She could not hear the rain that her mother had predicted, and she shifted anxiously before turning inside and rushing up the stairs to Mary’s chamber.
“Mary, would you help me with something and not ask questions?” she asked as she burst into her younger sister’s room. Mary looked up from the large book she was scrawling in.
“What do you need?” she asked slowly. Elizabeth glanced around before firmly shutting the bedroom door behind her.
“Do you remember last year when we conjured rain? I need you to help me do that now. Just a little rain, nothing too heavy,” Elizabeth rushed to explain. Mary stared at her for a long moment and then sighed as she removed her spectacles.
“Why don’t you ask Kitty? You know I do not practice often.” Elizabeth grimaced slightly.
“No, I know, but you understand the spell so much better than I do, and Kitty is known for mistakes in her craft. And besides…” Elizabeth said, trailing off.
“You don’t want her to think that magic is a toy we can conjure up for things like ensnaring a husband and manufacturing schemes?” Mary finished, her voice dripping with censure. “Nothing good comes from meddling in these affairs. Infatuation created by magic is toxic. She who enchants a man’s desires will be laid bare to the most vile of repercussions.” Elizabeth had the grace to flush for a moment, but was undeterred.
“I am not attempting to sway the gentleman or interfere unduly. I just wish Jane to have an opportunity to explore the connection. I am not suggesting we enchant him! Please Mary, just this once, and I will help you with anything you want.” The room was silent for a long moment.
“There are several historical tomes I want, as well as an additional spell book. They do not concern Hertfordshire or agricultural magic, and as such papa is uninterested in obtaining them. He gives you whatever you want; I want your help convincing him.”
Elizabeth gave her word immediately, and within a moment the two sisters were slipping out the back door and down the hill behind Longbourn toward the creek that ran the length of the property.
“Now we must be very precise in our wording, lest we cause a typhoon, like a Devon coven did during the winter of 1747—” Mary was droning as the sisters dashed down the hill, picking up their skirts as they went. Elizabeth stole a glance back toward Longbourn to ensure no one was waiting outside, and then led them through the brush next to the creek.
The sisters pulled their boots and stockings off quickly, biting their cheeks against the cold air nipping up their legs.
“I believe I remember the rite well enough,” Elizabeth said, holding her hand out to her sister. Mary took it with a sigh, and they stepped into the icey cold creek. Only their extensive magical training kept them from shrieking at the shocking temperature, but they steadied themselves, took a deep breath, raised their joined hands toward the sky, and began the chant. Elizabeth noticed with a small amount of guilt that Mary’s pronunciation was far more precise than her own, and where Elizabeth struggled over the next words, Mary proceeded confidently. Not for the first time, she wondered how skilled of a witch Mary would be if she merely worked her craft more.
As the two sisters turned and chanted in time, the low water of the creek began to whirlpool around them, rising higher and higher until it was almost to their knees. Elizabeth removed a bit of rope from her pocket, and systematically she and Mary began tying knots into the rope in an attempt to call the winds. All at once the sky above them cracked open, thunder reverberating through their bodies as rain began to fall. Elizabeth barely bit back a shriek of delight when the downpour enveloped them, and the two sisters scrambled up the embankment.
“Somehow it seems far more elegant and calm when we help papa call rain for the harvest,” Elizabeth shouted through the rain as the two struggled to shove their feet back into their boots.
“That’s because father does a more controlled version of the rite, where he calls the clouds in an orderly fashion. We did a raw rite; we wanted rain, and so therefore we conjured it from water that already existed. Agricultural magic is far more refined, but unfortunately requires a bit more finesse than we have,” Mary responded, somehow still managing to sound droll despite having to shout over the rain.
The rain stayed heavy throughout the night, and with each hour that passed Mrs. Bennet’s spirits increased.
“This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!'' said Mrs. Bennet, more than once, as if the credit of making it rain were all her own. Elizabeth struggled to ignore her mother’s cheerfulness, and threw herself instead into one of Mary’s books in an attempt to abate her guilt. She told herself repeatedly that she hadn’t done anything wrong or used her magic irresponsibly. Jane simply needed the opportunity to explore her feelings before she closed herself off forever, she told herself.
