January was passing. The weather was remarkably mild and open for the
time of year, and the hunting men were rejoicing in their opportunities.
The ladies were able to take their daily walks and drives, in which Mrs.
Ferrars's sister, Mrs. Brandon, a very lovely and amiable woman, who had
come to watch over her sister's convalescence, was often invited to join
them. Mrs. Jennings had returned to London earlier in the month, sorely
disappointed, after such a promising beginning, at not having seen the
successful termination of even one love-affair during her stay. None of
the family at Pemberley had ever understood what part she played in the
catastrophe of November, except that she had shared in the general error
made by Kitty's friends, nor were they aware of the destiny she had
marked out for Georgiana; but Elinor, when she realized that something
had gone seriously wrong in consequence of the ball, had no difficulty
in persuading the really good-natured old lady to confine her
lamentations, conjectures, and comments to the ears of the Rectory
inhabitants only. This end was the more easily attained since, after
Kitty's departure, there was no one to keep her supplied with
information. When, however, that young lady returned in apparently good
spirits, Mrs. Jennings was immeasurably delighted, and quite entered
into her willingness to talk of Cathcart and Macdonald, and, indeed,
anyone and anything but William Price, and Mrs. Jennings had only to
hear that Mr. Bertram was coming to stay at Desborough again, and not at
Pemberley, to be ready to console Kitty with a number of entirely new
and revised prognostications as to the object of his visit.
The party at Pemberley were sitting together one evening after dinner.
It was about eight o'clock, and they had all settled to their customary
occupations; Darcy and his wife were reading, Mrs. Grant working and
Georgiana was at the instrument, playing short snatches of music while
Mary Crawford sat close beside her, and asked for one and another of her
favourite pieces. Peace and tranquility reigned, and seemed as little
likely to be interrupted as on many previous evenings that had been
similarly spent. The sudden sound of carriage wheels, therefore, and the
rapid trot of horses, startled everyone, and alarmed one at least, for
Elizabeth's first apprehension was that Colonel Fitzwilliam had returned
unexpectedly. Georgiana ceased playing, and all listened anxiously, but
the suspense lasted for the shortest possible time required by a visitor
to get into the house, and on the door being flung open, Darcy had
scarcely risen from his chair, before Tom Bertram followed his name into
the room with quick steps.
Tom Bertram had acted on many stages, but in none of the parts he had
ever played had he made so sensational an entrance. The amazement of the
inmates of the room on beholding him, the dismay of Mrs. Grant and her
sister, his own disconcerted surprise at seeing who were Mrs. Darcy's
guests, all tended to make the first minute one of extreme
embarrassment, and it was only the knowledge of his urgency of his
errand that enabled him to recover himself sooner than any of the
others. Advancing to Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, he greeted them both, bowed to
Mrs. Grant, and to the corner of the room where Mary was shrinking out
of sight behind Georgiana, and at once began speaking very quickly to
the master of the house.
"Mr. Darcy, I fear I have startled, I hope not frightened, you all by
intruding at this late hour; but when you know how pressing is the need,
you will dispense with apologies. I grieve very much to say to say I am
the bearer of bad news, but believing that you ought to know, I
constituted myself the messenger. Your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, has
met with an accident whilst out hunting to-day. I regret exceedingly to
tell you, but his state is considered serious, and his friends thought
it would be advisable for you to come."
"Fitzwilliam? Fitzwilliam hurt! Good God, what is this?" exclaimed
Darcy, completely roused out of his usual calm. "How did it happen? Tell
us all about it. I will go to him instantly" (ringing the bell). "In
God's name, Bertram, say he is still living? Where is he? How long will
it take to get to him?"
