Darcy and Elizabeth:
The Language of the Fan
By
Mary Lydon Simonsen
Quail Creek Publishing, LLC
http://marysimonsenfanfiction.blogspot.com
www.austenauthors.net
Directions for the proper use of a fan:
With handle to lips – Kiss me
Carrying a fan in the right hand in front of face – Follow me
Carrying in the left hand – Desirous of acquaintance
Elizabeth was slumped in a chair with a History of Sir Charles Grandison, Volume the First, face down on her lap, watching as her sister took another wheezy breath. The steady rhythm of Jane’s heaving chest was having a hypnotic effect on Lizzy, and she felt herself drifting off. But if she dozed off now, she would not sleep tonight, and she desperately needed a good night’s sleep.
The sisters had shared a bed since they were toddlers, and Jane had always been a bed hog. Usually, a mere nudge by Lizzy would get her older sister back on her side of the bed. But the apothecary’s draughts were doing their work, and Jane was in the middle of the bed with arms spread wide and dead to the world. As a result, Lizzy had spent some part of the previous night sleeping on a settee, on the carpet, or in a chair, and every muscle in her young back ached.
Three days earlier, Jane had attended a dinner at Netherfield Park hosted by Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst and had fallen ill. In Lizzy’s mind, Charles’s sisters had immediately come under suspicion. Someone, probably Caroline, had laced Jane’s soup with ipecacuanha to sicken her just enough to send her home and away from their brother. However, being novices in the poisoning arts, Caroline’s hand was unsteady, and more of the powdered root than was intended fell into the bowl. As a result, Jane became grievously ill. If she had been at home, Lizzy would have put pen to paper and crafted a rollicking good mystery about her sister’s ordeal. Instead, she did what she had been doing every half hour since dawn: She rose, stretched, and walked about the room.
With the Bingley sisters roaming the house and the cranky Mr. Darcy untethered, Lizzy was reluctant to leave the bedchamber. Except for joining the others for dinner and supper, she had remained in Jane’s room, and she was beginning to feel as if she was a captive in a castle tower. If she had longer, much, much longer, hair, she would have let down her dark brown tresses like Rapunzel, the maiden in the German fairy tale, but her savior would have to be a prince—not a likely prospect in Hertfordshire—and, considering England’s available princes, not very appealing outside the shire either. Perhaps, some knight would ride down Netherfield’s drive and rescue her, but even nature conspired against her as the rain was coming down in torrents. With all that wet armor on, it would be dangerous even for the most capable of troubadours to save her from her first-floor prison.
“Well, Jane, I am going to the library to find another book,” she said to her unconscious sibling. “As engaging as Mr. Richardson’s tome is, I have read it too many times, and so I go in search of another. What’s that you say? Choose something for you as well? Well, I shall see what I can do. One of Shakespeare’s comedies, perhaps? Lighten the mood a bit. I shall see to it.”
Lizzy stepped out of the room and turned right. Her muffled steps carried her down the hallway to the back staircase. Because the Bennet sisters had been great friends with the youngest of the children of Sir John and Lady Darlington, the owners of Netherfield Park, she knew the manor house and all its secret passageways and hidden doorways as if it were her own home. Because of this, it was possible for her to make her way to the library without being seen, but first she must reconnoiter the ground floor to ascertain where the others were, which turned out to be disappointingly easy. Caroline and Louisa were in the sitting room looking at magazines and discussing the latest fashions, especially the hats which had taken a decidedly Turkish turn. She knew the Bingley sisters to be excessively fond of feathers, so much so, that a stiff wind could have landed both of them on the rooftop of some distant structure—preferably in another county—or country. Since the Bingleys were from the North of England, Scotland would do nicely—not too far from some of their relations. What was the name of those islands off the Scottish coast? The Outer Hebrides. Yes, she liked that idea, especially the “outer” part of it.
While the ladies prattled on about millinery and other accessories, the men were in the billiards room. In addition to the clicking sound made by the cue making contact with the ball, she could hear the gentleman talking and laughing. Charles was teasing Mr. Darcy about missing an easy shot.
Aha! Just as I suspected. Despite what Caroline Bingley thinks, Mr. Darcy isn’t perfect. Lizzy mused. Well, missing a billiards shot isn’t exactly a character defect, but it will have to do until I find something else to criticize. I will have my revenge for his unkind remarks at the assembly. I know that I am definitely more than tolerable because my dear Papa has told me so. And I was not slighted by other men. There was merely a shortage of gentlemen free of gout, arthritis, or some other such infirmity that prevented them from dancing and fewer still who were sober, sane, and recently scrubbed.
Lizzy entered the library through one of two doors that were concealed by a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. She was sure that Mr. Bingley knew about the first door, which led to the foyer, but it was the second, known only to a few, that Lizzy used. In order to better conceal it, the door was only three-feet high, requiring Lizzy to crouch down in order to gain entrance to the library. But since she had not come this way since she was about sixteen years old, she misjudged the height, and her head made contact with the top of the door, hitting it hard enough so that she knew she would have a knot on her noggin by supper. Hopefully, her curls would hide it.
