Alliance and the Artifice of War 31-40
Chapter Thirty-one — In which stones are thrown
Darcy
He thumped on Longbourn’s kitchen door.
“Miss Lizzy is here, sir,” said Mrs Hill as she opened it. Standing in his way, she continued, “Calm yourself before coming inside.”
“I must see her now!” Darcy had returned from London to find a scrawled note from Steven directing him to make all haste to Longbourn: Miss Elizabeth was upset.
“But Miss Lizzy must not see you in that state, sir! Your anger will be of no help to her.”
Darcy strode up and down the path in the kitchen garden. He forced his agitation down while the housekeeper watched him. Eventually, she stood aside and he dashed into the kitchen to find Miss Elizabeth sitting at the table, weeping in Miss Mary’s arms. Miss Lucas was being useful, pouring cups of tea.
He crouched in front of the young woman he had come to ardently admire, took one of her hands and asked softly, “Would you tell me what has happened, Miss Elizabeth?”
She shook her head.
“Tell him, Lizzy, dear,” Miss Mary spoke gently, passing her sister a handkerchief.
Miss Elizabeth wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Some of the militia offered me money, for my ‘favours,’ they said,” she gulped out. “One said that he could afford but a tanner and tossed a sixpence at my feet. Another asked,” the words caught in her throat, “asked what he would get for half a crown and then one said that I was worth no more than thruppence.”
Sobs overtook her again and, upon receiving small nods from Miss Mary and Mrs Hill, he knelt forward and pulled her into his embrace. As he held her close, Darcy was aware of Richard and Steven’s presence.
Miss Lucas offered everyone tea and took up the story. “My parents saw everything; as did Mr and Mrs Goulding. My father remonstrated with the militiamen, ‘sent them packing,’ he said. Then he and Mr Goulding went to see Colonel Forster.”
“Is he their commanding officer?” Richard asked.
“Yes, and my father is the local magistrate. Unfortunately, the colonel did not take it seriously; dismissed it as harmless; ‘men being men.’” Miss Lucas mimicked a man’s lower voice.
Richard growled. “Stupid! Stupid. ‘The Commander stands for the virtues of wisdom, sincerity, benevolence, courage and strictness.’”
“Perhaps you might have better luck with him, Dicky.”
“Aye, but let us have the rest, Miss Lucas.”
“My mother, Mrs Goulding and some of the other matrons surrounded poor Lizzy and brought her home. It is well that those who have known Lizzy all of her life think no less of her.”
Mrs Hill murmured her agreement. The cook bustled in from the pantry and muttered something about those worthless redcoats upsetting their dear Missy Lizzy.
Pulling away from him a little, Miss Elizabeth wiped her tears again. He released her from his arms, but she took a tight grip on his lapels. “This is Miss Bingley’s doing. She has thrown my good reputation away.”
“Do your worst, Mr Darcy,” said Miss Mary softly. “Do your very worst,” she repeated more firmly.
Darcy looked from Miss Mary back into the finest eyes that he had ever seen. “I shall. I will.”
“We will,” echoed Steven.
“Aye.”
Miss Mary drew Miss Elizabeth away to wash her face, then the men joined Miss Lucas and the Bennet sisters around the worn kitchen table.
Mrs Hill said, “Pay no mind to me and Mrs Baker; we shall not be wanting to interfere in your plots.” Miss Mary rose to kiss both of the servants on the cheek.
Sipping from their cups, the group listened as Darcy told them of his trip to London and his efforts to provide fashionable clothing for Barton-the-younger.
“My tailor was quite taken aback, being accustomed, as he is, to my rather conservative tastes.”
“When is —oh, I do not know how to refer to him— he to come to Hertfordshire?” asked Miss Elizabeth, her voice yet a little shaky.
Glad to hear her talk of other matters, he answered, “If you meet him, we shall introduce him as ‘Lord Lineley,’ so perhaps you ought to think of him and refer to him as such.”
“Very well. Perhaps we all ought to do so,” Miss Elizabeth nodded. “And when is he to arrive?”
“Later this week, I trust. If not, on Monday.”
The conversation turned to general matters, and Darcy took the opportunity to ask quietly, “What are your plans for this afternoon, Miss Elizabeth? Is Mr Onions at Longbourn today?”
