Desperate Hearts: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 9

  “No, Miss Bingley” Bridget responded. “I understand the object and our roles in this drama. Gino and I have talked it over and we are certain that we can perform the job you have hired us for, and draw to a beneficial result.”

  “Very good. I shall be leaving for Hertfordshire tomorrow morning. If you need to speak with me this evening, you may call here. If any questions or problems arise while I am in Hertfordshire, write to me here” and she handed Bridget another paper. “You will also need to send me regular updates on your progress – how many times he saw you and where. Send an express any time it becomes necessary, and be sure to write to me using your own home address, not the Mayfair address, as your return address. When you write, be sure to use only your stage name, never your married name. And do not refer to Mr. Darcy by name, or to Mr. Moretti as your husband. We can leave no written evidence of this endeavour. Is that clear?”

  Bridget nodded.

  “And one last thing: Although we want Mr. Darcy to see you together as much as possible, and that will be easier if you are staying in Mayfair, you must also be prepared to remove yourselves to your own home on short notice should anything go amiss. If I receive pertinent intelligence I shall send you an express; I expect that if there is a problem you will send an express to me. If this should happen, I will expect you to remove from the Mayfair house immediately without leaving a forwarding address. Let him wonder where you have gone to. Do you have any questions?” Caroline asked.

  “No, I understand.” Bridget replied.

  Just then the butler entered the room and advised Mrs. Moretti that the gentleman was awaiting her in their carriage. Bridget thanked him and started to walk out to the hall when Caroline stood and touched her arm to stop her. Bridget turned to look at her with a questioning expression, and Caroline said firmly “Lady Catherine and I are placing a great deal of trust in you. Do not disappoint us.”

  “No, we shall not do that I assure you.” Then she turned, retrieved her bonnet and gloves, and went out to meet her husband.

  Twenty-one: Rosings Park, several days later

  “And where do you think you are going?” Lady Catherine enquired of her daughter, who had appeared in the breakfast room in traveling clothes, with several pieces of luggage. She was accompanied by her companion, her personal maid, and a footman, just as her mother was preparing to break her fast.

  “I am away to town, Mother. I will spend some days in a hotel while I have my solicitor arrange with a purchasing agent to find a house or flat for me.” Anne ignored her mother’s look of astonishment and nonchalantly continued to put on her bonnet and pull on her gloves.

  “You will do nothing of the sort,” Lady Catherine stood and with a wave of her hand dismissed the servants attending her daughter. Anne held out a hand to stay them.

  “You forget, Mother, that I am of age, and in possession of a sizeable legacy left to me by my father. And that I may do with it as I choose. In fact, I suspect he would be quite pleased to know that I am using it for the purpose of finally escaping from you.” Anne could not resist delivering this barb.

  Lady Catherine closed her eyes, put her hand to her heart, and sank heavily back down in her chair. “How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child!” she hissed at her daughter.

  “And what exactly should I be thanking you for, Mother? For treating me as a helpless child and keeping me as a virtual prisoner all these years? Or for playing a malicious trick on my cousin and claiming it was done for my benefit?” Anne spat back at her.

  Lady Catherine regained some semblance of composure before responding. “Anne, you know your delicate constitution requires my closest care and attention. You have never complained before about all the advantages you enjoy as the daughter of the mistress of Rosings Park. And you have known since you were but a wee tot that you and Darcy are intended for each other. That your marriage will unite our two great families and our estates. Darcy knows this too, yet he hesitates and dithers and refuses to do his duty and declare for you. I have spoken with him repeatedly for years and he still does not honour his mother’s wishes, let alone mine. And he certainly shows no regard for your wishes. He must be brought to bear. I am not pleased to resort to trickery, but I have exhausted all other avenues. He does not listen to reason.”

  Anne stopped and looked directly at her mother. “You have used my so-called delicate health to keep me here, away from society, for your own comfort and convenience. I have long suspected that you encourage my alleged delicacy by keeping me indoors, inactive, and alone. And what makes you think you know what my wishes are, Mother? Have you ever asked me? And what about Darcy? Have you ever asked him what his wishes are? Have you ever cared anything for what path we want our lives to follow? Have you ever cared about anything except enforcing some foolish, presumptuous decree made by yourself and my aunt Lady Anne over twenty years ago without considering the happiness of your children? Have you ever looked at me or at Darcy as anything beyond pawns in your game of marital chess? Have you ever considered that we might want to choose our own destinies, our own marriage partners, our own roads to happiness?”

  Anne shook her head vehemently. “No, Mother, you have not. For your information, I do not want to marry Darcy. He is my family and I love him, but I am not in love with him. That is not enough for me, and I know it is not enough for Darcy. Now that he has found a woman with whom he shares love and affection, what do you do? What do you do for the gentleman you claim as your favourite nephew? Do you wish him well and rejoice in his happiness? No, you selfishly do everything in your power to sabotage his happiness, to compel him to bend to your demands! And you do so in league with that horrible Bingley woman who no doubt wants Darcy for herself. How can you do it, Mother?”

