10. Ten

Ten

S ir Thomas led them into his study, the heavy door closing with a soft but definitive thud. With a slight, apologetic gesture, Sir Thomas reached for the brandy decanter on his desk and poured a glass for each of them. Darcy observed with a trace of unease as the decanter ran dry, just as he poured the last drop into Bingley’s glass. Sir Thomas himself took none, instead sinking wearily into the large chair behind the desk.

He took a moment, his fingers tapping restlessly on the arm of his chair. “This is… not an easy thing to explain. Nor a simple story.”

Darcy leaned forward—alert, but holding his tongue. Bingley, beside him, watched with unguarded curiosity.

“After France,” Sir Thomas began slowly, “I had some modest fortune—well-invested, enough to live comfortably. More than comfortably, I suppose. I believed that I would retire to a quiet life, perhaps in Bath. But… well, you both know as well as I how such notions change when the weight of war settles on a man’s conscience.”

He looked at Darcy and Bingley in turn, his eyes keen, searching. “Shortly after returning, I became involved in assisting wounded soldiers—some of whom I had been imprisoned with. Men who had seen horrors that would make the strongest of us shudder. It started as simple relief efforts, helping them find doctors, lodging, employment when possible.” He sighed. “But the need grew, and I knew I could do more than just play a supporting role.”

Darcy sensed where this was going, and his gaze sharpened, waiting.

“Five years ago,” Sir Thomas continued, “I took the rather mad notion of purchasing Netherfield. The house was large, with ample land, and it seemed to be a perfect place to offer… refuge.”

“For soldiers,” Bingley murmured, his tone admiring.

“Yes. For those wounded in body and soul.” Sir Thomas’s eyes grew distant, his voice softening. “I employed two full-time nurses, with a physician and more nurses on retainer. I set aside the ballroom as an infirmary so those in most fragile health could receive the care they needed—round the clock, if necessary.” He gave a faint smile, though there was little humor in it. “It was my hope that it would be a place for recovery, dignity, perhaps even some degree of peace.”

Darcy and Bingley exchanged a quick look; the ballroom explained at last.

“Of course,” Sir Thomas continued, “not all wounds are physical. Some of these men…” He trailed off, a shadow darkening his face. “Some had been damaged so deeply by the war that they could scarcely function. They’d have ended up in the streets or worse without intervention.” He hesitated, then shook his head. “Most recover well enough to leave, to start new lives. But some—like Roberts and Jackson—have stayed on. I have been fortunate enough to find them work here.”

Darcy nodded slowly, feeling a twinge of respect for Sir Thomas that went beyond their shared past. It was noble, undeniably so, and the clear-eyed dedication in Sir Thomas’s gaze said more than any words could have.

“Originally, it was a cause that had widespread support,” Sir Thomas said with a bitter smile. “Meryton’s residents were proud to say that one of their neighbors was aiding the war effort in such a way. I’d donors—wealthy philanthropists who funded our efforts generously from afar. Everyone spoke glowingly of Netherfield and its occupants.”

Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “I sense a ‘but’ in there.”

Sir Thomas’s frown deepened. “ But… three years ago, I… found myself in a position to help another… group of people.”

He paused, collecting his thoughts, and Bingley leaned forward, almost quivering now in eagerness to hear more.

“I learned about a young woman in a certain predicament.” His voice grew softer. “An ‘unfortunate,’ if you will. She was… alone, with nowhere to turn. There was… nothing I could do to help her then—or so I thought—and to my eternal regret, I learned she was sent away. I never knew where. A workhouse, most probably.”

Sir Thomas’s voice was tight with guilt. “I did not help her, and she was… lost. The shame of it nearly destroyed me. I thought to myself that Netherfield could do… more. It had the capacity to take in more than just wounded soldiers. So, I made a decision.”

He looked up, and Darcy could see the raw determination in his eyes. “I began offering shelter to young women in similar circumstances. Women with nowhere to go and no one to turn to.”

Bingley blinked, taken aback. “Young women?”

“Most of them,” Sir Thomas answered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Girls, really. Girls in their ‘interesting’ condition—young, lost, and in need. Most other shelters demand that such women give up their children. But here, I allow them to stay and raise their children if they wish, or, in some cases, I’ve found families willing to discreetly adopt.” He paused, a flicker of sadness crossing his face. “The youngest we ever took in was but thirteen.”

Darcy felt his stomach twist as he processed Sir Thomas’s words. He looked toward Bingley, who had gone pale with astonishment.

Bingley swallowed, his gaze dropping to the glass in his hand. “The… the maids… those are they, are they not? They are all so young!”

