"I would not blame you for the world," said Elizabeth. "You must remember I know but little of the facts, and nothing at all of how they appear from the other side. My principal object, as I have said, is to prevent my cousin from being misjudged, not to make any accusations against anyone; will you not tell me a little more, so that between us we may clear the whole matter up?"
Elizabeth was obliged to proceed with the utmost caution, and to speak less openly than she would have wished, for instinct warned her that Miss Crawford was not yet ready to be guided, or even sympathized with. It was far too soon to assume any special interest on her part in Colonel Fitzwilliam, though her last speech had admitted the existence of a trouble not unconnected to him.
"There is really nothing to tell you, Mrs. Darcy," said Miss Crawford. "What happened is simply a succession of negatives. Colonel Fitzwilliam reappeared in London, and showed every sign of wishing to renew his friendship with my sister and me, but he departed without doing so. I was not engaged to anyone at that time, nor have I been since, as he might have easily found out if he had asked the right people."
"Miss Crawford!" cried Elizabeth earnestly; "hehadreason to believe it. Perhaps he did not ask your nearest relatives, but you are surely aware—it involves no reproach to yourself—but it was talked of, and assumed to be a fact, among your friends generally?"
Mary evidently found it difficult to reply, but at length said: "Yes, I know it was talked of, but there was never any truth in it. I know I was foolish. I went about a great deal with those people—with the Elliots; I let myself be drawn into their circle, and I suppose it was pleasant to be fêted and made much of; Mrs. Darcy, I daresay you hardly know what it is to drift into an intimacy that amuses you, and occupies your time, while your heart is never in it the smallest degree."
"I think I understand," said Elizabeth gently. "You had been with them at Bath, and it was difficult to free yourself from the association when you met again?"
"Yes, and my brother liked them—or they liked him—and it is always natural for me to be where he is. But I was not bound to them, and it was not all enjoyment. How often I wished that something would happen to take me out of it! How gladly would I not have gone!"
"My cousin hoped, I think, to have made some arrangements with you and your sister, but he was not sure if they would be acceptable."
"Colonel Fitzwilliam did not put himself to much trouble about it," returned Mary. "The extent of his plans was, that he asked permission to come and call, and then did not do so."
"Because he had heard in the meantime of your engagement," said Elizabeth. "Dear Miss Crawford, you must, you must, indeed, let me convince you of his sincerity. He cared for you in Bath; you know he did for he told your sister so." She looked anxiously at Mary, and received a glance of reluctant assent. "No one more deeply lamented the misfortune which separated you after that; and can you wonder that, when you meet again, the remembrance of what happened made him diffident as to his reception, and uncertain of the place he still might hold in your esteem? But he was as devoted to you as ever, and only longed for a chance of showing it. Oh!"—Elizabeth broke off impatiently, but smiling at herself—"I ought not to be saying this to you in these cold, bald words; I cannot plead his case as eloquently as he could; but at least I can implore you to believe in him. Grant that he acted with over-caution, and did not consult his own best interests: he was afraid of precipitating matters by speaking before he could divine what you felt for him. But that his affection was there, I know positively. A man who had cared less would have stayed, would have pretended indifference, and would have congratulated you on your engagement."
"I wish he had," said Miss Crawford, trying to smile, though the tears filled her eyes, "for then I could have told him of his mistake, and asked him why he was in such a hurry to credit it."
"I do not think he was in a hurry," said Elizabeth sadly; "he would not have believed it if he could have helped it, and if you could see him now, you would know what real grief can do for a man of his nature."
"I am sorry," said Miss Crawford, without much warmth, but a moment later she exclaimed: "Yes, it is bad for a man to bring unhappiness on himself through an error, but I suppose it never occurred to him that by going off in that way, without a word, he might be leaving the same thing for someone else. If I were a man, I would never accept my dismissal except from the woman herself; I would at least have the courage to put my fate to the touch."
Elizabeth weighed these words for an instant, and then turning to look in her companion's face, she said: "I want to ask you one thing, but you need not reply if you do not wish. If my cousin had put his fate to the touch while he was in London, would he have had the answer, or any hope of answer, that he desired?"
Mary coloured deeply, but did not turn her eyes away from Mrs. Darcy's. "It is hardly fair, is it, to ask me a question which he has never asked?" she said, with a slight smile. "But it is useless to try to keep secrets from such a friend as yourself, and I suppose you are answered by now."
They stopped with one accord beside a gate, and stood looking over the long furrows of brown earth in the field, but neither seeing them. Miss Crawford's blush remained, and her lips were set rather defiantly, when Elizabeth turned to her and said with great earnestness: "I said that Colonel Fitzwilliam was not coming back before Christmas, and that is quite true, but may I not tell him to come? I will do nothing without your permission; will not even say that you are here; but will you not give him leave to come, and speak for himself, and try to atone for the mistakes and unhappiness of the past? Indeed, though at this moment he has no hope of it, I know that he would ask no greater privilege."
Mary laid her hand on her friend's, and replied affectionately, but without any hesitation: "No, no, Mrs. Darcy, do not tell him to come. I thought you would suggest something of the kind, but I would much rather not. It would be no kindness to either of us." Then, as Elizabeth still looked questioningly at her, she continued: "I really mean it. Since we are to be quite frank, I did feel very much what I thought to be Colonel Fitzwilliam's defection, and Frances would tell you that that accounts for my stupid ill-health this autumn; I do not quite agree, but none the less, I am confident that we had better not meet again. It is too late, when people are getting on towards respectable middle life as we are. You smile, but do you know I am near my thirtieth birthday? No, we have both recovered from the wounds of last summer, and we should be wiser not to risk reopening them."
"It would be a healing, I think, not a reopening," said Elizabeth.
"Do you think so? But one cannot tell. Colonel Fitzwilliam must have been in love with some ideal person, a Mary Crawford who never really existed, or he would not have been frightened away so easily from the actual one. If he were to see me again, there might be a fresh disappointment in store. Does he still think I am to marry Sir Walter Elliot?"
"I do not know. Darcy and I have never told him otherwise."
"Ah, well, do not let him be undeceived; and some day, perhaps in London, we shall be sent in to dinner together, and imagine his surprise and dismay at finding it is plain Miss Crawford, and not Lady Elliot! It will give us something to talk about through the first three courses. Dear Mrs. Darcy, you look disapprovingly at me, but seriously, I do think, if we ever are to meet, it will be best to do so by accident. I could hardly bear a premeditated encounter as it would be here, each of us knowing that we were expected to play a certain part."
"It is better he should not come, of course, if you are not sure whether you could accept him," said Elizabeth.
"That it is; I suppose I am not sure; because, you see, circumstances have combined to make Colonel Fitzwilliam appear in light of a half-hearted admirer, and though I know from you he is not, yet I have no experience of his own powers of recommending himself. Do not be angry with me, or let this spoil our friendship; I am so glad now that you know all, and you will let me come and stay with you sometimes when he is away, will you not?"
