Chapter Eight

An inquisition faced Elizabeth across the breakfast table.

Mama and Mr. Collins glared at her. Mr. Sykes sat in the background, holding a glass of burgundy high, while grinning madly. He was delighted by the whole of the situation.

“But the two of you were out on the balcony for so long.” Mama fluttered her hands. “I was so sure. So sure. Lord! You’d looked like you cried. It made your face wholly ugly.”

“Some men,” Mr. Sykes offered as he drained the glass of wine and refilled it, “like the look of a sobbing woman.”

“Yes!” Mama said, “And you danced together again. Perchance… No, I am sure of it! He shall call today.”

Another stab through the chest, and into the soft intestines.

Elizabeth had cried silently for fifteen minutes before she could bear to get out of bed that morning.

Her insidious, stupid hope that Mr. Darcy would marry her had clearly clawed its way deep into her heart, like a worm working through an apple.

“He shall not,” Elizabeth said blankly.

Mama wrung her hands again. “Lord! He must. He must. I need him to! How can we ever manage if you now do not marry anyone?”

Mr. Collins stood once more and frowned. He paced back and forth, his hands behind his back. Each clunking step made the floorboards creak. “But… Mr. Sykes, you have the acquaintance of longest duration with Mr. Darcy, do you consider it probable that—”

That gentleman, using the title loosely, interrupted Mr. Collins with a harsh cackle. “Miss Bennet, wish you had treated me kindly now? You do, don’t you? Now that your other gentleman hasn’t come up to scratch. Damned women. You only care about a gentleman’s looks and his wealth. Never his character.”

“No,” Elizabeth replied easily. “Not at all.”

Mr. Collins had a pained expression at hearing Mr. Sykes’s use of the word damned .

“Oh, but, but — Heavens!” Mama exclaimed. “He will come today. I still expect it. The way he looked at you when you when you danced, and—”

“Mama! Mr. Darcy made it exceedingly clear to me that he would not marry me. I hinted at the question, and he explained at length that he would not marry again.” And that she was not, in any case, good enough to marry him.

That hurt in her stomach.

It was hard to keep to her determination that they would remain friends when she thought of it.

Mr. Collins ceased his relentless pacing. “Not such a disaster then.” He let out a slow breath. “He will not marry you because of the memory of Mrs. Darcy? I can tell that to Lady Catherine, that he stood so strong as to specifically not pursue a woman for that reason. At least she will be pleased, which is a great joy in a difficult time.”

Another laugh from Mr. Sykes.

Turning to that gentleman, Mr. Collins put his hands together beseechingly. “You’ll not tell Lady Catherine anything about this, that my cousin aspired to his hand? — I beg you, by our friendship.”

Mr. Sykes just laughed again, and took a long swig of his wine, gulping the rest of his second or third serving this morning back. “Fine bottle — do not concern yourself. I’ll not spread stories to your precious Lady Catherine.”

“And oh! If Mr. Darcy is not to marry Cousin Elizabeth, then there is nothing stopping you from—”

“By God! By God! You want to kill me? Just because he did not come up to scratch does not mean that he’ll forget her. I’ve seen Darcy shoot. The bullet goes where he wants.”

Elizabeth did not think that Mr. Darcy would fight a duel for her sake, nor did she wish him to. But she was happy that Mr. Sykes believed that he would.

“By Gad! Damned fellows.” Mr. Sykes stood, and he threw his now empty glass hard against the marble fireplace. It shattered loudly. “Another lady in the neighbourhood has showed me far more encouragement than shapely spinster Lizzy. God damn it all, I’ll make an offer to her. Doesn’t matter that she isn’t half as good looking. There’s more money there, and I can find loose pieces of muslin easily enough for other matters.”

With only a slight stumble, Mr. Sykes left the drawing room.

“Lord, oh Lord! What shall become of us?” Mama wailed. “Lizzy, you must make Mr. Sykes come back! Convince him to marry you, since Mr. Darcy will not.”

Was it Charlotte?

Her friend had most kindly distracted Mr. Sykes, and after their arguments upon whether Jane had acted wisely in marrying Mr. Collins, Elizabeth did not think that Charlotte would refuse any eligible gentleman.

Mr. Collins paced back and forth. “Most unfortunate. Most unfortunate.”

“She would have got Mr. Darcy if she could,” Mama said. “My Lizzy is not too obstreperous to marry. She would have gotten him if she could. I beg you to not be angry.”

The gentleman continued to pace back and forth.

Elizabeth felt sick for Charlotte. Mr. Sykes was a man who might hurt his wife, simply because he delighted in the way that she could not escape from him. Perhaps if she ran across to Lucas Lodge, she could convince Charlotte to not be a fool.

