Alliance and the Artifice of War 11-20
Chapter Eleven — In which knots are tied
Darcy
It did not surprise Darcy that Steven not only knew where the stables were at Longbourn but also knew how to approach them without being seen from the house. Wary of the impropriety, he arrived, wet from the summer downpour, to find that Miss Elizabeth had company; her sister, Miss Mary, was sitting with her on some bales of hay. His hostess pointed to a stall. “Your horse ought to be well in there, Mr Darcy.”
“Hello, Mr Darcy,” Miss Mary added. “If you hang your wet coat up over there, you can have a nice cup of tea to warm you up.”
“I thank you, Miss Mary,” Darcy replied before doing as bidden and, perching on a wobbly wooden bench opposite them, cradled the old tin mug in his chilly hands.
“Very well, Mr Darcy,” Miss Elizabeth began. “I have handed your knotted yarn to Mary …”
“What! You have shared everything?” Darcy was taken aback.
“I am still uncertain of your purpose so am involving my sister for my own protection.”
“‘Protection?’” Darcy spluttered “You think … I …”
“Oh, Mr Darcy, ‘we cannot enter into alliances until we are acquainted with the designs of our neighbours,’” sighed Miss Elizabeth.
“Will you win every argument with a quote from Sun Tzu?”
Miss Mary smiled and looked away.
“We’re not arguing, sir, we’re becoming acquainted with each other’s designs. Mary is part of your neighbour’s design; that is, of my design. You appear to want something from us …”
“Though we have yet to discover what,” interjected Miss Mary.
“True.” Miss Elizabeth nodded. “We need nothing from you.”
Darcy looked at the sisters’ faces. Innocence, curiosity, expectation? What were their expressions?
“What is it …” Miss Mary began.
“… that you want …” Miss Elizabeth continued.
“… from us?” Miss Mary finished.
His gaze bouncing between them, Darcy cleared his throat. “I want your help, if only a lack of hindrance, to unite Bingley and Miss Bennet.” There; he had said it.
Some communication went between the sisters even though they did not take their eyes from his.
“And in return …”
“… what do you offer?”
“Stevens —my snooping valet— tells me that Miss Bennet will inherit Longbourn on her one-and-twentieth birthday, later this year.”
“Go on.”
Darcy drew breath. “I propose to offer you some recompense for the loss of your home to the new Mr and Mrs Bingley.” They continued to regard him. I should hate to play poker against these two.
“Mm …”
“… ‘recompense.’”
Darcy wondered if they practised that manner of speaking, finishing each other’s sentences. He found it unnerving. They sat in silence for several long minutes looking at him, not each other, long enough that Darcy was tempted to squirm.
“Well, Mr Darcy with the snooping valet …”
“Would you care to join us, Mr Stevens?” Miss Mary called out, making Darcy jump.
Steven crept out of the furthest stall and, at Miss Mary’s pointed look, joined his cousin on the wobbly wooden bench.
Miss Elizabeth continued as if nothing had happened, “There is something that we should like in return …’’
“… for our help …”
“… or lack of hindrance …”
“… ‘recompense’ …”
“Yes, ‘recompense.’”
In the silence that followed, Darcy noticed that Steven —normally so unperturbable— was also trying to not squirm.
“We want you …”
“… to find …”
“… a red-coated f—”
What was that? What did Elizabeth nearly say?
Miss Mary covered Miss Elizabeth’s slip: “… red-coated husband …”
“… for …”
“… ‘darling’ …”
“… Lydia.”
Darcy thought that the misspoken word was ‘fool.’ It seemed that Steven agreed as he muttered in his Darcy’s ear, “We can find a fool, sir.”
Nothing seemed to escape the sisters’ notice. As one, they leaned forward a little.
“With a red coat?”
“Fool enough to elope to Gretna Green?”
“Lydia is not of age.”
“I shall bribe him to do so!” Darcy finally felt in charge. He would find and bribe a redcoat to marry the ‘Darling Miss Lydia,’ while the brunette Misses Bennet brought about the match between the rogue, Bingley, and the four Bs Miss Bennet. “Do we have an agreement?” he asked keenly.
Then the sisters looked at each other. Miss Elizabeth turned back to face him. “Very well; we shall do everything in our power to get Mr Blackmailer and ‘darling’ Jane married, while you will get ‘darling’ Lydia wed over the anvil to some foolish redcoat.”
Some more unspoken communication prompted Miss Elizabeth to say more. “It is midsummer, let us be done —with two couples joined in matrimony— by Michaelmas.”
“Quarter day,” Miss Mary added.
“Less than three months?” Darcy’s buoyant hopes rapidly deflated.
“Let not this autumn be ‘chiding’, sir, but —rather— ‘teeming.’ It was you who asked for the alliance.”
“Shakespeare?”
“Very well, Sun Tzu: ‘I heard that in war, rushing is madness, but I’ve never seen postponing that was wise.’”
The sisters stood and started to gather up the mugs, and Darcy realised that he and Steven had been dismissed.
“One more question, Mr Darcy, if I may?” asked Miss Mary
He nodded to her, but it was Miss Elizabeth who continued. How do they do that?
“When do you expect your other cousin to return to find a titled fool?”
“By the end of next month,” he answered as calmly as he could. “What do you mean by ‘other’ cousin?”
“Why do you and Mr Stevens play at master and servant …”
“… when it is clear that you are closely related?”