Elizabeth, though dreadfully shocked and distressed, had the wisdom to
send another servant for refreshments for Mr. Bertram, while Darcy
ordered his own things to be packed and his travelling carriage be
brought round, and in the slight bustle caused by these arrangements,
Mrs. Grant and Georgiana were able, almost unobserved, to attend to
Mary, who had not actually fainted, but had sunk down on a low couch,
scarcely knowing what she did. Her sister and Georgiana supported her
in between them, placed her in a more easy position, rubbed her hands
and shielded her from the light; and Mary, with a very great effort,
collected herself sufficiently to listen to the details which Mr.
Bertram was hurriedly giving in answer to Mr. and Mrs. Darcy's
inquiries. It appeared that Colonel Fitzwilliam had only just returned
from London, and this was his first day out for some time. The fox had
got well away, and the hunt were in the midst of a fine run, when the
Colonel's horse came down with him at a blind fence. Bertram paused here
to give more particulars than his impatient hearers desired, about the
height and width of the fence, and the exact manner in which the horse
had approached it, for it seemed that he himself had been riding near at
the time, and had witnessed the accident. The Colonel was pinned under
the animal, and was taken out unconscious, with a broken leg, and, it
was feared, some grave injury to the spine. Fortunately, the house of
the friend with whom he was staying was not far off, and he was borne
thither, and the services of the apothecary were promptly obtained; but
the only opinion he could form was very grave, and pending the arrival
of a more experienced surgeon, who had been sent for from Leicester, no
one could tell what an hour might bring forth.
The ladies were sick with horror: Mrs. Grant was weeping silently, and
Georgiana, as she held Mary's cold hand, felt that this was indeed the
last and crowning sorrow, for poor Cousin Robert to die without knowing
the happiness that ought to have been his.
"The pulse is so very weak; I think they fear a collapse of the whole
system, even if he does recover consciousness," said Bertram, in too low
a tone to be heard by those at the other end of the room. "They were
trying stimulants of various kinds when I came away."
Elizabeth's face was hidden. Darcy was too much overwhelmed to speak for
some moments, till with a sudden start of recollection he exclaimed:
"And you, Bertram? how came you to be there? and how come you are here
now?"
Bertram, with a return to something of his nonchalant manner, explained
that he, too, had been staying in the same neighbourhood, with a friend,
who was, in fact, the master of that pack of hounds, and with whom he
often spent a few days in the hunting season, as it was little over
twenty miles from his own house, Mansfield Park. "I had been talking to
Colonel Fitzwilliam during the morning," he continued, "and helped to
carry him back to Ashley's place, and when Ashley said his relations
ought to know, I decided at once to come with the news. I only delayed
to change my clothes and have the chaise got ready, for I knew time was
an object, and I could get over the ground quicker than anyone else they
could send."
"I am sure we are deeply indebted to you, Bertram," said Darcy, grasping
him warmly by the hand, while Elizabeth joined him in expressing the
sincerest gratitude. "You could not have done us a greater service, and
it is one we shall never forget. It was an impulse of true goodness and
unselfishness that prompted you to ride straight to us, disregarding
your own fatigue and inconvenience; few men would have done as much."
Bertram disclaimed, and as Georgiana came forward to add her thanks to
those of the others, he bowed to her with gallantry, assuring her that
fatigue was nothing, if he could be of use to friends whom he so greatly
esteemed, and he only wished that he could have brought news to relieve
anxiety, instead of creating it.
By this time word was brought that the more substantial meal which had
been ordered for Mr. Bertram was ready in the dining-room, and Darcy
escorted him thither, to attend to his wants and to obtain the
particulars as to his journey from Leicestershire. The distance was
forty-five miles, and Darcy proposed to start within half an hour, and
reach his destination some time during the night, but he pressed his
visitor to stay at least until the next day, and if he would, to rest
himself and his horses.
Their peaceful evening had been turned into confusion and wretchedness.
