Pride Prejudice and Perplexity

More of the Mysterious Lady

Chapter Twelve – More of the Mysterious Lady

Jane felt unhappy at again deceiving her husband regarding the identity of the lady whom they wished to visit; and Elizabeth agreed that he might be informed as soon as they had departed Pemberley, and there was no longer a possibility of Mr Darcy learning of their intentions, and attempting either to prevent the visit, or to alert the young lady, that she might avoid them. When Bingley learned that it was Lydia, whom they wished to visit, he was not in the least bit perturbed that they had wished to avoid making mention of his wife's youngest sister on their previous attempt to find the place; for he understood it to be a subject of some delicacy.

When they reached Freston, Elizabeth had no difficulty in finding the house. Bingley, who seemed more than willing to remain without, was happy to drop them at the gate and, at Elizabeth's suggestion, carry on along the road beside the river towards the sea, which was not so very far away, where there would likely be some fine views to be had. It was arranged that he should return in half an hour and await them outside the gate.

Elizabeth hoped that on account of the high boundary hedge that ran all the way along the road, the occupants would not hear the noise of the carriage, or notice it stopping for her and Jane to alight; for she wished to surprise them, and deny the young lady, who was the true object of their visit, the opportunity of hiding herself.

Elizabeth and Jane walked quietly up the path and knocked upon the front door. When the servant opened it, Elizabeth said, “Please inform Miss Bennet that two of her sisters are come to visit.” Elizabeth and Jane followed hard on the heels of the servant, and entered the sitting room immediately upon being announced. Lydia and the other young lady sat together with the housekeeper; all three of them industriously sewing clothes, which appeared intended for Lydia's baby. From her appearance, it was evidently due any day. All three were utterly startled to see them.

The housekeeper, Mrs Harrison, recovered the most quickly. Dropping her sewing into a bag and jumping to her feet, she gave a meaningful glance to the young lady, who did likewise. Another glance was exchanged between them, prompting the young lady to curtsy briefly to Elizabeth and Jane, and wordlessly exit the room. Looking up the hallway, Elizabeth saw her take a coat from a hook, and a book from a small table, before disappearing out the front door.

“Please excuse the young lady, she was... just visiting your sister... she is somewhat shy of strangers,” said the housekeeper. “I shall arrange to have tea served,” she said brusquely, before leaving the room.

“I shall try to find her, Jane, while you two talk,” said Elizabeth, walking quickly outside. Recalling that the young lady wore only light shoes, and that in her rush to escape them, she had not changed into boots, Elizabeth guessed that she would very likely stay within the confines of the garden, and nor would she stray very far from the paths. Rather than walk on the path herself, Elizabeth chose to tread silently upon the grassy verge, hoping to surprise her quarry.

For a long time, she searched in vain – either the young lady was not in the garden, or she had hidden herself out of the way. Looking around, Elizabeth noticed what appeared to be a garden shed in one corner, surrounded by a high stone wall, probably designed to protect the young plants that were grown within. Approaching quietly, she threw open the high wooden gate to gain entrance, and there, sitting upon a rough bench against the wall, was the young lady, reading her book in the sunshine. She immediately jumped to her feet.

Elizabeth shut the gate behind her and bolted it, but remained standing before it, for it was the only means of exit. “I am Elizabeth Bennet; Lydia's sister. We met once before, some three months ago; you were painting down by the river. Do you remember?”

The young lady said nothing; she appeared anxious and uncertain.

“May I know your name? I mean you no harm; please trust me.”

“Julia.”

Taking a step forward, Elizabeth said, “Julia, I know that you live in the house with Lydia; I guessed as much upon my first visit. Will you sit and talk with me a while?”

Julia hesitantly sat down; and Elizabeth joined her on the wooden bench.

“Why do you think I live here?”

“Oh, there are many hints that two young ladies live in the house; but it was the pictures hanging in the sitting room which gave you away. You paint beautifully; and your style is very particular – I observed it both in those pictures and also the one you were painting beside the river that day.”

“You are clever.”

“I also guessed that you were already living in this house when my sister, Lydia, arrived. How long have you lived here, Julia?”