“Yes,” Sir Thomas said, his tone heavy with resignation. “Several of them are those I once took in. Not all stay, of course, but some remain on, even if their children are weaned or placed elsewhere. And, well, you can imagine… some have even found companionship among the men who also needed shelter.” He offered a wan smile. “Mr. and Mrs. Jackson were married just last month. A man once broken in body, a woman once broken in spirit. They’ve found healing here.”

For a moment, silence reigned in the study. Darcy and Bingley were both struggling to absorb the magnitude of what Sir Thomas had done, and the weight of it hung between them like a silent, undeniable presence.

Finally, Bingley spoke, his voice filled with approval. “Sir Thomas… there was no need to be secretive about this! No wonder you did not wish to give up the house until after Christmas. All those people who would be displaced… Nay, I would never ask such a thing! What you have done here, it… It is admirable beyond words.”

But Darcy’s mind was already working over the more practical implications. “How,” he asked slowly, “have you financed all this, Sir Thomas? Surely, this could not have been supported with your own funds alone. And would your supporters in London… be aware of these other endeavors?”

Sir Thomas sagged visibly, the proud set of his shoulders softening as he leaned back in his chair. “You are right, Darcy. At first, I had plenty of support. But yes, when word began to spread about my sheltering unwed mothers… and in the same house as all those unmarried young men! —well, my benefactors were swift to withdraw.” He shook his head. “These days, I am barely able to make ends meet. My personal fortune is all but exhausted, and Netherfield’s upkeep… it is well beyond my means now.”

Darcy felt a surge of anger—anger at the small-mindedness of society, at the cruelty of those who would judge and condemn without understanding. But he tempered it, glancing at Sir Thomas with a steady gaze. “And… your neighbors? Surely they know—they must know about all this.”

Sir Thomas’s expression grew bleak. “Most of the town would like nothing better than to see me gone. The vicar decries my work as shameful and a black disgrace upon the town, and several local businesses have threatened to refuse service to Netherfield. Even if I could afford to stay, I do not believe I could continue my work here, not with such mounting hostility. It is not fair to them—my friends here—to know they are so reviled whenever they take an errand into town.” He exhaled heavily. “The burden has grown too great. I do not see how I can carry on, even if I were to somehow secure the funds.”

A heavy silence fell between them, the bleakness of Sir Thomas’s confession hanging thick in the air. Darcy looked at Bingley, who appeared equally at a loss, his usually bright expression shadowed with dismay.

Sir Thomas rose, straightening his waistcoat with an air of finality. “I understand, gentlemen, if these revelations change your minds about the lease.” He forced a smile that did little to conceal his sadness. “Please, excuse me. You’ll no doubt wish to confer with each other, and I am… expected in the infirmary for my rounds.”

With that, he turned and left, the soft click of the door closing behind him, leaving Darcy and Bingley alone in the silence of the study.

E lizabeth closed the door to their room with a firm click, her gaze sharp as she turned to her sister. “Jane, what did you mean when Charlotte was here—about what she wrote to you in her last letter?”

Jane seated herself at the vanity and began to fuss with her hair—for no need, since it already looked perfect—and avoided Elizabeth’s gaze in the mirror. “Whatever do you mean, Lizzy? Did she say nothing in the letter she sent to you?”

“Not a word beyond Maria’s terrible piano practicing with Lydia and John sneaking sweets from the larder.”

“Oh, surely, she wrote more than that. Perhaps you overlooked it.” Jane pinched her right cheek, then turned her head from side to side to compare the effect.

“Not a chance. And you can give up the act at the vanity, for you are putting on airs like Kitty when we both know plain and well that is not your way. You have been remarkably evasive since before we left London. What is going on, Jane?”

Jane sighed, then twisted around in her seat, clasping her hands in her lap as she stared at the floor. “Elizabeth, I… Well, yes, I do know more than I let on. Charlotte… she wrote to me about it while we were in London, saying the same thing she just told us below. That it is beyond certain that Sir Thomas is pockets to let.”

Elizabeth folded her arms. “Why would she not write the same to me? Or why would you ‘forget’ to mention it? That is far more than a simple oversight, dear sister.”

“Because…” Jane worried her lip between her teeth before looking up with a frank expression, shedding her initial reluctance. “Because Charlotte and I agreed it would weigh on you too much. You have always had such sympathy for Sir Thomas and what he has tried to do here. Charlotte knew that if you heard the state of things, it would only make you miserable and ruin your time in London.”

“That is the most preposterous thing! Ruin my time in London? What, was Charlotte expecting me to dance at balls every evening until I snagged a husband? I know Mama thought two months in London were sufficient to the task, but Charlotte could not be such a fool.”

“No, not…” Jane frowned. “There was nothing you could do. It would have simply outraged you until you were tugging the sleeve of every wealthy gentleman we met and making uncomfortable demands that would have placed Uncle in an awkward position. You would have tried to mend the thing yourself, thinking that our time in London might afford us the opportunity to bang on doors and drag unwilling gentlemen along on some crusade. It would have—”

“It would have ruined your little holiday in London?” Elizabeth finished.