  During all this, Lady Catherine sat and stared at her daughter – who never in her recollection had strung so many words together, much less spoken to her in such a manner – with her chin haughtily uptilted and her mouth pressed into a straight line.

  “No answer, Mother? Well, I shall not be a party to it. I am only ashamed that it has taken me this long to make my arrangements and that Darcy may have already been exposed to your scheme. I have written to my Aunt Matlock to accept her invitation to spend the next Season in town with her. She has offered to sponsor my long-overdue presentation at Court and to introduce me to eligible gentlemen, and I hope that once free of you and your obsession with my marrying Darcy I may finally find my own true love. As Darcy has done.”

  Lady Catherine closed her eyes but otherwise remained still and silent as a statue.

  “So you do not wish me well, Mother? You do not wish me happiness, Mother? Were you expecting me to stay here at your beck and call so you can continue controlling me forever? It is over, Mother. I am away immediately to town. If you need to contact me you can do so through my solicitor. I always knew you to be self-centered, but I never before realized how deep that streak of evil runs through you, the evil streak that reveals itself when things do not go your way. So long as you limited directing your bile towards inconsequential people like that toadying parson I could make excuses for you. But when you impose yourself on people I care about … well, that is my limit, and I must get away from here and from you before you inspire me to run mad.”

  “Anne, you cannot go,” her mother gazed again at her daughter, and finally spoke in a voice both commanding and filled with anguish. “You are my child, my very life. You cannot leave me. Rosings is your home; you cannot leave Rosings!” With a haughtier mien, Lady Catherine addressed the three servants waiting to depart with Anne: “Mrs. Jenkinson, Matilda, Andrews – you are my servants and I forbid you to leave!”

  Mrs. Jenkinson spoke for all of them: “Madam, we have tendered our resignations to Mr. Denton. We are now employed by Miss DeBourgh, and intend to follow her to her new home in town. Mr. Fenton joins us and has already departed to make arrangements for our accommodations while we travel. I will remain as Miss Anne’s comp
anion, Matilda will carry on as her lady’s maid, and Andrews will stay on as general factotum until we can hire additional staff. We all wish you good health and happiness, but our loyalty now is to Miss Anne.”

  Anne smiled smugly at her mother, who tried one last tack: “How will you travel? You know nothing about traveling without me. I forbid you to commandeer any of my carriages or drivers. Or are you planning to travel by post?” Lady Catherine haughtily threw in this last snide comment.

  “Mother, you have tried to control me by making me feel inadequate and dependent on you. I have finally come to realize that I am not the helpless dependent little creature you believe me to be … or desire to make me be. The phaeton and pair are mine. My father bought them for me before he died. And you yourself bought me a riding horse, of which Fenton is making good use at this moment. We four will travel in the phaeton. It will be somewhat crowded and uncomfortable, but it is not a lengthy journey and none of us are very large so we have agreed to endure it. Granted that it will not be as pleasant as traveling in the chaise, and that the journey might take somewhat longer. If I can locate a larger carriage in Bromley I will hire it on the spot; this is one of the jobs that Fenton has been tasked with: enquiring about the availability of a more suitable carriage and negotiating a good price. You see, I am far more capable and resourceful than you have ever given me credit for – or permitted me to be. Now we must be off. Goodbye, Mother. I look forward to beginning to live my own life.”

  And with that, the four of them were out the door, into the phaeton, and off down the long drive connecting the portico to the highway. As they drove off, Lady Catherine went to the window and, pushing the heavy curtain aside, looked after them, a tear rolling down each cheek. But the traveling party did not notice. They did not even look back at the house. They looked only forward.

  Twenty-two: Netherfield, after breakfast a few days later; the large sitting room

  “The post, madam.” The servant held out a silver tray with two letters on it, both addressed to Caroline Bingley. One was from Deirdre Hetherington, on thick cream-laid paper. The other, on lesser-quality blue paper, was from Bridget Colley. Caroline regarded with mild distaste Bridget’s ostentatiously flourished hand. Typical of an actress, Caroline mused, with a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head.

  As the servant turned away, Caroline placed Deirdre’s letter on the table next to the overstuffed sofa where she was resting, and eagerly broke open the seal on Bridget’s letter. As she read, her smug smile grew wider.

  Dear Miss Bingley,

  We have now seen, and been seen by, our object at least twice. A few days ago we were returning to the house in our carriage in the early afternoon and noticed two gentlemen regarding us from an upstairs window in the building across the street. One of these gentlemen was our object. I looked straight up at him and smiled, then took my own gentleman’s arm and entered our house. I peeked up again and saw that our object had backed away from the window whilst the other gentleman alternately stared down at us and turned back at our object. He seemed distressed and appeared to be shouting. Later that evening, Gino visited White’s and was almost immediately accosted by the second gentleman from across the street. This gentleman was dressed in the military uniform of an officer. He slapped Gino on the back heartily like an old friend and told him that he had seen us earlier as we took possession of the house. And then the gentleman laughed, although as Gino tells it the laugh was accompanied by raised eyebrows and had an undercurrent of insinuation. It would appear that we have been convincing in our roles.