She shook her head, but said nothing.

“I suppose Mr Darcy set this household up especially for you?”

Julia remained silent.

“Or perhaps it was already here? Perhaps you were not the first young lady to occupy it – and, perhaps, neither will you be the last,” added Elizabeth, hoping to provoke Julia to speak. But still she appeared determined to remain silent. “It cannot be very pleasant for a young lady to be sequestered all alone like this. Do you not think it unkind of Mr Darcy?”

“He is the kindest of gentlemen,” said Julia. Then, looking up at Elizabeth curiously, she asked, “Are you acquainted with him?”

Elizabeth nodded. “I am. In fact I would say that I am very well acquainted with the gentleman.” She hoped that this last statement, which was intended to clearly infer an order of intimacy greater than mere acquaintance, would elicit a response from the young lady, whom she was now quite certain must be his mistress; but she was evidently determined not to betray her feelings.

“Do you love him?” demanded Elizabeth.

“Yes, of course,” replied Julia, without hesitation.

“And do you believe that he loves you?”

“Yes,” replied Julia, in a voice which conceded not the smallest doubt. Then to Elizabeth's surprise, she asked, “and do you, also, love him?”

Elizabeth looked away from her penetrating gaze.

“And does he love you, do you think?” asked Julia.

“That is a question which would be better asked of the gentleman, himself,” replied Elizabeth. She was surprised at Julia's candour and total lack of artifice; and her unquestioning confidence in Mr Darcy's affection. Though she evidently suspected that an affection existed between herself and Mr Darcy, it appeared not to surprise her.

“Do you believe that he wishes to marry you?” asked Julia.

“Again, that is a question you would best ask Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth found her directness disconcerting; and her placid acceptance of her situation surprised her. If Julia loved him, as she said she did, how could she speak so calmly of him loving, and, perhaps wishing to marry herself? She supposed that such an unhappy prospect was simply the burden of a mistress – to see the man she loved marry another – a respectable lady, with whom he might go into society, and who would bear his children. It was, after all, simply the way of the world.

“Do you think he might wish to marry you?” asked Elizabeth.

Julia shook her head resolutely. “No, that can never be.”

Elizabeth sensed a kind of hopelessness in Julia's situation; and despite the fact that she was not only a competitor for Mr Darcy's heart, but also an insurmountable object, that prevented her from accepting his addresses, she could not help but admiring her. Whatever she, herself, might suffer as a result of what seemed to be an insoluble situation; it was evident that Julia suffered far more. Glancing at the book on the bench beside her, she saw it was an anthology of poetry. She was evidently an educated and accomplished lady.

“My sister, Lydia, cannot be much company for you. I imagine you must find it rather lonely here, hidden away and removed from society.”

“Yes, I am very often lonely,” said Julia with a sad sigh.

Elizabeth was most curious to know what was her background, for she was evidently a lady of some refinement. She also wished to know how, and when, she had met Mr Darcy, and for how long she had been his mistress. These thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a carriage on the road, which she guessed must be Mr Bingley, returning for Jane and herself.

Elizabeth rose and bid Julia farewell with a heavy heart. She felt sad on account of the lonely life that seemed to be Julia's inescapable lot; and she felt sad, too, at parting from her. Though she had expected to feel antipathy for this rival, who stood in the way of her own happiness, Elizabeth found herself liking Julia, and she resolved to never do anything that might harm her, or make her life sadder and lonelier than it already was. She would never demand that Mr Darcy give her up – but neither, too, would she ever accept him, unless he did.

Upon returning to the house and entering the sitting room, Elizabeth told Jane that the carriage had returned for them; and they must go.

“I have just been telling Jane how angry Mr Darcy will be when he learns that you have visited me again,” said Lydia. “Did you find her?”

“Julia?”

“So you did find her, then, if you have learned her name,” observed Lydia. “What else did you learn from her? She was already living here when I arrived, many months ago; yet I know not a thing about her, for she tells me nothing.”

“Is it possible, Lydia,” asked Jane, “that she, too, might be a past victim of George Wickham, whom Mr Darcy rescued from circumstances similar to your own?”

