Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

ELIZABETH HAD NEVER met David the stable hand, owing to the fact she spent little to no time in the stables. She was no horsewoman and preferred the beasts separated from her whilst she was safe inside a carriage.

He was a sturdy sort of fellow, near to Mary’s own age, Elizabeth thought, so eighteen or nineteen, she thought. He still had that boyish gangly look to his limbs and his face had a rounded nature that bespoke youth. He was just at that age in which young men will do risky things and think they are a grand lark, never heeding the possible consequences.

And there would be consequences for David if they were discovered, she thought, and the consequences he faced would be more serious than the ones she and her sister faced. He might lose his job. He might be denied a reference. He might face difficulty finding another job.

It would have been the right thing to do to call the entire thing off.

Charlotte—imminently practical Charlotte—would never do something like this. Elizabeth’s own practicality was not overly pleased by the idea of it either.

But she thought it through, not going to see Mrs. Widebottom, not finding the evidence they needed, not clearing her mother’s name.

She thought through going back to her room and sitting through an endless day doing nothing at all to solve the problems that beset her.

Truth was, she could not bear it.

They left.

The journey was about thirty miles, so not materially much more than the journey from Longbourn to Gracechurch Street. It was a journey that a set of horses could do in one day, one way, but the return journey would require fresh horses. David had arranged all of this. They were not taking horses from the Bennet stables. It was all quite complicated and quite clandestine.

They left early, so as to arrive in the late morning. They would be arriving at Mrs. Widebottom’s house unannounced. This was not a social faux pas in the sense that if a woman had loose moral character, it did not matter if you’d been properly introduced to her or not. You were not meant to call upon her, regardless. But it was rude, and Mrs. Widebottom would take it thusly. Elizabeth spent the journey trying to think of how to appease the woman and to get her to cooperate.

They arrived at the house, and it was much grander than Elizabeth had imagined it would be. Why, it was larger than Longbourn, and the surrounding grounds indicated that it might have tenant farmers attached. But why not, Elizabeth mused. Obviously, Benlolk would have wished to leave a source of income to his mistress and their children. According to Lady Benlolk, he’d left property and wealth to the boys themselves.

Still, it was different than Elizabeth had imagined.

For some reason, she’d thought they’d be coming to some small hovel in the country, Mrs. Widebottom a woman with a kerchief tied about her head, sweeping off the hearth and cooking over an open fireplace.

Foolish, truly.

She should have known better.

They were greeted by servants, who treated them with disdain, for they had arrived with no forewarning, an imposition.

Elizabeth cringed and Mary looked nervous as well, twisting her hands together in front of herself.

They didn’t look very respectable themselves. Their disguise was that they were but insignificant members of some lower class, and here they were, calling at the door of this quite respectable-looking house looking like peasants.

There was nothing for it, though.

They had come all this way.

They must attempt to salvage it.

They waited for nearly half an hour in the entryway. Finally, a servant came back and told them to come with him. He showed them into a sitting room.

Mrs. Widebottom was already in there. She was a tidy-looking woman, about their mother’s age, with a doughy figure, and a kind face. She didn’t look like a woman of loose morals, not to Elizabeth’s way of thinking.

She tilted her head this way and that. “Are you truly Bennet girls? I had thought you would have the means for nicer dresses.”

Elizabeth spread her hands. “We were forbidden to come to see you, so we had to do it surreptitiously. We had to sneak out and to appear inconspicuous.” It was only a little white lie. It was better than saying they were ashamed to have it known they had visited Mrs. Widebottom.

“Well,” said Mrs. Widebottom, “I am quite used to being shunned, I must say. The price one pays for love is sometimes quite high.”

Love, Elizabeth repeated inwardly. So, this woman had been in love with Lord Benlolk.

“Please come in,” said Mrs. Widebottom. “Please sit.”

They did so.

Elizabeth and Mary told the woman their names and she repeated them. She offered them some refreshment, but they declined, not wanting to put her out.

“We shan’t stay overlong,” said Elizabeth. “We are sorry to be an imposition, but we shall keep it as brief as possible.”

“Of course you will,” said Mrs. Widebottom, chuckling. “Must get away from me before anyone sees you here.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all right,” said Mrs. Widebottom. “As I say, I’m used to it. I could have had a respectable marriage like your mother did. My father was a successful tradesman, and I had prospects. I didn’t have to give it all away to be the bawd of an earl, you know.” She tittered, as if calling herself a bawd was a good joke.

Indeed, it seemed so. Elizabeth had not been expecting her to be this way. “I am sorry,” she said. “We mean no disrespect.”

