Chapter 40

As soon as Elizabeth was sufficiently dry and changed, she went in search of Jane, desperately needing to talk to her and decide what was to be done. Mr Darcy knew of her connexion with Pennywithers! So, too, did Miss Bingley! It was in every way awful, made worse by her own weakness, which prescribed that she practically fall into Darcy’s arms every time he made the simplest overture.

Well, one thing was for certain: he would never repeat that proposal—not that he had been eager to do so in the first place, even before knowing what he thought he now knew. At least he had not guessed the whole truth.

But Jane was not in her chamber, nor with any of the other guests scattered throughout Pemberley’s various drawing rooms and parlours. By the time Elizabeth sought out Mrs Reynolds, she was beginning to feel alarmed.

None of the servants, it turned out, knew the whereabouts of her sister. The last person, in fact, who had seen her was apparently Elizabeth herself, at least three hours earlier.

Elizabeth was not allowedto join the search. “We shall find her,” Mr Darcy said, once she showed him the last place she had seen Jane. He tipped up her umbrella to look in her eyes. “I promise. I will be unable to give all my attention to the search, however, if I am worried that you will set off on your own. Promise me that you will leave it to those of us who know the land so well. Stay inside. Stay warm.”

She bit her lip, but there was only one answer to give. “I will. Please, find her. Please, please.”

Reaching out, he set his gloved hand ever so briefly against her cheek, nodded once, and turned away to mount his enormous steed. She remembered the fear she felt when perched upon its back, and the safety once Darcy was there with her. She closed her umbrella and walked back to the house, letting the rain stream down her cheeks to disguise her tears.

Elizabeth waitedin a smaller private parlour, Georgiana and Sarah keeping vigil by her side. A teapot gone cold and untouched biscuits sat on a tray before them. Elizabeth faced the back gardens and from there, into the forest beyond—although it was pitch-black outside, the rain adding to the gloom, and there was nothing to be seen except the occasional lantern bobbing, showing that the searchers were still at it.

“There are at least forty men looking, I heard,” Sarah said.

“And more joining them by the hour,” Georgiana added.

Elizabeth could not think of a response. This was all her fault. She had refused to listen to Jane’s feelings and Jane—so easily overruled, her sentiments so easily discounted in favour of Elizabeth’s own—needing support and encouragement, had found only rejection. Now she was alone, lost, wet, cold, frightened.

“There has been word,” Mrs Reynolds said, interrupting Elizabeth’s bleak thoughts. She started; she had not even heard the housekeeper enter.

“They have found her?” Sarah asked, because a sudden lump in Elizabeth’s throat prevented her from speaking.

“Yes. They sent young Dickie Bridges to tell us—he is a very fast runner, you see—and to have the lanterns put in the attic windows to signal the others. Those can be seen for miles. One can already see lantern lights heading towards the house.”

Georgiana was even now peering out. “Yes, Elizabeth, look.”

Elizabeth practically pressed her face against the glass, and sure enough, she could see the pinpricks of lantern light afloat in the darkness.

“We have already sent for the doctor—only as a precaution, you understand—and he is waiting in the library. He will examine her once she is dry and warm.”

“Oh, thank you,” Elizabeth said, not bothering to disguise her tears. “Thank you so very much. I must thank everyone, somehow, though it is impossible?—”

“Now, do not fret about that,” the housekeeper said kindly. “We will have refreshments for the searchers, and I daresay it will all seem like a grand adventure in the retelling.”

It was not long before Mr Bingley entered the foyer where Elizabeth anxiously paced. In his arms he held a large sopping bundle topped by bedraggled golden curls.

“Jane! Oh, Jane!” Elizabeth cried, as her sister turned her pale face from the coat she was wrapped within.

“Lizzy,” she whispered, holding one cold hand towards her sister.

“We should get her to her chamber,” Mr Bingley said, “where I am certain a good fire is already burning.”

“Oh, yes, yes,” Elizabeth replied, moving aside so he could pass.

“I can walk,” Jane said, and to Elizabeth’s ears, her voice sounded broken and feeble.

“Allow us to help you, sir,” said one of the two footmen who had been stationed near the front door.

“Nonsense, she is light as a feather,” Mr Bingley said, turning towards the stairs. He, too, was sodden, but he would not hear of anything except carrying Jane all the way to the door of her chamber, assuring her that everything that could be done for her comfort, would be. Elizabeth helped her into her room, aided the maid in stripping off her wet clothes and helping her into a warm nightgown. She then sat Jane by the fire and towelled dry her sister’s hair while encouraging her to eat from the tray sent up from the kitchens.

Mr Hall, the kindly doctor who had examined her after Miss Bingley’s assault, entered while she was sipping her tea. Beyond prescribing a strengthening tonic to aid her lungs, he did not do much more than advise that Jane stay abed for a day or two, rest, and avoid all excitement.

Once he departed, and the sisters were finally left alone, Elizabeth apologised profusely.

“You cannot know how much I regret upsetting you.”

“It was my own fault for paying no attention whatsoever to where I was going until I was utterly lost and confused. I only hope no one takes ill from the search in such weather.”

“How like you to worry for others,” said Elizabeth. “We will of course remain here for the rest of the week. Please forget that I ever mentioned leaving early.”

After all, what did it now matter? Mr Darcy knew everything, or thought he did; he had been given every opportunity to let Elizabeth leave, and he had insisted otherwise. There was no reason to slink away as if she were ashamed. Miss Bingley knew of the connexion too, but what would she do? Tell others? She might, but who would care? Elizabeth was an obscure girl from Cheapside. Mr Bingley might find the connexion reprehensible on Jane’s side, but it was better to know now, was it not?

Elizabeth was not spying on Mr Darcy, nor upon his ‘cast of characters’ as he so aptly described—although learning that Miss Lushington had offered to paint him en déshabillé was a secret he probably ought not to have mentioned to anyone. She had evidently not found him quite so dull as she had claimed.

Jane took her hand, squeezing it. “It is so very nice to be warm and dry. I feel I could sleep for a week now. You must go down to dinner, and not worry over me, dearest.”

Elizabeth had not even considered it—who could be hungry, after such a terrible experience? On the other hand, there were the feelings of her hosts to be considered.

“I do suppose Mr Bingley is wondering how you do,” Elizabeth said, smiling a little slyly. “From the moment we realised you were missing, he was most deeply concerned for your welfare. Was it he who discovered you?”

Jane did not even open her eyes, but her expression seemed a bit rueful. “No. I finally determined to stop wandering futilely and sit still beneath a tree whose branches afforded some protection from the rain, and there I huddled, hoping to wait it out until morning. What with the noise of the storm, I did not hear them shouting. Mr Darcy’s voice is a carrying one, however. I finally heard and answered, and he found me. Mr Bingley met us on the way back—all the searchers responding to a shrill whistle, a signal given by Mr Darcy. He…Mr Bingley, that is, offered to return me on his horse. So kind. Everyone…so very kind.”

Jane was plainly drifting off, and Elizabeth answered nothing, wanting her to rest. But her heart beat a little faster at the thought of Mr Darcy’s heroic rescue.

If Mr Pennywithers had anything to say about it—and he did—Mr Darcy would receive only the kindest attention from the press, and for the rest of his life.