Lydia laughed and shook her head. “No! Not a victim of Mr Wickham – of Mr Darcy, more like it! And not a past victim, either – a present one, if you take my meaning.”

Elizabeth said nothing, for it coincided with what she had herself suspected before today – and was in agreement with everything Julia had revealed. But Jane was less willing to believe it of Mr Darcy, and objected, “But if she does not confide in you, how can you be certain? Does Mr Darcy stay here sometimes?”

“No, he never stays – or at least not since my arrival; however, there are apartments above stairs which remain locked and unused – I suspect that they are his. Mr Darcy visits often, and takes Julia away in his carriage; they are always gone together for many hours. And once I spied them embracing, when they believed themselves to be unobserved.”

“We must go,” said Elizabeth dispiritedly; wishing, most resolutely, to be gone from that place.

“You have not even asked me how I am, or any of my news,” complained Lydia. “All that you came for is to find out about Julia. You must be in love with Mr Darcy, Lizzy, to go to so much trouble!”

“If I had any feelings for him, before today, then they will certainly not have survived what I have learned here. Lydia, we must go now; Mr Bingley has been waiting for quite some time already; Jane will tell me all your news. Please do not get up, it would be most awkward for you,” said Elizabeth, bending over to embrace her sister.

Jane did likewise, saying, “And write to us as soon as the baby is born, and tell us everything about it.”