“Cousins.”
“Perhaps.”
“Yes, cousins, perhaps.”
“Distaff side?”
“Spear side?”
Steven started to speak, “Perhaps that story can wait until we next meet …”
“Three days’ hence,” said Miss Mary.
“By the oak if it is dry …”
“… here if it is not.” Darcy interjected, determined to have some part in the conversational tug-of-war.
“Very well,” said Miss Elizabeth with a curt nod. “I was going to suggest somewhere …”
“… closer …”
“… to Netherfield.”
“Good day, Mr Darcy.”
“Good day, Mr Stevens.”
Dumbfounded, the cousins watched the sisters sweep from the stables.
“Have we been manipulated, William?” Steven forgot the formality of his role.
“Indeed.” I wonder what Sun Tzu would have said about that!
Chapter Twelve — In which an invitation is issued
Elizabeth
Feeling rather wicked at her satisfaction with their meeting with Mr Darcy, Elizabeth sat at her father’s desk and began to work through the day’s letters, bills and plans. Though repeated gleeful thoughts of the effects of her own and Mary’s long-practised performance distracted her, the work was mostly done by the time a jangle came from the bell at the front door. The mantelpiece clock showed that it was just past eleven o’clock, so it was probably someone coming for tea and gossip. Elizabeth stretched, tidied and stood up making sure that the loose floorboard and its cache of paperwork and family treasures —including the garnet cross— were well hidden under the corner of the chest of drawers.
It is lucky, she often mused, that so many of the floorboards here creak. Huh, some more impressively than others! She had bidden Mrs Hill to ignore pleas for them to be nailed down more thoroughly. It suits my purpose to have creaks and groans. Ha! That had been their beloved grandmother’s refrain as she had got older, but she had been referring to her painful joints giving her the opportunity to sit and watch, rather to than the squeaky floorboards.
She closed and locked the door to the book-room to find that the jangle had not heralded gossips but a footman from Netherfield. He was clutching a letter. The second Mrs Bennet pounced on him before Mrs Hill could perform her duty.
“Ja-ane! Darling Ja-ane!”
Although her attention was on Mrs Bennet, Elizabeth was aware of Mrs Hill asking the footman if he would care to pop round to the kitchen while he waited.
Mrs Bennet tore open the missive and scowled at it.
“Eliza! There you are, girl! It is too dark in here for me to read this. What does it say?”
As usual, Elizabeth allowed the pretence of excessive darkness, excessive brightness, excessively poor hand-writing, excessively elegant hand-writing, excessive flutterings and any number of such excessive excuses for the second Mrs Bennet’s illiteracy. It meant that she, Elizabeth, had the chance to read everything —every letter, every note— that came to Longbourn.
That day’s note bore an interesting invitation.
“It is from Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth began while skimming through it.
“What does it say? What does it say?”
“It says,
“’My dear Jane,
“‘If you are not so compassionate as to dine to-day with Louisa and I …’”
‘Me’ not ‘I’! It is the object not the subject!
“‘… we shall be in danger of hating each other for the rest of our lives, for a whole day’s tête-a-la-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel. Come as soon as you can on the receipt of this. My brother and the gentlemen are to dine with the officers.
“‘Yours truly …’”
‘Truly?’ Is this what they teach at those seminaries?
“‘Caroline Bingley’”
“Ja-ane! Darling Jane! Your best blue silk!”
‘Darling’ Jane looked around at her mother. Was that demure puzzlement? Oh, no, it was vapidity; the fall of shadows in the vestibule had almost persuaded Elizabeth that ‘darling’ Jane had perfected a new expression.
“You are to go for a tattle with Mr Bingley’s sister, so you must look your best. Eliza, ring for the carriage!”
Elizabeth thought quickly; the tête-à-tête —‘tête-a-la-tête’!— would be no good without Mr Bingley there, so said, “The horses are needed on the farm, and it would be quicker, that is, Jane would arrive at Netherfield earlier and before the men leave for their dinner, if she were to travel there straightaway with the footman.” Just as she hoped, Mrs Bennet picked up the broad hint about seeing Mr Bingley.
“Yes, that is what I was thinking. Hill! Hill! Delay the footman while I ready darling Jane.” She ushered ‘darling’ Jane up the stairs. “Come Eliza, you have work to do!”
It took almost two hours of screeching and fluttering and dithering to ready ‘darling’ Jane. Mrs Bennet pronounced her ‘utmostly perfect’. “Now, if you will give my darling Jane your cross …”
“The cross that you threw away at the assembly?”
“I did no such thing! If you lose things, you must not blame others!”
Gritting her teeth, Elizabeth attempted to hurry them along, “Jane ought to leave now if she is to see Mr Bingley before he leaves to dine with the officers, and it looks as though the drizzle will worsen later.”
‘Darling’ Jane was hustled away to join the well-fed-and-watered footman in the gig for the trip to Netherfield.
“My darling Jane will not get wet, will she?” Mrs Bennet’s nose was pressed against the window as she looked out at the rain.
“If she does, then she will have to stay all night. All the better to secure Mr Bingley’s five thousand.”
“Yes, yes, I see. That is what I was thinking.”
“I wish only for Jane’s union with Mr Bingley,” Elizabeth dipped her head as if bowing.
