“It is good that you spoke to him,” said Mr. Bingley. “We shall try again. I shall convince him to come out into company again, perhaps not at a ball, though, perhaps… I don’t know. You and your sisters could advise me. Would there be interest in a whist party?”
“Oh, I think so,” said Elizabeth. “But would that be any easier for Mr. Darcy, sitting at a table so near with others?”
“Perhaps not.” Bingley sighed. “I shall think on it, then. Will you help me?”
“I would be glad to,” said Elizabeth. “I feel, if I had not been so hard on him just now, that perhaps he might not have run away.”
“I promise you, you were not in the wrong,’ said Bingley. “But I should be glad of your help just the same.”
CHAPTER TWO
Several days after the assembly, the ladies of Longbourn waited on those of Netherfield. The visit was quite well received by Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth’s mother, who was all agog over the prospect of Mr. Bingley and her eldest daughter, Jane.
Mrs. Bennet took all the credit for Jane’s beauty, as if she had designed it herself and had a hand it making it come to be. Because of this, she had spent years now, since Jane came of age at about fifteen, throwing her eldest daughter in the way of rich and powerful men, sure that one of them must be carried away by Jane’s beauty.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that all men become a bit of a beast when in the presence of an extraordinarily pretty girl. They cannot help but want to possess her, no matter how prudent it may or may not be.
Mrs. Bennet intended to take full advantage of these men’s more primitive nature, and with Mr. Bingley, she was all but certain she had achieved it. He was quite enchanted with Jane, and Mrs. Bennet was like a preening cat, stretching and licking herself as she basked in the sun of the possible future.
Elizabeth, as always, found her mother entirely embarrassing. She could see that the ladies of Netherfield were losing patience with her mother’s tendency to go on about Jane’s virtues. Her beauty, her sweetness, her lovely singing voice. Her mother could not still her tongue.
In an attempt to quiet the woman, Elizabeth spoke up. “Tell me, how does Mr. Darcy?”
“Oh,” said Miss Caroline Bingley. “Mr. Darcy.” Her voice had taken on a wistful quality.
“Now, now, Caroline,” said her sister, Mrs. Hurst, “there is no need to muse overlong on Mr. Darcy.”
“He was once such an eligible bachelor,” said Miss Bingley, her eyes wide and earnest. “You would not believe it, the change wrought in him. Why, he was so tall and so regal to look upon. The fineness of his features were unparalleled.”
“Certainly a man is still the same man whether his face is scarred,” said Elizabeth.
“One would think so, yes,” said Miss Bingley, shaking her head, almost sorrowful.
“It is true that he is much changed,” said Mrs. Hurst. “There used to be some mirth about him, but there is none now. He is quiet and sad.”
“And angry.” Miss Bingley raised her head. “He was never angry before. He was never cruel. He was always quite kind to me, but as of late, the sharpness of his tongue, I do not care for it.”
“There, now, Caroline, you are too sensitive,” said Mrs. Hurst. “His injuries mean he is in constant pain.”
“Truly?” said Elizabeth, leaning forward in her chair. “Pray, what happened to him?”
“A horrid carriage accident, or so I have heard,” said Mrs. Hurst. “They were quite close to a cliff. Everything went over. It’s a wonder anyone survived.”
“When he used to look at me,” said Miss Bingley, “there was something bright in his eyes, but it has been extinguished. He is quite a different man altogether.” She looked away, her face twisting, and Elizabeth saw the entire story of Miss Bingley’s objections in an instant. She had fancied Mr. Darcy and thought he returned her affections, but now he was cold with her. She had a broken heart. Elizabeth felt for her. Miss Bingley was a bit haughty, perhaps above her own station, but witnessing pain in others always brought out Elizabeth’s sympathy. She did not like to witness anyone’s suffering, even that of very wicked people.
“His sister did not survive,” said Mrs. Hurst quietly. “He has never recovered from that. Miss Darcy, she was a lovely young girl. So pretty, so sweet, so talented.”
“A voice like an angel,” whispered Miss Bingley.
They were all quiet.
