Six Inches Deep in Mud

Chapter 12

A s silly as it might sound, I believe I should think of my life as before and after ‘the fall’.

Falling upon Mr Darcy? It is beyond imagination! I can hardly wait to tell someone! Jane? Probably. Aunt Gardiner? Certainly. But I have to wait for the proper time. Mama? She would die of nerves if she knew.

I am torn between laughing and doubting. Did it really happen? Mr Darcy said he was afflicted by the same doubt of things happening in reality or only in dreams. He said he had dreamt of me many times. My mind does not dare believe such a confession, but my heart trusts it. Why would such a man lie about such a thing? He certainly gains nothing from deceiving me.

His kisses — his kisses — on my palm and on my wrist were simply heart melting. I have never felt kisses before, but how can such a sensation be repeated? I am stunned by my boldness in kissing Mr Darcy. Did I truly do that?

Several hours have passed since, and the rain is still pouring. When I returned, with my clothes dirty and wet, I had the good fortune to only see Jane, who followed me into our room. I explained to her that I had lost my footing and fallen on the wet grass, and she was thankful that I had not hurt myself. I had not, but Mr Darcy had, and I am truly worried for his injury. When we meet tomorrow, I shall insist on finding out whether he asked for Mr Jones’s assistance.

“Lizzy, your clothes are as dirty as they were when you walked to Netherfield to take care of me,” Jane teases me.

I smile; Mr Darcy and I seem to have a secret ritual when we meet: he keeps falling, and I keep muddying my hems.

I think and wait with so much anticipation for his visit tomorrow, though I am not sure what I expect. He said he would come, but he said nothing particular about the reason for the visit. He said he had long wished to reveal his feelings for me. Some of his words indicated his desires for the future rather clearly, but still, I am slightly nervous thinking of what might come next. I know my desires too, and I am quite amazed by them.

Only a fortnight ago, Mr Darcy was the last man in the world whose company I could enjoy. Now, I feel with all my being that he would be perfectly suited to me, that we could complete each other, even though our dispositions are so different, that I have so much to learn from him to improve myself. I am not sure what I can offer him in return as I do not believe I excel at anything. But I know I would willingly give him my heart, my loyalty, my affection, and my indefectible support in anything that might require it.

Will it be enough? I fear to seek an answer to this question. There are so many young women who would apparently offer him much more. But it seems he has chosen me above all those other women. Then why am I even thinking of such competition? Perhaps because everything is so fresh yet that I need time to accustom myself to the notion. His arms around me, the touch of his lips — how can I think logically with such distractions?

Dinner is a tiresome affair; I would be amused by Mr Collins’s formal ridiculousness were I not so distracted by my own thoughts. He has complimented the dishes, and now he is asking Mama which of us cooked them! Papa is amusing himself at his expense and glances at me from time to time. I know he is droll, but I cannot laugh.

Finally, the meal is over, and after a short while, we retire. Lying in my bed, I hear Jane talking from her side of the room, but I pay little attention to her.

The sound of the rain is soporific, and my eyes slowly close. I am trying to sleep, but the sensation of Mr Darcy’s arms around me and his lips on my skin is too strong and unsettling. If I think about it more deeply, I believe I can even sense his tongue touching my skin, as if he had tasted it. Of course, it may well be only my imagination; I cannot trust myself these days.

***

When I awaken, I find I have slept later than usual. Jane is already dressed and looking out of the window at the weather. I hurry, and shortly we go downstairs; it is already breakfast time.

In the morning parlour, we find Mama, talking animatedly to Mr Collins.

“Ah, Lizzy, Jane, we were talking about you,” Mama says.

“Indeed we were,” Mr Collins adds. “I was telling Mrs Bennet that my noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, to whom I owe my present excellent situation in life, has insisted on me finding a wife as soon as possible. I must set an example in my parish, and a happy marriage is of the utmost importance.”

“Mr Collins is of the opinion that he should begin his search among his family and friends — an idea with which I cannot find any fault,” Mrs Bennet says. “I have already informed him that Jane is expected to become engaged very soon.”

“Mama!” Jane cries, her cheeks crimson.

“Oh hush, girl, we all know it is the truth. But for the rest of my girls, I have no knowledge of any gentlemen having an interest in any of them.”

I already feel irritated that Mr Collins is directing his grin towards me.

“I am sure Lady Catherine recommended Mr Collins find a wife soon, but I doubt any reasonable person would expect anyone to become engaged in just a few days,” I say.

Mr Collins looks disconcerted, proving that his mind was no stranger to such a thought. I am smiling to myself, thinking of Mama’s response when she finds out about Mr Darcy’s interest in one of her daughters.

Breakfast passes in tiresome conversation, to which Lydia rolls her eyes more than once. It is still raining, and the wind is blowing; it is weather that would keep anyone inside. Just as Mr Darcy predicted yesterday.