“Oh! my darling Jane! How rich and how great she will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages she will have!” The second Mrs Bennet fluttered her lacy handkerchief. “A house in town! Every thing that is charming! A daughter married! Five thousand a year! Oh, Lord! What will become of me. I shall go distracted.”
Elizabeth hid her thoughts of her state of distraction. I hope that Messrs Darcy and Stevens are making progress in finding a foolish redcoat!
Chapter Thirteen — In which foolishness is observed
Darcy
Concealing his surprise when a shivering, slightly damp, Miss Bennet arrived at Netherfield, Darcy admitted that he was impressed with Misses Elizabeth and Mary’s efficiency. He had been vaguely aware that their visitor had been expected, but her arrival before he, Mr Bingley and Mr Hurst left to dine with the officers was a master stroke.
Unsurprised, Darcy was unable to persuade Mr Bingley to leave the side of the blonde heiress. Thus he and Mr Hurst left without their host. Not the best of company, but I have my side of the agreement to fulfil.
They arrived at Colonel Forster’s rented house. While the rank and file slept in tents, Steven had discovered that the officers of the visiting company of militia had taken over almost every spare room in and around Meryton. Though Darcy had considered the idea of pressganging Mr Wickham into the elopement —worth it to be shot of him— he understood that he ought to find other options, other foolish redcoats. The youngest Miss Bennet had struck him as self-centred and, well, foolish, so would probably prefer a handsome fellow.
Agh, how was he to gauge another man’s attractiveness?
He decided that he would pick a few foolish fellows and allow ‘darling Miss Lydia’ to choose. Glancing around the room, he spotted that he had help, as it were: the colonel’s wife was there. From her behaviour, she seemed almost as silly as the Bennet girl. Perhaps he would choose some of the men who were unadvisedly —indeed, foolishly— flirting with their commanding officer’s wife. He would keep an eye on them and find a way to discover their interest in —what? He cursed his inability to catch tones of conversation, or appear interested in others’ concerns, as he often saw done.
Misses Elizabeth and Mary will not expect me to find a groom this very evening —surely not— but he found that he cared not for the idea of disappointing the older girl. ‘Go on, Mr Darcy, go on,’ he heard her words and got on.
When they were called to the table, he sat as close as he could bear to the rowdy flirts. Relieved, he found that he did not have to say much. They were impressed that he admitted to a cousin in the regulars, many having heard of Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. He could speak with sincerity and brevity of his pride in his cousin’s exploits.
By the end of the evening, he had made the acquaintance of three suitably foolish, prospective grooms: the blond Captain Carter, and the more rugged Chamberlayne and the foppish Denny, both lieutenants. He felt that they encompassed a variety of looks and one of them must surely appeal.
He would ask Steven to snoop and find out more.
Decision made, he was ready to leave, but the night was yet young and Mr Hurst was, as yet, still vertical.
Chapter Fourteen — In which one plan is forwarded
Elizabeth
“This was a lucky idea of mine, indeed!” said Mrs Bennet, more than once, her nose again pressed to the window.
As if the credit of making it rain were all her own! scoffed Elizabeth to herself.
As on the previous day, the footman arrived from Netherfield. As on the previous day, he held a note. And, as on the previous day, he popped around to the kitchen to be fed and watered.
Snatching the note, the second Mrs Bennet opened it and passed it to Elizabeth. That day’s excuse for not reading it herself, was her excessive excitement about ‘darling’ Jane’s good fortune.
“It must be shared with all of her sisters!”
While Elizabeth skimmed the latest note, Mrs Bennet called for Mrs Hill and despatched her to find ‘darling’ Lydia. Mary and Kitty arrived on her heels, one with a handful of hairpins and the other with ribbons, needle and thread. Elizabeth glanced up at the them. My sisters, the maids of all work.
Her grimace became a sly smile. Not for much longer!
“What do you smile at, Eliza?” demanded ‘darling’ Lydia, her hair half up, half down and her sleeves at different stages of embellishment.
“This note; it says that your mother’s plan is succeeding,” began Elizabeth, as she read aloud:
“‘Miss Eliza,
“‘Miss Bennet is unwell this morning, which I suppose, is to be amputated to …’”
Elizabeth automatically corrected that to ‘imputed to’, and seeing puzzled looks on the blonde-haired faces, to ‘because’.
“‘…she got drizzled on yesterday. My sister and me will not hear of her returning home till she is better.’”
‘My sister and I!’ Subject not object!
“‘Our brother insisted also on her seeing Mr Jones, therefore be not alarmed when you receive his bill. It is a trifling cold, a mere sore throat and headache, but do bring one or more of your many sisters to nurse her.”
“‘Yours truly,
“‘Caroline Bingley’”
Elizabeth and Mary exchanged thoughtful glances while the second Mrs Bennet flounced and fluttered and flustered about her good fortune to have such a clever, darling daughter. “Five thousand a year! Five thousand a year!”
“But Jane is not to marry before me, Mamma,” ‘darling’ Lydia’s voice rose in petulance.
“You must catch a redcoat quickly. A double ceremony! Meryton has never seen the like!”
“No, I am the tallest; I must marry first!”
“Oh, my darling girl, how clever you will be. Catch yourself a redcoat and elope to …” She paused and waved her handkerchief.
“Gretna Green,” supplied Mary.
“Oo, yes! All my sisters must come with me to follow me down the aisle! You too, Mamma! What fun we shall have!”