But Mr. Sykes was faster, and she would make a spectacle of herself, Charlotte would not listen, and Mama and Mr. Collins would not let her leave yet.

Once she’d agreed to marry him, Elizabeth suspected that nothing she could say to Charlotte would dissuade her. Maybe it was a different woman that Sykes meant to make his offer to.

Elizabeth felt coldly certain that could not be true.

At last, Mr. Collins sat down heavily. “Most unfortunate. Cousin Elizabeth, I am deeply disappointed in you. Most deeply disappointed. Any statements might you proffer in your own defence? Spurning an eligible man, who had the approval of both your mother and myself, to pursue the delusion that you might catch one of the greatest gentlemen in the land with your arts and allurements?”

Mr. Collins’s glare was a pathetic and small thing.

And she felt a small glow of warmth towards Darcy once more. From Mr. Collins’s manner she was certain that he would not defy Mr. Darcy’s orders to treat kindly with her family. Even though there was little Darcy could do concretely to harm Mr. Collins, the gentleman was still frightened of him.

Tears came, sadness about Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth let them flow. She wiped at her eyes.

“Oh, don’t cry. Oh my, oh my.” Mr. Collins looked helpless. “I did not mean to make you cry. Oh, do not cry.”

Mama sat next to Elizabeth and put her arm around her. “‘Tis a great pain when your heart has been broken. You’d have gotten him if you could. Lord! You would have.”

“I love him,” Elizabeth choked out. “I do. I do. I know I am stupid, but I do. I could not help myself. I tried.”

“Oh, Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy.” Mama embraced her, stroked her hair, and kissed her cheek. “My dear, dear daughter. ‘Tis a hurt like no other. I know, I know. But you’ll be better in time. I know, I know.”

And to her surprise, Elizabeth embraced her mother back, and sobbed into her shoulder in a way that she had not sobbed since Papa died.

Mr. Collins, after a while of watching them, sighed and stood. “Apologies. Apologies. In any case, I will have a joyous duty to convey to the noble Lady Catherine the information that Mr. Darcy has made a firm, I dare say unshakeable, and impassioned determination to never enter the bounds of conjugal joy again. Apologies.”

As Mr. Collins went to walk out of the drawing room, the door was shoved open, slamming him backwards.

Mr. Sykes stalked into the room, his face red and furious. “Damn you, Collins! Damn you! Damn you! I’ve a mind to throttle you! Damned, damned county! Damn you all!”

“Whatever happened?” Mr. Collins exclaimed. “What is the matter?”

“Damn that ugly whore. What business does a girl that ugly have refusing anyone? On any grounds! Damn her. And damn, damn Darcy.”

“Miss Lucas refused you?” Elizabeth asked, a surprised smile crossing her face. She wiped at the remains of her tears.

“Damn you too. Damn you above the rest. Thinking you are better than an honest man simply because your face is pretty. You aren’t worth anything. I am worth ten of you. Twenty of you.”

“I cannot imagine what,” Elizabeth said grinning widely, “may have prompted her to hesitate when such an eligible match offered.”

“If Darcy wasn’t like to kill me for it, I’d make you marry me, just so I could hurt you,” Mr. Sykes snarled in return. “He was telling tales to the ugly hag. I saw him and Miss Lucas speaking late last evening. I am sure that’s why she refused me. I’d be in my rights to challenge him. I would. Do not doubt it.”

“No, not Lady Catherine’s nephew!” Mr. Collins said.

“Damn Lady Catherine and damn you as well.”

This startled Mr. Collins. He shook. Steadied himself. “Sykes, as a man of the clergy I must remonstrate—”

“I am leaving this damned place. Just came back to collect my horse and my valet. I hate Hertfordshire. I hate you. I hate this damp ugly house. And Miss Elizabeth, I hate you most of all. Ugly hag. Refusing me . She’ll never have a better offer. Refusing me . When she’s ugly? What makes a girl that ugly, and seven and twenty, think she can refuse a man? Her parents ought to whip her.”

Then the gentleman left, and less than a minute later he’d mounted his horse outside and rode off, swaying in the saddle.

Elizabeth left out a deep breath. She’d had half a fear that he was drunk enough to strike someone.

For his part Mr. Collins sat down in almost a stupor. “What a shocking discourse. I have never heard such a stream of words. And to speak so profanely to a clergyman, and in front of two women. I do not think Mr. Sykes is a gentleman worthy of being invited to Lady Catherine’s table when it is necessary to make up a full group at whist. He ought to imbibe less of the spirits of Dionysius.”

Elizabeth resisted laughter at Mr. Collins’s almost ladylike response. She also resisted the urge to ask him if this convinced him that she had been right to refuse Mr. Sykes.