By the next morning, all rationale had failed her, and Elizabeth was growing increasingly concerned about Jane. Elizabeth’s nerves immediately turned into guilt at the arrival of a letter explaining that Jane had come down with a cold from her ride in the rain, and was to be detained at Netherfield until she was back to health. Elizabeth was immediately quite determined to go to her sister; after all, the fault of Jane’s illness laid squarely on her shoulders.
After convincing her parents and packing her reticule with a small tome of magic and the appropriate herbs for a healing ritual, Elizabeth set off down the lane for the brisk walk to Netherfield. The ground was still wet from the rain the night before, but she hardly cared. Her magic had forced her to endure far worse situations than a muddy field, and she would happily trade the bone-chilling wet of the evening before in favor of a soggy petticoat. That said, she did allow herself the occasional magic here and there to dry up several particularly large puddles in her way.
By the time she reached Netherfield, her skirts were more than a little muddy, and her face flushed from the glow of physical and magical exertion. She allowed herself a brief blush of embarrassment at her appearance as she was shown into the spacious breakfast room where everyone but Jane was assembled for breakfast, but was determined not to dwell on how she looked.
“How is my sister doing?” she asked after the proper courtesies had been paid. The room was silent for a moment, and at length Mr. Bingley responded with some agitation.
“Not very well, unfortunately. You have just missed the apothecary, who has told us she has a fever and is battling with a cold. He has recommended she stay in bed several days longer, and I must insist that she recuperate here,” he said finally. Miss Bingley gave him a cutting look briefly before turning to Elizabeth and nodding.
“Absolutely. She looked truly horrible when she arrived last night, and I will not hear anything about her being moved until she is ready,” Miss Bingley said. “Truly, I can’t account for it. That storm came out of absolutely nowhere. It was almost magical how it suddenly descended upon us.”
Miss Bingley smiled slightly at Darcy as she said this, and Elizabeth felt a flutter of fear in her stomach. Did they suspect the Bennets had magic? Had she been that bad at hiding the secret? And what did they think of Jane, to consider her capable of employing such tricks for her own favor? Embarrassed and panicking slightly, she almost didn’t hear Mr. Darcy when he spoke.
“I imagine you would like to inquire about your sisters health in person, Miss Elizabeth?” Elizabeth nodded, snapping out of her spiral.
“I would like that greatly. I hope to be of some help to her for her recovery,” she responded, curtseying to the room as the footman showed her out. The door had barely closed behind her when Miss Bingley let out a biting laugh.
“Considering that either the illness or the storm were a complete fabrication on her sister’s part, I can hardly imagine what Miss Eliza hopes to do,” she muttered to her sister, loud enough for Mr. Darcy to hear from across the room.
“You think Miss Bennet conjured a storm? Surely, even if the young lady does have magical powers, I’m positive you give her too much credit,” Mr. Darcy responded q
uickly. Mr. Bingley stared at the two, his brow furrowing.
“I don’t think it’s true. And even if it was, it’s abominably rude to discuss it, don’t you think?” Bingley snapped, pushing back from his chair to exit the room. As the door shut behind him, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst broke out in laughter and titters, and Mr. Darcy wished more than anything in the world that he had followed his friend.
III
Although Jane was not as ill as the Bingleys had led Elizabeth to believe, her older sister did seem rather miserable upon first inspection. After satisfying the worst of her worry, Elizabeth put her reticule on the bed and began digging within for the small book she had brought.
“I have brought some ingredients to do a healing rite for you. There’s no need for you to be stuck here with Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth said, drawing out the lady’s name and rolling her eyes. “Here, give me your hand. You’ll be better by the end of the day and we can go home together.” Elizabeth organized her materials on the bed and held her hand out to Jane, but her sister hesitated.
“Do you think we should hold off…” Jane said haltingly. Elizabeth stared at her incredulously.