“Well,” said Mrs. Bennet, “very sad for Mr. Darcy, to be sure, but he must learn to move on. Life is made for the living, as I always say. The dead are gone and bless them in heaven but those left behind must soldier on.”
Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley gave her strained smiles.
“Losing someone so young is always very difficult,” said Elizabeth.
“To be sure,” agreed Jane. “I think Mr. Darcy must recover in his own time, in his own way.”
“Spoken like the sweet girl you are,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Why, did you know that when Jane was only sixteen years old, there was a gentlemen who came to town and fell madly in love with her and wrote such fine verses about her sweetness and goodness and beauty. She was quite lovely then, of course, but now, I think she is dazzling. Your brother seems to agree.”
Miss Bingley put down her tea cup into its saucer with a clatter. “I say, Louisa, how long have we been here? Do we not have pressing business soon? That matter of which we spoke?”
“Oh, yes.” Mrs. Hurst nodded sagely. “That matter. That very pressing matter.”
“We must take our leave,” said Miss Bingley. “We are so dreadfully sorry.”
* * *
The days passed. The Bennet women paid a visit to Netherfield and were politely greeted by the sisters there, but neither Mr. Bingley nor Mr. Darcy was seen. They did not speak of him again. Perhaps it would have been considered rude to do so when he was so close by.
There was a dinner at Sir William Lucas’s, and Mr. Bingley and his sisters were there, but Mr. Darcy did not attend. Elizabeth was a bit disappointed in that.
She found herself thinking about the man more and more. She wondered about the nature of his injuries, the constant pain he found himself in. She was not sure what she felt about it. A strange curiosity or an overwhelming flood of pity or something else entirely.
Since speaking to him, she had been compelled to reread Much Ado About Nothing. It was one of her favorites, mostly for the scenes between Benedick and Beatrice. She found the sparring nature of their conversations delightful.
She wondered if Mr. Darcy liked to read, and if so, if he only read proper things like poetry and plays from hundreds of years ago, or if he read novels as well. She herself read it all. She had quite gone through the library of Longbourn and would buy or borrow books wherever and whenever she could. It was one of her chief passions in life. Her mother, who was not much for reading, tended to look down upon it, but Elizabeth could not take her mother seriously. She was, in many ways, quite ridiculous, to Elizabeth’s chagrin.
A week after the Meryton assembly, a request came from Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, inviting Jane to dine at Netherfield. Mrs. Bennet was beside herself in glee about this development, and she conspired to send Jane on horseback in the rain, so that Jane would catch a cold and be obliged to stay overnight at Netherfield.
It all came to pass exactly as Mrs. Bennet had desired, and she was quite pleased. Mr. Bennet, Elizabeth’s father, made some arch comment about how Mrs. Bennet should not be quite so proud of herself if her daughter did not recover.
“People do not die of trifling colds,” said Mrs. Bennet, not the least bit concerned.
But Elizabeth herself began to become concerned. It was not so much that she thought Jane might die. She knew it was not quite so dire. But she began to worry about her sister, all alone in a strange house with strange people and feeling poorly. So, she made up her mind that she would go to Netherfield herself the following morning.
Her family tried to talk her out of it,
but Elizabeth was insistent, and as she was no horsewoman, she decided to walk.
The walk itself proved muddy and long, and when Elizabeth arrived at Netherfield, her boots were rather dirty and the edges of her skirts had not escaped the mud either.
When she was shown into the breakfast parlor, the eyes of both Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst widened and they looked almost scandalized.
“You walked?” said Mrs. Hurst.
“In this weather?” said Miss Bingley.
“All alone?” said Mrs. Hurst. “Why, Mr. Hurst, can you believe it?”
“It has happened,” said Mr. Hurst. “It must be so.” He returned his attention to his breakfast.
“Well, I think it is lovely to see you, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Bingley, giving her a smile of true good humor and pleasure in her company.
“It was quite a long way to walk alone,” came the voice of Mr. Darcy. He was sitting at the table, leaning back in his chair, and looking her over. “I daresay that if a woman did such a thing in London, her reputation might never survive.”
“What?” said Elizabeth, giving him a pointed look.
“I suppose it’s different here,” said Darcy.