They found Bingley had alighted from the carriage and was walking along the river, admiring it. He was happy to see them, and appeared not the least bit put out at having to wait for them. While they were paying their visit, he had made a delightful excursion, following the River Orwell down to the sea. Due to his presence in the carriage, Elizabeth was unable to recount to her sister all that had passed between herself and Julia, and was obliged to wait until later in the day, when Jane came to her room at Longbourn.

~~~~~

Though she was unable to overcome a sense of melancholy following the visit to Freston, Elizabeth was glad to be home again – back in familiar surroundings, and with people and places that were wholly unconnected with Mr Darcy – about whom she did not wish to be reminded. Unluckily for her, having heard Lydia's sad story – first in the letter from Kitty and then later from Kitty herself, and now from Jane, her parents were eager – each in their own way – to speak upon the matter.

Mrs Bennet's views on the subject of Mr Darcy were hardly altered as a result of all these recent revelations; and she utterly refused to believe that he could be innocent of wrongdoing to her poor daughter. “Why would he go to all the trouble and expense of keeping her in a country house,” she demanded repeatedly, “if he had not, himself, taken advantage of my poor girl, and fathered her child; after that scoundrel, Wickham, had abandoned her. This story of some mysterious gentleman, whom she will not name, who supposedly took her from where she was lodged with Wickham to some other place, and is the father of her child – why, it is all a fiction – invented, I am certain, by Mr Darcy, to hide his own guilt! And my poor Lydia is obliged to repeat it or he will throw her out! I am certain that is how it must be! My poor, poor girl!”

Though Elizabeth attempted to convince her mother of her certainty that Lydia spoke the truth, she would not be persuaded – she had known that Mr Darcy was the devil incarnate from the moment she had first set eyes on him; and she had been right all along – although no one would listen to her. Eventually, Elizabeth gave up trying to make her mother see reason – for it only provoked her to give expression to her conviction of Mr Darcy's guilt, all the more fervently.

Her father, however, was entirely prepared to believe Lydia's account of her history. Unlike her mother, he did not believe that Mr Darcy's actions, in saving Lydia and taking her to a country house, were in any way an admission of guilt. But he was at a loss to understand why he should have gone to so much trouble and expense.

“Lizzy, come to my library, my dear,” he said on the day following her arrival. “I have been racking my brain, searching for some plausible explanation for Mr Darcy's apparently heroic behaviour; and it occurs to me that you may be able to shed some light on the mystery.

“The only explanation I have been able to come up,” said Mr Bennet, seating himself comfortably behind his desk, “is that at the time he performed his invaluable service – which is now many months ago – Mr Darcy was in love with one of my daughters. For in such a circumstance, he would very likely wish to save her the pain of seeing a sister further degraded, and descend into a life of poverty, suffering – and worse. Furthermore, if that daughter held a low opinion of him – which would hardly be surprising given the general disapprobation of the man – in the local neighbourhood at least – then such actions must surely serve to overthrow that opinion, and show him in a most favourable light.

“And, if supposing, he were wishing to marry that daughter, then he would very naturally be eager to sequester Lydia away from the eyes of the world, before any further scandalous news – above what was already known, concerning her elopement with Wickham – could attach itself to the lady's family – and by association, to himself. What say you to my reasoning, Lizzy?”

“Certainly it is rational, Papa – and plausible also. And yet it may not be correct.”

“Oh, I think it is correct, Lizzy. And can you not guess which of my daughters I am thinking of?”

Elizabeth blushed, and shook her head, silently, refusing to meet her father's gaze.

Mr Bennet laughed. “Well, I would have thought it obvious! His friend Bingley, he must have known, at the time, was apparently determined to marry Jane; thus, the only eligible daughter remaining was yourself! Whatever my other opinions of Mr Darcy, I credit his intelligence sufficiently to be convinced that he could have no such designs upon any of my three youngest daughters, who must be amongst the silliest girls upon whom he has ever set eyes.”

Elizabeth attempted to feign surprise that anyone could suspect Mr Darcy of having designs upon herself; for it was a subject which she desperately wished to avoid discussing with her father.

“Had it not been for the wedding ball at Netherfield, I should have said that it was impossible – that I could not imagine two people who disliked each other more than you and Mr Darcy. But, as I recall, Mr Darcy danced with you three times at the ball. Such a remarkable degree of preference leads me to believe that his opinion of you must have been greatly altered; for I cannot imagine that he should have wished to dance with you at all, let alone thrice, unless he found your company pleasing. Which leads me to likewise believe that your opinion of him must also be altered – for no man could find the company of a young lady who dislikes him, agreeable.”

Elizabeth was sitting opposite her father, in front of his desk, and felt his inquisitive gaze upon her; what was she to say? “You are correct, father, in your observation from the ball, that Mr Darcy and I no longer hate each other. Indeed, my opinion of him has improved considerably. Furthermore, I can say that I find his company entirely tolerable, and I believe that his opinion of myself has, likewise, improved. Nevertheless, I cannot agree with the reason to which you attribute his noble action in saving Lydia. There is another far more compelling, and entirely rational, explanation.”

“I cannot imagine what it might be. Let me hear it, child.”

Elizabeth was now obliged to communicate some of the substance of the letter that Mr Darcy had written in Kent. She revealed the whole of the history between Wickham and Darcy – concealing only the identity of Miss Darcy. She simply said that Wickham had attempted to elope with a young lady of Mr Darcy's acquaintance; and that on account of his keeping all the details secret, he blamed himself for Lydia's misfortunes.

“But Lizzy, this all seems most improbable. Why would Mr Darcy consider himself responsible for Wickham's wickedness – or Lydia's stupidity, in eloping with him? And furthermore, everything that happened after Wickham abandoned Lydia can in no way be attributed to his own actions.”

“Mr Darcy told me himself, that he believed that it was on account of his mistaken pride, and reluctance to lay open the details which I have just now recounted, that Wickham's true character had not been known to the world. He blames himself for concealing Wickham's history, which, had it been known, would have made it impossible for any young woman to believe or love him.”

“Yes, I suppose there is something in that,” agreed her father, “for had Wickham's history been known, he would very likely have not been permitted to enlist in the Militia in the first place; and even had he enlisted, Lydia would have been well warned concerning his character, and certainly never allowed into his society; and so she would not have eloped with him, and suffered every other ill which followed.”

“Exactly,” said Elizabeth.

“Yet, while it is true that had Mr Darcy acted differently, Lydia's elopement, and subsequent misfortunes, would not have occurred, it does not follow that Mr Darcy is to blame for them. Mr Darcy's actions were but one link in a long chain of cause and effect – and in any case, cause does not imply moral responsibility,” reasoned Mr Bennet, who was fond of reading books on Philosophy. “I believe that he draws a rather long bow in attributing responsibility to himself, and then going to such a great deal of trouble and expense in saving Lydia. Still, regardless of the philosophical questions it raises, his behaviour deserves our praise and appreciation. Contrary to all the unfavourable reports of his character, it now transpires that Mr Darcy is the most noble of men! I feel quite ashamed of myself for the poor opinion I previously held of him.”