A time-honoured custom has ordained that only one reply shall be made to an appeal of this kind, and Elizabeth duly assured her friend that it should make no difference; feeling, indeed, that as she had asked for an explanation, she could not resent Miss Crawford's frankness, nor could she like the high-spirited girl less for the glimpse she had given of her heart. There was no denying, however, that the end of their conversation had been a good deal of a disappointment. Mary's confession had been so much more than Elizabeth had ventured to hope for, that it was melancholy to realize that it came, as she herself had said, too late; too late for Colonel Fitzwilliam to be in any way the gainer by it. Many times during the day and the succeeding ones did Elizabeth turn over in her mind a series of plans to bring her two friends together again, in some way entirely unforeseen by both; but all had to be discarded, for Miss Crawford had been so decisive, and it was not certain that the Colonel would make any better use of his chances, unless he could be warned of how he had failed previously. The more Elizabeth pondered over the events of last year, in the new light now thrown upon them, the better she was able to understand Mary's point of view, and to comprehend that it was not solely Lady Catherine's insulting behaviour, or her cousin's want of self-confidence, or Mary's own pride and recklessness, but something of all three, that had ruined their prospects of happiness; and she mourned sincerely over the wreck and the impossibility of restoring it, while they were so obstinately resolved to remain strangers to one another. If only Fitzwilliam had known, when in London, that the prize lay so near his hand! that he had gained Mary's love, almost without trying to do so, merely by watching and waiting, and not submitting to the rebuff she had given him at the end of their stay in Bath! But the opportunity had passed, and he had lost more ground now than he might ever recover, for Elizabeth knew well that Mary's resentment was the real obstacle:hisfeelings were unaltered, but hers she had striven, perhaps with some measure of success, to harden into indifference.
Colonel Fitzwilliam wrote that he intended staying in Leicestershire for Christmas, and going to London for the first fortnight of January. Elizabeth did not fail to make this information public, and accordingly, when the question of their two guests' departure was again broached, Miss Crawford was more easily persuaded to prolong their visit, and her sister approved of whatever she chose to do. Elizabeth had not thought it right to speak to Mrs. Grant about her conversation with Mary, but that lady had opened the subject herself, by expressing to Mrs. Darcy her great relief that the affair with Colonel Fitzwilliam had gone off, and attributing Mary's illness to fretting and disappointment. Mrs. Grant blamed no one except the Elliots, who, she asserted, had persistently stood between Mary and her other friends, but she lamented the whole series of mishaps, for it was evident that no one else had ever gained such a large measure of her sister's regard, and now her whole endeavour seemed to be to banish him from her thoughts.
Mary meantime was recovering health and vigour, and the colour came back to her cheeks, and the light to her eyes in a manner very gratifying to her friends to observe. Had Elizabeth not been so much occupied with plans for her visitors, and preparations for Christmas, she could not have failed to note the contrast between Miss Crawford and Georgiana, for the younger girl grew paler and graver, and seemed more and more spiritless in comparison with Mary's gay moods. Georgiana made great efforts to throw herself into what was going on, and was persuaded that she smiled and talked as much as ever, while she took part in the hospitalities of Pemberley, but in reality the weight on her mind, her preoccupation with the thought of two people who were suffering through her fault, prevented her from always knowing when she was silent. She constantly pictured Kitty, grieving in solitude over the downfall of the hopes of many months, and wearied her mind with fruitless speculations as to how they could have acted differently, in order to have averted the blow. No one could possibly have foreseen that Mr. Price would care for her and not for Kitty! else the latter's friends might have persuaded her to try and like Mr. Morland, whose courtship had been under equally auspicious circumstances. But then, Georgiana reflected with a thrill, who could think of a Morland when they had been better attracted by a Price! She was glad to be able to pay that tribute to her friend's good taste. And if the affair had not been checked in its early stages, it must have gone on in the way it had until the gentleman spoke, and poor Kitty's fate was sealed.
Tears rose to Georgiana's eyes as she recalled her interview with William Price, and the feeling of anger and despair that had come over her at the prospect of everything being so utterly wrong, and then thrown into such confusion. And since then, the indignation on Kitty's behalf, which had overwhelmed her at first, had softened into pity, and shared a place in her heart equally with regret for Mr. Price, forhisdisappointment, as sudden and as complete as Kitty's, and far more bewildering. He would never, perhaps, fully understand how it came about, nor fully allow for its causes, and for the obstacle which had necessitated his being refused. Chilled and repulsed, he would think her insensible, unkind; he would believe that she did not care for him, and did not want to care. What a wonder if his feelings towards her underwent a change! What more probable than that now, when she had learnt that his esteem was the only thing necessary to her happiness, and earnestly wished he could know that she no longer blamed him, he had resolved to think of her no more?
Owing to a slight indisposition of Mrs. Bingley's, the Desborough party had not come over to Pemberley at Christmas, as was their custom, but they arrived on New Year's Eve to spend two or three days. Georgiana looked forward rather nervously to the meeting with Kitty, for the latter had only written occasional notes to her and Elizabeth, in a constrained style, since the departure in November, and Georgiana dreaded equally any reopening of the subject in words, or any coldness between them, combined with the unforgiving reproaches which Kitty knew so well how to convey by look and manner. It seemed, however, when they arrived, that Kitty was not going to adopt either attitude precisely. She looked very thin, and Jane told her sister that she had not been eating or sleeping well, but she chatted as vigorously as ever, and was in restless, excitable spirits. She could not sit long to anything, and when not flying about the house, or playing with the children, was constantly running down to the Rectory, on the plea of wanting to see Mrs. Ferrars's new baby, who had made its appearance in the world a few days before. Georgiana found that any private talk was out of the question, and did not seem to be desired by Kitty, whose principal topic of conversation was, after the loveliness of the baby, the charms of her newest friend, a certain Mrs. Henry Tilney, sister of Mr. Morland, who had been staying with him for some weeks. This young lady was about Kitty's age, but had been married for several years, and had brought one of her children with her, a little girl about the age of the Bingleys' second boy, and there had evidently been a great deal of intercourse between the Park and the Rectory. Mrs. Tilney was reported by Jane and her husband to be a very pleasing, gentle and amiable woman, and Kitty's enthusiasm over her knew no bounds.
Elizabeth had met Mrs. Tilney, and was pleased to hear of her again, as she would have been to hear of anyone connected with Mr. Morland and Lady Portinscale; and the subject offered material for frequent conversation among the whole party, as Mrs. Grant and Miss Crawford had an interest in it also, through their acquaintanceship with the young clergyman in Bath.
Georgiana could not help glancing at Kitty occasionally when his name was mentioned, and noticed that the slight embarrassment Kitty displayed at first soon wore off. There had evidently been a good many visitors at Desborough during the past month; Bingley had had another shooting party, and there had been evenings of music, and even a small dance at the house of a neighbour. Kitty spoke of these things as if the retrospect were one of great enjoyment, and Morland was so often referred to, as to lead to the supposition that their constant meetings were fraught with no discomfort on either side.
"But you have not told all our gaieties, Kitty," said Bingley, as they stood round the drawing-room fire one morning after breakfast. "Did you know, Elizabeth, that we went to see the amateur theatricals at Ashbourne? The officers got them up among themselves and invited everybody; it was quite a spectacle, and they gave us supper afterwards in that fine great mess-room. I never saw anything better done."
"Yes, we had an invitation; I was sorry not to go to it, but it is too far," said Elizabeth. "I heard the performance was very good."
"Of course, you would have been asked; you ought to have gone, for it was well worth seeing; our little charades were quite put in the shade. Kitty can give you all information about it, for she had a splendid young officer sitting by her to tell her who everybody was."
"It was only Mr. Cathcart; he knew Colonel Forster once, and wanted to hear about Lydia," said Kitty, colouring and becoming deeply interested in the pattern of her lace handkerchief.
"And the one who escorted you to supper was not Mr. Cathcart; he was somebody even more gorgeous and equally delightful—a field-marshal, at least, I should think," continued her brother-in-law in bantering tones; "altogether, Kitty did very well that evening. I expected Jane would have had half the regiment coming up to her before it was over, to ask leave to call."
"Nonsense, Bingley," said Kitty, in some confusion, getting up and going to help Mary Crawford, who was sorting her music; "you are making too much of it; there was no reason why Mr. Macdonald should not call, if he wished to."