“I have no plans, sir; I spoke with Mr Onions before walking into Meryton.” Distress flickered over her face. “I have yet to walk to Oakham Mount today though.” She looked up at him through brown lashes. On another woman, it would have been coquetry; not so on Miss Elizabeth’s pretty face.
“Might I have the privilege of accompanying you?”
She reddened. “You may.”
Steven and Miss Mary had heard sufficient to invite themselves on the walk, but Richard said that he would go with Miss Lucas to speak with Sir William.
“I think that you can trust my father with a little of the truth, Colonel,” said Miss Lucas.
“Aye. I shall let you be my guide.” Richard helped Miss Lucas to her feet.
The others were also standing when Mrs Hill cleared her throat.
“Yes, Mrs Hill,” said Miss Elizabeth.
Wringing her hands in her apron, Mrs Hill said diffidently, “I have an idea, Miss Lizzy.”
“I should love to hear it.”
“I have it from my sister that Mr Stevens, here, is Mr Darcy’s valet. Might he let slip to Mr Bingley’s valet how much this Lord Lineley has spent on his new clothing.”
“To what end?”
“Might Mr Bingley’s valet be led to believe that his lordship often spends such sums?” She looked around at their faces. “Oh, please forget that I sa— ”
“No, Mrs Hill. I shall not forget!” interjected Steven. “I shall do exactly that as soon as Lord-Lineley arrives.” He approached Mrs Hill and took her hands in his. “Excellent idea!” he pronounced, kissing her cheek.
“Aye,” agreed Richard, also kissing her cheek.
Darcy went to bestow a kiss too and laughed to spot the cook scuttling to the kitchen door, where she presented her own cheek for kisses from the young men as they left.
Chapter Thirty-two — In which refuge is sought
Elizabeth
After their long walk, Elizabeth and Mary parted from Messrs Darcy and Stevens at the gate to Longbourn to find the second Mrs Bennet and ‘darling’ Lydia in the parlour.
“La, Eliza!” cried ‘darling’ Lydia as they removed their bonnets. “Pratt and Saunderson came today with Carter, Chamberlayne and Denny.”
Elizabeth dreaded what was to come; Mary held her hand.
“They bought some money for you.”
Despite her dread, Elizabeth winced. ‘Brought’ not ‘bought.’
“I do not see why they should give Eliza any money. I have always said that she has too much money, never sparing enough for my darlings.” Mrs Bennet squeezed ‘darling’ Lydia’s cheeks together and kissed her protruding lips.
“Pratt said that he would give you but tuppence, and Saunderson said that he could afford a tanner but would want longer.”
Mary’s grip tightened on hers.
“If you have a tanner and a tuppenny bit, you must give them to darling Lydia!”
Elizabeth turned to leave.
“Will you give me the coins, Eliza?”
“Of course she will,” answered her mother.
“I am the tallest, so I should have the coins.”
Elizabeth and Mary retreated to the kitchen. “I do not know whether to laugh or cry.”
Mrs Hill was preparing a tray of tea things.
“It is a bit late for tea, is it not?” asked Mary.
“It is for Miss Kitty. She’s trapped in the small yellow parlour with Miss Jane and that Mr Bingley.”
“Oh,” sighed Mary. “Has she been with them for long?”
“Most of the afternoon, miss.”
“Ah, I shall relieve her,” said Elizabeth.
“No, Lizzy, I shall go.” Mary looked pointedly at her sister. “Why do not you tell Mrs Hill and Cook a little more about your plans? I shall send Kitty to Lucas Lodge to see Maria; a walk and a gossip will do her some good.”
“Very well,” Elizabeth agreed, trying to decide how much to share and how much to conceal. With the door from the kitchen to the rest of the house firmly closed, she started:
“This is part of a larger plan which I have shared only with Mr Gardiner.”
The servants nodded.
“I am determined to see both ‘darling’ Jane and ‘darling’ Lydia married by the end of the quarter.”
“You’m ’ave success wiv Miss Jane, me finks, but I dunno ’bout Miss Lyddyer.” Sitting opposite Elizabeth, the cook was scraping potatoes and carrots for the evening meal.
“Mr Darcy and Mr Stevens have found three foolish redcoats. I hope that one of them is foolish enough to elope with her.”