“Jane, I know you prefer to avoid using magic for healing when it’s not necessary, but it seems rather pointless for you to stay here because of a simple cold when we could easily have you back home and in better health,” Elizabeth argued. She eyed her sister suspiciously as a flush crept across Jane’s face, though it was difficult to be sure if it was the fever or a blush.
“You know it is rude to practice in someone else’s home,” Jane said quietly, avoiding eye contact. Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes, but it is not like we are invoking any kind of great magic! I’m simply suggesting we burn some herbs to help you regain your strength. If he were ever to know, I’m sure Mr. Bingley would not mind. He does not seem like the superstitious sort,” Elizabeth responded. But Jane was adamant.
“Lizzy, it is not done. If Mr. Bingley were to ever find out I used magic in his home, I would be deeply ashamed. It is a strong enough offense to sever the connection completely,” Jane said hoarsely. Elizabeth was silent for a moment as she attempted to determine whether Jane’s objections were rooted in an overdeveloped sense of propriety, or a desire to not quit Mr. Bingley’s company yet. Hiding a small smile, she sighed.
“Fine, I will not do the rite. But will you at least allow me to put these herbs under your pillow? It is only a small kind of passive magic, and I promise it won’t heal you, only help you sleep a bit better.” Jane nodded reluctantly, and Elizabeth counted it a small victory.
“You should not have walked all this way for me, Lizzy. You’ve ruined your favorite walking dress,” Jane said, gesturing to her sister’s dress as she stifled a small cough.
“Do you think I care about a dress? Besides, I would ruin every dress in Hertfordshire to make sure you were well. Not to mention the added bonus of shocking Mr. Darcy speechless with my lack of decorum,” she laughed. Jane sighed and sat back against her pillows, shaking her head.
“Really, Lizzy, he is not that bad. I think you are rather harsh on the man, and are taking your embarrassment over the name mix-up out on him. Mr. Bingley thinks very highly of him,” Jane scolded. Elizabeth barely held in an unladylike snort.
“Not nearly as highly as Mr. Darcy thinks of himself, I’m sure,” Elizabeth joked. Seeing Jane’s warning face, she grew serious. “Truly, I do not think him a terrible sort. But he is rather dull, and seems to look only to find error. It is not a worldview I could easily adapt. He seems intelligent, and I will endeavor to keep an open mind, but I hardly think him a gentleman I will ever call a friend.”
Elizabeth turned around to gauge Jane’s reaction, and saw her sister fast asleep in the bed, her golden hair fanned out around her like a halo. Gathering the small spell book, she placed it back into her reticule, kissed Jane’s forehead, and quietly let herself out of the room.
She found the rest of the Netherfield party congregated silently in one of the sitting rooms, and joined them in equal form. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley sat, engrossed in their delicate embroidery, while Mr. Hurst dozed softly nearby. Mr. Darcy sat in the far corner, writing a letter, while Mr. Bingley hovered near the window with nervous energy, staring out at the rain that had recently started back up.
“Miss Eliza, I was just wondering how you were. Pray, tell us, how is Miss Bennet?” Miss Bingley asked as Elizabeth sat down near the window. Mr. Bingley turned quickly at the sound of the question and stared at Elizabeth, anxious to hear her answer. Biting back a smile, Elizabeth turned to the gentleman’s sister.
“She is doing better than I had expected, but I’m afraid she is not her regular self. She just fell asleep, and I hope that will aid in her recovery so that she can return home soon. As it is, I am afraid she may need to intrude on your hospitality a day longer,” Elizabeth said, looking toward the floor to hide her embarrassment.
“Absolutely!” Mr. Bingley agreed. “I must insist that she stay here throughout her whole recovery. I would not see her moved and her health jeopardized for a moment.”
Elizabeth looked back up and smiled slightly, shaking her head.
