When Darcy finally returned, that night, Bingley looked at him with considerable envy, having pictured the hours he was gone being spent with his beloved Miss Elizabeth, speaking cosily or possibly even kissing. Darcy’s drawn face, however, disabused him of that notion.
“Dear God, Darce, has even more happened?” Bingley asked.
Darcy wordlessly accepted the glass of brandy he held out, then handed Bingley a letter in return.
Bingley read the message, paled, and asked, “The man Elizabeth kept her eyes on, stalled, eventually kneed and held onto while we approached—that man was not only an escaped prisoner, but amurderer?”
Darcy had emptied his glass in one gulp while Bingley read the express, and that was unheard of.
Putting his empty glass on the desk, Darcy said, “Yes, he is probably a murderer. With at least two murders to answer for. And Elizabeth singlehandedly took him on.”
Bingley felt an icy prickle run down his back. He felt for Darcy, because he was almost nauseous that the dangerous man was that close to Jane. Miss Elizabeth had been much, much closer.
Looking at Darcy’s ashen face, Bingley asked, “Did you already let Sir William and Colonel Forster know about these murders?”
“Yes, that is why I returned so late. I am for bed this very moment, Bingley.”
“Of course, Darcy. Ring for Mrs Nicholls if there is something you need aside from whatever Jameson can provide.”
Darcy walked steadily, but he looked so worn, Bingley followed him out of the study and all the way to the stairs, where he stood, still watching for any indication of need. ButDarcy stolidly mounted the stairs, turned towards his room, and disappeared through the door.
Caroline’s voice, as usual raised in complaint, sounded behind him: “Is Mr Darcy retiring the moment he returned?”
Bingley turned. “He has had a brutal day, Caroline. A little sympathy for the man is more welcome than selfish wishes.”
Caroline’s expression immediately transformed into commiseration. “I am so sorry, Charles. Honestly, I had no idea. You and Hurst would say nothing of what has gone on, and Louisa and I were worried at first, but then we realised, had there been anything truly amiss, you would tell us, would warn us.” She tucked her hand under his arm and began to steer him back towards his study.
He searched for the words that would explain why he could not tell her everything she wished to know. “The problem is, Sister, it is not our story to tell. Hurst and I would not wish to misrepresent an important and upsetting event and, perhaps, start inappropriate and incorrect rumours.”
Bingley found himself back in his study, the door closed for privacy, and he worried that Caroline was going to try to induce him to tell about the events of the day despite his indication that he would not. He became quite resolute: he wouldnotgive in and tell her. Indeed, he clamped his mouth shut and glared at her.
“Pray, do not frown at me, Charles. I hate to feel we are not able to communicate, but I understand the need to be discreet when a story might harm another, and of course you should not tell the tale if you are uncertain of the facts!”
She steered him to the little settee that rested before the fireplace, and she went to get a glass of brandy for him. He felt quite grateful to be thus taken care of, and when she sat next to him, leaning on him a bit like she used to when they were young,even tucking her feet up beneath her skirts, Bingley felt quite good about his younger sister.
“Hmm?” he asked. He had been sipping away at his brandy as Caroline chattered, but now she was silent, and he was aware that she must have asked him a question. He said, “I am sorry, Caroline. I suppose I was wool-gathering. What did you ask?”
“I just asked when Mr Darcy met Eliza Bennet. I believe he made it sound as if it was years ago.”
“Yes, quite a while ago. As a matter of fact, I believe they met five years ago.”
‘Five years ago! Eliza must have been a child!”
Charles chuckled. “Please do not tell any fifteen-year-old miss that she is a child—she will either destroy you or be destroyed herself!”
Caroline laughed, too. “You are very correct. I remember; I thought I knew everything when I was fifteen, and I believed I was entirely grown up.”
He considered some of his memories of the time. He had been away at Eton, and she at the finishing school. They had hardly seen each other that year—but when he did see her, she looked much more an adult than he had felt himself to be.
“You did seem very grown up,” Bingley said, vaguely aware that his wine glass never seemed to be empty. He was really quite proud that he was barely consuming the precious brandy, especially considering the fact that Darcy had drained his glass in just a few seconds.
Taking another fortifying sip, Bingley realised that his sister was explaining that, although she hadfeltgrown up, she had not been grown at all. He turned puzzled eyes to her and said, “But you seemed…”
“Yes, I believe we imagine ourselves as more mature and more well behaved than we are….”
Bingley enjoyed sitting close to his little sister far more than he could have imagined, and although he drank very little brandy, he felt the warm comfort the spirit afforded him. On a chilly November night, that was very welcome. He also felt quite comfortable chatting with his sweet little sister….
The next day,Bingley woke up feeling distinctly unwell. His head was pounding, he felt as if he was attempting to think and remember through a thick fog, and his stomach was upset.