“But, miss, what does Mr Darcy have to do with your plan?”
She looked up at them. “A few weeks ago, I found out that Mr Bingley is blackmailing Mr Darcy.”
The servants gasped.
“Blackmail? That nice Mr Darcy? What in heaven’s name for?”
Yes, that nice Mr Darcy, whom I have not yet thanked. She shook away the guilty thought and responded:
“He has threatened Mr Darcy’s young sister, threatened her reputation. Hmph, and I know how that feels.”
Mrs Hill came and patted her shoulder leaving a floury handprint behind.
“In return for some forged letters, Mr Bingley has bidden Mr Darcy to find an heiress for himself and a titled man for Miss Bingley.”
“That wicked Mr Bingley hopes to marry Miss Jane and will take over Longbourn?” Mrs Hill was outraged.
“We have led him to believe such.” Elizabeth looked carefully at the servants. “He believes that.”
Mrs Hill’s face cleared, and Cook said, waving her knife, “I int stayin’ wiv such as ’im as master.”
“Have no fear, Mrs Baker; Mr Bingley will not be master of Longbourn. There will, though, be some changes and I ask you to hold fast to your curiosity.”
“We shall not say anything,” Mrs Hill was quick to say.
“Mr Darcy and I seem to have overlapping needs, so have pitched in together. Mary and Mr Stevens joined us. Then Charlotte and the colonel, too.”
“I do not understand why we are to call the colonel, ‘Mr Hughson.’”
“It seems to be to conceal his true identity from the Bingleys,” Elizabeth explained, shaking her head. She picked a scraped carrot from the bowl and bit into it. “Mr Darcy and I have a shared aim in seeing Mr Bingley and ‘darling’ Jane wed.”
“And ‘e found them fools what call on Miss Lyddyer?”
“He and Mr Stevens, yes.”
“Nice lad, that Mr Stevens,” Mrs Baker declared. “Int no vallit, mind.”
“You are quite correct, he ‘int no vallit.’”
Chapter Thirty-three — In which a thorn is sharpened
Darcy
Darcy was riding through Meryton with Mr Bingley when the latter pointed out the brunette Misses Bennet talking with some redcoats. Darcy noticed, with admiration for her bravery, that Miss Elizabeth was among their number.
As they drew closer, Mr Bingley nudged Darcy and dismounted calling up, “See, Fitzy-Witzy, old chap, I have a surprise for you!”
Darcy gazed roamed from Mr Bingley to the Bennets —pausing with a small smile to admire a pair of fine eyes— and on to the redcoats surrounding them. With a jolt of rage, his gaze caught on Mr Wickham. He swore. What the hell is he doing here!
Mr Bingley’s smug grin made the answer all too clear.
Darcy urged Ajax to a canter and rode away.
“Wickham!” Richard swore profusely.
“Indeed. In a group clustered around the Bennet sisters.”
They were locked in Darcy’s chambers; Richard raging, Darcy pacing.
Richard swore again. “And Bingley-boy knew him?”
“Expected and anticipated him, I think. He gloated at my shock.”
A rattle from the dressing-room heralded Steven’s arrival. “You two look out of sorts! Could it be anything to with the arrival of Wickham, perchance?” He did not recoil at the answering snarls. “You might care to hear what happened after you left, Willy.”
Steven made himself comfortable in one of the wing-backed chairs and indicated that his cousins should also sit.
“I happened to be leaving the Stoat and Gristle as you rode up, and watched your encounter.” He looked up at them. “I edged closer to hear their conversation.”
“What did they say?” demanded Richard.
“After inconsequential attempted flirting with Miss Mary and her sisters …” He sat forward. “Oh, I take it that you have told Miss Elizabeth —she of the fine eyes— about Wickham?”
“Indeed.”
“So Miss Mary will know too. Good.” Steven sat back again. “If we had not come to know the sisters quite well, I should not have caught the disdain in their eyes. They behaved with perfect gentility, but were not persuaded by his false charm.”
Darcy breathed out. Though he had expected nothing less from the bright Miss Elizabeth, he was relieved.