Bingley laughed, and proceeded to give so lively a description of the theatricals, that Kitty could not help coming back and joining in, with sparkling eyes and every sign of pleasure in the reminiscence. Georgiana watched her in some surprise, for nothing could be more unlike the broken-hearted Kitty who had gone away six weeks before. Bingley forbore to tease her any longer; but finding himself alone with Elizabeth and Georgiana later in the morning, he began at once: "I think neither of you need be under any more apprehension about Kitty. She was certainly very low-spirited when she came to us, and I was afraid that young sailor's departure had had a devastating effect; but she has brightened up wonderfully and managed to enjoy herself again, just as a girl ought."
"I am very glad," said Elizabeth. "I knew she had taken it a good deal to heart at the time, but fresh interests will put fresh life into her."
"Exactly; there is no use in a pretty young woman like that moping about a fellow who does not care for her; the best way to forget him is to amuse herself with others, and I feel myself partly responsible for encouraging that young Price, so Jane and I have done our best to distract her thoughts. Those officers are as pleasant a set of fellows as ever stepped, and Kitty by no means disliked them; but unfortunately the regiment is just moving on, and the next one does not come till March. I have asked Bertram down again at the end of the month for some hunting; Kitty and he seemed to get on well, and we thought him a capital fellow, did you not?"
"Very agreeable indeed," said Elizabeth, in a tone of calmer praise, adding: "and I have no doubt he is an excellent young man, though in spite of all, I should be inclined to adhere to Kitty's first preference to his cousin; Mr. Price's manners had more to recommend them, I thought."
Georgiana's heart bounded, and she turned away her face to hide her rising colour, as Bingley responded: "Ah, yes, Elizabeth, you are right. In spite of all, as you say, Price is the man we should have liked for her. There is a sterling character, I do believe. It would have done most of us good to have to begin early, and make our own fortunes, as that youth has done, and we should not be all so frank and modest at his age, I'll wager. Yes, I should be only too glad to get him back, but it is out of the question. I had a letter from him last week from Copenhagen; they expect to be cruising about in the North Sea for another month or two; then he will probably have to go to some distant station."
Georgiana had turned now to look at Bingley, her complexion changing from red to pale. She was grateful to Elizabeth for keeping the conversation going by some slight remark, for she could not have spoken.
"Yes," continued Bingley, "we think it a great drawback to a sailor's life, that he should have to be abroad so much, and away from his friends; but cruises now are not as long as they used to be, and when a man has as much spirit as Price, he is glad to be on the move, to show authorities the stuff he is made of. Price is commander on his present ship, you know; the first since his promotion."
The entrance of Jane caused Bingley to break off, and Georgiana waited a little, in the hope that he had more to say on a subject of such an absorbing nature; but, unfortunately, it was Mr. Bertram, not Mr. Price, to whom he reverted, calling upon Jane to confirm his expectations of the former's visit, and Georgiana slipped out of the room as Jane began to tell Elizabeth how she had succeeded in obtaining Mr. Bennet's permission to keep Kitty until Easter. Georgiana needed to think over what she had heard, even though the pain to herself became more intense, in proportion as she gloried in the approval expressed of William Price by her friends. To hear him praised, to know him appreciated, was sweet to her; but how bitter by contrast was the knowledge that she had sacrificed his happiness and her own, in vain, that Kitty had so soon forgotten him as to be able to flirt with officers, and was ready to accept as a compensation for the loss of William Price, the attentions of any young men Bingley could collect around her! Georgiana could scarcely believe that the devotion of half a year could have died a natural death in so short a time. She might almost have thought that Kitty was feigning indifference, in order to conceal her chagrin, but from experience of Kitty's nature she knew that her friend was incapable of acting a sustained part, and that if she appeared to enjoy balls and flirtations, it was because they had for her as much zest as ever.
Georgiana might wonder, but she had no inclination to blame Kitty for any sign of inconsistency. It was undoubtedly much better for Kitty to get over her infatuation for William Price, if she could succeed in doing so; but the consequences to Georgiana were far more grave, and she suffered the more for realizing that Kitty had not, after all, so greatly valued the thing she had sought after, the object which had become more and more precious to Georgiana than anything in the world. Her effort to defend Kitty to William, her refusal to accept his devotion for herself—all had been wasted, fruitless, unnecessary! Not that she would for one moment desire to withdraw the act of loyalty towards her friend; but with heart-breaking regrets did she review the whole sequence of events, which had so cruelly and inevitably separated William Price and herself. Was it, she thought, a just punishment for one who had made two such grievous mistakes previously that she should now be accorded, too late, a glimpse of a happiness that would have transformed her whole life? Bingley's casual mention of his movements had reminded her forcibly how improbable it was that they should ever meet again.
She had borne up bravely until then, but that night, when alone, she could not help giving way to an access of grief severer than any she had known before, and only a dread of arousing comment enabled her to assume an air of tolerable serenity when she appeared in the morning.
It happened that Jane, while admiring a new dress which Georgiana was wearing, was struck with the want of animation in the young girl's face, and her usual kindness prompted her to inquire solicitously how she did. Georgiana would confess to no ailment but a slight cold, which she had had for a week and been unable to throw off, and tried to make light of it when Jane appealed to Elizabeth to suggest what might be done to re-establish her health. Elizabeth felt a real concern as she looked closely at her young sister, and reproached herself for having neglected to give her proper care.
"No, no, indeed, Elizabeth, it is not so," protested Georgiana. "I am perfectly well. A cold always makes one feel stupid, and this mild damp weather is disagreeable, coming after those early frosts."
"Come and stay with us for two or three weeks," said Jane affectionately. "The change will do you good, and Bingley and I shall be happy to have you; your last visit was an unreasonably short one."
Georgiana gratefully but decidedly declined the offer, pleading various excuses, but privately feeling that she would rather not be with Kitty again just yet, amid scenes connected inseparably with William Price's presence.
"I think she ought to have a change, nevertheless," said Elizabeth, "and it is too long to wait till we go to Bath in April. Would you not really care to go to Desborough for a little, Georgiana, and see if it does you good?"
Georgiana faltered out something of reluctance, and Jane, smiling kindly at her, went away to leave the sisters to discuss it together. Elizabeth drew the young girl to her, and tenderly asked if there was anything the matter, in which her help or advice would be acceptable, and Georgiana, after a few moments' silent struggle, recovered the self-command which the proffer of sympathy had threatened to disturb, and replied that she was sure she would be quite well directly, and would rather not go away from home until she went with the others.
"You are sure there is nowhere you would like to go, if not Desborough?" asked Elizabeth, pondering. "The Hursts would be delighted, I know, but you have been there lately; what a pity Mrs. Annesley has gone abroad."
Georgiana only shook her head at these suggestions, and suddenly Elizabeth exclaimed: "I have thought of something—Mrs. Wentworth's invitation! You remember that she asked you, in the letter I had from her with reference to her father and Miss Crawford. You thought at the time that you might like to accept it some day."
The idea seemed to interest Georgiana more than the others. She raised her head from Elizabeth's shoulder, and said: "I remember; it was a very kind message. The Wentworths live at Winchester, do they not?"
"Yes, and Anne Wentworth is so good-hearted, so thoroughly sincere, that I know she would like to be taken at her word, and to have you propose yourself as a visitor. What do you think of it, Georgiana? I think you might be very happy with such kind people, and the change of air and surroundings would be complete. It seems a very long way off, I know, but you could be taken to London in the carriage, with the two servants, as last year; and Captain Wentworth would doubtless be able to meet you there, for he makes that journey constantly. Your brother and I would come and fetch you any time, after Miss Crawford goes, as soon as you wish to come away."
