“Well, what are the next steps for you, Darcy?” Bingley asked.
He looked curiously as a frown and then a smile flitted across his friend’s face. He was so used to Darcy’s mask of reserve, he marvelled at the sight of his friend expressing emotions.
“I am now certain that Miss Elizabeth is attracted to me, but I imagine that she does not feel that she knows me well enough to say yes to a proposal. I will continue to call on her and will slowly show her how I feel, and when it seems the right time, I willtellher how I feel.”
“So you are going slowly…for her sake, I gather. You are already sure of her?”
Darcy nodded. He was generally quite economical with his words and gestures; it was Bingley who was naturally effusive. Bingley thought it was quite unfair that he must be extra careful not to act like himself, but Darcy got to do just as he pleased.
Well, that thought was hardly fair, Bingley admitted to himself. If his friend had been already waitingfive yearsfor Miss Elizabeth to grow up—it was quite patient for Darcy to continue to wait.
Elizabeth was delighted,the following morning, to receive two letters in the post. One was from Mrs Popkins, and the other was from her Aunt Maddie.
She opened Aunt Maddie’s letter first, eager to read her response to the news that she had met again with Mr Darcy. Elizabeth was disappointed that her aunt did not seem even remotely amazed at the coincidence of Mr Darcy coming to, ofall places, Meryton—so far from either Ramsgate or Pemberley. Her aunt did not even seemsurprised, let alone astounded.
But, despite being let down that her phlegmatic aunt found little cause to comment on Elizabeth and Jane meeting Mr Darcy again, Aunt Maddy did write something very that sparked some thought:
“I hope you are having a nice time getting to know Mr Darcy better. It is very interesting, in life, to experience people being so very much older than yourself, but years later, although the age gap is the same, the feeling of the gap is dramatically less.”
Elizabeth thought about that. How true that was! When she first clapped eyes on Mr Darcy, he was not only of age, but he had already lost both parents and thus had inherited many responsibilities. She knew from Georgiana’s letters that the family had at least Pemberley, a house in Town, and a cottage in Scotland; those properties, servants, and tenants were all his responsibility, along with the guardianship of Georgiana herself. And who knew? There might be more properties and possibly investments as well.
In contrast, Elizabeth had been just fifteen years old, with both parents still alive. She had been in some ways a child.
Now, there was still an enormous gap between them. The age gap had not widened, but Mr Darcy was still a guardian as well as a brother, and he was still master of an enormous estate and an even more immense fortune. He was still responsible for hundreds and hundreds of people. Elizabeth still had a complete set of parents and far fewer responsibilities.
However, at age twenty, she not only thought of herself as an adult, everyone in her life treated her as an adult, as well. She now took on more responsibilities at Longbourn—includingchecking the steward’s figures in the books kept to show earnings and expenditures, visiting the tenants, and ordering repairs and medical visits on behalf of the tenants.
Also, she was now considered to be of marriageable age, and she had been for several years. She knew of nobody who married at age fifteen or sixteen—although she assumed somebody, somewhere, married at that young age—but she knew one lady who married at seventeen, and several who married at each age after that. Many people considered twenty to be the perfect age to marry, and most considered Jane, at age two and twenty, to be approaching the metaphorical “shelf.”
When they had met in Ramsgate, Elizabeth decided, the gap between Mr Darcy and herself had been first age, then responsibilities, and lastly social circle. Now it was reversed: she considered that there was no possibility of a match between the two because of their difference in wealth and connexions—that is, the wide gulf between their standing in society—but the age difference was of no importance now.
However, she had to admit, Mr Darcy himself seemed to be a lot less concerned about that social-circle disparity. Would he look at her the way he did, speak to her the way he did, if he felt there was no possibility of deepening their relationship into courtship and marriage?
She reread the paragraphs of her aunt’s letter that dealt with Mr Darcy, and then she eagerly opened the next letter.
When she had written to Mrs Popkins, Elizabeth had relegated the news about meeting Mr Darcy to the end of the letter: “Netherfield Park has a new leaseholder, a gentleman named Mr Bingley. He has a guest named Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy. Do you know either gentleman?” Then she had briefly mentioned her previous acquaintance with Mr Darcy.