“Made you a laughingstock,” Jane corrected.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. Her pulse was drumming through her limbs until her very veins pounded. “What else would you have me do? Just… watch while so many people lose the only home that is open to them?”

“Lizzy, some things are beyond our control.”

Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hand and paced around the bed, finally sinking onto it and clutching a pillow to her stomach. She wanted to shake and cry, and… and just make it all go away. But then, something pricked her as sharply as a pin to the back of her neck.

“Tell me something, Jane. How did Mr. Bingley hear about Netherfield?”

Jane’s eyes widened, and she sucked in a breath. “Oh, I am… I am quite sure it was a coincidence.”

“What part? The part where he was nearly oozing into a puddle at your feet in Aunt’s drawing room, or the part where he just ‘happened’ to stumble up to the same coaching inn yesterday?”

Jane swallowed. She opened her mouth, and Elizabeth put up a finger to silence her. “No more excuses, dear sister. The truth— all of it. When did you conspire with Mr. Bingley to send him to Netherfield?”

“Conspire! You make it sound very devious, indeed.”

“Convince me, then, that it was not. What were you and Mr. Bingley talking about while I was playing the piano with Mr. Darcy beside me?”

Jane’s face flushed, and she shifted uncomfortably. “Perhaps… I did mention Netherfield, yes.”

Elizabeth pressed a hand to her forehead. “Why would you do such a thing, Jane? You knew Sir Thomas could lose his home, and yet you practically delivered it to strangers. How could you?”

“Lizzy, please.” Jane took a shaky breath. “Not bringing anyone would not change Sir Thomas’s position. He cannot keep the house.”

Elizabeth shook her head, incredulous. “Then why them ? Why tempt Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy here, knowing that, of all people, they might very well take possession of it right away? They are richer than Croesus! They have no need of circumspection or diligence and probably no patience, either!”

Jane hesitated. “Because… Oh, very well. You may as well know the whole of it. I told Aunt about Sir Thomas, Lizzy. She was adamant that we not say anything to you until it was unavoidable, but she did consider it possible that something might be done.”

Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. “She invited them on purpose. Just for this!”

“We thought that the right tenants might help Sir Thomas. If someone kind, someone with influence and means, were to lease Netherfield, perhaps Sir Thomas’s work would continue. Perhaps they would be willing to… offer support.”

“Jane! How could you…” She drew a shaking breath. “You deliberately withheld everything from Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, and you knew— knew —they might be drawn into all of this against their knowledge. That they might find themselves trapped in a mess they never intended! You even used…” She struggled for the right word, her voice trembling. “Your charms! You tempted him into this!”

Jane flushed deeper, but kept her head high. “I did what I thought was best. Aunt Gardiner has known them—or known of their reputation, at least—for years. Lizzy, they have influence, they have wealth. She says the Darcys were always involved in charitable ends, and Mr. Bingley has a reputation for doing the same—surely, if they understood, they might wish to help.”

“Help?” Elizabeth’s voice was nearly a hiss. “Or are they just to be used? To say nothing of Sir Thomas! He is in a desperate enough state already without being dragged into some scheme where everyone will be in for a rude surprise.” Her face was flushed with anger, but she caught herself, staring at her sister in disbelief. “And to think you would involve me in it as well! I thought it was all some odd coincidence, but you put me—both of us—forward to tempt the gentlemen here.”

“It was not like—”

“Oh, hang your excuses! Do you know how this looks? They may see through your little scheme and even connect this manipulation to our uncle. Jane, they have the power to utterly ruin him if he offended them! How could you not see that?”

Jane’s voice wavered, her eyes wide and pleading. “Lizzy, Mr. Bingley is too good to be offended. He would never retaliate against Uncle. I am sure he would forgive us.”

Elizabeth turned away, her expression set. “Perhaps Mr. Bingley. But Mr. Darcy?” She shook her head. “Mr. Darcy is not a man whose resentment one should cultivate. He might not be so quick to forgive.” She drew in a long breath, shoulders tense. “No. I cannot let this go. I will take the carriage to Netherfield myself and explain—somehow.”

“Lizzy!” Jane cried, reaching for her arm. “Please, that is too bold. Surely, they will understand.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Mr. Darcy deserves honesty, even if it is delayed beyond reason or the cause stretches all credulity. Perhaps he can forgive some of it if he sees that I am willing to be truthful. And if it is too late… well, I would rather meet that disappointment head-on than live with the shame of being thought deceitful.”

And with that, she left the room, heedless of Jane’s protests as she scrambled downstairs and reached for her wrap. There was no time to lose.