“The two older sisters kept the youngest safe between them and quickly excused themselves to continue their errands. Wickham watched them go until Bingley-boy recalled his attention, saying that they were merely the plain sisters. Then he waxed far too long on the beauties of Miss Bennet. When Wickham began to fidget —and for the first time I found that I am in agreement with him, Bingley-boy did go on!— he started to remind Wickham of his purpose in Meryton.”
Richard had got up to pour them each a measure of brandy, and Steven took a sip before continuing.
“Unfortunately, a group of chattering misses passed between us, so I missed what he said next. But, but, I did hear Wickham’s demand for money for a uniform, for lodging and so on.”
Darcy hmphed. “Typical Wickham; with his hand out.”
“Bingley-boy protested a bit, but Wickham said that, to fit in with his fellow militiamen, he would need to look the part.”
Darcy humped again. “He means that he wants impress the local women.”
“Aye. His fellow redcoats will be naught but walking coin purses to him.”
“But then, much to my surprise, Bingley-boy showed a little gumption and demanded to know what the other officers were to do with why he had brought him here.”
“Wickham had a ready answer, no doubt.”
“Of course, of course. He beguiled Bingley-boy with his usual tale of how you had cheated him and said that the other officers and the townsfolk would readily cast you as the villain.” Steven sipped again. “You know, I should be impressed if I should not heard you tell of it: Wickham managed to produce a tear, and allowed Bingley-boy to see it before turning away as if in distress.”
“Aye, well practised, is that. Worked a charm on Willy’s father.”
“He bites his tongue.”
“Really, is that how he does it? Self-inflicted pain; never knew he had it in him.”
“Now,” said Steven, getting to his feet. “I shall be off to tell tales of my own,” he paused, adopting a ‘woe is me’ expression.
“Aye; hang on, Cock Robin. I have a tale to tell, too.”
“You went to see Sir William?” asked Darcy.
“Aye. Hail fellow well met, but ineffectual. Bit overwhelmed by militiamen, more used to a quiet town. So I went to see Forster.”
“The colonel?”
“Aye, bloody useless. Went in full uniform and the buffoon barely saluted. Could not care less about his men’s behaviour. More interested in their move to Brighton and pleasing his pretty young wife.”
“Indeed. She struck me as foolish, too.”
“Aye. A man of his age weds a girl that young for only one reason.”
“Thinking with his breeches not his head, is he, Dicky?”
“Aye, that he is, Cock Robin; that he is.”
“Indeed. When do they remove to Brighton?”
“Autumn, nice and snug for the winter.” Richard sneered. “Call themselves men!”
“Ah, I can add to this tale of little boys playing at soldiers,” said Steven into the short silence. “As I said, I was in the Stoat and Gristle.”
“Aye, propping up the bar, were you?”
Steven huffed. “As it happens, yes I was. Just propping up the bar and listening to the idle gossip.”
“Idling listening to the idle gossip? That is not what I pay you for!”
“Henceforth! Forthwith! I know, I know. But since you do not actually pay me, I shall grace the Stoat and Gristle with my presence whenever I like!”
Richard reached over and tousled Steven’s hair. “Aye, poor lad, poor little Cock Robin.”
Steven’s expression hardened. “You will not like what I heard, William.”
“Indeed?”
“Hurst has been in there. It seems that he has been spreading Miss Bingley’s malice at the Stoat and Gristle.”
Darcy was on his feet and opening the door. Richard had leapt up too and was restraining him.
“Hear him out,” Richard growled, pulling Darcy back to his seat.
“But Elizabeth …”
“Will not be served by you running off half-cocked.”
Steven continued, “Old Jelly, the keep at the Stoat and Gristle, said that there had been some nancy-boy pushing and shoving there, last night. He was contemptuous of the militia’s reluctance to get stuck in, even in a barroom brawl. ‘Fat lot of use, this lot,’ he said. ‘Boney will be shaking in ’is boots.’”
Richard nodded.
“Turns out, some of them had been up to Longbourn to offer Miss Elizabeth some money. Wait, William, wait!” Steven held his hands up. “Old Jelly pointed them out to me: Pratt and Saunderson. All of seventeen years old, if a day, covered in pimples. I went over and loitered, eavesdropped, you know. They were drunk on half a pint of ale and giggling like little girls. I soon realised that they had no idea what they were talking about — would not know one end of a woman from the other.”
“They tried to buy Elizabeth’s favours. They know enough!”