“I assure you that is not necessary. As soon as her fever breaks I believe she may go home. Knowing my sister as I do, she would be mortified to intrude upon you any further, and would likely be more comfortable being watched by family, rather than good friends,” she replied. Mr. Bingley had barely waited for her to finish speaking before he nodded emphatically, a wide smile on his face.
“I heartily agree. You must stay, Miss Elizabeth, as long as Miss Bennet requires. If it will give her peace of mind to aid her recovery, I must insist upon it.”
At length, Elizabeth was convinced to stay, and the party settled back into silence again. Elizabeth picked up a book from a nearby table and began to read, though in her worry over Jane and her discomfort at the company, she was not fully paying attention to the words. When she looked up at last, she saw that Mr. Darcy had stopped writing his letter and was staring at her curiously.
“Have I appropriated your book, Mr. Darcy?” she asked sweetly, holding the book up. “Would you like it back?” Mr. Darcy tilted his head slightly, reminding her overwhelmingly of a hound.
“No, I finished it this morning actually. Pray, are you enjoying it? You once asked me for proof of magic in our history books, and you are now holding one such tome. Has it convinced you at all?”
Elizabeth snapped her head back down to the book, eyeing the cover that she had ignored. Bronson’s History of English Magic. Steadying her heart rate, she looked back at Mr. Darcy and attempted to smile normally.
“Unfortunately I have not had enough time to discern whether I am prepared to believe your and Mr. Bronson’s claims. I must beg more time to deliberate before I can provide a truthful answer,” she responded. From the corner of her eye she saw Miss Bingley fail to disguise an eyeroll. Mr. Darcy, however, nodded.
“If you are truly a nonbeliever, Mr. Bronson may not convince you. But I have several other books I would happily recommend, should you wish to educate yourself further on the subject,” the gentleman responded. There was some deeper meaning in his voice that Elizabeth could not fully discern. Before she had time to formulate an answer, Miss Bingley had stood and approached the corner where Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth were situated.
“Come now, Mr. Darcy, even if Miss Eliza is a non-believer, it is hardly appropriate to encourage a young lady to pursue such indelicate and unfashionable fields of study, even if Miss Eliza is a bluestocking,” the lady purred, moving to stand behind Darcy’s desk. Elizabeth snapped her book shut and took a deep breath, quelling the urge to send something flying across the room toward Caroline Bingley’s head.
“I am far from a bluestocking, Miss Bingley. Though I do take enjoyment from learning, there are far too many subjects of which I am ignorant to truly deserve such a title,” she responded at last.
“And is magic o
ne of those areas where your education is lacking? I must say, it hardly seems a suitable field of study, even out here in the country,” Miss Bingley responded.
“There is hardly anything wrong with the study of its history; rather it is the study of its practice which is unsuitable for an accomplished young lady. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Elizabeth?” Mr. Darcy cut in.
“In basics, I believe I do. Though it is difficult for me to consider the pursuit of knowledge inherently bad. Knowledge in itself is not dangerous; rather it is what we do with that information that provides a deeper insight into our characters,” Elizabeth said, looking up in time to lock eyes with Mr. Darcy.
His gaze was inscrutable. Did he know that she practiced? She assumed he must, from the hard, disapproving look that he had fixed upon her. But then what was the point of such a conversation? Despite their brief acquaintance, he struck her as a rather straightforward man.
“Miss Eliza, I know you speak only to shock us,” Miss Bingley exclaimed. “Truly, you can’t believe that the study of magic is not dangerous and wholly unsuited for young ladies. Mr. Darcy surely agrees with me; he would never allow his sister to pursue such a course of study, would you sir?”
“I would not,” Mr. Darcy responded quickly.
“See? It is settled. I must say, Miss Darcy is the ideal that all accomplished and refined gentlewomen should look up to. I have rarely seen a lady more sophisticated, gentle in her manners, and pleasing in her address,” Miss Bingley stopped to peer over Mr. Darcy’s shoulder at his long forgotten letter. “Do you write to her, sir? Please, do send my regard and let her know how dearly I wish to see her again.”
An Unnatural Inheritance: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 3