Her efforts were rewarded as soon as she came into the library. Of all the rooms in all of the houses she had ever visited, this was her favorite because of its treasures. Sir John had spent most of his youth and early adulthood in the East Indies, where he had met his wife, the daughter of an exporter of Indian cloth, and they had traveled to the far reaches of the globe to visit their far-flung offspring. Hale, hearty, and seemingly immune to disease, the Darlingtons had used their considerable wealth to purchase sandalwood chests, bejeweled daggers, and brass urns in India, carved elephant tusks in the Cape, Persian carpets, and Greek artifacts from the Peloponnese. There were also numerous gifts from exotic locales given to them as gifts, including a jade dragon from Macao and a jewelry box made entirely of shells from the West Indies. Behind one of the glass-fronted wood cabinets was her favorite novelty, a Persian cat with emerald eyes who was chasing a mouse with gold-trimmed ears, whiskers, and tail. Things did not look good for the mouse as the cat had its extended paw on the little rodent’s tail, but in her mind, the mouse always managed to get away.
Also sequestered behind the cabinet doors was an artifact of her childhood. Jane and Lizzy would frequently visit Thea and Elspeth Darlington in their nursery and would have tea served in Arabian demitasse and on plates hand painted in China. Afterwards, the elder Darlingtons would take the girls on a tour of the house that would always end in the Treasure Room with all four girls lying on a bearskin rug looking at a ceiling painted with blue skies and white, fluffy clouds. Both Thea and Elspeth had married naval officers and lived in the West Indies, and although Lizzy hadn’t seen either in years, fond memories of their childhood remained.
But her assignment was to find something to read aloud to her sister, and Lizzy immediately settled on Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing from the bookshelf. Before leaving, in a gesture to her absent friends, she removed her shoes and stockings and walked across the bear
skin rug with its head attached, fangs bared, and threatening posture to ward off all intruders. As she glided along the giant pelt, she felt the fur tickling the bottoms of her feet, and she scrunched up her feet and grabbed the fur with her toes. After listening at the door for any footsteps in the hallway, Lizzy lay down on the rug, placing her head against the back of the ursine skull and ran her hands along its lush coat, and in doing so, lulled herself to sleep.
Placing the fan on left ear – You have changed
Twirling in left hand – I wish to get rid of you
Lizzy was so deep in sleep that she did not hear Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy come into the library. It was the sound of their settling into the leather chairs in front of the fireplace that finally awoke her. She had barely shaken the cobwebs out of her head when she realized how acutely embarrassed she would be if discovered. Ever so slowly, she pushed herself up until she was on all fours, just like the bear lying beneath her had been in life. However, before she could execute the turn that would have her going in the direction of the door, she heard Mr. Darcy ask Mr. Bingley if he had heard a noise, and Lizzy froze.
“In this old house, I hear lots of noises,” Bingley answered. “But I also hear the sound of the rain beating against the windows, or maybe you think it is that big bad brown bear come back to life. Have you seen the bearskin rug spread out in front of the bookcases?”
Please say you have seen it, Mr. Darcy. If not, maybe he will think Pericles and Aspasia made the noise. But Lizzy could not remember if the Darlingtons had left their cats behind. No, I don’t think they did. Well, it could be a rat? No, I don’t want to be a rat. A mouse. Yes, a very large mouse.
“That bear is the biggest thing I have ever seen, and I have hunted elk in the Highlands,” Darcy answered Bingley. “Where did it come from?”
“Frederick Darlington, the eldest son, is engaged in the fur trade and lives near Hudson Bay in North America, and the bear, apparently famished, came into their camp and charged one of the traders. Darlington grabbed his rifle and put one between the bear’s eyes, saving the lot of them, and had the skin shipped home to his parents. But his mother thought it was hideous, and so she relegated it to the darkest corner of the Treasure Room, as the Darlingtons call the library. Before signing the lease, I was given a tour of the place by Sir Arthur. This room is positively bursting with precious artifacts and fascinating whatnots.”
“Yes, I have noticed,” Darcy said, but omitted the reason he was acquainted with the collection. In his attempts to escape the Bingley sisters, he had spent a good deal of time in the library admiring the Darlingtons’ collectibles, a few of which would be the envy of any serious collector.
“Have you noticed the age of the staff?” Charles continued. “The housekeeper is seventy if she is a day, the butler a few years younger, but have you heard his knees creak as he climbs the stairs? I don’t know how he manages it. The youngest parlor maid and groom are probably approaching forty. But they remain on staff because they are as devoted to the Darlingtons as Georgiana is to her little pugs.”
“Do they kiss each other on the nose like my sister does with Salt and Pepper?”