Squeals of excitement and anticipation filled Longbourn’s parlour.
After a quick conference in their tiny bed-chamber, Elizabeth readied Mary and Kitty to journey to Netherfield to nurse ‘darling’ Jane. Her sisters were reluctant to go without her, but Mary knew the importance of furthering their side of the agreement with Mr Darcy, while Kitty was swayed by the lure of a comfortable bed and a few days’ break from ‘darling’ Lydia, even if it necessitated nursing ‘darling’ Jane. They packed clothing for a few days and went to rouse the footman from his perch in the kitchen.
About to depart, they were caught by Mrs Bennet’s demands that they take clothing for ‘darling’ Jane. She badgered the Netherfield footman into wrestling the resulting trunk down the stairs and onto the gig. With no room remaining for Mary and Kitty, they set off on foot.
Chapter Fifteen — In which mud is imagined
Darcy
Relishing his first success, Darcy had asked Steven to find out about Carter, Chamberlayne and Denny. He anticipated a morning of catching up with estate work and writing a letter to Georgiana. Steven had arranged for a suitable desk to be put in Darcy’s chambers so that he could work undisturbed.
He had finished dealing with the letters from his attorney, when a knock came from the door, and on his response, a servant entered.
“Oh, thir,” the man bowed with great fawning.
Darcy recognised the man as Bingley’s valet.
“Miss Bingley, thir, asks if you would care to join her in the parlour, thir.” The man’s glance skittered about the room.
“Thank Miss Bingley for me. I shall be there later.”
“Mr Stevens, thir, Mr Stevens has gone into Meryton, thir. In his absence, thir, shall I tidy for you, thir? While you join Miss Bingley, thir?”
You mean that you want to snoop. Repulsed by the valet’s sly servility and his affected lisp, Darcy drew himself up to his full haughtiness. “That will not be necessary. Inform Miss Bingley that I shall down when I have finished.”
“Yes, thir. Of course, thir.” The man’s gaze continued to dart this way and that.
“You may go!”
The creature backed from the room and closed the door.
Darcy stood and stretched and moved closer to the window. He had no intentions of joining his hostess. Her manner suggested that she still aspired to be Mistress of Pemberley, and Darcy wondered if Mr Bingley had told her of the fictitious cradle betrothal. Looking out over the manicured gardens and spying Misses Elizabeth and Mary Bennet approaching the side of the manor house on foot, he changed his mind. Eager to meet them, with practised haste, he packed and locked away his papers, hiding the strongbox under a loosened board in the window seat.
He ran down to the stables to find that Miss Mary and Miss Catherine —not Miss Elizabeth, to his acute disappointment— had entered through the door to the kitchen there. After an exchange of courtesies, Miss Mary told him that they were come to tend Miss Bennet. Mrs Nicholls, the housekeeper, was on hand to show them to Miss Bennet’s chambers and whisked them away up to the first floor.
Darcy intended to return to his letters but had been spied.
“Oh, Darcy! There you are, old chap!” Mr Bingley’s voice came from the parlour.
“Is that dearest Darcy, Charles?” Miss Bingley’s cries followed.
“Come and join us, old chap!”
Mr Bingley’s bonhomie grated on Darcy almost as much as did Miss Bingley’s discordancy.
Submitting to their demands, he tried to think of a suitable quote. What would Miss Elizabeth say? ‘Mystify, mislead and surprise the enemy’? No, he was no magician. What about, ‘practice dissimulation and you will succeed?’
His least favourite aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, came to mind.
One of her favourite sayings was that that one could not expect to excel if one did not practise a good deal. She applied the manifest refrain to everything, both within and without her purview: Georgiana’s music, Darcy’s riding, Richard’s swordsmanship, the servants’ dusting, the cook’s peeling, the gardeners’ digging. Little escaped her notice; she was excessively attentive to all those things.
Darcy sighed. Dissimulation was not one of his strengths, but he could practise it.
Sighing again, he joined his hosts in the parlour.
“Six inches in mud! Did you see that, Louisa, six inches deep in mud!”
“I did, Caroline!” Mrs Hurst readily agreed.
Darcy wondered what they were shrieking about. He had seen no mud.
“They should have used the door at the stables!”
“They did use the door to the stables.” His protest was lost in a sea of sniping.
“Such a country-town indifference to decorum.”
“You observed it, I am sure, old chap” said Mr Bingley; “and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition.”
Attempting dissimulation, Darcy answered as if the question was sincere, “Not at all, but it shows an affection for their sister that is very pleasing. It can be no surprise that Miss Mary and Miss Catherine wished to hurry to Miss Bennet’s bedside, regardless of any mud.”
“Quite right, old chap!” Mr Bingley pounded him on the back. “I cannot conceive an angel more beautiful!”
“Lumps and bumps in all the right places, eh, Bingley?” guffawed Darcy, elbowing Mr Bingley in return. Perhaps I can mystify, mislead and surprise after all, he thought, pleased with himself.
“Ah, ha, old chap! But, when she is my bride, I shall have no more such observations from you!”
“But, until you name the day, eh?”
“Why bother with the parson’s mousetrap?” came Mr Hurst’s drunken interjection. “Get it for free; she is but upstairs in bed already.”
No, no, thought Darcy. Ha, dissimulate! “Go for it!”