“It is,” said Elizabeth. “There was nothing between here and there except cows and woods and grass. Nothing to threaten anyone’s reputation.”
“Indeed, well, when there is not much to threaten,” muttered Miss Bingley.
“Caroline,” said Mrs. Hurst sharply.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together.
“Come now, Miss Bennet came yesterday by herself,” said Mr. Bingley. “There was none of this talk then.”
“I think the walk agrees with your complexion,” said Mr. Darcy. “Perhaps it is the high color of your cheeks, Miss Elizabeth. One look at you and my mind wanders in directions it ought not.”
Miss Bingley drew herself up, horrified. “Why, Mr. Darcy, what a thing to say.”
Mr. Darcy’s scarred face twisted into the semblance of a smile. “Miss Bingley, I doubt you would exert yourself so.”
“Indeed, I would not,” said Miss Bingley.
Mr. Darcy’s gaze burned into Elizabeth’s. “I can’t say I object to… exertions.”
Now, Elizabeth’s face was hot. What was he about? Why would he say such things to her? Why did she feel even warmer than she had from the exercise?
“Darcy,” said Mr. Bingley, giving his friend a hard look. “What has gotten into you?”
“I rather got the impression Miss Elizabeth would not mind a bit of verbal sparring the last time I met her,” said Mr. Darcy, lifting his tea cup.
“If I offended you then, sir, I am sorry,” said Elizabeth. “In truth, I thought that I had apologized before, but perhaps I did not make myself clear. If so, please accept my apologies now. I must make it quite plain that what I said to you was badly done. I repent of it. I hope we can forgive each other and not retaliate?”
Mr. Darcy laughed, but it was a funny laugh. He drank his tea, gazing at her over the cup.
She did not like the way he was looking at her. “I only came to see my sister. Perhaps if a servant could be spared to take me to her?”
“Of course,” said Mr. Bingley, getting to his feet. “In fact, I shall take you there myself.”
“Farewell, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy.
Elizabeth felt hot all over. She refused to look at him, and she did not at all like the way that Miss Bingley was glaring at her.
“Come,” said Mr. Bingley, nodding at her. “Let us go and visit your sister now.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth, and she followed him.
When they were in the hallway, out of earshot, Mr. Bingley gave her an apologetic look. “I can’t apologize enough for Mr. Darcy. He would never have said such things before the accident, but I’m afraid he has no ability to still his tongue these days. He says what he thinks. If it’s any consolation, I think it means he likes you.”
Elizabeth let out a disbelieving laugh. “He has an odd way of showing it.”
“Truly,” agreed Mr. Bingley. “And you mustn’t mind Caroline, but I am afraid she has rather carried a torch for him for too long. It was always one-sided. Darcy has never shown her a bit of true interest, but he was kind enough to her on account of not wishing to embarrass her. Now, he has no scruples, and he has hurt her more than once. I have spoken to him about it. He does not listen. If he were not my dear friend, I would pack him off home. In truth, he has become rather a beast of a man.”
“It is all right, Mr. Bingley. I have heard from your sister a bit of what he has been through. She says he is in near constant pain?”
“Yes,” said Bingley. “He fears dependency on laudanum, however, and will not take a drop of it, so he suffers. I think that makes his tongue sharper too.”
“I meant what I said about helping him,” said Elizabeth. “Perhaps, if it is as you say, if he does truly like me, then that will be helpful.”
Mr. Bingley smiled at her, all astonishment. “Oh, Miss Elizabeth, between you and your sister, I am quite overcome. You are both the pinnacle of good manners and kindness. I would not blame you for abandoning any attempt to assist Mr. Darcy, especially after what he has said to you. But you do not do so, and it is to your credit. Your sister is also thus. I am astounded by the character of both of you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bingley, you are too kind.”
“Here we are then.” Mr. Bingley paused outside a door. He rapped on it gently. “Miss Bennet? Are you awake?”
“Mr. Bingley?” Jane called.
He pushed the door open. “You won’t believe who’s here.”
“Oh, Lizzy!” cried Jane.
Elizabeth hurried across the room to embrace her sister on the bed. “I could not leave you alone, could I? How are you?”
