“Of course,” she said. “I do not know why I have kept it, as it only brings back unhappy memories of poor Lydia. Oh! May I offer refreshments, Mr. Bingley?”
“I thank you, Mrs. Forster.” Mr. Bingley tucked the letter into his coat pocket. “And you still have Miss Lydia’s things?”
“Of course, though I do not wish to have to take them to whatever camp we next travel to.”
Mr. Bingley thought about it. “Perhaps you should simply send her things to Longbourn. I would offer to take them, but I traveled by horseback and the saddlebags are not large.”
Mrs. Forster nodded. “I shall see to it at once.”
Not long after the tea tray arrived, the Colonel came in. “Ah, Mr. Bingley! This is rather a surprise. What brings you down to Brighton?”
Mr. Bingley gave the Colonel the note from Mr. Bennet; the Colonel’s brows rose. “Very well, you are his emissary. How may I be of service?”
“First, I do not know if you are aware that Mrs. Bennet died quite recently.”
Mrs. Forster gasped and turned pale. “Oh, no! What dreadful news!”
The Colonel looked as if he would be sick. “Was this because of – because of –“
“It is not certain, Colonel; she suffered a stroke, which might very well have been caused by the news of Miss Lydia’s elopement.”
“I am most heartily grieved,” the Colonel said, unhappily. “I blamed myself for Miss Lydia’s actions, and now I must takethe responsibility for her mother’s death as well.” His voice was laced with regret.
“You cannot have known what would happen, Colonel; I assure you that no one blames you.”
“I clearly did not supervise the girl adequately; no one can absolve me of that fault. I shall bear my guilt for the rest of my life.”
Mr. Bingley was not certain that it was possible to supervise Lydia Bennet adequately, but he did not say so.
The Colonel sighed heavily. “Mr. Bingley, I am certain you have not traveled all this way merely to bring us these ill tidings.”
Mr. Bingley explained that they had put it about that Lydia was ill, not absent, and the Bennets very much hoped that the Forsters would do nothing to contradict the story.
“I see,” the Colonel said, knitting his brows together. “The lads do know of the elopement, as Wickham was hardly quiet about his intentions.”
“I understand, and there is nothing that can be done about that. But if a letter should arrive for Miss Lydia, please just throw it into the fire. Do not reply to it.”
“We can certainly promise that, can we not, m’dear?” The Colonel turned to his wife.
“Of course. And there is no word of her?” Harriet Forster looked quite worried.
“London is a vast place, but we have men looking for her,” Mr. Bingley replied. He thought it best not to mention Darcy’s name.
“I could write a letter to the Bennets giving them news of Lydia’s illness; would that be helpful in maintaining the fiction?” Mrs. Forster asked.
“That most certainly would, Mrs. Forster. I thank you for your kind thought.”
“I will attend to it at once and you can bring it to them,” she said, and promptly retired to the writing desk in the corner of the room.
“It is the least we can do,” the Colonel said. Then he added, “If Wickham is found, I hope he is turned over to me. Desertion is a serious offence.”
“I will be certain that your wishes are made known,” Mr. Bingley said, courteously.
Twenty minutes later, Mrs. Forster gave him her letter; Mr. Bingley bowed and took his leave.
Chapter Sixteen
Mr. Bingley returned to Netherfield, tired and dusty, but with a sense of satisfaction. It was quite late, too late to go to Longbourn until the following day. Caroline, of course, demanded to know where he had gone and why.