“I cannot deny that I am tempted, old man.” Bingley stood and paced. “One in the hand or two in the bush and all that? Mm?”
“Really, Charles; you cannot have two wives!” cried Miss Bingley, missing the point.
A slurred mumble came from Mr Hurst; Darcy was certain that he had said, ‘Why not, I seem to.’
“An unhappy alternative is before you, Bingley,” Darcy said, trying to sow further discord. “Bed Miss Bennet now or wed her and have her estate too.”
“Delayed gratification, you mean?”
“Indeed. And you have outplayed me with a five-syllable word.”
Bingley laughed. “I did, did I not!”
“Indeed. Touché.” Darcy acknowledged the defeat with feigned graciousness. Is this mystification or dissimulation?
“Oh, by the way, old man, I want a word with you later on; I shall not sport with your impatience, but it is to do with Caroline’s entitlement.”
Although Darcy understood Mr Bingley’s emphasis, Miss Bingley did not.
“Really, Charles; what entitlement? Is it more money for gowns?”
Chapter Sixteen — In which chickens are counted
Elizabeth
Feeling quite positive about the plans to meet the conditions of the codicil, Elizabeth started to compose a letter to their guardian. Though the Bennet sisters called him ‘Uncle,’ Mr Edward Gardiner, a very successful business man, was their mother’s first cousin. They found him to be a stalwart supporter and, while he had no experience in running an estate, he provided a willing ear and advice when needed.
Elizabeth wrote to him weekly. Together they had many shared investments, and he stood in lieu of her for any and all legal matters pertaining to Longbourn and Tenston.
He would receive a longer letter than usual that week. After the usual contents, she continued by describing the tenants of Netherfield Park, including her and Mary’s ‘alliance’ with Messrs Darcy and Stevens. She wrote of Mr Darcy’s kindness in returning her mother’s cross and, doing so, realised that she had not thanked him. There she broke off in an aside to ask Mr Gardiner to find out what he could about both the cousins and the Bingley family.
Elizabeth finished by asking for the details of the tenancy of Tenston; specifically, how much notice must she provide to them to quit. She also asked him to make discreet enquiries about selling Longbourn. Then, knowing that she could trust him to keep her confidence —telling only his wife— she shared her plans for getting rid of the second Mrs Bennet and her daughters:
Point 1 — Marry off ‘darling’ Lydia to a foolish redcoat
Point 2 — Marry off ‘darling’ Jane to the blackmailing Mr Bingley
Point 3 — While the new Mr and Mrs Bingley were off on their bridal trip, move everything belonging to the second Mrs Bennet, the first Mrs Bingley and Mrs Foolish-Redcoat to Netherfield
Point 4 — Sell Longbourn
Point 5 — Move to Tenston (taking along the Longbourn servants should they wish to move north)
She and Mary had agreed upon Michaelmas —Kitty’s seventeenth and Elizabeth’s twentieth birthdays— as their target, to give them purpose and to allow the autumn months for their removal to their new estate. It would be sad to sell Longbourn, she knew, but it was necessary and the payment would go to her sisters’ dowries.
Was she tempting fate? Pinning her hopes on Mr Darcy and his snooping cousin?
Probably.
She sighed.
Certainly.
But writing it down and sharing it with her confidant helped to fix it in her mind; it would keep her steady to her purpose. After all, she thought, ‘strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory. Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat.’ She had day-to-day tactics for dealing with what Mr Darcy had called ‘the blonde family’; and, since hearing of the codicil after their long year of mourning for their father, she had begun to shape her strategy for freeing Mary, Kitty and herself. It was time to enact it.
Having started the letter in high spirits, she then felt the weight of her responsibilities and anxieties pressing down upon her. Resting her head in her hands, she allowed herself a strict fourteen and a half minutes of self-pity —one minute for each month until her one-and-twentieth birthday— then signed, sealed and addressed the letter. It would remain on her father’s desk, locked in the book-room, until she made her next trip into Meryton.
The second Mrs Bennet might not be able to read, but Elizabeth knew that she would rummage through the papers in the book-room if given the opportunity and who knew what she might take to her brother —a very literate local attorney— to read for her.
Tidying away the paperwork, Elizabeth thought of all that would have to be done by Michaelmas if her plan was successful: lists, lists and more lists. Lists of what to take and what to leave behind; lists of who to tell and who to not tell; lists of the things to move to Netherfield. She would ask Mary to assist her, and perhaps Kitty could help too. She would have to disguise the request with a harmless purpose, but Kitty really ought to be included in the preparations for such a very great change.
She had not been parted from either of them for quite a long time. Stretching, she wondered how her dear sisters were getting on at Netherfield.
Chapter Seventeen — In which guards are lowered
Darcy
If he had not spoken with Miss Mary and heard for himself how clever and eloquent she was, Darcy might have thought that the silent young woman was a wraith gliding along the corridors of Netherfield. She and her younger sister, Miss Catherine, kept to the chambers provided for them next to Miss Bennet’s. He assumed that they took their meals there too, as they had not dined with the rest of the party.
Steven corrected that assumption, telling Darcy that the sisters ate in the housekeeper’s room. At Darcy’s outrage that the daughters of a gentleman would eat with the servants, Steven told him of the close relationship between the inmates of Longbourn and the Netherfield housekeeper: Mrs Nicola Hill of Longbourn and Mrs Hilary Nicholls of Netherfield Park were sisters. Quite reasonably, Steven had observed, the younger women felt more comfortable spending any time away from Miss Bennet’s sickroom with the matronly housekeeper than with the Bingleys and Hursts.