“No. I think not. They were copying the behaviour of their older fellows with the barmaids, not knowing what it means.”
“No. No.” Darcy shook his head, not believing.
“Listen! I joined their conversation: at Longbourn, they did not see or speak with Miss Elizabeth. They sat with Mrs Bennet and Miss Lydia, and said that they had money for Miss Elizabeth. Apparently, Miss Lydia then told them that she must have the money as ‘Miss Eliza’ did not need it.”
“Aye, so they did not give or offer money to Miss Elizabeth herself?”
“No, they did not.”
Darcy breathed in and out, making himself calm. Richard was right: he was no use to Miss Elizabeth running off half-cocked. His resolve to deal with Bingley and his family hardened.
“William!”
Richard’s urgent cry brought his attention back to his cousins.
“We have a plan. We must stick with it.”
“Our plan has changed, though, has it not?” said Steven.
“Aye. Deal with the blackmailing Bingley-boy. Deal with the malicious Miss Bingley-boy. We shall also deal with Hurst.”
“Indeed.” Darcy shrugged off his anger sufficiently to think rationally. “If he is dipping into Bingley’s accounts, then he probably owes money.”
Richard pounded him on the back. “Aye, and, if the rumours are true, owes it to the dregs of the dregs.”
Steven stood again. “Muttered tales of my harsh master’s cruelty will further endear me to Bingley-boy’s ferret. And I shall see what I can winkle out of him about Wickham and Hurst, after all, ‘Knowledge of the enemy’s dispositions can only be obtained from other men.’” He bowed obsequiously and left with the words, “And, of course, a valet’s work is never done. Did you tell Dicky about the cross and the horseshit?”
“That is enough!” shouted Darcy, regaining his equilibrium. “You are dismissed from my service, henceforth, forthwith!”
Steven poked his head back round the door. “If only I could cry —just so— like Wickham. I should gain much sympathy below stairs.” Grinning, he ducked and fled as a boot flew in his direction.
Chapter Thirty-four — In which a title is announced
Elizabeth
As usual, Elizabeth and her sisters were in the kitchen. As neither Mrs Bennet nor her ‘darling’ daughters had awoken, they were not needed as handmaids, seamstresses or chaperones. Having seen her own sister earlier that morning, Mrs Hill was telling them of a new arrival at Netherfield.
“Hilary says that he is a baron. That nice Mr Darcy said that his name were Lord Lineley, but did not say that he is a baron.”
“A baron?” asked Kitty, her curiosity piqued as, other than Sir William and his knighthood, she had not encountered anyone with a title.
“Hilary said that he paid a lot of compliments to that Miss Bingley. Said that she was flattered. And Miss Bingley’s maid came below stairs to say that her mistress found him very well turned out.”
“I should like to see a baron, especially a handsome one,” said Kitty with eyes wide at the thought of the splendour of such a man.
“If the Netherfield party attend the supper at Lucas Lodge on Monday, perhaps you will,” said Elizabeth with a smile. “I beg you, though, do not having any hopes of him.”
“Why not?” cried Kitty, standing and climbing onto a small kitchen stool. “I am the tallest, so I shall marry the baron!”
“Well said, Kitty, dear!” replied Elizabeth. “We do not know his purpose in Meryton, so please let us discern his character before we sign any settlements.”
“He might prefer a shorter bride,” added Mary, sinking low into her chair.
“’E mighten want a skinny woman, jus’ like me,” interjected Mrs Baker, smoothing her apron over her ample figure.
Mrs Hill joined the sisters in their laughter, then said, “Hilary also said that that Mr Stevens has been having chinwags with Mr Bingley’s valet. Muttering and complaining to each other and like.” Pouring more tea into the cups before the sisters, she continued, “Is this to do with your plan, Miss Lizzy?”
Elizabeth wished that the housekeeper had not mentioned her plans in Kitty’s hearing, so answered, “I think that Mr Stevens has his own plan.”
It was too late: Kitty asked, “What plan, Lizzy?”
While Elizabeth considered what to say, Mary was ready with an answer, “Lizzy and I hope that Mr Bingley will propose marriage to ‘darling’ Jane, and Mr Stevens is trying to find out if Mr Bingley is sincere in his courtship.”