Even though she had not written of surprising coincidences nor hinted at the strength of her feelings about the gentleman,Elizabeth knew that Mrs Popkins would write something about her re-acquaintance with Mr Darcy, because that lady was deeply interested in the mention ofanygentleman in Elizabeth’s letters.
However, she was shocked that Mrs Popkins wrote several pages in response to Elizabeth’s single paragraph.
“I was fascinated to read that Mr Darcy was in Meryton, of all places. You probably already realise that this particular gentleman is of the first circles, and therefore, unfortunately, out of your reach, but I have never told you of my acquaintance with him, so let me explain it to you now.”
Mrs Popkins’s story was long and dramatic. Mr Darcy had been one of her late husband’s friends from Cambridge, and she had seen him several times a year, during her short marriage, at balls or concerts or other events in London. She wrote of how much everyone in her circle admired Mr Darcy’s intellect and character, and then she briefly wrote, “…also, as I am certain you can imagine, every lady I know found him very handsome, although we all knew he was far above us in wealth.” But the shocking part of the letter was that Mr Darcy was involved with the tragedy that had struck Mrs Popkins’s life—the death of her husband.
“My Franklin was but five and twenty, and he was shooting with a party of gentlemen in northern England. Suddenly, there was a landslip that carried Franklin down a steep slope. I understand, from my husband’s best friend Charles Banks, that several of the men panicked and did not know what to do. They seemed set on riding back to the manor house where they were staying to ask for help, and everyone agreed that two of them should do just that. Mr Banks wasdetermined to stay and attempt to rescue Franklin, who was not responding to verbal calls—but who they hoped was still alive. Unfortunately, Mr Banks could not see a way in which anyone could safely reach him and still hope to emerge from the ravine.”
Then Mrs Popkins explained that it was Mr Darcy who had a rope in his saddlebag—he apparently carried with him, at all times, things such as candles, flint, and rope—and he was able to securely tie the rope to a branch and then carefully descend into the ravine. “Mr Darcy was several years younger than my Franklin and Mr Banks, and acknowledged to be stronger than most men. Apparently, Mr Darcy was able to examine my Franklin, ascertain that he was alive but senseless, and assure himself that he had suffered no broken bones.”
Mrs Popkins wrote that Mr Darcy had carefully lifted her husband up to one shoulder and used the rope as he climbed out of the ravine. It sounded like quite a feat—almost miraculous in strength. “All the men agreed that Mr Darcy was very much a hero—but the next part of the story was very sad.”
It turned out that, even though the men carefully transported Franklin to the manor house, and even though a respected physician had rushed to attend to him, Franklin had never awoken. He died that night.
“You would think that what followed, for me, would have no mention of Mr Darcy. Of course, he came to my husband’s funeral, and of course I thanked him most sincerely for his rescue of my beloved Franklin. But it never occurred to me that my life would ever intersect with Mr Darcy’s again. Our connexion—my husband—was forever gone. But once I began to recover from the shock of my loss, another shock awaited me: Franklin had overspent on our bridaltour to the continent, and he had overspent as he insisted that I redecorate our home. In addition, he had racked up a gambling debt, and he had borrowed money to make an investment that turned out to be unwise. I found myself not just penniless, but deeply in debt. It had never occurred to me to ask about finances as I had never imagined that Franklin could ruin us.”
Elizabeth stopped reading for a moment, tears in her eyes. She had known that Mrs Popkins was not one of those wealthy widows who lived in luxury at her late husband’s estate, but she had not clearly realised how dire her situation must have been to have leased a home and set out to teach her neighbours’ daughters.
Dabbing her tears with a handkerchief, Elizabeth read on: “That is when the true heroism of Mr Darcy came to my notice. My husband’s creditors had been contacting me, but suddenly I received a letter from a lawyer stating that the debts had been settled. The letter specifically said that if any further contact was made from someone claiming that Mr Franklin Popkins owed them money, I was to immediately write to the lawyer. I felt immediate relief from the anxiety that had plagued me for several months, but I demanded as strongly as I could to know who had settled my husband’s debts. I got nowhere in this endeavour.”