Darcy wished that he had a similar escape.
Their next meeting with Miss Elizabeth fell on Miss Mary’s second morning at Netherfield. For her safety, he had asked Steven to escort Miss Mary to Oakham Mount; there was no point in pretending that his cousin was not part of their small group of conspirators. But Darcy and Steven arrived at the ancient oak to find Misses Elizabeth and Mary already there, comfortably ensconced in hollows between the gnarled roots.
After the usual exchange of courtesies, the men were invited to find seats on the rock and found apples and bread rolls filled with slices of cheese pressed into their hands.
The four sat in silence, watching the sun rise as they chewed.
As one, the sisters turned to face Steven.
“Have you found any …”
Their heads whipped round to face Darcy.
“… foolish redcoats, yet?”
How do they do that? Drawing breath to answer, he caught the twinkles of amusement in their eyes and laughed aloud. “You practise that! In the stables, it was darker; I could not see! Very clever!”
As one, the sisters stood, turned to face him and curtseyed.
Miss Elizabeth laughed —what a glorious sound— and stepped slightly away from Miss Mary.
“Well done …” She nudged Miss Mary.
“… Mr …”
Miss Elizabeth nudged her sister again, and continued, “… Darcy!”
Another nudge. “We did it to …”
Nudge. “… amuse our dear pap …”
Nudge. “… pa!”
They curtseyed to the men’s applause and retook their seats on the rock.
“Of course,” admitted Miss Mary, “it is much smoother when we have prepared what we want …” She elbowed her sister.
“Oh, … to say.” Miss Elizabeth finished around a mouthful of apple.
As the men joined in their laughter, Darcy felt as though a new accord —a proper accord— had been reached.
“Have you found any …”
Nudge. “… foolish redcoats, yet?”
“I have. I have found three possible candidates,” replied Darcy. “Stevens has been snooping to find out more.”
“I must congratulate Darce for finding three of the silliest redcoats in the country! How any of these men have managed to rise to manhood, I know not.”
Darcy saw Steven’s eyes widen as he realised what he had said. They were fortunate that the Bennet maidens missed the double entendre.
“Tell us more!” cried Miss Mary.
“Go on, Mr Stevens! Go on!” cried Miss Elizabeth to Darcy’s amusement.
“First we have …”
“Are they all handsome?” Elizabeth interrupted him.
“They must be handsome. ‘Darling’ Lydia must have a handsome redcoat!” added Miss Mary.
“You cannot expect me to answer that! How do we mere men know what a woman might find handsome.”
“‘Mere men!’” Miss Elizabeth tutted. “Go on.”
“Very well.” Steven bowed his head. “First we have Captain Carter, a blond Adonis, fair of face, shiny teeth; a third son from Shropshire; small inheritance.”
“‘Fair of face?’ My, how you wax lyrical!” interjected Miss Mary.
“Go on!” Miss Elizabeth seemed eager to hear more.
“Second there is Lieutenant Chamberlayne —let me see— broad shouldered, dark and brooding …”
“Really?” Darcy broke in. “I thought him rather…” Darcy broke off seeing the others looking at him expectantly.
“Rather what, sir?” prompted Miss Elizabeth.
“Rather, well, rather rugged,” admitted Darcy.
“Oh, Darce. I am spinning a yarn for the ladies!”
“Oh, not another tangled thread!” cried Miss Elizabeth, smirking. “You two might want to take up knitting!”
Darcy leaned closer to her and murmured into her ear, “Indeed. If you would teach me, I should be glad to learn.” He was delighted by the blush which blossomed up from her décolletage all the way to her hairline.
Chapter Eighteen — In which there is disobedience
Elizabeth
Oh, my! thought Elizabeth. Oh my! He is flirting with me!
She felt her blush deepen at that realisation. She dared not look in his direction. Flirting! With me!
Fortunately for her unsettled nerves, Mary asked more about Mr Chamberlayne, and Mr Stevens told them that he was the nephew of a parson from Staffordshire who had a penchant for practical jokes, particularly for dressing as a woman to fool his fellow men.
“Third, Mr Denny,” Mr Stevens continued.
“Oh, we know Mr Denny,” Elizabeth blurted out, trying to regain her equanimity.
“Yes,” agreed Mary. “A dandy; stands in front of windows pushing his hair this way and that.”
“Just yesterday I saw him when I dropped off my letters at the Goat and Whistle. He was almost run down by a carriage while practising his swagger!” She laughed at the memory. “We know of Mr Denny.”
“Do you think that your sister will like any of these men?” asked Mr Stevens.
“I am sure that, if they flirted and charmed her, ‘darling’ Lydia would elope with the first one to ask,” replied Elizabeth, blushing again a little as she said the word ‘flirted.’ She dared to peep at Mr Darcy who caught her eye and winked. Her blush bloomed, in full, once more.
Mary rescued her. “We must arrange to invite them to tea. Lizzy, you must do that as I am stuck at Netherfield, nursing ’darling’ …”
Elizabeth felt Mary prod her thigh. “Oh, … Jane.” It was no good. It was unfair of Mr Darcy to distract her with his arts and allurements. ‘Arts and allurements?’ Heavens! Am I turning into the second Mrs Bennet?
