Page 38 of Near Pemberley

The man hastened towards the desk and returned with a sealed note.

His hand closed upon it more quickly than composure perhaps required.

For a brief instant, before opening it, he became conscious of a wholly unreasonable hope – that some minor inconvenience alone had intervened; that the visit was merely postponed; that within a few lines all uncertainty would be resolved.

He broke the seal.

The note was short. Too short.

Mrs. Gardiner wrote with every proper expression of regret and gratitude, but the brevity itself betrayed agitation. Urgent family business. Immediate departure. Deep apologies. Great disappointment at being prevented from accepting the kindness intended them. Nothing more.

Darcy read it twice. Then a third time.

The words themselves conveyed little; yet beneath their studied propriety, he felt distinctly that something serious had occurred.

The innkeeper, meanwhile, lingered nearby with the uneasy air of a man uncertain whether further explanation might still be demanded.

“They appeared in considerable haste. Servants packing everywhere, fresh horses called for directly…”

“Did Miss Bennet seem unwell?” The question escaped him before reflection intervened.

The innkeeper hesitated. “Distressed, perhaps, sir.”

Darcy’s eyes lifted sharply. “Distressed?”

“Well… yes, sir. The young lady appeared greatly agitated. Crying, I believe.”

For one suspended moment, Darcy forgot the other man’s presence.

Elizabeth crying.

The image would not leave him.

Something serious indeed had happened. Something far more important than any disappointment of his own.

Darcy folded the note carefully.

His first sensation, strangely enough, was not disappointment for himself.

It was fear for her.

He remembered now every shade of expression in her countenance the day before: the gradual softening of reserve, the effort towards composure, the quiet sincerity with which she had said: “So am I.”

No, she would not have left willingly. Or rather, he could not endure to believe she had.

That she might, after reflection, have repented the openness of yesterday; that she might have awakened this morning ashamed of having encouraged attentions she did not wish renewed – such possibilities forced themselves upon him with cruel persistence.

He rejected them almost instantly.

The agitation described by the innkeeper, the haste of the departure, the brevity of Mrs. Gardiner’s note – all spoke too plainly of some sudden distress.

Yet the other fear, unreasonable as he knew it to be, would not entirely release him.

Whatever had called her away must have done so with violence enough to overcome inclination, expectation, propriety – everything.

“Did they mention their direction?” he asked in a low voice.

“South, sir. Towards London, I believe.”