“But why would he marry Jane? I have sat with them for a few of his visits, and all she does is look at him not saying anything while he holds her hand and talks about himself.”
“Huh! That’s men for you, Missy Kitty,” laughed Mrs Baker. “’Old yer ’and an’ talk of nuffin’ but ’emselfs.”
“Is that supposed to make you fall in love with them?” asked Kitty, her naivety illuminating a truth universally acknowledged, if only by the fairer sex.
Chapter Thirty-five — In which dates are drafted
Darcy
Barton-the-younger had arrived at Netherfield. With apparent ease, he had found the best approach with Miss Bingley: he encouraged her flattery and flattered her in return. He spoke long and longingly of his family’s estate of Hentner Treen in Devonshire.
When she pronounced a preference for manicured gardens, he agreed with her and said that, if she were but the mistress of an estate, she could arrange them as she wished.
When she flattered the style of his cravat, he thanked her profusely saying that he had bid his valet to delight her.
When she professed a desire for dinner parties and large gatherings, he agreed with her and said that, if she were but the mistress of an estate, she could arrange them as she wished.
When she flattered his seat while out riding, he thanked her profusely saying that he needed to ride often, owning, as he did, half of Devon.
Darcy acknowledged that Barton-the-younger was clever. As Baron-the-older was so close to death, Miss Bingley would not be mistress of Hentner Treen long enough to arrange the gardens into manicured uniformity, nor would she be able to arrange parties and gatherings.
He concealed a snort whenever the eager suitor talked of owning half of Devon as ‘Devon’ was the name of the twins’ old Labrador.
When, as they all too often did, her words descended into her usual spite and gossip, he remarked upon her perspicuity. Darcy wondered if Miss Bingley thought that he meant ‘perspicacity.’
A few mornings after his arrival at Netherfield, Barton-the-younger accompanied Darcy and his cousins to their meeting with the local gentlewomen. Misses Elizabeth and Mary and Miss Lucas greeted him kindly and shared the bread rolls and apples with him.
Barton-the-younger joined their silent eating, watching the sun rising before them, seeming to appreciate the calm, comforting camaraderie.
Eventually Richard broke the stillness. “Now that young Barton-the-younger, here, has got his boots under Miss Bingley’s, er, table, we need to hurry things along a bit. How long is it until quarter day, Willy?”
Miss Elizabeth answered, “Six weeks and three days.”
“Counting backwards from quarter day, when must the first banns be cried?”
“The eleventh day of September, but I should not like to leave it that late.”
“Aye. Agreed.”
“No should I,” added Barton-the-younger. “Baron’s health is failing and he needs to be well enough to bear the ceremony.”
Sympathetic murmurs came from all.
“Aye, poor lad. Have you got your notebook, Willy? Let us draw up a timetable.”
Darcy took the opportunity to lean close and whisper in Miss Elizabeth’s ear, “This is why we have invited the distaff cousin.” Oh, what a lovely blush!
He handed his notebook and a pencil to Richard, and Miss Elizabeth rummaged in her satchel to find her own notebook. Richard started to write the dates down the left-hand side of the page. Looking over her shoulder, Darcy saw that Miss Elizabeth’s notebook already showed them.
Richard said, “The Sundays fall on the twenty-first and twenty-eighth days of August, and the fourth, eleventh, eighteenth and twenty-fifth days of September. Aye, young Barton-the-younger, if you sweep Miss Bingley off her feet in the next few days, we shall have the banns out-asked* by,“ he counted the Sundays, “the fourth day of September, ready to marry her off on Monday the fifth.” He looked up at their faces.
“That sounds marvellous, Mr Hughson,” said Miss Lucas. “But will not Miss Bingley desire a longer period of courtship?”
“Indeed,” said Darcy, as Richard looked bewildered.
“It has been but less than a week. Let us give it a fortnight complete,” Barton-the-younger said before muttering, “I can manage that!”
Richard consulted his list of dates. “Aye, you know best, young Barton-the-younger. First banns to be called on the last Sunday of August, and the wedding on, one, two, three, Monday the twelfth day of September.”
Miss Elizabeth looked up from her list. “Very well. Will you have to travel to Devonshire for the wedding?” She turned to Barton-the-younger and asked, “Your brother cannot come here, I assume?”