“Lizzy?”
“Mm? Oh yes, the second Mrs Bennet will send a note to invite them for tea.”
“You will engage your mother in this scheme?” Darcy asked in surprise.
“She is not my mother and, heavens, no! The second Mrs Bennet cannot write, so I shall send a note in her name. She will not suspect anything untoward; the very presence of handsome redcoats will have her fluttering and flouncing.”
“’Twould be best to do so while ‘darling’ Jane is still abed at Netherfield,” suggested Mary. “’Twould not do for them to become entranced by the wrong ‘darling.’”
“Quite right, Mary, dear. How long much longer can you keep ‘darling’ Jane abed at Netherfield?”
“Another week, perhaps. She is enjoying being cossetted in Mr Bingley’s household. He comes to the door of her chambers to enquire about her health at least twice a day.” Mary replied. “To promote their attachment, I have been arranging her hair in a dishevelled plait, which I drape becomingly over her,” she paused and whispered to Elizabeth, “breasts.” Then, having caught Elizabeth’s blush, she continued, “And I pinch her cheeks to make her look flushed before allowing him to take a peep at her. And, um, each day, I open one more button at the neck of her nightdress.”
“Mary! You are a marvel!” exclaimed Elizabeth, taking her sister’s hands.
“I admit to getting the idea from one of those, um, books, um, yes, books that are on the top shelf in Pappa’s library.”
“Is not Mary a marvel?” Elizabeth demanded and, hearing no reply, looked round to find that Messrs Darcy and Stevens were determinedly studying the sky and the ground respectively. Are they blushing too? Is it contagious?
Plans made, they parted. Mr Stevens escorted Mary back to her nursing duties at Netherfield, and Mr Darcy offered his arm to Elizabeth; who, with a third blush, accepted it.
To her relief, he was quite business-like on their walk to Longbourn, asking, “Would you like me to be present when you invite the redcoats to tea?”
Yes! Elizabeth’s newly-awakened heart shouted, while her brain adopted his business-like tone, bidding her mouth to answer, “That is kind of you to offer, sir, but …” She paused, thinking of inane twittering and foolish officers, and the sensible, though surprisingly charming, Mr Darcy.
Twittering and foolishness; sense and charm.
“No, I thank you. I shall spare you the second Mrs Bennet’s display. Be not alarmed, sir, I shall share with you all of the particulars of the event.”
They walked in companionable silence until nearly at the gap in the hedge at Longbourn.
“When shall we …” he paused and gently nudged her with his shoulder.
Another blush! Oh, stop that! her brain ordered her heart. “Three days’ hence.”
Mr Darcy took her hand and kissed it, smiling up into her eyes, and took his leave.
Frustrated at the rest of the body’s disobedience, Elizabeth’s brain composed the note to the redcoats while her eyes gazed at the sight of Mr Darcy’s retreating back, and the fortunate hand glowed with delight, demanding congratulations from its partner.
And, oh, she had forgotten to thank him, again.
Chapter Nineteen — In which there is misdirection
Darcy
Grinning foolishly, no, grinning happily to himself, Darcy rode Ajax back to Netherfield via Meryton. Passing the Goat and Whistle, he pondered on what he might do to entice the foolish redcoats to bind themselves to ‘darling Lydia.’
“‘Miss Lydia!’ ‘Miss Lydia!’” he corrected himself aloud.
His return to Netherfield was heralded by much sniping from Miss Bingley and her faithful assistant about the various Misses Bennet now living under her roof.
Apparently, she had spent a cursory five minutes in the sick room extolling —lecturing the visiting sisters on— the qualities of an accomplished lady.
“They have no idea about painting tables, covering screens nor netting purses,” she cried in disdain.
“No thorough knowledge of music,” added Mrs Hurst.
“Nor singing.”
“Nor dancing.”
“Nor the modern languages.”
Distracted by their unknowing echo of Misses Elizabeth and Mary’s much cleverer speech, Darcy misheard the next pronouncement.
“… a certain something in her air.”
“What, like a ribbon?” His thoughts wandered off to the rich brown of Miss Elizabeth’s hair; to Miss Elizabeth’s pretty eyes; to Miss Elizabeth’s marvellous blushes; to Miss Elizabeth’s lumps and b… “What?”
Four pairs of eyes regarded him.
Mr Bingley’s eyes regarded him in amusement at his witty non sequitur.
Miss Bingley’s eyes regarded him in annoyance at his inattention.
Mrs Hurst’s eyes flicked to Miss Bingley’s eyes before echoing her sister’s annoyance.
Mr Hurst’s eyes regarded the decanters of spirits behind him.
“Something in her air, Mr Darcy, ‘air’ not ‘hair!’”
“My apologies, Miss Bingley. I was not attending. Who’s air?”
“Miss Marion and Miss Kitten.”
“I have not the pleasure of understanding you; who?”
“We are not talking of the fresh seaside air, old chap, the fresh seaside air at places such as Ramsgate,” Mr Bingley added with a smirk.
“Indeed.” Darcy admonished himself to concentrate, dissimulate. “You speak of Miss Bennet’s manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions.”
“No!” cried Miss Bingley.