~~~~~

A week after her departure for London, a letter arrived from Jane with two pieces of intelligence, each concerning an estate in Derbyshire. The first was the happy news that the acquisition of Ashbourne was completed, and that she and Bingley would depart, within days, for Pemberley; where they would remain until arrangements at Ashbourne were sufficiently advanced for them to take up residence. The second piece of news was so surprising that Elizabeth found herself re-reading her sister's letter several times over.

...You will be astounded to learn that when Bingley made enquiries regarding the estate at Hartington, he discovered that it had been purchased just the day before. His agent assured him that in any case, he would have been unable to purchase it himself, for the price was more than three times that of Ashbourne.

But I have not yet come to the truly astonishing part of my news, which is the name of the purchaser – for it is a person with whom we are all acquainted – Captain Robert Radford! Can you believe it, Lizzy, that my husband's cousin, whom we all thought so very poor, was in fact wealthy? I will admit, that at first I was a little unhappy with him for deceiving us all; but neither Bingley nor I could actually recall him ever saying that he was poor – or, indeed, of ever speaking upon the subject of his finances at all. I suspect it may have been Caroline Bingley, who first said that he was poor, and everyone – including our dear mamma – believed it, and retailed it further afield.

It occurred to me that perhaps Admiral Barclay had recently settled a very large sum upon him; for he treats him almost as a son. Bingley, who was most anxious to understand the source of his cousin's wealth, asked him about it directly, and he confessed that he had lately enjoyed extraordinary good fortune in capturing a number of French merchantmen laden with exceedingly valuable cargoes. It was on account of the prodigious amount of prize money thus earned, that he determined to retire. Since it all occurred fairly recently, it has not yet been gazetted, and so is not widely known.

You may wonder why he chose to let everyone think he was poor. One wonders if, perhaps, he did not wish to be a target of fortune-hunting young ladies and their mothers; for he is not presently contemplating marriage. He told Bingley that he feels as if he is making a new life for himself at the present time, after being so many years at sea, and wishes to take things one step at a time. His first object, it seems, was to find a suitable estate, and upon seeing Hartington, when we all visited it that day, he knew, immediately, that he must have it.

Now that we are over the shock of discovering him to be so very wealthy, we rejoice that he will be settled so near to us, for Bingley is most fond of his cousin. Charles cannot believe his good fortune at having found so lovely an estate for us as Ashbourne, and to also be situated so very close to both his cousin and Mr Darcy.

You will doubtless recall the cold incivility with which Caroline Bingley always treated her cousin, and how certain she was that he was determined to marry her for her fortune. You may not be so very surprised to learn that since hearing of his wealth, and his purchase of Hartington, all her opinions of him have undergone a total reversal. She is constantly begging me to invite both herself and her cousin to dinner (while he has hinted politely to Bingley that nothing could give him less pleasure). And of course she has been fawning over me, and speaking of how very fortunate is her brother at having such a wife; and how much she loves me, and how unbearable it will be when we depart London for Ashbourne, and that I must take pity on her and invite her as soon as may be...

When Elizabeth communicated the principal contents of Jane's letter to her mother, Mrs Bennet was momentarily stunned. But her silence was short-lived, and very soon gave way to outrage, “The deceit of that man! Coming into our society and pretending to be so very poor, when he was, in fact, so very rich! Dishonesty is a terrible thing!” said Mrs Bennet shaking her head.

“But Mamma,” said Elizabeth, “I never heard him speak once upon the subject of money. It was you who assumed him to be poor, and told it to your every acquaintance, who told it back to you.”

“Don't be silly, child, of course he must have said he was poor – I am absolutely certain of it – and even if he did not, he certainly allowed everyone to think it – which is almost the same thing. Why, I recall speaking with him on the subject of those occupations from which he might choose for the purpose of earning his living, and he never once said that he was rich, and in need of none. It is all so very vexing; for had I known he was wealthy I should have advised you to do all in your power to make him fall in love with you, Lizzy; for he will be a great prize for some lady.”