This only made Mrs. Widebottom titter more.

“Truly, madam, we do apologize,” said Elizabeth, feeling rather ashamed of herself and quite uncomfortable.

“No more of that.” Mrs. Widebottom waved it away. “You’re here because you wonder why John left you all the money, I assume.”

“W-well, actually we were hoping that you could confirm that you were so well aware of Lord Benlolk’s comings and goings that you know it is impossible that he was conducting some ongoing affair with our mother,” said Elizabeth.

“You can confirm that, can you not?” said Mary. “By all accounts, he was devoted to you, not our mother.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Widebottom, nodding at them. “Well, then, I see.” She looked them over, amusement writ all over her features. “Well, as to that, I can say, yes, there was no ongoing affair.”

Elizabeth sat up straight. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, yes, when John and I were together, he was with me only, and he was not involved with anyone else, not even his wife. I suppose that was my fault. I was quite jealous. He had some other woman, you see. It was not as if it could be undone. He was already married when I met him. But I didn’t like it. If I was to be faithful to him, he must be faithful to me. I know that this is not always the case between men and women. Often, women make excuses for their men’s waywardness, but I couldn’t. Perhaps it was because our union was not proper and not protected by any laws or documents. Perhaps it was because I had no legal leg to stand upon if he decided to abandon me, even after I was gone with his child. I don’t know. We sometimes got in bad rows about it. We’d argue and argue, and he’d go on and on about how he had to have an heir. He would even say that he was hoping his wife would have an affair of her own, some other man’s child that he could acknowledge, just for the appearances of it. He would tell me he’d hinted at it to her, but that she didn’t seem to understand what he was saying.”

Elizabeth remembered Lady Benlolk talking about how her husband had been angry with her for not having an heir, all the while refusing to attempt to get one on her. So, this must have been why.

“I suppose I’m rambling,” said Mrs. Widebottom. “I have guests so rarely, truly. Perhaps I simply wish to have people to speak to.” She laughed.

But Elizabeth felt more ashamed and more uncomfortable. She wished to apologize again.

Before she could, Mrs. Widebottom began speaking again. “So, at any rate, yes, there was nothing between your mother and John, not after he and I were together.”

Elizabeth felt her heart skip a beat. Not after they were together, so did that mean, before…?

Mary spoke up. “But you can be sure of this?”

“Well, not entirely, I suppose,” said Mrs. Widebottom. “But he did live here, with me and our children. We did often travel with him, when he was required to travel. He took us with him on holidays and when he was in town for the Season, he had a house for us there. He left it to our oldest, in fact, so I am still welcome there, though what I wish to do in a city where no one of consequence will speak to me, I do not know. So, it’s not as if he and I were never separate. He did have to visit his wife from time to time. He did sometimes go away on his own. But I think I can say with certainty that he was mine and mine only. I am quite certain of that.”

“Good,” said Mary. “You wouldn’t change that story if you were pressed? You would stick to it. For you wouldn’t want the idea of your love with Benlolk to be tainted by the idea of his loving someone else. You would want the truth known?”

“I am not going to go and tell anyone of this, if that’s what you want,” said Mrs. Widebottom. “For one thing, I am prevented from doing so. No one associates with me. And for another, I cannot be bothered with things like reputation anymore. I gave up concern about that quite some time ago.”

“That’s not what I mean,” said Mary. “Only, if someone were to tell others what you have said, attribute your words to you, you would not deny you had said it?”

“No,” said Mrs. Widebottom. “But my word carries little weight.”

“And how public was Lord Benlolk’s attachment to you?” said Mary. “Did everyone know about you? Was it well known he had a mistress?”

“I haven’t any notion,” she said. “If you’re asking if we entertained socially, the answer is only amongst men who also had mistresses. No one else would come to see us.”

“Of course,” said Mary.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “You said Benlolk was not with our mother after you were with him. So, what do you mean by that?”

“I thought you’d come back to that,” said Mrs. Widebottom. “In the end, you do wish to know why he left her what he did.”

Elizabeth bit down on her bottom lip. Could her mother have conducted some clandestine affair before any of her sisters were born, something brief and yet just as scandalous in the end? She didn’t want to think it of her mother, that she would betray her father in that way. She didn’t want to think it at all.

“John always felt responsible for her,” said Mrs. Widebottom. “He had a deep well of guilt about it, you see. He knew he had behaved badly with her, but they were both so very young and impetuous, and things like that tend to happen.”

“Like what?” said Elizabeth in a tight voice.