“And her hair,” cried Mr Bingley at the same time. “Her hair. Falling just so over bounteous br— ”
Mr Hurst’s slurred interjection, stumbled across the room, “Bed her or wed her, Charlie-boy. Bed her or wed her; stop dithering.” Then he put an end to their gathering with a large belch.
Much later, Steven reported to Darcy that his earlier cry outside the Goat and Whistle had been heard by the very redcoats on his mind —the very foolish redcoats— and the gossip had spread around Meryton that Mr Darcy, the friend of Mr Bingley, the cousin of Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, no less, was interested in Miss Lydia of Longbourn. Darcy stood dumbfounded as Steven praised his ploy: the foolish redcoats had taken themselves off to Longbourn to see Miss Lydia for themselves, arriving in the wake of a footman from Netherfield Park on the dot of ten minutes past eleven o’clock.
“Indeed,” he manage to utter upon hearing the report. “And was the footman there to court Miss Lydia, too?”
“No, man, no!” laughed Steven. “It seems as though he has taken a shine to the housekeeper.”
“Inde— What! She must be old enough to be his mother!”
“She is his aunt, you fool! He is Mrs Nicholls’ lad!” Steven thumped him on the back.
Darcy drew himself up to his full haughtiness. “I shall be terminating your employment henceforth, forthwith, if you continue such behaviour, Stevens.”
“As you wish, thir.” Steven backed obsequiously from the room. “I shall take my grievances to Mr Bingley’s man, thir.”
“Indeed.”
Chapter Twenty — In which the parlour is filled
Elizabeth
She had yet to pen the invitation to the foolish redcoats, intending to do so after the estate and household paperwork, when a jangle came from the bell at the front door. Sitting back and looking through the window, Elizabeth spotted young Ned Nicholls —without a note— making his way round to the kitchen.
Three redcoats had followed him up their drive. She recognised dandyish Mr Denny. And, from Mr Stevens’ descriptions, she inferred that the other two were Captain Carter and Mr Chamberlayne.
Tidying and locking the book-room, she entered the parlour. Her esteem for Mr Darcy grew —even her brain agreed— when she saw three redcoats clustered around ‘darling’ Lydia, while the second Mrs Bennet quivered in paroxysms of delight. Well done, Mr Darcy! Well done, Mr Stevens!
“Three redcoats in red coats! I shall go distracted!” Her lacy handkerchiefs, one in each hand, punctuated each exclamation. “Call for tea, Eliza!”
“It is on its way,” Elizabeth replied as Mrs Hill brought in a tray of tea things.
Elizabeth noticed that there was no shortbread. Suspecting that Ned Nicholls had beaten her to it, she looked sharply at the housekeeper, feigning disapproval.
Mrs Hill returned a look of ostentatious innocence.
Perhaps I shall leave you behind at Longbourn, after all, Elizabeth thought, not meaning it. She hoped —very much— that Mrs Hill, her brother, Longbourn’s coachman and odd-job man, and the rest of her small extended family would agree to accompany them north when the time came. It probably was not polite to steal away with her neighbours’ servants, but she felt no unease; if Mrs Nicholls and Ned wished to go to Derbyshire, then to Derbyshire they would go.
Was that ‘foraging on the enemy?’ She did not know.
Acknowledging that her role in the parlour that morning was to not interfere, she paid sufficient attention to ‘darling’ Lydia and the flock of foolish redcoats to be able to report back to Mr Darcy —and Mary and Mr Stevens, of course— and let her mind drift. Her brain having wrest back control from her heart, set her to thinking about which of the other servants to invite to Tenston; about the tenants, would she need to replace any of the tenants at Tenston and might any from Longbourn care to move; about their furniture and how many carts they would need to transport it.
If the conditions of the codicil were met, she would ask their Uncle Gardiner for his advice on the moving of their worldly belongings. He often dealt with transporting goods and would be the best man to organise it all.
Looking at the ghastly ornaments infesting the room, she thought of packing cases for Mrs Bennet’s belongings and those of ‘darling’ Jane and ‘darling’ Lydia. Perhaps she would ask Mrs Hill to organise all of that.
What next? Her mental list-making was interrupted by an announcement from the second Mrs Bennet:
“We must have you to dine!”
“Yes,” cried ‘darling’ Lydia. “Stay now! Stay for supper, now!”
Silently apologising to Mrs Hill and Cook, Elizabeth spoke up. “Officers, would you like to return to dine with us this evening. You would be most welcome.”
The men made their farewells, the door having barely closed behind them, when ‘darling’ Lydia protested, “La! You always spoil my fun, Eliza, sending the redcoats away when I was having so much fun!”
“I do believe that I was thinking only of you,” Elizabeth protested mildly. “You now have all afternoon to prepare yourself for their visit.”
“Oh, yes, that it what I was thinking, darling Lydia. Eliza will make you so very beautiful that all three of them will be fighting for your hand,” Mrs Bennet exclaimed.
“But I want them to fight to elope with me to …”
“Gretna Green,” supplied Elizabeth.
“They will, my darling girl, they will.”
“That sounds wonderful!” Elizabeth sounded enthusiastic. She did feel moderately enthusiastic and was surprised that it was for much the same thing as ‘darling’ Lydia. “I shall ask Mrs Hill to arrange hot water so that you can enjoy a nice relaxing bath before we dress you to impress the redcoats.”
Mrs Bennet ushered ‘darling’ Lydia up the stairs. “Hurry, Eliza, you have work to do!”
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