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That was a surprise. Perhaps the boy had grown even more than I thought.
He looked at me carefully. “Presuming you are, as you claimed, ‘silly and ignorant’, how did you manage to accomplish all this?”
That was a very good question that I sometimes wondered myself, but he deserved an answer.
“I was desperate, and I have a brother who was willing to help. People sometimes look down at my brother because he is an attorney or because his wife is silly and flighty… just like me… but he is a clever man. He helped me, but the scheme was mine and he shall not be blamed. He found me a forger who could write the letters, and I told him what to write. My brother helped me here and there, but did not know what I had planned. He still does not know the whole of it and probably would not approve if he did, but he was happy enough to see that either you or Mr Wickham came to some mischief.”
He nodded, perhaps for the first time realising that Wickham was not the only possible intended victim.
“I am still confused. That is the end of the story, but where is the beginning? How did you come to force Miss Elizabeth? How did you come to choose this particular way to solve it? How did it start?”
I liked the man more and more. I heard another big thump from the cellar as if someone had bumped up against the door, so judged we still had some time.
I took a deep breath. “Have you ever been ridiculed every day of your life, Mr Bingley?”
I rudely did not even wait for an answer before continuing. “Of course you have. Your sister seems like a relentless woman. Is that correct?”
He looked pale and surprised that, I of all people noticed, but eventually nodded.
“We share that unfortunate circumstance. My husband thought me silly and ignorant, but judged it better to ridicule me and my daughters than to try to help or educate us. If someone you love keeps telling you that you are stupid and unworthy, eventually you start believing it. Twenty or more years of ridicule can strip away what good sense you have, and I did not have an abundance to start with. Are you surprised I know that about myself—I am?”
He nodded in sympathy and I had another thought.
“And do you know what it is like to be afraid… I do not mean just worried; I mean truly terrified?”
His flinch was telling. I am not the cleverest woman who ever lived, but he was not the least bit subtle in his reaction.
I looked at him a bit more gently. “Who was it? Your father?”
He nodded, unable to speak.
“What was it? The belt? The rod? Worse?”
He seemed unable to speak, so I gave him some time., and he finally said, “All of those.”
That made sense. I had not put the pieces together, but they became as clear as if I were reading them in a book. While I had a lot to hold against my husband, at least that was not among his crimes.
“Did your sisters get the same treatment?”
He nodded, but then clarified, “They did… at first.”
“What did your father think of your demeanour? Did he like your amiable nature and friendliness? Were you always like that?”
He snorted in derision or surprise. “Hardly! He hated it. He was a harsh and implacable man, in business and at home. He thought it showed weakness, which he detested.”
“When did you start behaving thus?”
“When I was twelve or so. It infuriated him, and he let me have the full brunt of his displeasure, double or treble what I received before.”
We came to the crux of the matter. “When that happened, did he keep beating your sisters?”
He looked shocked that I had guessed the truth. I was not as clever as Lizzy. I had just been guessing, but hit close to the mark by accident and doubted I would do so a second time.
He looked thoughtful. “I believe I kept it up because he quit beating my sisters—he only ridiculed them.”
I stared at him with that revelation for a moment. “You deliberately provoked him to protect your sisters, did you not? You kept at it until the mask became permanent?”
He nodded, as if finally understanding something that had puzzled him for some time, but I was not done with him yet.