  The gentleman joined my Gino at his table, uninvited, and after ordering drinks he eased into an interrogation about us – where did we meet, how long have we known each other, where am I from, and the like. Gino evaded the questions for as long as he could, and after some time with the gentleman becoming more and more persistent, he finally begged off and left White’s.

  Tonight Gino returned to White’s after a couple of days’ absence and met up with his cousin Sally; I believe we told you about him when we discussed our connection to letting the house. From Sally, Gino learned that the gentleman/officer had been in the previous night and engaged himself in making enquiries about us. He even asked Sally for information, apparently having made Sally’s acquaintance last year during a military action involving the ambassador. The gentleman left unsatisfied, having learnt only that Gino had met me in London but that I hailed from one of the other shires. This intelligence, of course, we had prompted Sally to report, and as Gino tells it, had the desired effect on the gentleman.

  Yesterday Gino and I visited the bookshop you indicated and sure enough our object was there, browsing the stacks in the History section. We made a point of laughing and giggling until we caught his attention. When he turned his head towards us, his eyes, his lips, his whole face seemed to sag, betraying downcast emotions. At one point he walked past us and, bowing slightly, spoke to me. “Good day, Madam” was all he uttered, and absolutely expressionless. I gave him a dazzling smile and responded “Sir” with a slight curtsy. Then Gino put his arm on mine and reclaimed my attention. I watched as our object’s shoulders drooped, and he all but ran out of the shop.

  We have not seen either of the gentlemen today but tomorrow we are planning a morning walk in the park and perhaps we shall see him, and be seen by him, there. The gentleman/officer had mentioned to Gino that they ride in the park in the morning and even invited him to join them. He is certainly determined.

  I believe we are well on our way to accomplishing our goal, but must confess that the officiousness of this gentleman/officer has us somewhat concerned. Do you know who he is, what his connection to our object is, and what his game might be? I will keep you informed as events transpire. Will you be returning to town any time soon?

  Yours etc,

  Bridget Colley

  Caroline’s smile began to fade as she read about the gentleman, who could only be Colonel Lionel Fitzwilliam, Darcy’s cousin and close life-long friend. That officious man seems to stick his nose into all of Mr. Darcy’s business, she thought to herself. She grabbed the letter from Deirdre and headed for the sitting room door, planning to make her way to her apartments to consider this unforeseen turn of events and how to keep the Colonel from unravelling her, and Lady Catherine’s, carefully-crafted plans.

  Charles, fortunately, was not at home, having gone yet again to see that insipid Bennet girl. We must succeed, she thought to herself, both for Charles and our family fortune as well as for myself and Mr. Darcy. She almost skipped up the stairs; upon reaching her bedchamber she closed the door and flung herself onto her soft damask chaise to read Deirdre’s letter – and re-read Bridget’s.

  As Caroline suspected, Deirdre’s letter was full of all the entertainments Caroline had missed by departing early. She also mentioned that Walter had spoken of her several times and was looking forward to meeting her again in town. Caroline was pleased: if this plan for getting Darcy to marry her did not work out, at least she had a pleasant back-up in Walter Danbury.

  Twenty-three: Darcy’s London townhouse, at around the same time

  Colonel Fitzwilliam strode across the street to Darcy’s townhouse. Once again he had called on Gino Moretti and been told that the Morettis were not at home. Clearly the Morettis did not wish to receive him, as he had witnessed their arrival at the ambassador’s house not a half-hour before.

  The Colonel’s mouth had tightened into a straight line. He was becoming more and more concerned about his cousin’s state of mind and the effect it was having on his health. That Darcy loved this woman he had no doubt; he was equally convinced that she in turn loved another. Or at least she preferred another. And that she had used his cousin very badly.

  The Colonel walked into the study, where he found Darcy standing at the window, shoulders slumped and head bowed, a drink in his hand. When Darcy turned to face the Colonel he saw that Darcy’s jacket and waistcoat were unbuttoned, his cravat untied, and his ha
ir uncombed – doubtless due to repeatedly running his hands through it – lending his normally very proper cousin an air of slovenliness.

  “I saw them again this morning, Fitzwilliam. I was riding in the park and I passed them near the bridle trail. I suppose they were out walking, but when I saw them …” here he hesitated and a lump formed in his throat “… he was leaning against a tree holding her in his arms, kissing her neck, and she was laughing and teasing him.” It seemed almost as if Darcy had disengaged his bones as he slumped even further. The Colonel rushed over to catch him in case he collapsed.

  “I shall go over there and confront her,” Darcy told Fitzwilliam in a quiet, plaintive voice slurred from brandy.