“There is no need,” Miss Bingley said, with a thin, icy smile. She closed the door, then turned and strolled across the room, smiling at her in a way that made Elizabeth feel like nothing so much as a sparrow watching an approaching cat. “I know you are not writing letters.” When she reached the desk, Miss Bingley pulled out a folded piece of paper and tossed it on the stack of pages that made up the manuscript. Elizabethsnatched it up and unfolded it. It was the missing page she had been searching for!
“You stole this from my room?” she asked. Now it made sense why she could not find her notes on the manuscript. It was a frightening revelation, but at least she was not going mad. “Why?”
“I knew there was something not quite right about you. And now I know why,” Miss Bingley sneered. She ran her fingers over the stack of papers, now nearly an inch tall. “You have been a busy little bee, haven’t you? I wonder, does Mr Darcy know of your secret identity,Mrs Laurence?”
Miss Bingley smiled gleefully at having caught her. Elizabeth sighed and tried to keep a calm exterior. All the while, her heart beat furiously. “It would hardly be a secret if everyone knew.”
Her rival laughed. It was a cold, hard laugh, devoid of any life or humour. “Ah, but to keep such a secret from people who have gone so far out of their way to help you? And Miss Darcy, the poor fool, such a fan of your work?” She clicked her tongue to reprimand her, as if she were nothing more than a naughty schoolgirl. “What will she think of your lies when she finds out?”
Elizabeth straightened, raising her chin. “I assume you want something in return for your silence? What is your price, then?” She put her hands behind her back, feeling the need to hide the marks on her fingers that must have given her away. Elizabeth should have known that someone would discover her scandalous secret at one point or another. Oh, how she wished she had listened to her instincts and stayed in London rather than risk her secret being exposed!
She hardly knew what Miss Bingley would ask for. Surely not money, for even as Mrs Laurence, Elizabeth did not command any sum that Miss Bingley could covet. Not when she had so affluent and good-natured a brother. But if not money, then what?
Miss Bingley leaned one hand against the desk, giving a mockingly demure smile. “I want you to leave Pemberley.”
For a moment, Elizabeth could not breathe. The thought of leaving this house — of leaving the people she had come to love — was a physical pain. She would have preferred Miss Bingley to strike her. “Leave? Why?”
She narrowed her eyes at Elizabeth. “I think you know.” She turned her hand and studied her nails. “I plan to be mistress of this house one day. For whatever reason,” she paused and looked Elizabeth up and down, giving a short, bitter laugh, “Mr Darcy is distracted by you.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. How odd, to feel at once profound relief to hear it said aloud, and by someone with no wish to believe it true, all at the same moment her heart was breaking. Of course, Miss Bingley wanted her to leave. How could she have thought she would ask for anything else?
“I see,” Elizabeth said at last. She could not bear to make a denial, and though she thought desperately of some bargain she might make, something to offer Miss Bingley instead, she could think of nothing. There was nothing else she had that Caroline Bingley would want.
Miss Bingley gave a contented nod. “I believe I have made myself clear. I will give you three days. If you remain here at Pemberley after this time has elapsed, I will reveal your true identity.” With a brief, mocking bow that only underscored hercontempt, Miss Bingley turned and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Elizabeth sank into the chair in front of her writing desk, staring at her manuscript. A choked sob wrenched out of her throat, too raw to be entirely suppressed. How could she bear to leave everyone? They had become like family to her. Miss Darcy was so dear, the kindest friend she could wish, and the only friend she had who loved novels as much as Elizabeth herself did. And Mr Darcy —
Elizabeth covered her mouth, her fingers shaking. Could what Miss Bingley said be true? Surely she was only acting out of jealousy, seeing something that was not really there? In the end, it did not matter. If she wanted to keep her secret safe, she had no other choice but to leave Pemberley. She could not bear the thought of Miss Darcy’s justified anger at her lies. And Mr Darcy’s reaction would surely be even worse.
After several minutes that felt like hours, she made the only decision she could. To preserve her secret, she would go. But oh, how it would tear the heart from her chest.
The door opened again, and Elizabeth stiffened, half expecting Miss Bingley to be standing there. However, it was not her nemesis, but her cousin, Mary. “Are you coming to tea?” she asked. “Mama says the cook has made a special sweet.”
Elizabeth smiled and waved her young cousin over to her. She hugged her around the middle, and Mary returned the embrace, wrapping her little arms around her neck. Elizabeth sat still, drawing comfort from her innocent affection.
Mary leaned back, looking into Elizabeth’s eyes. She frowned. “Are you well?” she asked. “Your face is splotchy.”
Elizabeth gave a short laugh. Leave it to a child to be brutally honest. She wiped her eyes, then shook her head. “I am having some trouble with my book. I think I will stay here for the afternoon and try to get some work done. You will make up a good excuse, won’t you?”
“I have been reading about the Black Death that swept the world in the Middle Ages. Shall I say you have got a painful lump in your armpit?”
Elizabeth laughed. “No, dearest. That would cause more alarm than good. Why don’t you just say that I have a headache and wish to rest before supper?”
Mary pouted for a moment before she agreed. “Very well, then. But my suggestion is much more interesting.”
Elizabeth hugged her cousin again. “It is that. Perhaps someday you will be a writer, too. You have the imagination for it.”
Mary brightened at this. “Maybe I will. Well, the sweets are going to be delicious, Mama says. I do not want to miss them. Shall I have Mama bring you something?”
“No, no. I shall not want anything. You go on down to the parlour and have a good time.”
When her cousin had gone, Elizabeth half-sat, half-fell onto her bed. She must pack, but that would not take long. Thanks to the fire, she had very little that belonged to her, only a very few clothes. And her manuscript, of course. Nothing more.
There was also the question of whether she ought to inform her aunt of Miss Bingley’s threat. Weighing her options carefully, Elizabeth at last decided that she must not. Mrs Gardiner could do nothing to protect her or to prevent MissBingley from speaking, if she chose to. Nor were she and the children at risk. Better that she leave them to enjoy Pemberley without her, for certainly Mrs Gardiner could not feel at ease if she knew why Elizabeth must go.
Her heart ached as she prepared for supper. Throughout the meal, she could hardly eat a bite. And she could not bear to look at Mr Darcy. Miss Darcy tried to engage her in conversation, but Elizabeth feared her contributions were sadly lacking. When the last course was brought out, Miss Darcy leaned over and whispered to her. “Are you well, Miss Bennet? I fear your headache has returned.”
“No, I am well, thank you,” she whispered. But it was all a lie — another lie compounded on so many others that she had told to protect her reputation and provide for her family.