Elizabeth rose and went to her writing-table, to find Mrs. Wentworth's letter, and to show Georgiana the message once more. The cordiality which it expressed could not be doubted, and Georgiana began to feel that if she could ever find pleasure in anything again, it might be in the quiet companionship of such friends as Captain and Mrs. Wentworth. She had been greatly attracted by Mrs. Wentworth, and she had sufficient good sense to know that it would be advantageous to her to have an entire change of environment, to be away for a time from Pemberley, and its associations. It would revive her courage, and help her to appreciate the many blessings that life still held for her. Georgiana was not too young not to believe that her troubles were past mending, but she was also too reasonable deliberately to nurse her unhappiness. She accordingly allowed Elizabeth to write and propose the scheme, and had grown so much accustomed to the idea as to be pleased when an answer arrived in the form of a joint letter from the Wentworths, warmly welcoming her to join their house, with every intimation of the delight it would afford them, and suggesting the last week in January as the date for her journey to London, where her host would meet her, and convey her straight to Winchester, a distance of sixty-five miles.
The arrangement was generally approved. Darcy and Elizabeth regretted losing their sister, even for a time; but they hoped it would be beneficial to her, and they could perceive that it fell in with her inclinations. There was no lack of escort, for Mrs. Grant and Miss Crawford, who were now talking of going in earnest, were anxious to alter their plans and travel to Bath round by London, for the pleasure of her company; but Darcy would not permit this, as he had resolved on taking his sister himself, and Elizabeth induced them to remain with her until his return.
January was passing. The weather was remarkably mild and open for the time of year, and the hunting men were rejoicing in their opportunities. The ladies were able to take their daily walks and drives, in which Mrs. Ferrars's sister, Mrs. Brandon, a very lovely and amiable woman, who had come to watch over her sister's convalescence, was often invited to join them. Mrs. Jennings had returned to London earlier in the month, sorely disappointed, after such a promising beginning, at not having seen the successful termination of even one love-affair during her stay. None of the family at Pemberley had ever understood what part she played in the catastrophe of November, except that she had shared in the general error made by Kitty's friends, nor were they aware of the destiny she had marked out for Georgiana; but Elinor, when she realized that something had gone seriously wrong in consequence of the ball, had no difficulty in persuading the really good-natured old lady to confine her lamentations, conjectures, and comments to the ears of the Rectory inhabitants only. This end was the more easily attained since, after Kitty's departure, there was no one to keep her supplied with information. When, however, that young lady returned in apparently good spirits, Mrs. Jennings was immeasurably delighted, and quite entered into her willingness to talk of Cathcart and Macdonald, and, indeed, anyone and anything but William Price, and Mrs. Jennings had only to hear that Mr. Bertram was coming to stay at Desborough again, and not at Pemberley, to be ready to console Kitty with a number of entirely new and revised prognostications as to the object of his visit.
The party at Pemberley were sitting together one evening after dinner. It was about eight o'clock, and they had all settled to their customary occupations; Darcy and his wife were reading, Mrs. Grant working and Georgiana was at the instrument, playing short snatches of music while Mary Crawford sat close beside her, and asked for one and another of her favourite pieces. Peace and tranquility reigned, and seemed as little likely to be interrupted as on many previous evenings that had been similarly spent. The sudden sound of carriage wheels, therefore, and the rapid trot of horses, startled everyone, and alarmed one at least, for Elizabeth's first apprehension was that Colonel Fitzwilliam had returned unexpectedly. Georgiana ceased playing, and all listened anxiously, but the suspense lasted for the shortest possible time required by a visitor to get into the house, and on the door being flung open, Darcy had scarcely risen from his chair, before Tom Bertram followed his name into the room with quick steps.
Tom Bertram had acted on many stages, but in none of the parts he had ever played had he made so sensational an entrance. The amazement of the inmates of the room on beholding him, the dismay of Mrs. Grant and her sister, his own disconcerted surprise at seeing who were Mrs. Darcy's guests, all tended to make the first minute one of extreme embarrassment, and it was only the knowledge of his urgency of his errand that enabled him to recover himself sooner than any of the others. Advancing to Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, he greeted them both, bowed to Mrs. Grant, and to the corner of the room where Mary was shrinking out of sight behind Georgiana, and at once began speaking very quickly to the master of the house.
"Mr. Darcy, I fear I have startled, I hope not frightened, you all by intruding at this late hour; but when you know how pressing is the need, you will dispense with apologies. I grieve very much to say to say I am the bearer of bad news, but believing that you ought to know, I constituted myself the messenger. Your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, has met with an accident whilst out hunting to-day. I regret exceedingly to tell you, but his state is considered serious, and his friends thought it would be advisable for you to come."
"Fitzwilliam? Fitzwilliam hurt! Good God, what is this?" exclaimed Darcy, completely roused out of his usual calm. "How did it happen? Tell us all about it. I will go to him instantly" (ringing the bell). "In God's name, Bertram, say he is still living? Where is he? How long will it take to get to him?"
Elizabeth, though dreadfully shocked and distressed, had the wisdom to send another servant for refreshments for Mr. Bertram, while Darcy ordered his own things to be packed and his travelling carriage be brought round, and in the slight bustle caused by these arrangements, Mrs. Grant and Georgiana were able, almost unobserved, to attend to Mary, who had not actually fainted, but had sunk down on a low couch, scarcely knowing what she did. Her sister and Georgiana supported her in between them, placed her in a more easy position, rubbed her hands and shielded her from the light; and Mary, with a very great effort, collected herself sufficiently to listen to the details which Mr. Bertram was hurriedly giving in answer to Mr. and Mrs. Darcy's inquiries. It appeared that Colonel Fitzwilliam had only just returned from London, and this was his first day out for some time. The fox had got well away, and the hunt were in the midst of a fine run, when the Colonel's horse came down with him at a blind fence. Bertram paused here to give more particulars than his impatient hearers desired, about the height and width of the fence, and the exact manner in which the horse had approached it, for it seemed that he himself had been riding near at the time, and had witnessed the accident. The Colonel was pinned under the animal, and was taken out unconscious, with a broken leg, and, it was feared, some grave injury to the spine. Fortunately, the house of the friend with whom he was staying was not far off, and he was borne thither, and the services of the apothecary were promptly obtained; but the only opinion he could form was very grave, and pending the arrival of a more experienced surgeon, who had been sent for from Leicester, no one could tell what an hour might bring forth.
The ladies were sick with horror: Mrs. Grant was weeping silently, and Georgiana, as she held Mary's cold hand, felt that this was indeed the last and crowning sorrow, for poor Cousin Robert to die without knowing the happiness that ought to have been his.
"The pulse is so very weak; I think they fear a collapse of the whole system, even if he does recover consciousness," said Bertram, in too low a tone to be heard by those at the other end of the room. "They were trying stimulants of various kinds when I came away."
Elizabeth's face was hidden. Darcy was too much overwhelmed to speak for some moments, till with a sudden start of recollection he exclaimed: "And you, Bertram? how came you to be there? and how come you are here now?"
Bertram, with a return to something of his nonchalant manner, explained that he, too, had been staying in the same neighbourhood, with a friend, who was, in fact, the master of that pack of hounds, and with whom he often spent a few days in the hunting season, as it was little over twenty miles from his own house, Mansfield Park. "I had been talking to Colonel Fitzwilliam during the morning," he continued, "and helped to carry him back to Ashley's place, and when Ashley said his relations ought to know, I decided at once to come with the news. I only delayed to change my clothes and have the chaise got ready, for I knew time was an object, and I could get over the ground quicker than anyone else they could send."
