“I entered, with the orderly, into Miss Henry’s chamber, even as the cries sounded from the next apartment. Though she sought to escape, we restrained her, obliging her to remain without explanation, though all the while she pressed us to tell her what had passed. She did not cease for a moment. Yet towards the end, I believe she understood, and sank upon a couch, pale, and plainly in fear.”
“Mrs Avery, however, remained defiant until we departed. My opinion is that she is not at her first offence of this kind. She shewed remarkable presence of mind and composure,” Darcy said with profound contempt. “Mr Winston stayed to deliver them when the soldiers from the garrison should arrive, and he will doubtless remain to the end, to render account. I am persuaded he knows well how to assist the colonel. He is a man of understanding and of probity, who discerned at once the wickedness of the ladies and the innocence of the colonel.
“Then, just before I entered the Colonel’s room with the documents, I dispatched one of the servants with the whole story to Lord Matlock.”
“Finally, Miss Henry appeared more alarmed than her aunt,” Mr Gardiner said.
“That lady is no aunt—unless Mr Henry conveyed his sister into England and altered her name. But that is improbable as she speaks with no foreign accent,” Darcy replied, searching for Elizabeth’s hand as she spoke.
“Then it is the sadder: three Englishwomen betraying their country. That Frenchman is a devil, and I hope they will seize him and give him the punishment he deserves.”
“Miss Henry said, amongst other things, while we waited, that she had agreed to draw some maps of the neighbourhood, but never to steal intelligence from the colonel.”
“I think it matters little what she knew or denied: she perceived what was passing, and her guilt is manifest. Perhaps she may yet escape with her life.”
“What are you saying?” Elizabeth cried.
“What did you suppose, my dearest?” Darcy spoke with gentleness, pained that his betrothed should be brought so near to the darkest truth of life. “The penalty for treason is death.”
That happened in books, in the tales they had read, but Elizabeth had never imagined that a story begun in their quiet countryside could end thus. She abhorred Miss Henry for seeking to ruin the colonel’s life, yet when she remembered the young lady she had admired at Netherfield, she was sorry. She, alone among them all, might plead the excuse of youth and of having been brought up by those wretches who had corrupted both her heart and her mind.
“The only good part is that they did not marry,” Elizabeth whispered, though they were amid desolation, and the dark night surrounded them.
“But not because he was unwilling. I am persuaded she never intended it. At least, that was not her parents’ design.”
“What if she at last loved him? The colonel is such a gentleman—and a gentle man.”
“My dear, you ladies seek love in every situation—”
“It is all we possess, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth’s tone recalled their discourses in the Netherfield parlour, and Darcy smiled in the dark. He adored this Elizabeth, looking upon him with tender eyes. Yet he did not wish to lose the untamed lady with witty replies for every statement that displeased her. He fancied that he might behold again the Elizabeth who had refused him at the parsonage, while in the carriage sat the one who had ventured through the night for a friend. He cared not which Elizabeth was beside him—the indignant one, the teasing one, or the woman in love. When he closed his eyes, he saw her in his bed; the only vision of his dear Elizabeth he did not yet know was the woman herself—her body, her entire surrender to his love. And he wondered whether she might not prove an enchantress who would lead him to abiding happiness.
“I would have stood at the church door and never let him enter, to prevent that marriage.”
Elizabeth could picture her future husband barring the Colonel and Miss Henry from entering the church.
“Enough of this villainy,” he said. She discerned only a shadow in the carriage’s depth, yet she felt his energy. “Henceforth, the complete story will remain between the three of us.”
And it was a command they accepted without any doubt.
In years to come, Elizabeth and Darcy might speak of those events which in some measure had brought them together. For the present, they must still the mill of thoughts that threatened to overwhelm their peace and crush their happiness.
“Mr Darcy is right,” said Mr Gardiner, speaking for them all with dignity and honour. “Lord and Lady Matlock shall know the truth, but for the rest we shall say only that the Colonel did not marry the lady.”
“And let Lady Matlock decide what is to be disclosed to Mary,” added Elizabeth. However, she felt that Mary would, in any case, come to know much of the story.
“Splendid,” Darcy exclaimed, looking with admiration at his future wife. “The tale is not ours, and it is a thorny subject. For my part, I would rather forget that we ever went to Eastbourne. What happened in Eastbourne stays in Eastbourne.”
They stopped upon the main street of the hamlet of Polegate. When they alighted from the carriage, a comforting stillness encompassed them. A man with a lantern awaited them, bowed respectfully, and led them to a cottage. A wondrous night and a heaven full of stars received them, as though mindful that they were in love. Elizabeth was pleased with all she beheld. The night had lent its mystery to the world about them. The thatched cottage seemed taken from a fairy tale, and the little garden before it breathed the fragrance of roses.
“My family sleep near at hand, sir,” the man said to Darcy. “We have only two chambers. I trust your lady will be satisfied.”
Astonished, Elizabeth looked at Mr Darcy, who smiled. Watson never would have presented her as his wife unless Darcy had directed him.
“Yes, she will be satisfied, I am certain.”
“My wife has prepared supper for you.”
Indeed, in the first room, they found a meal awaiting them, and in a short while, they were refreshed.