Elizabeth considered pointing out that it was very probably to avoid such matrimonial manoeuvres that he chose to keep his wealth secret – and from Mrs Bennet, most especially. But it was evident from the expression upon her mother's face, that there was no need to speak in Captain Radford's defence, for she was entirely recovered from her indignation. Her mother had evidently forgiven him his offence, and adjusted all of her opinions of the gentleman – as a fortune such as his demanded – and was industriously contemplating how to make up for the lost opportunity, and have him for her son.

“You must go to Ashbourne immediately, Lizzy! Did you not say that it is within a dozen miles of the estate that Captain Radford has purchased?”

“It is, Mamma, and I have every intention of going to Ashbourne, just as soon as Jane writes to inform me that they are tolerably well settled there.”

“Nonsense, you must go immediately! Now that his wealth is known there is not a minute to lose! Every mother in Derbyshire will be scheming to marry her daughter to him. And then there is that artful Caroline Bingley – she will be after him for sure; for she is nothing but a brazen fortune-hunter; I am certain of it!”

“You may rest assured, Mamma, that I shall be invited to Ashbourne well before Caroline Bingley.”

“That is well, for I do not trust her; but there are bound to be other eligible young ladies in the neighbourhood. Did you not say that the properties of Bingley, Captain Radford, and that abominable Mr Darcy, are all within a dozen miles of each other? And does not Mr Darcy have an unmarried sister? Doubtless, she is as disagreeable and arrogant as himself; but you may be certain that Mr Darcy will be inviting the Captain to dine, and doing everything in his power to marry off his sister to so wealthy a man.”

Elizabeth had to suppress a laugh at how greatly did her mother's surmise diverge from Mr Darcy's recent attitude to the possibility of just such a match. But then, she reflected, if Mr Darcy's fears regarding his sister and the Captain had been on account of a suspicion that he was a fortune hunter, intent on his sister's thirty thousand pounds, then surely the news of the Captain's wealth must belie those fears.

“Miss Darcy is yet young, Mamma, she is but seventeen years old; and her brother, I believe, is in no great hurry to marry her off to anyone. She has a large fortune herself, so finding a wealthy husband for her is in no way essential.”

But Mrs Bennet was not listening to her daughter, so deeply engrossed was she in her scheming. “He danced with you three times at the wedding ball at Netherfield, so he evidently favours you, Lizzy. And did you not say that he danced twice with you at a ball in London?”

Elizabeth felt tempted to ask her mother to whom she was referring, Captain Radford or Mr Darcy? For she had danced the same number of times with each gentleman at the balls to which her mother alluded. But her mother would not be diverted; nor would she wish to be reminded of how she had berated her for dancing so often with Captain Radford at the wedding ball; and how she had persistently discouraged her from being so much in his company – for that was an entirely different gentleman – one without money. It amused her, that her mother did not even think to ask her opinion of Captain Radford – whether she liked him or found him amiable – or, indeed, if she wished to marry him. His fortune must speak for itself, and guarantee an affirmative answer in every case.

“You are presently in an excellent position, but you must be careful not to lose your advantage! Derbyshire must be full of designing young ladies – and their ambitious mothers! You must go immediately – there is not a moment to be lost!”

“Mamma, we do not even know if Captain Radford is gone to Derbyshire; he might well be yet in London; and Jane will need some weeks to engage servants and arrange her house before she is ready to receive guests. I shall wait until she writes to ask me to come. And tomorrow my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, and all my darling little cousins, arrive at Longbourn to spend a fortnight with us. I shall certainly wait until after they have departed.”

“Lizzy, I despair of you! What matters your aunt and uncle and cousins, girl? You are a foolish child, who will not take the important things in life seriously. Heaven knows, I do my very best for you – but you will not listen! And there is little point in asking your father to set you straight – and send you immediately to Derbyshire – for he understands nothing of such matters, and in any case, he always takes your side against mine. If you end up an old maid or married to a man without means, and must endure a life of poverty, do not blame me!”