"I am sure we are deeply indebted to you, Bertram," said Darcy, grasping him warmly by the hand, while Elizabeth joined him in expressing the sincerest gratitude. "You could not have done us a greater service, and it is one we shall never forget. It was an impulse of true goodness and unselfishness that prompted you to ride straight to us, disregarding your own fatigue and inconvenience; few men would have done as much."
Bertram disclaimed, and as Georgiana came forward to add her thanks to those of the others, he bowed to her with gallantry, assuring her that fatigue was nothing, if he could be of use to friends whom he so greatly esteemed, and he only wished that he could have brought news to relieve anxiety, instead of creating it.
By this time word was brought that the more substantial meal which had been ordered for Mr. Bertram was ready in the dining-room, and Darcy escorted him thither, to attend to his wants and to obtain the particulars as to his journey from Leicestershire. The distance was forty-five miles, and Darcy proposed to start within half an hour, and reach his destination some time during the night, but he pressed his visitor to stay at least until the next day, and if he would, to rest himself and his horses.
Their peaceful evening had been turned into confusion and wretchedness. The quiet circle in the drawing-room was broken up, and Mrs. Grant, fearing greatly for her sister, was thankful to lead her to her own room, there to recover as best she might from the frightful shock of Tom Bertram's news. Darcy soon went upstairs to prepare for his journey, and his wife busied herself with helping him, and with placing in his luggage any article she could think of that might conduce to the sick man's comfort, while a maze of thoughts occupied her mind, chilling fear, apprehension, and dread of what might be happening to the loved friend at such a distance, and anxiety on account of Miss Crawford, whose trembling and distressed condition had not escaped her.
A few minutes later Georgiana came to her door, showing traces of tears, but quite calm, and begging to be made useful. Elizabeth was just then giving some directions to the maid, so Georgiana waited until they were done, and then, coming close to her sister, she said: "Elizabeth, do you think we could do anything for Miss Crawford? I went to wish her good-night, and she tried to smile and say something sympathizing, but could hardly utter the words. I am sure she is terribly concerned about all this. She almost looks like a different person, so pale and stricken. Do you think she can possibly be caring for Cousin Robert all the time, and not know it till now? Oh, dear Elizabeth, is it not dreadful to think it may be too late?"
Elizabeth gazed at her sister, listening intently, and pondering all Georgiana said. True, indeed, that it would be a dreadful thing to contemplate, if Mary really loved Fitzwilliam, and the knowledge came too late to do good to either. And even if Mary knew her own heart at last, was it not too late, when pride sealed her lips, and Fitzwilliam was lying near to death, forty miles away, perhaps never more able to see her or hear her? Elizabeth experienced a momentary feeling of despair; the powers ranged against her seemed almost too strong to be attacked; but rallying her forces, and putting in the front of her mind the one hopeful thought that Fitzwilliam might live till Darcy reached him, or longer, she said to Georgiana: "I think I shall try; I will ask her to send him a message, if it is as we think; it will be better than nothing, even if he is only just able to understand it."
"Oh, yes, yes," exclaimed Georgiana, clasping her hands in intense eagerness, "do ask her, dear Elizabeth; she will surely tell you, and my brother will tell him. Whatever happens, she will be glad to think she has done it. Do ask her; do not lose a minute; there is so little time."
Voices were heard in the corridor; Darcy was speaking to the servants, who were carrying out his luggage. Elizabeth hesitated no longer, pausing only to say: "Dear Georgiana, would you mind going to sit with Mr. Bertram? I am afraid it may be tiresome for you to entertain a stranger just now, but he is alone, and it would be only a kind attention, after what he has done for us," and to receive Georgiana's assent, before going swiftly to Miss Crawford's room.
She found that Georgiana's description had been all too accurate. Miss Crawford had not wept, but her expression of hopeless misery sent a pang through Elizabeth's heart. She had sent her sister away, and had been sitting on her bed, too stunned for action, almost for thought, and she made no resistance when Elizabeth placed her on the couch, sat beside her, and taking both her hands, began to plead with her, quickly and simply, without premeditation.
"Dear Miss Crawford, I have come to ask you to do something for my poor cousin, something which only you can do. You heard what Mr. Bertram said, of his dangerous state, and it distressed you as much as us, I know. I would not for a moment seek to pry into your inmost feelings, but we are come to matters of life and death, and it is onhisaccount that I do venture to ask you, if you feel that you could listen to him if he were here, then will you send him a word, a message, something to show that you are thinking of him?"
Mary replied after a minute or two, in a stifled voice: "I would send him such a message, but do you think he would care to have it?"
"I do, indeed, most truly. I understand your hesitation; you think you cannot speak of love to him, when he has not spoken to you; but I would stake my life on his devotion and faithfulness. The words you send him will bring comfort and peace of mind, whatever the issue."
Mary shuddered, and withdrew her trembling hands. "Mr. Bertram seems to think he will die."
"We cannot tell; he is a strong man and had not had the best advice when Mr. Bertram was there. We can only hope, and my husband is starting almost immediately, and will carry any message you feel able to send, trusting that he will be in time to deliver it."
"Oh, yes, yes," exclaimed Mary, rising and walking restlessly about the room; "he is so good and generous that if he still cares, he would overlook all, he would pardon the errors and foolishness that have led to this misunderstanding—but the past, Mrs. Darcy, does he know and forgive that? I wish I could tell. Seeing Mr. Bertram brings it all back again—my brother, his sister—the divorce—what Lady Catherine heard, the world believes, you know—and just when one repents it all most, it comes back just like a spectre to haunt one."
Elizabeth replied very earnestly: "At such a time as this, it would be cruel to mislead you, and I only say what I sincerely believe, that Colonel Fitzwilliam knows everything to which you refer, and it makes not the smallest difference to him. It would not, you should be aware, to any man whose love was worthy of the name. That should not weigh with you for a moment. The only thing that signifies in the least is whether you can return that love: the only barrier between you is being unable to return it. I would not urge you against your will, or take advantage of a moment of strong emotion; you alone know whether it would make you happier to send a word of hope to him."
"Happier? Ah, I do not know," said Mary sorrowfully. "I do not seem able to think of happiness. And yet, I should be glad for him to know, since you think he still cares to know, and it is all I can now do for him. You need not be afraid of my not trusting my feelings, Mrs. Darcy. This has shown me all too late what they really are, though my folly and obstinacy have blinded me all these months."
"We will not say too late, dear Miss Crawford," said Elizabeth, going up to where Miss Crawford was standing by the mantelshelf, leaning her head on her arm. "We do not know that it is too late, and I believe that it will be an immense comfort to you to take this one step. Explanations can come after. I am not afraid of Colonel Fitzwilliam being unable to clear away all doubts and fears when he is able to speak for himself again."
There was a moment's pause, and Elizabeth continued: "I must not stay now. Mr. Darcy is so impatient to be off, but I will be back to you. Will you tell me what I may say? so little will suffice; or would you rather write it?"
Mary shook her head, still keeping her face hidden, and said in a barely audible voice: "Ask Mr. Darcy, if he will be so kind—explain things to him how you like—but say I send Colonel Fitzwilliam my—my love; that I beg his forgiveness; and that I hope—he will soon—be able to come home—to me."
Elizabeth just caught the last words, waited to assure herself there was no more, and pressing Mary's hand, went quietly out of the room. Though much moved by their interview, the exigencies of the moment demanded that she should quickly recover her composure, and brace herself for the parting with her husband. There would be time—all too much time—for thought when the moment of action was over; there would be hours of suspense to be borne and another sufferer to console. As she came out upon the gallery, she heard persons talking and moving in the hall below, and distinguished her husband's voice saying: "I ought to be with him soon after one o'clock," words which revived her courage, and she descended to find Darcy, Georgiana and Mr. Bertram standing by the hearth, Darcy completely equipped for his journey, and the servants waiting by the front door.
