Page 22 of A Sisterly Bond

“Such a misfortune! To have distressed Lady Catherine de Bourgh — I cannot think how it came about. Mr King ought never to have come. I shall write to him tomorrow and express my extreme disapproval. Sir William, you must tell me what occurred. What could have possessed the man?”

Sir William walked a little ahead for a long while, then, at the repeated enquiry, he fell back, then stopped altogether, pressing a hand to his forehead as though the effort of speech were beyond him. At last, when they had passed the gates and were upon the quieter lane, he burst out with a violence quite foreign to his nature.

“Mary has eloped!” he cried. “Mr King’s niece, Mary, has eloped with Mr Wickham from London, before he could take her into Sussex as they had planned. As much as Mr King and his family opposed Mary’s connection to that Mr Wickham, the imprudent, silly girl recklessly disobeyed them and eloped with that horrid man!”

“Dear Lord!” Charlotte exclaimed, while Elizabeth held her breath in amazement.

“Eloped?” Mr Collins repeated. “What a shame for her family! With Mr Wickham? Was he not the one you favoured, Cousin Elizabeth? What could be more horrible than a dishonourable man who claims to be an officer?”

Elizabeth chose to overlook the direct offence against her; after all, Mr Collins was right, Mr Wickham had been her favourite, and he had proved to be a dishonourable man. What else could be said?

They were already at the parsonage, so any discussion ceased until they entered the house. Inside, Mr Collins immediately filled two glasses of brandy and handed one to his father-in-law.

“What a distressing story, indeed. So what is known? Where did they go?” Charlotte asked.

“Mr King is half-mad with the shame of it. Mary left him a letter saying that they have gone to Scotland and that she will return with her husband to discuss further business. Further business, you hear? There is no doubt he only wants her fortune, like the miserable scoundrel that he is!”

“And why did he apply to Mr Darcy, of all people? What could Mr Darcy do, except for disturbing Lady Catherine?” Mr Collins enquired.

“He said he applied to Mr Darcy only because he had heard Wickham speak of him so often, asserting they had grown up together, that Mr Darcy owed him every consideration. Mr King hoped Mr Darcy might know something to help him find the fugitives. He called at Mr Darcy’s house in town, but Miss Darcy informed him that her brother was in Kent, and so the poor man came directly here, without rest or reason.”

“But, Papa,” Charlotte said, her voice calm and steady, “as tormenting as this story might be for the entire King family, I wonder what can be done. As far as I know, Mary is already of an age that she can marry whenever she pleases and anyone she wishes. Besides, I know her fortune was left to her by her late mother, so Mr King, as her uncle, has no power to withhold it.”

“My dear Charlotte, I beg to differ!” Mr Collins answered. “Free will or not, the manner of it is ruinous! She will cast so much shame upon her entire family that they will never recover! A young woman cannot decide to marry against her family’s advice!”

At that, Mr Collins threw a glare at Elizabeth, the meaning of which everyone understood.

“But they were in love!” Maria finally interjected. “Why can they not marry? Why cannot Mary use her fortune to choose a husband to her liking? Is that not what dowries are for? To be able to marry for love, not for prudence or security?”

That statement caused another long moment of awkward but meaningful silence, until Sir William spoke again.

“I do not know what can be done, since they planned to marry and have the means to do so.”

“While I do disapprove of such actions, we all know such elopements occur rather often. As long as they marry immediately, I think the family will be protected from shame and ruin. And I see no reason why Mr Wickham would not marry her as soon as he can, even if he is induced by monetary reasons only,” Charlotte said.

“I am sorry to say it, but I tend to agree with Charlotte,” Elizabeth interjected. “I doubt there can be any other favourable outcome except a wedding. And since Mr King travelled from London to Kent and must then go back to London, the fugitives might be on their way to Gretna Green already and married in a few days. I truly do not understand how Mr Darcy might help, but I do comprehend that, being desperate, Mr King might take drastic action.”

Sir William only shook his head. “I understand no better than you, Miss Eliza. The whole affair is a puzzle. Mr Darcy said little. He looked—well, he looked like a man does when the worst news is confirmed rather than discovered. That is all I can say.”

“What do you mean?” Mr Collins enquired.

“I mean Mr Darcy did not seem as surprised as I was.”

“What did he say?” Elizabeth asked, before minding her words.

“He provided Mr King with a few addresses where Wickham used to stay in London, and he asked whether Mary had any money or jewellery on her person, to pay for a longer journey. Mr King said she did, then Mr Darcy wrote Mr King a note for his man at his London house.”

Elizabeth listened but could hardly understand; the entire story was confusing. A small voice in her head whispered that Maria might be right, that perhaps Mr Wickham and Mary were in love and they had decided to elope for a happy life. But a stronger voice — one of reason — contradicted such happy thoughts.

The conversation lasted until close to midnight. They finally retired for the night, but for Elizabeth, sleep proved impossible. She lay awake turning the strange intelligence over and over in her mind. Mr Wickham and Mary King. The handsome, open-faced officer who had so readily confided his grievances against Mr Darcy — now the betrothed of a young woman of modest fortune in a clandestine flight from London. And Mr Darcy, of all men, the one to whom Mr King had turned for help. The logic of it eluded her and curiosity demanded more.

Elizabeth rose the next morning after a sleepless night, determined upon a walk. The usual spot, where she and Mr Darcy had twice met by what might almost have been design, seemed the likeliest place to encounter him. She hoped he would be there. That she might ask questions and he might answer. She wished — more than she cared to admit — to ask for his side of the story regarding his past dealings with Mr Wickham, which might explain the officer’s present actions.

The path was empty, and she leaned against a tree, looking around for a sign of him. She waited longer than dignity strictly allowed, pacing a little way and returning, listening for footsteps that never came. At last, dissatisfied and more unsettled than before, she turned back towards the parsonage.

There she found Sir William already preparing for departure, his luggage at the door. They had a last breakfast together, and Sir William apologised repeatedly for all the trouble he had caused with his illness and then with his friend Mr King. A long farewell was taken before the gentleman entered his carriage and left.

As soon as he disappeared from view, Mr Collins addressed his wife.