The quiet circle in the drawing-room was broken up, and Mrs. Grant,
fearing greatly for her sister, was thankful to lead her to her own
room, there to recover as best she might from the frightful shock of Tom
Bertram's news. Darcy soon went upstairs to prepare for his journey, and
his wife busied herself with helping him, and with placing in his
luggage any article she could think of that might conduce to the sick
man's comfort, while a maze of thoughts occupied her mind, chilling
fear, apprehension, and dread of what might be happening to the loved
friend at such a distance, and anxiety on account of Miss Crawford,
whose trembling and distressed condition had not escaped her.
A few minutes later Georgiana came to her door, showing traces of tears,
but quite calm, and begging to be made useful. Elizabeth was just then
giving some directions to the maid, so Georgiana waited until they were
done, and then, coming close to her sister, she said: "Elizabeth, do you
think we could do anything for Miss Crawford? I went to wish her
good-night, and she tried to smile and say something sympathizing, but
could hardly utter the words. I am sure she is terribly concerned about
all this. She almost looks like a different person, so pale and
stricken. Do you think she can possibly be caring for Cousin Robert all
the time, and not know it till now? Oh, dear Elizabeth, is it not
dreadful to think it may be too late?"
Elizabeth gazed at her sister, listening intently, and pondering all
Georgiana said. True, indeed, that it would be a dreadful thing to
contemplate, if Mary really loved Fitzwilliam, and the knowledge came
too late to do good to either. And even if Mary knew her own heart at
last, was it not too late, when pride sealed her lips, and Fitzwilliam
was lying near to death, forty miles away, perhaps never more able to
see her or hear her? Elizabeth experienced a momentary feeling of
despair; the powers ranged against her seemed almost too strong to be
attacked; but rallying her forces, and putting in the front of her mind
the one hopeful thought that Fitzwilliam might live till Darcy reached
him, or longer, she said to Georgiana: "I think I shall try; I will ask
her to send him a message, if it is as we think; it will be better than
nothing, even if he is only just able to understand it."
"Oh, yes, yes," exclaimed Georgiana, clasping her hands in intense
eagerness, "do ask her, dear Elizabeth; she will surely tell you, and my
brother will tell him. Whatever happens, she will be glad to think she
has done it. Do ask her; do not lose a minute; there is so little time."
Voices were heard in the corridor; Darcy was speaking to the servants,
who were carrying out his luggage. Elizabeth hesitated no longer,
pausing only to say: "Dear Georgiana, would you mind going to sit with
Mr. Bertram? I am afraid it may be tiresome for you to entertain a
stranger just now, but he is alone, and it would be only a kind
attention, after what he has done for us," and to receive Georgiana's
assent, before going swiftly to Miss Crawford's room.
She found that Georgiana's description had been all too accurate. Miss
Crawford had not wept, but her expression of hopeless misery sent a pang
through Elizabeth's heart. She had sent her sister away, and had been
sitting on her bed, too stunned for action, almost for thought, and she
made no resistance when Elizabeth placed her on the couch, sat beside
her, and taking both her hands, began to plead with her, quickly and
simply, without premeditation.
"Dear Miss Crawford, I have come to ask you to do something for my poor
cousin, something which only you can do. You heard what Mr. Bertram
said, of his dangerous state, and it distressed you as much as us, I
know. I would not for a moment seek to pry into your inmost feelings,
but we are come to matters of life and death, and it is on _his_ account
that I do venture to ask you, if you feel that you could listen to him
if he were here, then will you send him a word, a message, something to
show that you are thinking of him?"
Mary replied after a minute or two, in a stifled voice: "I would send
him such a message, but do you think he would care to have it?"
"I do, indeed, most truly. I understand your hesitation; you think you
cannot speak of love to him, when he has not spoken to you; but I would
stake my life on his devotion and faithfulness. The words you send him
will bring comfort and peace of mind, whatever the issue."
Mary shuddered, and withdrew her trembling hands. "Mr. Bertram seems to
think he will die."
"We cannot tell; he is a strong man and had not had the best advice when
Mr. Bertram was there. We can only hope, and my husband is starting
almost immediately, and will carry any message you feel able to send,
trusting that he will be in time to deliver it."