“I am glad to see you,” said Jane, gratitude written all over her expression.
Elizabeth knew she had done right in coming. Jane had been all alone here, and with only Mr. Bingley to be good to her. Everyone else in the house was rather dreadful.
* * *
It seemed that Elizabeth had made an enemy of Caroline Bingley, probably because of Mr. Darcy commenting on her appearance the way he had. Though it had been a slight, it had also been indicative of Mr. Darcy’s being affected by the sight of Elizabeth.
Miss Bingley was jealous.
Around three o’clock, Elizabeth felt she must go, and Miss Bingley seemed happy of it, insisting Elizabeth take the carriage. When Jane seemed quite upset to see Elizabeth go, Mrs. Hurst said that Elizabeth must stay.
And then Mr. Bingley’s sisters engaged in a rather tense conversation which lasted a bit too long, Miss Bingley being insistent that Elizabeth must go, and Mrs. Hurst telling Miss Bingley that sending her off would be rude.
Eventually, Miss Bingley caved to her sister’s way of thinking and professed to Elizabeth in a very flat voice that she would not hear of Elizabeth going, that she must stay at Netherfield, of course. And then, before Elizabeth could respond, Miss Bingley swept out of the room.
Elizabeth agreed to stay, but only for Jane’s sake. She needed to be there for her sister, but she did not find anything about staying at Netherfield particularly welcome. Her things were sent for from home, and she dressed for dinner with dread, not looking forward to seeing either Mr. Darcy or Miss Bingley.
By some miracle, neither were there.
Miss Bingley had cried off, complaining of a headache. Mr. Darcy was similarly afflicted by pain of some sort. Jane was not well enough to come down, being feverish.
It was only Elizabeth, Mr. Bingley, and the Hursts, then.
Mrs. Hurst was solicitous, trying to give excuses for her sister’s behavior. “She must have been suffering from that headache earlier and dealing with the pain in silence. I can think of no other reason for her lack of politeness.”
“I am not in any distress, Mrs. Hurst,” said Elizabeth, cutting her meat into tiny pieces. “Pray do not trouble yoursel
f further. We may leave the subject.”
“It is Mr. Darcy,” said Mrs. Hurst. “He distresses her.” She turned to her brother. “I think you must say something to him, Charles.”
“You think I have not said something? Indeed, a great many somethings?” Mr. Bingley shook his head. “He is not inclined to listen to me, I’m afraid.”
“Well, then perhaps he ought to leave,” said Mrs. Hurst. She turned to her husband. “Don’t you think, so, dearest?”
“Oh, yes, quite,” said Mr. Hurst, fitting a large bite of potato into his mouth and chewing.
“Not yet, Louisa,” said Bingley. “We cannot turn our backs upon him.”
“But he is different, Charles,” said Mrs. Hurst. “You know what it is they say of him, don’t you?”
“That is utter hogwash,” said Mr. Bingley. He shook his head. “We both know him, Louisa. He is not a murderer.”
“Well, no one has seen that Mr. Wickham since,” said Mrs. Hurst. “He is very likely dead.”
“He fell over the cliff with the rest of them,” said Mr. Bingley. “You can’t blame Mr. Darcy for Wickham’s demise.”
“People do blame him! Anyway, I don’t understand why Wickham was there, anyway. Was he in the carriage with Mr. Darcy and his sister? It’s all highly irregular.”
“He was a close friend in Mr. Darcy’s boyhood, as I understand it, a friend of the family. It is not irregular at all that he was with them.”
Mrs. Hurst huffed. “Well, it’s not what people say.”
Mr. Bingley looked pointedly at Elizabeth, who pretended to be very interested in her food. “I think, Louisa, that we had better find a different topic of conversation.”
Mrs. Hurst turned to her plate, poking various things with her fork, and said nothing.
It was quiet for some time.
Mr. Bingley turned to Elizabeth. “I do hope your sister is comfortable?”
“I think so, sir,” said Elizabeth. “As comfortable as possible, anyway. You have been quite a gracious host.”
“She should stay as long as she needs,” said Bingley. “Indeed, both of you should.”
Mr. Darcy, the Beast Page 2