Georgiana, who had been enduring keen anxiety during Elizabeth's absence, and had been exerting herself to keep the gentlemen occupied in eating and talking, so that Elizabeth might not be interrupted too soon by Darcy's haste to depart, gave her a nervous glance, which was tempered by relief when she saw her sister draw Darcy into the library for a few parting words. She could scarcely attend to Mr. Bertram's amiable chatter, or reply to his inquiries for Mr. and Mrs. Bingley, and the other friends he had met on his previous visit, for picturing in her mind what was going on in the library and trying to decide whether Elizabeth had been successful in her mission.
At last the door opened; they reappeared; Darcy was grave, but Georgiana thought his brow had somewhat lightened since he went in, and Elizabeth gave her a bright and reassuring look. There was no time for more, and the carriage was already waiting; the farewells were quickly spoken, and in another moment Darcy had passed out and was gone.
To Elizabeth and Georgiana, the events of the evening seemed like a dreadful dream. Less than an hour ago they had been sitting at their occupations, as tranquil and secure as if disaster did not exist; and now the bolt had fallen, scattering them and bringing to each its message of terror and dismay. Georgiana felt as if it would be the hardest matter in the world to settle to any pretence of the ordinary life again, until news reached them from her brother; she longed to be able to be alone, to think it all over quietly, or to go to Elizabeth, to hear the result of her appeal to Miss Crawford, and instead she was obliged to establish herself in the drawing-room with Mr. Bertram, who showed no sign of wishing to go to bed, but was evidently prepared to sit up talking and drinking tea until midnight.
Georgiana took out her embroidery frame, and prepared to be as agreeable a listener as she could, for she expected Elizabeth, who had gone to Miss Crawford, would come back at any minute, and she really felt more than a common measure of gratitude to Mr. Bertram for the service he had rendered them. This gratitude she again endeavoured to express, when Mr. Bertram began discussing the heavy state of the roads, and the consequent delays to which Darcy might be subjected.
"Pray do not name it, Miss Darcy; as I said, I am only too glad to have been of the slightest assistance. It was a mere chance that I was there, for I should have returned home this week, but the open weather tempted me to stay on for a day or two longer."
"It was indeed fortunate for us, for we should have had no information until to-morrow, if we had had to wait for a letter."
Tom Bertram repeated that he "was very glad," looking into the fire in an absent-minded way that Georgiana scarcely noticed, so absorbed was she in her thoughts. She paid but little more attention when he suddenly rose, stationed himself with his back to the fire, and a little nearer her, and began to speak, apparently on the same topic, for in the first few minutes she could only gather an impression of his sharing in the events following the accident; his telling Mr. Ashley that he was a friend of Colonel Fitzwilliam's, and knew all his relatives, and would be the fittest person to bear the news to them; of Mr. Ashley's heartily agreeing, and of his haste to get home and order his carriage and start. The narrative went on, Georgiana hearing very little after Leicestershire was left behind, for her thoughts had lingered with the poor sufferer there, when, with a start, she became aware that all this was directed ather, that Mr. Bertram was trying to explain that he had welcomed the opportunity of hurrying to Pemberley, because it would doing her and her family a service, than which he could have no greater satisfaction, and because it would afford him the privilege of being in her presence once more. Georgiana, amazed and horrified, endeavoured to stop him; but Tom was not to be prevented from making a speech which he had been rehearsing for at least four hours on his journey. Some words which fell from her lips, an appeal to have some respect for this sad occasion, which she had snatched at as the argument most likely to move him, were of no avail. That he could address her at such a time he immediately pointed out to be a proof of his ardour, which merited pardon by reason of its unquenchable nature, for he had intended, he explained, to wait until he came to Desborough at the end of the month, and then to have sought an interview, but his impatience to throw himself at her feet and declare his passion would brook no delay.
Nothing could have been more distasteful to Georgiana than such sentiments. To hear the words "admiration" and "devotion" uttered by Mr. Bertram was not only an outrage upon the present hour, occupied as it was with the gravest solicitude for the life of a friend, but also upon the past, when similar words had been spoken to her by William Price. From no one else could she bear to hear them; coming from his cousin, she could almost have called them an insult. Of course, he could not know that, but it almost seemed like trading upon having placed them under an obligation to him, that he should presume to speak in a manner so repugnant to her. Too vexed to choose her words, when Mr. Bertram stopped for breath, having brought his peroration to a close by an offer in correct form of his hand and heart, she replied coldly that she was much honoured by his proposals, but it was entirely out of her power to accept them. Bertram had not expected a favourable reply on the instant, but he had hardly expected so decisive an unfavorable one. He stepped forward with outstretched hands, and an eager, "But, Miss Darcy—" to which her only response was to move haughtily away, and at that moment, to the relief of the lady and the chagrin of the gentleman, Elizabeth entered the room. Only the good manners habitual to both could have helped them to carry off the situation. Tom Bertram, checked in one of his flights of eloquence, descended to earth again with an observation on the weather, and for the next few minutes the temperature and the prospects of rain were debated with great earnestness.
Elizabeth could hardly have failed to guess what kind of interview she had interrupted, and out of compassion to Georgiana she soon recommended her to go to bed. The young girl needed no second bidding; Bertram opened the door to her with great ceremony, which was acknowledged by the slightest of bows, and she gladly sought the shelter of her room, astonished to find that it was not more than half-past nine o'clock. Could it be possible that it was barely two hours since Mr. Bertram's arrival? Would this interminable evening, with its shocks, surprises and disturbances, and yet more surprises, ever draw to a close? Georgiana was so unnerved that she sat down and shed a few tears, but a few only, for with such a real grief ever present, she could not spare much consideration for Mr. Bertram's unwelcome attack. It had been bewildering and annoying, but she was not going to worry about it. He had acted on some silly impulse, and could not possibly be serious. He scarcely knew her—a week's acquaintance, and he talked of heartfelt devotion, and expected her to be ready to listen to such nonsense! She could not conceive what had actuated him, and resented greatly that merely because he was heir to a title and fortune, and had ridden forty-five miles in a great hurry, he should suppose himself to be an acceptable suitor. Some expressions he had used, showing that he was confident of having the approval of her family, roused her special indignation. If only she had not so unluckily been alone with him—if Mrs. Grant had not gone upstairs!
Mrs. Grant! Georgiana started violently, for until that moment she had completely forgotten the association of Mr. Bertram with their two guests. She had supposed Mary's agitation to be caused merely by the news of Colonel Fitzwilliam, and now perceived that the sight of the messenger must have been painful enough apart from all else. What miserable complications had resulted from the fact that it should have been Tom Bertram, of all their acquaintance, who had happened to be hunting with the Belvoir hounds that day! But she could not wish his deed of kindness undone, nor she believed could Miss Crawford, or anyone else, whatever the present inconvenience to themselves, for everything was unimportant compared with what his coming had effected; and now, it would not matter if only he would go away again immediately. Georgiana sat meditating schemes by which she, Mary and Mrs. Grant might all avoid seeing him again, when a knock at her door was followed by the entrance of Elizabeth.
"Yes, Georgiana," Elizabeth said, smiling in response to the girl's shy glance, "Mr. Bertram has made me his confidante. I am sorry if you were upset, my dear; he seems to be afraid it was something of a surprise to you, but he hopes you will take time, and do him the honour of thinking it over."
