He watched until the door closed behind her. “Bingley,” he said hoarsely. “Your arm, if you please.” Mr. Bingley leapt to his aid and helped him to sit down in one of the hall chairs. “Can you put the man up for the night? He can return to London with me in the morning; I must go and see my attorney at once.”
“Of course I can.” Bingley nodded to the butler who went to give the marine directions to the stables. “But are you sure you’re in any state to travel?”
“I will be well in a few minutes. It does not seem to last as long anymore as it did once. Would you be a good chap and ask Georgie to meet me in the library? Then when she has left, perhaps one of your hands could help me upstairs. I shall have a brief caulk and be right as rain within the hour.” He kept his eyes closed but turned his head to where Elizabeth and Jane had been standing. “I apologise for not rising, ladies, and shall hope to see you both at Bingley’s ball.”
The coach arrived at that moment, and after a somewhat confused leave-taking, Elizabeth and Jane were driven away. Elizabeth at least was somewhat worried; not only were they about to lose an agreeable new acquaintance to the exigencies of war, but the gentleman was, despite his protestations, quite obviously unwell. She wondered whether the superiors who gave him his orders knew of his condition. It all seemed terribly unfair, especially as his sister and her mother were for some reason dependent upon him.
It was cold despite the rugs, and the two sisters huddled together under the coach blankets. Jane hid her face in her muffler, and Elizabeth resolved to wait until they got back to Longbourn to question her. The rest of the journey passed in silence, save for the moment just outside Longbourn when they heard two voices raised in song on the road, and realised that they had just passed the two sailors returning to Netherfield. As they climbed out of the carriage, Elizabeth called out to the coachman, asking him whether he would be kind enough to take up the two men on the way back, “for it is a cold night, and it looks as though it might rain.” The coachman touched his hat and agreed.
After an excellent luncheon and tea at Netherfield, neither was inclined to dine; in any case, Mrs. Bennet had not expected them back, and there was nothing prepared for them. So they contented themselves with a cup of tea while everyone else was at dinner and Elizabeth could finally ask Jane for her news.
Jane sighed. “Mr. Bingley is very agreeable, and he certainly feels as he ought with regard to his duties to the estate,” she said. “If it were not for poor Papa, I am sure we could in time come to an understanding, but the fact remains that there is no time. I feel as though I ought to draw him on somehow and have not the remotest idea how to do so.” The two sisters sat in silence for a time before Jane continued. “He is, I am sure, a good man; whether or not he is the right man, I cannot tell, but I am well aware that it is my duty to marry him if I possibly can.”
There was nothing Elizabeth could say to this and, while she deprecated the change in Jane, she could hardly quarrel with her conclusions. Whether Jane had yet realised her sister’s possible fate, Elizabeth did not know, and she was certainly not going to be the one to enlighten her.
They both managed to spend the rest of the evening with their father, Jane in reading to him and Elizabeth seeing to some neglected correspondence. They had the satisfaction of seeing him more settled than he had been for some time, although he continued weak. Elizabeth missed the caustic humour that had once been so evident. She had often wished that he would not sharpen his wits on his neighbours and family, but its disappearance underlined how changed he was by his illness, and she wished with all her heart that she could hear him describe Mr. Collins with all the acerbity that had once been his.
That night, as she listened to her sister breathing in sleep, Elizabeth lay awake remembering the scene in the hall at Netherfield, the captain sitting with his head back, the white of his stock and the paleness of his face against the dark wood of the wainscoting. It seemed most unfair that such a gallant gentleman was obliged to return to sea before he was wholly recovered. It spoke well of him that he was nevertheless prepared to do his duty.
The next day, the house was set upon its ears by Mr. Collins who was—or fancied himself to be—ill. The apothecary was sent for, the details of his digestion discussed in public and at length, and Elizabeth scarcely knew which was more annoying: Mr. Collins’s complaints or her mother’s angry rejection of the suggestion that he might have eaten something unwholesome “… for we are all perfectly well, and it is a great nonsense to think that anything in my kitchen would have singled out Mr. Collins.”