Hours pass in dull conversation, and it is finally noon, so I become restless about the forthcoming visit and take myself to a chair by the window, looking out. I should be eager and happy; instead, for some strange reason, I am nervous and anxious.

Finally, I spot a carriage, and my heart is unsettled. I am tempted to run to the door, but of course I resist such a silly impulse.

John announces the guest, and I stand up, waiting. Mr Bingley enters with his usual bright, contagious smile, greeting all of us joyfully. I stare at the doorway, but nobody else appears behind him, and my smile and heart freeze. My first thought is that something bad has happened to Mr Darcy. But then why is Mr Bingley so cheerful?

Mama introduces Mr Collins to Mr Bingley, and the latter takes a chair near Jane, then addresses me.

“Miss Elizabeth, Mr Bennet, my friend Mr Darcy asked me to convey to you his apologies and regrets for not being able to call today. Some urgent business required his presence in town immediately, and he had to leave yesterday. He gave me this book for Miss Elizabeth. She must know what it is about.”

I feel my hands trembling, and a snake of panic coils down my spine. He has left for London? Yesterday? How is this possible? I take the book from Mr Bingley without thinking, but I do not even read the title. My head is spinning; I feel the room is suddenly too warm, and I cannot breathe.

“How considerate of Mr Darcy to send his excuses,” Papa says. “Very thoughtful of him, although he was under no obligation. I enjoyed his company, and I hoped to see him again.”

“He said he would return in time for the ball,” Mr Bingley continues. “I hope he is able to conclude his business as quickly as he expects to.”

“I hope nothing unfortunate has happened,” Papa says.

“He only mentioned it was something in regard to his aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh and her daughter, Miss Anne de Bourgh. They are in London and requested Darcy’s presence.”

The details startle me, but I have no time to consider the information before Mama interjects.

“Lady Catherine de Bourgh? Can it be the same lady you mentioned earlier, Mr Collins? Your esteemed patroness?” she enquires.

“Indeed it is, my dear Mrs Bennet,” Mr Collins replies with much emphasis. “What an extraordinary coincidence that you are acquainted with Mr Darcy, her nephew and the most excellent gentleman, about whom Lady Catherine speaks so often! I have not met him in person yet, but I am told he is one of those young men blessed with all the traits one could wish for — a large fortune, the best connections, an old, respectable, and influential family, as well as a remarkable education.”

“We have only met Mr Darcy a few times, so we have not had the chance to discover all his qualities,” Mama says in a tone that proves she does not agree with such a laudable description. I cannot blame her; a fortnight ago, I would not have agreed either.

Indeed, what a coincidence that the lady about whom Mr Collins speaks at length and with annoying reverence is Mr Darcy’s aunt. What could have happened to her to make him leave so urgently? Just yesterday, his only interest had seemed to be to call at Longbourn, yet all of a sudden, something had altered his determination.

I feel selfish and childish to think in such a manner. After all, there could be a hundred things more important than his visit to Longbourn. He did convey his apologies and send me a book. That is enough proof that he thought of me…he has not forgotten his promise to me. He also told Mr Bingley that he would return for the ball, and there can be only one reason for such haste, I know. He wishes to dance with me, as he declared several times. If I could use my wit, I would see there is no reason for distress. And yet, I have a feeling of dread and am already gloomily distressed.

Mr Bingley’s visit lasts almost an hour; the conversation is engaging, and everyone seems in good spirits. I remember nothing of it. As soon as he leaves, I return to my room with Mr Darcy’s book. Only then do I look at the title and realise it is another I have not heard of. The Vision of Don Roderick — again Mr Walter Scott and again a book published only weeks prior.

I begin to read it, but my mind is not composed enough for poetry. Claiming a headache, I remain in my room till dinner, when at last and without any inclination, I am forced to join the rest of my family, who are already gathered in the dining room.

“Mr Bingley is truly the most amiable gentleman I have ever met,” Mama is saying. “And he has admired Jane from the very beginning, which is no wonder. Everybody admires Jane the moment they meet her.”

“Mama!” Jane cries, blushing.

“Hush, Jane! You know you cannot contradict me!” She turns to Mr Collins. “We first met Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy at an assembly in Meryton. Mr Bingley danced two sets with Jane! Mr Darcy, however, was rather aloof and haughty, and he did not dance at all.”

“My dear Mrs Bennet, it pains me to contradict you, but you must know that we cannot compare Mr Darcy with the rest of us! He has graced balls at Almack’s and even at St James’s Palace with his presence. We cannot expect him to dance at a country assembly.”

“We can and we did, Mr Collins. I believe a gentleman should behave in a way appropriate to the place he happens to be,” Mama insists.

“Well, I have never been to either Almack’s or St James’s, and I still do not dance whenever I have the chance to avoid it,” Papa says.