"Oh, no, no, Elizabeth," Georgiana burst out, her cheeks crimsoning, "I do not want time—I shall not think it over. I do not care for Mr. Bertram in the least, and I never shall. Please tell him to go away and forget all about it."
"Why, my dear, this is very determined. He began in the wrong way, I think, and certainly at the wrong time, but he is very anxious to be allowed to come back, and set about his wooing more gradually. I told him I thought you were quite unaware of his feelings."
"So I was, but I do not want to hear about them," said Georgiana, more quietly, for she was beginning to be a little ashamed of her anger. "I am very much obliged to Mr. Bertram—I know it is very kind of him, and everything, but I cannot possibly marry him."
"Are you sure it is entirely out of the question?" asked Elizabeth. "You were a little startled, perhaps. It is true, we have not seen much of him, but he is very agreeable, and his position is unexceptionable. Above all, he bears a high character as far as we know, and has a good heart, as his action of to-day proves. His cousin, Mr. Price, spoke very warmly of him. Unless you are quite certain, I think your brother would like you to give the matter due consideration, as at any other time than this you might feel more in a mood for such subjects."
"Pray, pray, Elizabeth," exclaimed Georgiana, nervously, "do not ask me. Even if we were not in trouble to-day, as we are, it would make no difference. I am sure Mr. Bertram is excellent and amiable, but I do not—I cannot—I hope Fitzwilliam will not be angry, but I dislike the idea so very much."
"If that is so, my dear Georgiana, you shall not be tormented about it any more. I do not know if I am glad or sorry, it has all happened so quickly, but it is right that you should judge for yourself. Mr. Bertram will be greatly disappointed, still, that cannot be helped. I suppose I am to be deputed to get rid of the poor man."
"If you would be so very kind, Elizabeth."
"Well, I must break it to him early to-morrow morning, since I really think we have had agitations enough for one evening. In any case, I should have had to ask him to cut his visit short, for from what I have heard, I do not think that Miss Crawford would care to see him again."
"No, no, indeed, that must be prevented if possible. And now, do tell me, for I have been longing for an opportunity to ask you, what was the result of your conversation, if I may be allowed to hear it?"
Elizabeth related briefly what had passed between them, and told how her husband could scarcely believe at first that Miss Crawford had yielded, and had voluntarily sent the message that he was asked to deliver, but on being convinced of her sincerity, he willingly promised that if his cousin's state permitted it, he would convey to him the words of hope and comfort, and would endeavour to make anything clear that Fitzwilliam might not be able to understand.
"Of course, we had so few minutes together," said Elizabeth, "and your brother had not thought of it all for so long. He quite believed that all was over between them; he did not even know that she had owned to caring for him once. It was difficult for him to realize that she always had cared, though he did not need me to tell him what happiness it would be to poor Robert to know it, if he reached him in time."
"I am so glad, so very glad," cried Georgiana, the tears of joy standing in her eyes. "It is as it should be. My brother will see it all plainly, when he thinks it over. Poor Miss Crawford! How she must have suffered! She did not realize it herself, I suppose, and that was why she would not meet him again. I do not quite understand how it all happened, but it does not signify now. If he lives, nothing need keep them apart, and at all events, he will have her message. Nothing will make me believe that it is too late for that."
This naturally led them back to a discussion of the accident, the condition of the victim, and all the chances and possibilities of the case, which could not be gone over often enough. Elizabeth at last prepared to leave the room, as the hour was late, but struck by a passing recollection, she looked back from the door to say, with a smile: "I must tell you, Georgiana, thatyourattitude has surprised me more than Mr. Bertram's. Lately, when you have been looking so pale and unlike yourself, it has occurred to me that there must be some person of whom you were thinking a great deal, with a disturbing effect; and I confess that when I interrupted you and Mr. Bertram this evening, it crossed my mind that he might be that person."
"Elizabeth! how could you think such a thing?" exclaimed Georgiana, turning away, blushing and confused, and thankful that Elizabeth had not directly asked her whether any such person was in existence.
The disconsolate Mr. Bertram duly took his leave the following morning, having seen no one besides Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Grant, but a brief interview with the former had convinced him of the futility of any second application to her sister-in-law. He was quite unable to account for his rebuff, and his vexation, combined with the awkwardness that he felt in Mrs. Grant's presence, made their party round the breakfast-table an exceedingly uncomfortable one. Tom Bertram was possessed of a great deal more conscience than Mr. Yates, and could never have used Miss Crawford's name as freely as that gentleman had done; moreover, he was quite conscious that his own family deserved a share of the blame for theesclandre, which was usually borne by the two chief culprits; consequently a meeting with any of the Crawfords was quite as unwelcome to him as to them, and he was greatly relieved when, after an exchange of formal civilities, he could betake himself to his carriage and give directions to be conveyed to Desborough Park. To be sure, he was antedating his visit there by ten or twelve days; but he knew that he would be welcomed by the hospitable Bingleys, and they would all be eager to hear the shocking news.
The ladies at Pemberley passed the next few hours in the deepest anxiety and suspense. They tried to talk of other things, but they could think of little but the one subject. Georgiana would have forgotten Mr. Bertram as soon as he was out of the house, for she could not believe his regard for her to be very genuine, or his wound very deep, but that she so dreaded the disapprobation of her brother, when he should come to hear of what had happened. Even Elizabeth would not have been surprised if she had wished to accept him! It was mortifying in a way, though a relief in another, that no one ever supposed it was possible that Mr. Price could have cared forher!
Darcy had promised to send off an express letter as early as he could, and a servant had gone to the neighbouring town to meet it, and so avoid delay. Dinner was just over, a meal which they could only make a pretence of eating, when the butler entered, and they saw that he had brought the longed-for dispatch. It was taken to Mrs. Darcy, and she lost not a moment in communicating its contents. The news was not what they had dreaded; indeed, the account was as good as could be expected; Darcy found his cousin's condition to be grave, but not hopeless, for Colonel Fitzwilliam had recovered consciousness before his arrival. He was not permitted to talk, but was able to understand what was said to him. The surgeon had enjoined perfect quiet, and though at present he could scarcely diagnose all the injuries, he believed that the head had escaped. The danger was not over, but the patient's good constitution would help him materially, and the fact that he was enduring severe pain was not considered to be an altogether unfavorable symptom.
The report was, in general, an intense relief, though anxiety still prevailed, and deep compassion and concern must still possess those who listened. Still it was much to be thankful for; on reflection, it seemed to be the best they could have hoped. Georgiana remained with Mrs. Grant, talking it over, while Elizabeth drew Miss Crawford into her boudoir, and said: "I know you will like to hear the rest of my husband's letter. It is meant for you only. He writes: 'As soon as I was allowed to speak to Fitzwilliam, and had ascertained that he was comfortable as he could be made, I told him what you desired me to say respecting Miss Crawford's presence in our house, and the confidence she made to you. It seemed to be a great surprise to him, and I feared would excite him too much; but when I repeated her message, in the exact words which you gave me, I could perceive an immediate effect on him for good. He seemed slow to believe it, and murmured a few syllables about its being too great a happiness; but, after about half an hour, he signed that he wished to speak to me again, and whispered: "Send her my love: tell her that she has given me something to live for." He was not able to say more and soon after fell asleep; you must recollect that there is a great deal of fever, and consequent weakness. Still, he is decidedly not worse, and I am more than half inclined to think that the stimulus his mind has received may help towards his recovery. You know I am not given to conjecture, but he is surprisingly ready to do everything he is told, and anxious to think himself better. If I am right, the responsibility will be Miss Crawford's, and it is one which I think she will not be unwilling to bear. Pray give her my warmest regards, and tell her I hope the time is not far distant when we shall be happily reunited at Pemberley.'"