“Perhaps Cook has poisoned him,” suggested Lydia. “And I am sure I do not blame her, for he has been perfectly horrid since he got here.” Her sisters cried out at the suggestion, but Lydia was not to be silenced. “As far as I am concerned, if I could find a way to do so without being caught, I should be tempted to do it myself.”
“Lydia, if you cannot say anything sensible, you had better go visit your Aunt Phillips,” said Mrs. Bennet. Elizabeth reflected that this was all apiece with her mother’s idea of controlling her wayward younger daughters: rewarding them for behaving badly by sending them where they were anxious to go.
The weather had turned fine again, and she hoped the captain would have good roads all the way into London. When it came on to rain towards evening, she could not help worrying just a little.
Luckily, Mr. Collins kept to his bed for several days, and while this caused a great deal of inconvenience to the household, it was agreed by everybody, albeit tacitly, that this was preferable to his company. The two youngest sisters, when not visiting their friends in Meryton, were consumed with preparation for the ball, rumour having running riot as to the arrangements and their probable cost.
Mrs. Needham had told Sukey who told Mrs. Phillips that all the militia officers were invited, as was half the county, a band had been brought from London at enormous expense, there were to be ices and French champagne and enough white soup to float a man o’ war, Mrs. Hurst’s gown had cost a hundred guineas, and Miss Bingley’s had cost two hundred—at which point Elizabeth had refused to believe another word. She contented herself with refurbishing her old gown with some ribbons Aunt Gardiner had sent from London and with stitching the soles back onto her old dancing shoes. It would have been a great waste of money to do more, but one did not want to look like a complete antidote.
The ball was set for the full moon on Saturday, and the family coach and horses were prepared. To everyone’s dismay, Mr. Collins had recovered from his indisposition and squeezed his way amongst his “fair cousins,” for as he said, “Lady Catherine says that dancing in respectable company is a perfectly acceptable activity for a clergyman, being both healthful and tending to restrain the company from light speech and overly high spirits.” As they were removing their wraps in the withdrawing room at Netherfield, Elizabeth remarked to Jane that he gave one a very clear picture of the entertainments countenanced by that august lady.
While rumour had inevitably exaggerated the scale of the arrangements, they were nevertheless more lavish than usual for the neighbourhood. The rooms were full of light and hothouse flowers, the wine was much better than they were used to, and the band in quite another class from the one they had all heard at too many assemblies.
Mr. Bingley immediately solicited Jane’s hand for the first dance, and they opened the proceedings in fine style. Elizabeth looked round for the captain and Miss Darcy, and she was eventually reduced to asking Miss Bingley. “The captain is about somewhere, but he thinks his sister too young to be out.” Unfortunately, at that moment Lydia and Kitty could be heard roaring with laughter in a group of young officers, and Miss Bingley’s expression said everything she was perhaps still too well brought up to say aloud.
Elizabeth said nothing. She was about to go and attempt to restrain her sisters when Mr. Collins arrived and asked to be her partner in the next set. Th
ere was no way she could avoid the invitation, and so did her best to accept politely. To her horror, he seemed to be adopting an almost proprietary manner towards her. Her mother had begun, over the past few days, to speculate whether he would get round to choosing one of her daughters and had taken it upon herself to warn him away from Jane. Elizabeth wondered whether Mrs. Bennet had finally decided it was her duty to nudge him in Elizabeth’s direction. While they stood waiting for the next set to begin, Mr. Collins favoured Elizabeth with his views of the current state of the war and the political situation, interspersed with awkward compliments to herself and her family. She did her best to listen politely, but her attention kept wandering, and she had to prevent herself from looking around for the captain.
Mr. Collins could not dance, which was bad enough, but what was worse was that he could not accept direction without apologising at length, which sent him further astray in the set. Elizabeth could see Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, heads together, enjoying her predicament, so she set her teeth, held her head high, and did her best to carry the situation off with an air.
