Carrie Bebris - The Matters at Mansfield

“You are slumping,” she said.

“I am.”

“You must be my other husband, then. Fitzwilliam Darcy never slumps.”

“He does today.” He remained thus another minute, looking worn out from the day’s events in a way that went beyond physical. Just as Elizabeth began to wonder if he were going to speak again or fall asleep in that position, he sighed and opened his eyes. “If this ‘other husband’ of yours is Mr. Crawford, I entreat you to produce him, as I had no luck locating him myself.”

“Mr. Crawford has not leisure to slump. His trips to the altar consume all his time.”

“I begin to think they must. It would not surprise me if that is where he is now — in another village, with another woman.”

“For a man who only pretended to be a sailor, he does seem to have a girl in every port. I believe, however, that he will not be mooring again in this particular harbor. Anne has not asked for him, and Meg is so angry that she set off in pursuit of him after you departed.”

“On horseback?”

“She rides fairly well, actually — not that I am the most discriminating judge of horsemanship. I believe Lady Catherine was unpleasantly surprised by her competence, as she furnished the mount in partial hope that Meg would meet with some accident.”

“That is a severe indictment of my aunt.”

“I merely repeat her own admission. She resents Meg’s existence almost as much as she does Mr. Crawford’s. Meg, however, had the effrontery to return unharmed.”

“And the others?”

“Neither Colonel Fitzwilliam nor Mr. Archer have yet come back.” A knock sounded on their door. “Though perhaps I spoke too soon.”

It was not one of the gentlemen, but Lady Catherine.

“Mr. Darcy, I knew I heard your voice.” She attempted to maneuver her way into the room without invitation, but Elizabeth prevented her from fully entering. Though Elizabeth’s tolerance for Lady Catherine’s arrogant behavior had by necessity increased during her ladyship’s residence at Pemberley, that tolerance fast approached its limit. Darcy’s aunt would have to settle for speaking to him from just within the doorway.

Darcy rose and came to stand behind his wife. “How is Anne?”

“Resting. She was so overwrought when she awakened that I asked the apothecary to administer more laudanum. How long did you intend to lounge in here before reporting to me?”

“Until I finished speaking with my wife.”

“What has she to do with the matter of Mr. Crawford’s disappearance? Any news you have is of far greater import to me. I should have been apprised of it first.”

“Had I found Mr. Crawford, I would have informed you directly I returned. As it happens, I did not.”

“Let us hope, then, that Colonel Fitzwilliam or Mr. Archer completed their mission with better results. You gave up prematurely, in my opinion. Apparently, I must rely upon my other nephew or my agent to protect our family’s interests.”

“It grew dark, and I saw little point in continuing my course when none of the occupants of any house I passed had observed a gentleman who met Mr. Crawford’s description. Obviously, he took a different route. I fervently hope my cousin or Mr. Archer did achieve more success, for I am as anxious as you are to see Mr. Crawford answer for his crimes.”

“Surely you comprehend the gravity of Anne’s circumstances. It is imperative that we act quickly to—”

Lady Catherine fell silent at the sound of the inn’s door opening below. A moment later, Mr. Archer mounted the stairs.

“Did you apprehend the scoundrel?” her ladyship asked.

“I did not. He is gone. But despite his absence, we may initiate some of the legal matters we discussed.”

“Then let us proceed posthaste.” She turned to Elizabeth and Darcy. “You will excuse us while we confer. Mrs. Darcy, I would consider it a favor if you would sit with Anne and administer more laudanum if she should wake. Do not allow her to cry or indulge in hysteria — as I have told her myself, such emotions are unnecessary, not to mention unbecoming.”

Elizabeth went to Anne’s room not in deference to Lady Catherine, but out of her own desire to comfort the unfortunate Mrs. Crawford. When Anne awakened, Elizabeth offered not laudanum but compassion. Anne did not need sedation, she needed a chance to grieve, whether by giving voice to her feelings or experiencing them in the privacy of her own heart. Her anguish was deep, but its expression hardly constituted hysteria. They conversed a little, Anne’s pain and humiliation still too raw to fully articulate. Afterward, she settled into a natural sleep that Elizabeth believed would do far more to restore her strength and spirits than drug-induced lethe.

By the time Elizabeth heard Colonel Fitzwilliam’s tread on the stair, the hour had grown late. He was already talking with Darcy in their chamber as Elizabeth emerged from Anne’s room to join them. The colonel immediately interrupted the conversation to enquire after Anne. His expression was grave, but eased slightly at her report.

“I am relieved that she has found peace for the moment,” he said. “It is that blackguard who deserves to suffer.”

“You did not overtake him, I presume?”

“No one has seen him. It is as if the devil passed invisible through the countryside on his journey back to hell. Pardon me for speaking so strongly, Mrs. Darcy. I wish I could aim more than words at Mr. Crawford.”

“You merely voice what we are all thinking.”

“Do you think it would be permissible if I stood watch in Anne’s chamber through the night? I doubt Mr. Crawford will dare show his face here again, but if he does, I do not trust him.”

Elizabeth admired Colonel Fitzwilliam’s protective instincts toward his cousin. “I think Anne needs the support of all her family right now.”

After bidding them good night, Colonel Fitzwilliam remained at Anne’s side until relieved by Lady Catherine herself, who chased him out of Anne’s room upon discovering him there. It was improper, her ladyship insisted, for any man to spend time unchaperoned with Anne in her bedchamber, let alone at such a late hour. She would superintend Anne’s comfort and safety herself.

The supervision had amounted to rousting Elizabeth from her own bed to pass the night beside Anne’s, where Elizabeth alternated between dozing lightly and reflecting on whether the solicitude of an honorable male cousin could truly cause Anne’s reputation any greater damage than it had already suffered. She determined that it could not, that Anne deserved consolation from whatever quarter and at whatever hour it was tendered, and that the chair in Anne’s room was the most uncomfortable piece of furniture ever fashioned.

As it turned out, the vigil proved unnecessary. Though Anne had wakened during part of the colonel’s watch, she slept through Elizabeth’s entirely, and Henry Crawford did not return.

But his horse did.

Riderless.

The restless night gave way to an equally restless morning. Anne, it seemed, had been the only member of their party to capture more than intermittent sleep. Elizabeth had returned to her chamber to find Darcy dressed, and when they went down to breakfast they found Colonel Fitzwilliam already at table.

“I could not lie still,” he confessed. “I am near mad for useful employment, but I know not what action to take.”

“At present there is little to be done beyond turning the affair over to the magistrate,” Darcy said.