“No, Miss Elizabeth, he cannot. The wedding must be at Hentner Treen.”
“Mm,” Miss Elizabeth thought aloud. “This is a good plan but, I beg you, let us not forget Mr Bingley and ‘darling’ Jane.”
Looking at the guests of Netherfield Park, Miss Mary asked, “Do you know if he is close to proposing?”
Steven answered, “I should not put it past him to be waiting until his sister is settled.”
“Aye, he will not relieve Willy’s suffering any sooner than he can.”
“Nor ours,” said Miss Mary softly.
“Aye. Aye! I have it! A ball! There is nothing like a ball to bring about a proposal; Bingley-boy must give a ball!” Richard ignored their amused reactions. “Aye, a ball on Thursday.”
“Three days is too soon, it is quite a settled thing,” said Miss Lucas. “Mrs Nicholls must have time to make white soup.”
“Next Tuesday,” said Miss Elizabeth, running her finger down her list. “I shall send Mrs Baker to Netherfield to lend a hand.” She looked askance at Barton-the-younger. “Our cook has it in mind that a baron might prefer an amply-padded older woman and would like to meet you.”
“I should be honoured,” replied Barton-the-younger. “Perhaps Steven would perform the introductions.”
Steven nodded. “You cannot escape the acquaintance.”
Eventually it was time to depart, the women to their homes and the men to Netherfield. They made their farewells affectionately, anticipating a reunion at Lucas Lodge the following evening.
Darcy discovered that the Bennet sisters had walked the short distance to the supper at Lucas Lodge while Mrs Bennet and her daughters had taken the carriage. As the young women entered, he saw that Miss Kitty was keen to espy the newcomer to Meryton, her gaze flitted about the room. Miss Elizabeth caught his eye so he meandered around the clusters of chatting neighbours towards her.
After the usual civilities, Miss Elizabeth said, “My sister, Kitty, has heard much about the baron, sir. Do you think that she might see him this evening?”
“Indeed. He is by the fireplace talking with our hostess. If he comes this way, I shall beg an introduction for you.”
Miss Kitty looked up at him wide-eyed. “Oh, thank you! I should very much like to meet a baron!” She caught her sister’s arm. “Can you see him, Lizzy?”
“No, I am not as tall as you, dear. We shall just have to wait.”
Darcy then heard the younger sister whisper to the older, “But I am the taller, so I shall marry him.” He frowned in confusion; what was height to do with marrying?
It was not long before Miss Kitty’s hopes were realised, though she managed little but a polite curtsey and ‘good evening.’
A little later, standing with Barton-the-younger and Miss Bingley, Darcy saw an opportunity to ‘dissimulate.’ Miss Elizabeth was at that instant moving towards them, he was struck with the notion of doing a very mischievous thing, and called out to her,
“Miss Elizabeth, why are not you dancing? Lord Lineley, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you.” And, taking her hand, he would have given it to Barton-the-younger, who was extremely surprised.
Miss Elizabeth appeared discomposed and said, “Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing. I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner.”
Miss Bingley, not happy with the interruption, said, “You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to deny the redcoats your favours; and though this gentleman dislikes your little amusements, he can have no objection, I am sure, to your bestowing them elsewhere.”
Darcy’s breath caught at Miss Bingley’s overt rudeness, but Miss Elizabeth was unruffled.
“Miss Bingley, you are all politeness,” said she, smiling and excusing herself from their company.
Darcy heard Barton-the-younger’s breath catch too, and admired his calm demeanour.
“I can guess the subject of your reverie,” said Barton-the-younger to Miss Bingley.
“I should imagine not,” replied Miss Bingley.
“You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner — in such society, my dear Miss Bingley; and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet the noise; the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all these people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!”
Darcy’s abhorrence for Barton-the-younger’s ploy fought with envy for his quick thinking. He did not wish to hear more, so drifted away from them.
* out-ask — to proclaim the banns of for the last time [Chambers Dictionary] I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to use this ever since it was an answer in a crossword many moons ago.
Chapter Thirty-six — In which there is a wolf in a red coat
Elizabeth
The second Mrs Bennet had accepted an invitation to a card party to be held by her brother and sister-in-law, Mr and Mrs Phillips. Thus, Elizabeth, Mary and Kitty were in a frenzy of primping and plumping. As usual, Elizabeth tried to coerce ‘darling’ Jane’s limp locks into fashionable plaits and curls. And, as usual, ‘darling’ Jane was practising her expressions in front of the mirror.
