Confrontation The present version of SC omits Darcy's initial confrontation with Mr Bennet; we follow him only through his realisation that Jane is his sister, and only overhear the tail end of that conversation via Elizabeth. The original draft, however, did include it - I cut it out because it interfered with the flow of the story. So, here it is: Darcy left Jane to Bingley's tender care, and excused himself almost immediately thereafter, ignoring the curious glances he received from every member of the party. Within what seemed a very few minutes, he was at Longbourn, rehearsing four separate plans. A slatternly servant ushered him to the library, where her master apparently whiled away his life. "Mr Darcy," said Mr Bennet in some surprise. "What a very unexpected pleasure. Perhaps I could offer you - " "No." Mr Bennet raised his eyebrows. "I believe, sir," Darcy said, "that you have done quite enough." "I beg your pardon?" Darcy's eyes narrowed. "About twenty years ago, you and your wife lived in Yorkshire. When you returned to Hertfordshire, you brought with you a fair-haired girl you called your daughter. Is that true?" He had his answer in a moment; Mr Bennet turned ashen, tottered slightly, then crumpled into a chair. He looked almost as stricken as Lady Anne had, when her only daughter disappeared. Darcy went on relentlessly, "You will permit me the indulgence of telling a story, I hope. Eighteen years ago, you took Mrs Bennet to Houghton, the Earl of Ancaster's estate. You walked around the customary circuits; perhaps you saw a cat, followed by a small boy, but if so, you paid neither any mind. As you walked, you happened across a little girl - the earl's granddaughter, in fact - and for reasons incomprehensible to any sane or honourable mind, you took her." "I applaud your imagination, Mr Darcy," said Mr Bennet with something of his usual insouciance. "With the necessary additions, that pretty story would be worthy of a novel - but I fail to see how you mean to place the blame on me." "Why, it is quite simple," Darcy said. "I had thought you clever enough to perceive it yourself. I saw you." "Nonsense! Eighteen years ago, you could not have been more than a boy." Mr Bennet turned an even sicklier shade of grey. Enlightenment, it seemed, had finally dawned. "Indeed. I was the boy you passed, the boy chasing the cat. I did not look at you, but your wife interested me. I thought she was mad, you see, and I had never seen a madwoman before. So I studied her. Later, I described her to my mother and my uncle, but of course you could not be found, until - until now." Mr Bennet covered his face with his hands, while Darcy watched unsympathetically. "My sister was gone as if she had never been," he went on, weighing each word. "However, my cousin Elizabeth's gown was found floating on the pond. We have always assumed that she died there, by accident or - not, when Jane was stolen from us. Is that true?" "No," said Mr Bennet tiredly. "My wife said they were both orphans she had found drowning. Perhaps it was true; I convinced myself so, but I do not - I do not believe it now." "It was not true, then," Darcy said, white-faced, "but it is now." |