“Oh, my dear, you know what,” said Mrs. Widebottom, laughing.

Elizabeth shook her head, refusing to accept this.

“He spoke to me about it,” said Mrs. Widebottom. “There were no secrets between us. I knew, when we came together, that I was exactly the fourth woman he’d ever bedded, because I was fiercely jealous of all of those women, even though, truly, his past didn’t matter. He hadn’t known me then. And three women? To find a man that had only bedded three other women, an earl , that meant he was not the typical sort. I was harsh on him, but I was young and desperate.”

Elizabeth didn’t care about this. Mrs. Widebottom was tarnishing her mother’s good name, and Elizabeth was beginning to feel as if her stays were too tight. She wanted to protest. She wanted to shoot to her feet and raise her voice and declare all of this to be bald lies!

Mary spoke instead. “You’re saying that Lord Benlolk ruined my mother and did nothing about it? You’re saying that’s why he left her the property, as some of elaborate apology?”

“Oh, yes, exactly,” said Mrs. Widebottom. “He felt wretched about it. She was not the sort of woman he should have been dallying with, not in his situation. There was no question he was not going to marry Agnes, you see. Agnes is the countess, you understand?”

“Yes,” said Mary. “We understand. And I have looked into it, and my understanding is that the betrothal agreement between Benlolk and his wife was made when they were children, primarily for the benefit of certain business and property arrangements between the two families. There were a number of clauses in it. If he had broken it, he would have had to make financial reparations to the family, because his family had already benefited from the arrangement.”

“Quite,” said Mrs. Widebottom, nodding. “If he’d gotten out of it, it wouldn’t have beggared him, but it would have created financial hardship for him. He was never going to get out of it. He was betrothed, and that was that.”

“But my mother didn’t know,” said Mary, nodding. “She thought he would marry her.”

Mrs. Widebottom nodded. “He never made her promises, but he behaved as if he was free to pursue her. He went after her in such a way that made her think it was a foregone conclusion, and he knew he took advantage of her belief that he would marry her. She would never have allowed him such liberties else.”

“So,” said Mary, nodding, “in the wake of it, he jilted her, and she was frightened and ashamed, and she felt pressure to make a match. I know she was not with child, for one must only look at the fact that Jane did not come along until my parents had been married for over a year to see that was not a concern.”

Elizabeth let out a whoosh of air. Oh, yes, quite. That was definitely true. That was a relief to realize that.

“As I understand it, your father was only one of many other suitors who were interested in your mother at the time,” said Mrs. Widebottom. “None were perhaps as sure a prospect as your father, though. She might have held out and made a more advantageous match. She had already caught the attention of an earl, after all. Your mother was sought after. She was a beautiful woman who might have gotten herself a title.”

“And Benlolk thought that he was responsible for her settling down quickly with my father,” said Mary. “He thought he robbed her of that future.”

“Precisely,” said Mrs. Widebottom. “So, that is why he remembered her in his will. He said it would be too little, too late, but it soothed something in him. He felt deep guilt about it, all through his life, I assure you. I was not kind to him about it either, not at first. I was so jealous and demanding at the beginning. Love is such a frightening thing in so many ways. It makes a body behave rashly, to make such sacrifices. I worried deeply that I had thrown away too much for John. I worried it would not be worth it in the end.”

“Was it?” said Mary.

“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Widebottom, smiling. “Oh, yes, indeed. I must say, I see other women who I was close with before I trounced on my reputation and ruined myself, and they have quite respectable lives, but they seem empty to me in some way. Clinging to those strictures, those arbitrary ideas of what is right and wrong, it is nothing, not if all they are is an empty white hall—beautiful on the outside but with nothing of the soul within? I devoted my life to a man who was mad for me. I would wish that every woman have a man who is that mad for her.” She shrugged helplessly. “It is worth more than any reputation or any amount of gold.”

MR. DARCY FIDDLED with his cravat, standing on the steps outside the Bennet town house. He was nervous.

He had thought of calling before.

There was nothing preventing him from doing so.

Then he had heard from Richard that she was going to the country, and he had begun plotting some way to go as well. He could, of course, stay with Richard at the Matlock’s house in Staffordshire, but he thought that might prove awkward, since he and Richard were supposedly at “war” over this woman.

Not that there had been much battling.

No, until now, he had simply ceded the field to the other man. He’d given up.

He hadn’t intended to give up, but his actions made it seem as if he had given up, so it all came to the same thing in the end.