During one evolution of the dance in which Mr. Collins, having led with the wrong hand, had then gone the wrong way up the set and had to be called back, she saw her mother and Lady Lucas sitting together, her mother looking extremely pleased with herself, and she knew that, to Mrs. Bennet at least, her marriage was as good as made. Since Mrs. Bennet’s wishes soon became Mrs. Bennet’s facts, Elizabeth had no doubt that the neighbourhood were all being told that the Bennets’ fortunes had been saved. A slightly soiled glove met hers, and she suppressed a shudder.
Down the dance, she saw the captain standing near the fireplace, talking, or at least listening, to Sir William. The captain was wearing his green spectacles again, and she could not see his eyes, which was a pity for they were quite his most striking feature. She hoped he was not unwell. She would have liked a word with him, but Mr. Collins seemed determined to monopolise her company. As she stood up with him for the next dance, she had to listen to his breathless comparisons between Netherfield and Lady Catherine’s seat, Rosings. “For although the pictures here are very fine, they are nothing compared to those at Rosings. The portrait of the late Sir Lewis de Bourgh cost over three hundred guineas and...” There was much more of this. Every time the pattern brought them back together, he seemed to have another comment to the detriment of Netherfield and the aggrandisement of Rosings.
There were more candles than she had ever seen in one place, and the room grew increasingly hot. Frantically, she tried to form an excuse to get away from her cousin. The set was coming to an end, and she knew that, if she did not think of something, she would be unable to avoid his company for supper as well. The music ended, the couples exchanged bows and curtsies, and she had thought of nothing. She saw her cousin open his mouth, but to her utmost relief, she heard a familiar deep voice at her side.
“May I have the pleasure of the next set, Miss Elizabeth?” It was Captain Darcy, looking composed and elegant.
Something unknotted in her chest, and she dropped him a grateful curtsey. “I should be delighted, sir,” she said.
Chapter Seven
Elizabeth took his hand, and they threaded their way through to a position halfway down and waited for the music to begin. She could see Mr. Collins watching her with a strange expression, combining his usual, awkward social smirk with a distinctly thwarted look. She hurriedly turned her attention to her partner.
“I had hoped to see Miss Darcy tonight,” she said.
He smiled. “She is only fifteen and not at all accustomed to large social gatherings. When I proposed that she not attend, she was only too grateful to stay upstairs with her mother.”
The music began, and they exchanged bows. Elizabeth suddenly felt happier than she had in weeks. Her life was fraught with difficulties that would soon come to a head, but she did not have to think about that now. The music was lively, her partner handsome and considerate, and when she caught sight of her own reflection in the great mirror over the fireplace, she thought she looked as well as she ever had in her life. They joined hands, his warm and firm, the scar on his wrist evidence of a life of energy and adventure, and she smiled up at him brilliantly.
They parted, proceeded down the set, and met again at the bottom. She thought of asking him whether he were still to leave shortly and swiftly decided not to. There was a strange bubbling sensation under her ribcage, her heart was beating fast, and she had no desire to dampen the mood. “You can have no idea,” she said, “how pleasant it is to have a partner who knows what he is about.”
“You can thank my sister and Mrs. Hurst,” he replied, extending a hand for her to take. “I only knew two dances: the two I danced at the assembly. They assured me that was not nearly enough and drilled me most severely all yesterday afternoon. They were more exacting than any admiral.” They changed hands and turned in the opposite direction.
“Then I must thank them both next time I see them,” she said as they processed up the room. Mr. Bingley was not dancing this time, and she could see him at the door, talking to one of the servants.
“Miss Bingley is to be congratulated. This evening will be talked about for months.”
“Not least by Miss Bingley,” he replied blandly as they parted and led down the set again. When they met at the bottom of the room, he looked a little penitent. “I really ought not to make a game of my hostess. It is the most terrible return for her hospitality to me and my little family.”
“Sir,” she replied, “I promise to tell no one. I know too well the impulse to say something true regardless of whether or not it is kind or polite. Usually I manage to restrain myself, but sometimes the thing is just too true to swallow. One can only hope for a friend to tell who will be too much a friend to tell someone else.” He managed to bow his assent without losing either his place or his rhythm and another wave of happiness washed over her. He really was a remarkably good-looking man. His skin still held the remnants of a tan, no doubt acquired in foreign parts; the small scar that bisected his left eyebrow was, if anything, faintly dashing; and despite those horrible green spectacles, the face beneath them was manly and well formed.