“You did dance when you were young, before we married,” Mama retorts.

“Yes, like all silly young men who are in a hurry to find a wife,” Papa replies, his mouth turned up in a smile. “If Mr Darcy’s fortune is only half that we were led to believe, he does not need to dance to find ten wives if he does not wish to.”

The conversation, which would have amused me at any other time, is grating on my nerves. My agitation is now so strong that I feel sick, and I have no appetite. I am searching for an excuse to leave the table and return to my chamber.

“I shall tell you a secret that I am not supposed to disclose, but I believe it is safe to reveal it since we are family,” Mr Collins says, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial way. “Mr Darcy does not need to find a wife. He is engaged to Lady Catherine’s daughter, his cousin Miss Anne de Bourgh. When I last saw her, Lady Catherine told me that she intended to meet him in London soon to settle the affair.”

I look at Mr Collins, trying to understand his words. My heart has stopped, and I am struggling to breathe. I hear a loud noise, and I realise I have dropped my fork on my plate.

“Lizzy dear, are you unwell?” Jane asks me.

“I am perfectly well,” a strange voice replies, and I belatedly understand it is mine, as I am trying to speak around the lump in my throat. “I was just listening to Mr Collins. I confess I am surprised. I spoke to Mr Darcy many times at Netherfield, but he never mentioned being engaged.”

“Lady Catherine said their engagement is of a peculiar kind,” Mr Collins says in the same insinuating, secretive tone, leaning towards me. “It was decided when they were in their cradles, and it has remained a family matter until now. Lady Catherine says she expects Mr Darcy to propose soon.”

“Mr Darcy must be around thirty years old?” Papa asks.

“Yes. Miss de Bourgh is five-and-twenty, and Mr Darcy is three years older,” Mr Collins explains.

“Well, Mr Darcy is certainly taking his time if he has not yet proposed after a twenty-year engagement,” Papa jokes.

“My dear Mr Bennet, we cannot judge the reasoning of a gentleman like Mr Darcy,” Mr Collins says gravely.

“I am not judging him. I am only reflecting on the situation. Is it not ironic that Lady Catherine de Bourgh sent you to find a wife in a few days, while her nephew needs over twenty years to marry one that was found by others?”

Papa’s tone reflects his amusement, and he looks at me with a grin I know only too well. At any other time I would share his entertainment, but now I cannot. My heart resumes its beating, which is now as fast as the spinning of my head.

“Lady Catherine’s requests are always commands to me, as I know they are meant for my benefit,” Mr Collins declares, seeming annoyed by my father’s mockery. “I pray that Mr Darcy will return to Hertfordshire before I leave. There is nothing I wish more than to express my admiration to him,” he concludes.

“Well, I cannot claim any expertise in the matter of marriage,” Papa answers, keeping his amused tone. “However, I dare advise you that, in order to comply with Lady Catherine’s demands, you would do better to express your admiration towards a lady while Mr Darcy is away. Otherwise, you may return without a betrothed and have to explain your failure to her ladyship.”

Mr Collins looks incapable of understanding the joke, and the words ‘failure’ and ‘Lady Catherine’ in the same sentence seem to panic him.

I cannot bear it any longer, so I claim a sudden headache and quickly excuse myself, hurrying to my room. I hear Mama blaming my habit of walking regardless of the weather and her assumption that I have certainly caught a cold.

Once in my room, I quickly change into my nightgown and climb into my bed, covering myself with the sheets. Jane arrives minutes later, and I beg her to let me sleep as I do not feel well. She obeys and leaves, and when she finally closes the door, I stop fighting my tears, allowing them to fall freely, hoping they will wash away some of the turmoil that is torturing me.

Mr Darcy engaged? Can it be true? Surely it cannot be. It is just a mistake, a misunderstanding, a ridiculous claim of Mr Collins’s, like many others.

I cannot believe that Mr Darcy has deceived me so ruthlessly. It is beyond logic and beyond common sense. Nobody forced him to say those words, to express his admiration for me, to kiss me, to embrace me. Nobody forced him to come every day to meet me at Oakham Mount. Nobody forced his confession or his tender gestures. What other reason than his feelings can have induced him to act in such a way?

I do not know how long such thoughts torment me, but I know I cry for a long while, longer than I remember ever doing before.

My senses, as well as my heart, attempt to teach me reason and tell me there must be some misunderstanding. I am aware that I am being unreasonable. But I was unreasonable when I fell in love with Mr Darcy too, so I cannot trust myself. Besides, the pain in my chest is too strong, too deep to allow any thorough consideration. If only this rain would stop. Its sound is maddening, and each drop feels like a blow to my head, which is already aching. My only wish is to sleep for a long, long time, perhaps till the day Mr Darcy returns and I can confront him with all the questions that I currently have to face by myself.