When he discovered that Elizabeth Bennet was still in London, something inside him changed, however. The news went through him like the cut of a blade, and he felt as if he had been slashed through and through. But somehow, through that wound, hope blossomed.

She was here. She was not with Richard.

Maybe Mr. Darcy had a chance after all.

The door opened and a servant greeted him. He came inside and surrendered his hat. He had no overcoat, for it was far too hot for such things. He spoke to the servant, giving his name, and inquiring hesitantly if any of the family was at home.

He dare not ask for her specifically, for he imagined her response when a servant asked if she would see him, a sneer on her face, her voice dismissive, her tone like in the rectory that past March.

From the very beginning of my acquaintance withyou, your manners impressed upon me your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others.

He remembered her next words, the ones that taunted him in moments when he was trying to fall asleep, the words that had shaken him to his core, that had felt like a sharp, stinging slap.

I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.

Why was he here?

This woman despised him.

The servant went away and he waited. He could not stay still. He wandered about the entryway, nervously tapping his fingers against his thigh, examining the wallpaper.

“Mr. Darcy?” came the voice of the servant.

He turned, his entire body on high alert.

They are not at home, I’m afraid, the servant would say. Would you care to leave your card?

“This way,” said the servant with a bland sort of smile.

Darcy’s limbs felt wooden as he followed the man through the house. He rounded corners jerkily, felt as though he was walking through the hallways like a tin soldier, manipulated by childlike hands to totter stiffly toward an enemy force.

His heart seemed to have utterly stopped beating. There was a cold sweat gathering at the base of his neck.

He entered a sitting room. Miss Jane Bennet was there, and so was Mrs. Collins, who he had not been aware was in residence here. Elizabeth was nowhere in sight.

He let out a breath, and his heart began to beat again. He was disappointed. He was relieved.

Damnation.

“Mr. Darcy, what a lovely surprise,” said Miss Bennet.

“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Collins. “I hope you did not melt away in the heat outside. It is another very hot day, is it not?”

“Yes,” he said. “Quite hot.” He swallowed. “I hope you are in good health? How is your husband, Mrs. Collins?”

“Well,” said Mrs. Collins. “Well indeed.” She gave him an indulgent smile. “I’m afraid she’s ill. Abed. Mary, too. They were both up in the night in misery and have sent word not to disturb them, that they are too ill to eat.”

“Oh,” he said.

“Miss Elizabeth, I mean,” said Mrs. Collins.

“Yes, I ascertained,” he said, swallowing.

“If you would rather return when she is feeling better, we would not be offended,” said Mrs. Collins, still smiling at him in that indulgent way. “We can’t imagine you’re here to see us.”

His mouth was dry. He shifted on his feet. He could have seated himself already but had not. He was unsure what he should do. He coughed. “What manner of illness is it? I know of some remedies for stomach ailments. I could perhaps share them?”

Mrs. Collins got to her feet. “Oh, perhaps. You know, I wonder if she would like to know you were here. I can’t say she’ll come down, Mr. Darcy, but it may be that when she hears of your presence, she will make a remarkable recovery.”

Miss Bennet laughed. “Oh, I wonder if she might. Go and see, Charlotte.”

“I shall,” said Mrs. Collins, quite amused and pleased with herself. She scurried past him to the doorway.

He nodded to acknowledge her and said, “Mrs. Collins.”

“I shall be but a moment,” said Mrs. Collins, darting out of the room.

“No,” he said, even though she was already gone, “don’t trouble yourself.” He turned away from the door to look at Miss Bennet. The rest came out lamely. “I am sure Miss Elizabeth would not wish to be disturbed.”

“I think you are incorrect in that assumption,” said Miss Bennet. She nodded at a chair. “Please sit down, Mr. Darcy. Make yourself comfortable.”

He staggered over to the chair and rather collapsed into it. His heart had stopped beating again. Damnation.

The moment ticked by interminably.

Miss Bennet was speaking, but he could not hear her. He was too preoccupied with the fact that his heart had stopped. How long could a man live without a beating heart? Not long, he assumed. It must…

Oh, no, perhaps it was beating. He simply wasn’t aware of it, and his chest felt so tight that—

“Jane!” said Mrs. Collins at the door, her voice shot through with alarm.

Miss Bennet got to her feet, crossing the room to Mrs. Collins. “What? What is it? Is she all right? Perhaps we should send for a doctor, even though they expressly said not to.”

Mrs. Collins retreated out of the room, shaking her head.

Miss Bennet followed her.

They spoke in low voices, but he heard them.

“She’s not there,” said Mrs. Collins. “Mary either. Their rooms are entirely empty.”