Page 55 of Dear Friend

“Not at all. I am right surprisingly often.”

Darcy laughed, and Elizabeth looked at him with momentary surprise before laughing herself. “There. I begin to believe Mr. Bingley did not entirely misrepresent your character yesterday. He assured Papa that you occasionally enjoy yourself.”

“I shall have to speak to him about betraying my confidence.”

They began walking slowly along the crest of the hill. Conversation seemed easier here than it had in the Longbourn drawing room, without half a dozen other persons listening or Mrs. Bennet ready to seize upon every silence. Elizabeth spoke of the surrounding country with the easy affection of someone who had known every path since childhood, and Darcy found himself listening even when much of what she told him was already familiar from her letters.

“I used to argue about this view with a friend,” she said after a while. “She preferred the eastern side.”

Darcy’s step faltered at the declaration, his attention sharpening immediately. Whether she spoke of Charlotte Lucas or Julia Harding, he could not know with certainty, though he strongly suspected the latter.

“She insisted the river improved everything, while I maintained that losing the church from the prospect was too great a price for it.”

“And neither of you surrendered?”

“Certainly not. What would have been the pleasure in that?” Elizabeth smiled, though the expression softened almost immediately. “Julia was particularly skilled at ending an argument whenever she suspected I might eventually win it. She would simply smile and change the subject before I could press my advantage.”

Darcy said nothing.

“I used to find it exceedingly vexing.” Elizabeth's gaze travelled towards the eastern side of the hill. “I would give a great deal to be vexed by it again.”

Tell her now.

Darcy glanced towards her. The affection in her voice was unmistakable, but so too was the sadness beneath it. He knew from the letters how deeply Julia’s silence had troubled her, yet hearing Elizabeth speak of it was altogether different from reading words written in solitude.

He ought to tell her. Indeed, there could hardly be a better opportunity. Yet another question had already formed in his mind, and Darcy knew that once he asked it, there would be no pretending that he had merely listened to what Elizabeth chose to offer. He knew the answer already. To ask would be to encourage her confidence while deliberately concealing why the subject interested him.

He asked it nevertheless. “You no longer see this friend?”

“No.” Elizabeth’s smile faded. “She left Hertfordshire some months ago.”

Darcy knew considerably more than that, but he forced himself to receive the information as any new acquaintance ought. “Was her removal expected?”

“Not at all. She had been ill for some time and was kept apart from everyone for fear the illness might spread, but I never expected her to leave so suddenly with her aunt.”

Darcy waited. There was something distasteful in deliberately drawing from her information he already possessed, yet when Elizabeth said nothing further, his curiosity overcame the warning.

“So, you have lost the acquaintance?”

“I hope not.” She gave a small laugh, though there was little amusement in it. “That is the difficulty. I do not know.”

Darcy turned more fully towards her.

“I heard afterwards that she had gone to Somerset with her aunt,” Elizabeth continued. “I have written to her there rather faithfully, I might add, though Julia would probably accuse me of boasting if she were here to hear it.” Her expression softened briefly before becoming serious again. “But I have received nothing from her.”

Darcy’s chest tightened. “Nothing?”

“Not a word.”

He knew that too. He knew how many times she had written, how long she had waited between replies that never came, and how often she had attempted to explain Julia’s silence to herself. Yet standing beside her now, Darcy discovered that knowing these things did not make hearing them easier.

“And you continue to write?”

Elizabeth looked at him, and Darcy immediately regretted the question. There was perhaps too much interest in it.

“I do,” she said after a moment. “Though I confess I nearly stopped.”

“Why did you not?”