“From what I understand, it is darn near close. That is why nothing is under lock and key in here. The Darlingtons have complete trust in all of their servants, which is a good thing because they will be in Constantinople for at least two years, possibly three, and that is good for me because I have come to love this old house. As far as I know, the only security they have in place is that the housekeeper locks the doors to the Treasure Room before retiring for the night and sleeps with the keys under her pillow.”
“There is more than one door in here?” Darcy asked, turning around. “I don’t see another.”
If Mr. Darcy inspects the hidden door, he will see me, Lizzy thought. If that happens, I will pretend to be unconscious, and she reached up and touched her growing bump. They will see my goose egg and assume I was knocked out. Mr. Darcy will sweep me up in his arms and carry me to the sofa, and she wondered what made her think of his doing that. I don’t like Mr. Darcy, or at least I don’t think I like Mr. Darcy.
“It is the same as your Aunt Catherine has at Rosings Park,” Charles answered. “There is a part of the bookcase on the far left that is on hinges and swings open like a door.”
“There is only one secret door? In a house this old, I would expect there would be concealed doors in every room leading to passageways as a means of escape, especially since we know the Roundheads roamed the area during the Civil War looking for Royalists. We shall have to have a look. Considering that the Darlingtons’ tastes run to the theatrical, who knows what we shall find. But it is too dark today.”
Definitely, too dark! You really should go to the drawing room where the light is so much better.
Despite risk of discovery, her sore knees demanded Lizzy do something. After silently putting on her socks, she eyed the door.
“Well, Bingley, it has been an hour since you mentioned Jane Bennet. I think that is the longest you have gone without talking about the lady since she arrived at Netherfield.”
Jane? They are talking about Jane. Lizzy knew she was not going anywhere.
“Who?” Bingley asked, laughing.
“That pretty fair-haired daughter of Mr. Bennet. Even though you made her sick to her stomach, I do believe she likes you or she would have found some way to return home despite her illness.”
“You know perfectly well she took ill while dining with my sisters.”
“But it was when she encountered you in the foyer that she had to make a run for it. Do you not see the connection, or are you accusing your sisters of slipping something into her soup?”
“Good grief, Darcy. You will have me in a bind. I must choose between making the beautiful Miss Bennet ill or admitting that my sisters are capable of executing such a dastardly deed. I can assure you that Louisa is incapable of such an act. Now, Caroline, on the other hand…”
Lizzy could hear a slight chuckle from Mr. Darcy. Obviously, he found the idea of Caroline playing the role of Lucrezia Borgia to be rather amusing.
But please let us return to the subject of Jane.
“So you approve of Miss Bennet?” Bingley asked, interrupting Darcy’s thoughts of a sinister Caroline mixing poisonous potions, and Lizzy could hear the anticipation in Mr. Bingley’s voice. But if the Master of Pemberley disapproved, would that mean Jane’s chances with Mr. Bingley would be in jeopardy?
“She smiles too much.”
“Darcy, please be serious.”
“I give you leave to like her. You have liked many a stupider person.”
“She is an angel.”
Because of Mr. Darcy’s approval, Lizzy could hear the tension leaving Mr. Bingley’s voice, allowing him to begin a litany of Jane’s attributes that was music to her sister’s ears.
And was she not deserving of such compliments? To be candid without ostentation or design, to take the good of everybody’s character and make it still better, and say nothing of the bad, belonged to Jane alone. She even likes Mr. Bingley’s sisters. Surely, that is a demonstration of her good nature.
“I think Miss Bennet likes me as well. Do you agree, Darcy?”
“Bingley, in all seriousness, I am not sure. I observed in your behavior a partiality which was beyond what I had ever witnessed. But I also watched Miss Bennet. Her looks and manners are open, cheerful, and engaging, but without any symptom of peculiar regard. However, I must say that if you spoke to her of a courtship she would be receptive.”
“You declare that she has no special interest in me, but then say she would encourage my attentions. Why such contradictory statements?”
Yes, why? And Lizzy scooted forward to hear the answer.
Darcy related a conversation that he had overheard between Mrs. Long and Lady Lucas. Apparently, the Bennet estate was entailed away from the female line to the benefit of a distant male relation, who, upon the death of Mr. Bennet, could
force the family’s removal from Longbourn as soon as the legal documents were executed.
“Miss Bennet would be foolish not to encourage you, and she clearly likes you. But if you are asking me if I think she is in love with you, I cannot answer that. The serenity of her countenance is such that however amiable her temperament, I think her heart is not likely to be easily touched.”
“But what about the way she moved her fan?”
“What do you mean? It was hotter than Hades at that assembly. I wish it were the fashion for men to carry fans.”
“I don’t mean at the assembly, but at Sir William’s home. She carried her fan in her left hand. Doesn’t that mean she is desirous of an acquaintance?”
“In town, yes. But in the country, do they know about such things?”
Yes, we do know about the language of the fan, Mr. Darcy. We are not all bumpkins. We just do not have as much opportunity to use our skills as those who live in London.
“Were there other signals?” Darcy asked.
Darcy and Elizabeth: The Language of the Fan Page 1
