I am sorry to hear about your sister. I would gladly try to help her, but cannot offer you anything beyond simple compassion. It is impossible for me to visit her. How can such a thing can come about? I know that your sister is not at Netherfield Park. I must assume, then, that she is living at your own house somewhere distant, and unable to travel. You are logical, by your own admission, and must see how a single lady cannot accept an invitation to stay at a bachelor’s house - even chaperoned. How might we remedy this?
And while you consider such a matter, I have a request to make of my own. You asked me for a miracle, sir, and I am in desperate need of one myself. If you can help me, then I shallbe eternally in your debt. I could spend the rest of my life with your sister, and it would barely repay half of what I will owe you. It is far more complex than helping a man under a tree, so I understand if I ask too much.
Like you, sir, my happiness rests greatly upon the well-being of my sister.
I cannot commit the whole story to paper, but: my sister is being pressured into making a most unpleasant match, for the sake of our family’s security. She does not want to marry the man, and yet feels that she must.
You are by all accounts a respectable gentleman, in good standing with other men. They say that you are clever, and that people listen when you speak. Important people, like my father or like Mr. Collins himself. Would you consider speaking to them, and convincing them of the folly of such a marriage?
Forgive me. I write naively. I am not so childish; I know that words alone will solve nothing.
If you can think of some way to prevent my sister’s marriage - perhaps by introducing her to men of your sphere who may make her a better offer - then I shall gladly devote the rest of my life to your cause.
In good faith, Elizabeth Bennet.
Chapter 6
It was three days before Elizabeth received a reply. It was a tense time, watching Jane gradually crumbling beneath her mother’s ruthless heel. Elizabeth found herself growing bitter, thinking of the vain hope which she had felt when she wrote her letter. So much for Mr. Darcy’s changed attitude for life! He had doubtless read her request and rejected it so casually that he could not even bother to reply.
The truth was far more complicated.
Being a cautious man, Darcy was reluctant to commit himself entirely to any cause - even that of an angel. He knew as well as Elizabeth did that she was made of flesh-and-blood. He was, admittedly, resolved to help her regardless, but he wanted to be sure that he acted wisely.
Darcy was well-aware that his judgement was cloudy. Matters had to be taken in hand, before he lost his reason altogether. He could not allow himself to bask in the warm feelings he had for Miss Bennet, even though he was sure that she deserved it. By investigating her claims, as she had suggested, he could act without regret.
His initial findings were satisfactory. The servants reported that Elizabeth Bennet was well liked in Meryton, and that shepresented herself in a ladylike and honest manner. She was known as a local beauty. This was a fact that had not escaped Darcy’s notice, but he told himself that it was irrelevant. Her fine eyes demonstrated nothing about her character. Even Lady Catherine de Bourgh had startlingly blue eyes, even if she used them to glare rather than to smile.
Darcy reminded himself that his interest was in Miss Bennet’s character. He had one question to answer: was she the gentle soul he had imagined for so many months, or had her kindness to him been an accident?
He expected cruelty. Oh yes, since Wickham, he expected it from all sides. Kindness was surely an aberration.
His sphere was filled with shallow and selfish creatures. Men and women with full pockets and empty heads, thinking only of the next shilling and tomorrow’s conquest. The feathers in one’s hat were of more concern to those people than the plight of their servants. When Georgiana was silenced, Darcy could only see darkness. He looked at the people who he used to admire, and saw only their sly schemes and petty squabbles. It was one of the things which had driven him to drink. The world had lost all of its beauty, and the trust he had once held for his fellow man was torn away.
Only Bingley and Georgiana were good. Once they shone, but now they faded. Bingley was slowly being pulled away from Darcy through the wheedling of his sisters. Georgiana was barely alive.
Darcy shook his head, forcing his mind away from such thoughts. They were poison, he knew. Bingley was distancing himself because his friend was recovering and no longer needed his tender care. Georgiana was alive, most assuredly. He mustnotthink of her as gone.
She would come back to him.
One day, she would. Shehadto.
Darcy shook his head again and looked down at the notes he had made when his servants reported to him that morning.
The Bennet family generally kept to themselves. Or, at least, they kept to their own devices. Mr. Bennet was amenable enough when he was in town, but rarely made the attempt. He preferred to withdraw into his home, where he spent the majority of his time in the study.
His wife, on the other hand, was in town toomuch.She was an infamous gossip. Nothing could happen in Meryton without her hurrying from her home to investigate. She was almost always accompanied by her two youngest daughters - silly, giggling creatures by all accounts. As a trio, they flitted around Meryton in oblivious cheer.
Such a family! They did not seem the kind of people who would welcome help. In fact, Darcy was sure that he would not have bothered to speak to them at all, beside a terse greeting and perhaps a few remarks about the weather. He could not abide foolishness, nor respect a man who would ignore his family and allow them to become notorious.
But then, there were the oldest daughters. What a difference!
Jane and Elizabeth were held in high regard by almost everyone the servants had spoken to. They and one of their friends, Miss Lucas, devoted a great deal of time to the less fortunate. They made baskets filled with sweet flowers and herbs, lavender packets, jam and bread and anything else that might bring comfort to those in need.
They did not make a great show of these, as some ladies were wont to do, but went about their work quietly. They also did not simply give the baskets away. They stayed in draughty homes, or in the tiny parlours of old widows, and listened to their woes. Their empathy did not stop there; often, they would return to their fathers and ask them for solutions to the problems they had discovered.
There was one story about Jane Bennet: a soldier was discharged from the army with an injury and had no savings to support himself in his old age. After losing his tiny home, he was forced to sleep under a cart when he could not beg enough coin to buy shelter. Jane Bennet sought out a local farmer, whose three sons had all enlisted and been sent overseas. She asked him to give a sheep-shearing shelter to the old soldier, in exchange for the man keeping watch over the flocks.
The farmer had gently explained to the young lady that he did not keep sheep any more, only pigs. Quick as a flash, Miss Bennet had replied:
