Feb 2016 05:09:26 +0000