Such a letter could not all at once be realized, or recovered from. Mary Crawford tried to utter some words of thanks, but tears impeded her speech. Only when the joy burst upon her was she fully conscious of all the misery of the last few months; the light served to make the darkness more visible. Looking back upon the mists of pride, of resentfulness, and misunderstanding, from which she had emerged, it seemed almost incredible for a time that she had reached the clearer air, the sunshine of love and mutual comprehension. She longed to turn to her kind friend, to talk freely with her, over all that had seemed puzzling, and when, after a very few anxious days, better accounts from Leicestershire began to come in, and the gloom lifted, they could venture to let their minds dwell on hopeful possibilities once more. It was satisfactory that the whole situation was already known to the other members of their little party, and that Georgiana, as well as Mrs. Grant, could freely offer the affection and sympathy of a sister.
"Mrs. Darcy," said Mary one day, "I am possessed with a curiosity to know which you think worst of me for—my keeping Colonel Fitzwilliam at arm's length while in London, or my confession of weakness the other day, after the bold assertions I made when you spoke to me during our walk?"
"Indeed, I do not think ill of you for any of those things," returned Elizabeth; "they seem to me to have been most natural; but what do I think was a little bit foolish, was your allowing Sir Walter Elliot to be so attentive that the world concluded you were engaged. Your friends ought to have warned you that it might deter persons you really esteemed from approaching you."
"I was afraid you were going to say something about that!" exclaimed Miss Crawford, holding her hands to her ears in mock dismay. "I quite expect that Colonel Fitzwilliam and I shall spend some hours in violent mutual recrimination when he arrives, and that will be one of our subjects. But, seriously, Mrs. Darcy, although I know now it was unpardonably foolish, I was not conscious then of the comments that were being made. Our friendship with the Elliots had quite another aspect for me, other possibilities connected with my brother—but that will not interest you. I tolerated Sir Walter Elliot, but I never liked him, and I never thought of him as having any serious intentions, until a good-natured friend, Mrs. Palmer, called to congratulate me on my supposed engagement. By the way, she told me that her mother, Mrs. Jennings, had meant to come by with her, but had been prevented; I did not know the worthy Mrs. Jennings then, but since I have met her I have felt thankful she was not present on that occasion; it would have been rather overwhelming."
"She must have been sorry to miss such an opportunity," said Elizabeth, with a smile.
"Yes, poor Mrs. Jennings! But congratulations on a thing that hasnothappened are rather difficult to receive at any time, are they not? From that moment, I do assure you, I got a horrid fright, and determined to change my attitude towards Sir Walter Elliot completely. I must have been partly successful, for it precipitated things to such an extent—at all events, the result was not agreeable. It really was a wretched time! and Colonel Fitzwilliam disappeared and no one knew where or why."
Elizabeth had long realized that her cousin had not been the only sufferer in the past year, and she knew that Miss Crawford's lively manner of talking was often assumed to hide deeper emotions. She truly rejoiced that whatever fears and anxieties might have to be endured before the lovers met again, nothing could shake the foundations of their happiness.
After about ten days, Darcy's letters made it clear that the danger was past, and steady, if slow, progress might be looked for. He was, of course, quite unable to visit, and Georgiana, who had written to Mrs. Wentworth to postpone her visit, consulted Elizabeth as to whether it would be better to abandon it altogether, but Elizabeth thought that it would be unnecessary to do so, and also a pity, for Georgiana's sake, and Darcy, on being applied to give his consent to her journeying to London with the escort of two servants, as had been originally proposed.
The plan, therefore, was to stand. A date was arranged with Captain Wentworth, and on a cold windy evening of the second week in February, Mr. Darcy's carriage with Mr. Darcy's sister, drove up to the hotel in St. James's Street where her host was to meet her. The said carriage was to return through Leicestershire, for it was hoped, that, in the course of the next few days, Colonel Fitzwilliam might be well enough to be brought back in it to Pemberley.
The inclement weather, solitude, and fatigue had sent Georgiana's spirits down to a low ebb as she looked out at the wet streets, and recalled her last visit to London, under such very different circumstances. It was impossible for her not to be thinking of William Price, and the occasion when they had been together there, and wondering if he was in town at that minute. She would have liked to know that he was, even though it was so utterly improbable that they should meet, since neither of them could know what the other's movements were. Such thoughts were bad companions for Georgiana, but the arrival of Captain Wentworth, kind and cheerful as ever, and with the heartiest of welcomes, did much to disperse the gloom, and he proved such an enlivening companion on the following day that when they reached Winchester in time for a late dinner, she did not feel as bad as if she had been travelling for so many hours.
To see Mrs. Wentworth again was a keen pleasure. The letters they had exchanged formed the groundwork of a more intimate friendship, for despite Anne's seniority in years, their natures were thoroughly congenial, and within a few hours Georgiana felt completely at home in the charming little house not far from the Cathedral, which Captain Wentworth had purchased soon after his marriage.
She and her hostess were sitting together, the first day of her visit, exchanging inquiries after their mutual friends, and Georgiana was half hoping to hear some mention of William Price's name, as from what she had seen at Mrs. Hurst's dinner-party, she judged that the Wentworths knew him tolerably well. Yes—Mrs. Wentworth referred to that evening—said that she had seen Mrs. Hurst when last she was in town—Miss Darcy had heard more lately, probably—did she remember the young officer, Captain Price now, who had been present on that occasion?
Georgiana could reply in quite her ordinary manner that she had frequently seen Mr. Price since, and told of his visits to Desborough and Pemberley.
Mrs. Wentworth listened with interest. "I am very glad you have seen something in him, for I am sure you must all have liked him, do you not?" she said. "But, now, what an odd creature he is, never to have mentioned it. To be sure, I have not seen him since, or he would probably have done so, but hearing from a friend that he was in England again, and knowing you had met, I wrote to ask him to come and spend a few days here during your visit. It was a great liberty, I know, dear Miss Darcy, but he is a first favourite with Captain Wentworth and me, and we thought it would have been pleasant for him to have come just now; young people always amuse each other. He has so little time on shore, and up to last week I believed he was still abroad."
Georgiana's heart beat as if it would suffocate her, but she managed to return her friend's look, and say in a steady voice: "Yes, it would have been very nice. Is Captain Price not able to come?"
"No, most unfortunately not. I am very sorry, more so than ever now I know he has been to your part of the world. But he writes to say he fears he ought not to come—all sorts of regrets, and to tell Miss Darcy he is very sorry not to see her again. It is not at all clear why he cannot come, for he only repeats that he is sailing again some time next month, and thinks he had better stay in London, or go down to see his sister, until he goes."
Georgiana sat perfectly silent, gazing into the fire. Even from Mrs. Wentworth's first words she had not expected that William Price was coming, but to feel that the opportunity had been within his reach, and he could not—her heart told her that it waswouldnot—avail himself of it, was very hard to bear. He was right not to come, if he believed that the reason for his rejection still existed; Georgiana honoured him for that; but was there anything else? Had he changed his mind? Was he ceasing to care? Georgiana hardly knew, until that bitter moment, how much she had been pinning her hopes upon seeing him again some day; and she thought, with something like bitterness, that it had not been much use to picture him in London, and consequently somewhat nearer to her, when, as things stood, he was immeasurably far away, whether in London or in Derbyshire or on the North Sea.
Her want of response passed unnoticed as Captain Wentworth entered the room, proposing to take the ladies out. His wife observed that she had been telling Miss Darcy of Captain Price's refusal of their invitation, and of their puzzle to account for it.