The pair in front of them stumbled when Miss Goulding caught her heel in the hem of her gown. The captain seized her arm before she fell, set her gently on her feet, and resumed his place, all without losing his step. “Bravo, sir,” said Elizabeth gaily. “Saviour of the nation and of the dance!”
“Believe me, Miss Bennet, there is nothing like a few years at sea to teach a man to keep his feet in all weathers. By the time I had been at sea six months, I had broken an arm and lost two teeth, although thankfully only the milk kind.”
“You must have gone to sea very young.”
“I was nine.” He must have spotted her dismay for he continued, “You are quite correct; that is far too young. Now I am captain, I will not take a young gentleman aboard without he is at least twelve or thirteen and only then if I am persuaded it is his earnest desire to go to sea. One sees too many lads made miserable by a life they have not chosen and for which they are not sufficiently strong.” His face had become stern, but by the time they met again at the foot of the set, he had quite obviously set aside any gloomy reflections. “I was hoping to beg for your company at supper. I trust I have not been forestalled by any earlier applicants.”
“I would be delighted to join you for supper,” she said, and her heart sang.
The set ended, and during the polite ripple of applause, Mr. Bingley came over to them. “I am sorry to interrupt, but if I might have a word with you, Darcy? Miss Elizabeth, your servant.” They bowed to her and moved to one side of the room for a brief conversation. Elizabeth, slightly surprised by this, resolved to seek out Kitty and Lydia to make sure all was well. She had scarcely reached the door when Mr. Bingley and the captain came after her.
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��I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” said Mr. Bingley, “but a servant has come from Longbourn. Your father is not at all well.”
Elizabeth went cold, her recent happiness cut off as though with a knife. “We must go home.”
“I have arranged for my coach to come round,” said Mr. Bingley. “And it occurs to Darcy and me that, if you and Mrs. Bennet leave now, your sisters can follow later in your own carriage with Mr. Collins as escort. Darcy here has volunteered to return with you now in case there is any assistance he or Netherfield can offer.”
Elizabeth could hardly think. “Sir, that is most kind, but—”
“But nothing,” replied the captain firmly. “I have seen plenty of sickness aboard, and you do not know but what another pair of hands might be needed. The younger girls will, I dare say, only become distressed without being of much help, and I cannot believe that Mr. Collins—that is to say, your cousin is better employed bringing them home in an hour or so.”
Through the open door, Elizabeth could see the carriage coming round. Mrs. Bennet came bustling out of the card room, followed by Mrs. Hurst, who must have informed her. “Oh, Lizzy, whatever are we to do? We must all return to Longbourn at once—your poor dear father, I ought never to have left him. Has anyone sent for Doctor Wallace?”
A servant arrived carrying their wraps and a huge greatcoat for the captain. Elizabeth did her best to explain as she bundled her mother up warmly and then hurried her into the coach. Her mother was, to her surprise, quick to see at least one advantage of the arrangement. “For it would never do for Mr. Collins to know how ill your father is before he has to. It is quite bad enough to see him pricing up my furniture without that!” Elizabeth, mortified at such comments before the captain, did her best to turn the conversation. Mrs. Bennet, however, was not to be gainsaid.
“I do hope Hill has sent for Doctor Wallace, for even though he costs so very much, I am sure he is the only one who has done your father any good at all, and that is little enough. It is all very well the doctor saying he needs to move somewhere warm, but we cannot all possibly move, and where would we go? That wicked Napoleon has quite overrun Europe, and though to be sure your father has often said he wished to visit Greece, how on earth would we get there?” She was obviously talking more or less at random, her hands twisting under her shawl. “And should he die, what would become of us?” She raised her head and looked at Elizabeth accusingly. “If you had only secured Mr. Collins, we should all have had somewhere to go, and now I do not know what we shall do if Mr. Collins does not marry you and Mr. Bingley does not marry Jane.”
Fair Stands the Wind Page 6