"Oh, yes, yes," exclaimed Mary, rising and walking restlessly about the
room; "he is so good and generous that if he still cares, he would
overlook all, he would pardon the errors and foolishness that have led
to this misunderstanding--but the past, Mrs. Darcy, does he know and
forgive that? I wish I could tell. Seeing Mr. Bertram brings it all back
again--my brother, his sister--the divorce--what Lady Catherine heard,
the world believes, you know--and just when one repents it all most, it
comes back just like a spectre to haunt one."
Elizabeth replied very earnestly: "At such a time as this, it would be
cruel to mislead you, and I only say what I sincerely believe, that
Colonel Fitzwilliam knows everything to which you refer, and it makes
not the smallest difference to him. It would not, you should be aware,
to any man whose love was worthy of the name. That should not weigh with
you for a moment. The only thing that signifies in the least is whether
you can return that love: the only barrier between you is being unable
to return it. I would not urge you against your will, or take advantage
of a moment of strong emotion; you alone know whether it would make you
happier to send a word of hope to him."
"Happier? Ah, I do not know," said Mary sorrowfully. "I do not seem able
to think of happiness. And yet, I should be glad for him to know, since
you think he still cares to know, and it is all I can now do for him.
You need not be afraid of my not trusting my feelings, Mrs. Darcy. This
has shown me all too late what they really are, though my folly and
obstinacy have blinded me all these months."
"We will not say too late, dear Miss Crawford," said Elizabeth, going up
to where Miss Crawford was standing by the mantelshelf, leaning her head
on her arm. "We do not know that it is too late, and I believe that it
will be an immense comfort to you to take this one step. Explanations
can come after. I am not afraid of Colonel Fitzwilliam being unable to
clear away all doubts and fears when he is able to speak for himself
again."
There was a moment's pause, and Elizabeth continued: "I must not stay
now. Mr. Darcy is so impatient to be off, but I will be back to you.
Will you tell me what I may say? so little will suffice; or would you
rather write it?"
Mary shook her head, still keeping her face hidden, and said in a barely
audible voice: "Ask Mr. Darcy, if he will be so kind--explain things to
him how you like--but say I send Colonel Fitzwilliam my--my love; that I
beg his forgiveness; and that I hope--he will soon--be able to come
home--to me."
Elizabeth just caught the last words, waited to assure herself there was
no more, and pressing Mary's hand, went quietly out of the room. Though
much moved by their interview, the exigencies of the moment demanded
that she should quickly recover her composure, and brace herself for the
parting with her husband. There would be time--all too much time--for
thought when the moment of action was over; there would be hours of
suspense to be borne and another sufferer to console. As she came out
upon the gallery, she heard persons talking and moving in the hall
below, and distinguished her husband's voice saying: "I ought to be with
him soon after one o'clock," words which revived her courage, and she
descended to find Darcy, Georgiana and Mr. Bertram standing by the
hearth, Darcy completely equipped for his journey, and the servants
waiting by the front door.
Georgiana, who had been enduring keen anxiety during Elizabeth's
absence, and had been exerting herself to keep the gentlemen occupied in
eating and talking, so that Elizabeth might not be interrupted too soon
by Darcy's haste to depart, gave her a nervous glance, which was
tempered by relief when she saw her sister draw Darcy into the library
for a few parting words. She could scarcely attend to Mr. Bertram's
amiable chatter, or reply to his inquiries for Mr. and Mrs. Bingley, and
the other friends he had met on his previous visit, for picturing in her
mind what was going on in the library and trying to decide whether
Elizabeth had been successful in her mission.
At last the door opened; they reappeared; Darcy was grave, but Georgiana
thought his brow had somewhat lightened since he went in, and Elizabeth
gave her a bright and reassuring look. There was no time for more, and
the carriage was already waiting; the farewells were quickly spoken, and
in another moment Darcy had passed out and was gone.