Demureness, delighted demureness, flattered demureness. If Mr Bingley was not such a rogue, I might feel sorry for him.
She twisted another strand and pinned it.
Demure delight, demure flatterness. No, what is the noun of flatter? Ah, flattery. Demure flattery.
She twisted another strand and pinned it.
No, the rogue is doing the flattering. Demure flatterer? No, no.
She twisted another strand and pinned it, watching ‘darling’ Jane’s facial muscles submit to gravity’s inexorable pull.
Ah, I have it: demure flatness!
“There, all done!”
She came in to appraise ‘darling’ Jane’s appearance. “Oh, my darling Jane, you cannot be so beautiful for nothing!”
That does not make sense.
“La, Mamma!”
Elizabeth managed to conceal a snort at the thought of the strange and wonderful llamas. Although the author of her father’s book doubted the existence of such a creature, she, Mary and Kitty had decided to believe in it —for its name if nothing else.
‘Darling’ Lydia was twittering on. “And I cannot be the tallest for nothing!”
“Oh, my darling! You deserve everything that is good.”
Despite much procrastination, eventually they arrived at the Phillipses’ small house in the centre of Meryton. As was her wont, Mrs Phillips had invited far too many people for the space: everywhere they looked were redcoats.
Elizabeth felt Mary squeeze her hand. Kitty hung onto her other arm until ‘darling’ Lydia tugged her away. After greeting their friends and neighbours, the sisters found a secluded corner. Charlotte and her younger sister, Maria, came to join them.
Eventually, the jostling of the rowdy crowd separated them. Then Charlotte left to find cups of tea, leaving Elizabeth alone.
Mr Wickham approached her.
Oh, no!
“Miss Elizabeth, I have been hoping for an opportunity to speak with you.”
“We have not been introduced, sir.” Elizabeth tried to move away.
“Lieutenant George Wickham at your service, madam.” Mr Wickham bowed. “Now that we’re the closest of confidants … ”
“I think not, Mr Whiteham,” Elizabeth retorted thinly. ‘A skilful warrior provokes, but he’s never provoked,’ thought Elizabeth while wishing Mr Wickham to blazes.
“‘Wickham.’ But, I have heard much of your sisters and their beauty, and can but say that fame has fallen short of the truth.”
“The fame of Jane and Lydia’s beauty has, indeed, spread far and wide.” Mostly by their mother.
“I prefer darker-haired maidens.” He extended a hand towards her curls and stepped closer.
“Excuse me, Mr Whiteman. I needs must attend my sisters.” It was probably unwise to goad the man, but Elizabeth did not wish for his company.
“Not so fast, madam!” His tone was oily. He stepped closer still. “Are you to tell me that my coins are not worth as much as Darcy’s?”
“Darcy? Do you mean Mr Darcy? Mr, er, Bingley’s guest?” Determined that she would not display her fear, Elizabeth frowned as if in confusion.
“You saw the cold manner of our meeting yesterday.”
“Yesterday?“ Her countenance grew more perplexed.
“Yes, yesterday, outside the inn.”
“Let me see, yesterday … my sisters and I were shopping; Mr Denny showed us the new buttons on his jacket, then …” she paused as if trying to remember, while sidling away from him. “Mr Bingley stopped to ask about Jane, then Lady Lucas called us over to show us a new hat in the window of the milliners. Then, after a quick chat with the butcher, we stopped at the Goat and Whistle to see if there were any letters for us and walked home.”
“Denny introduced us!”
“I do not recall that, Mr Whichall. Was that before or after he showed us his new buttons?”
“I do not care for your jokes, Miss Elizabeth. And my coins are as good as Darcy’s.”
“Coins are coins. I fail to understand you.” She tried to push past him, but he caught hold of her elbow. “UNHAND ME!” she shouted, not caring about making a fuss.
Heads turned in their direction, and Mr Phillips and Sir William Lucas started to push towards them.
Mr Wickham let go but spat, “We all know about your favours! I shall sample them yet!”
Elizabeth was not going to shake; she was determined. She held her head high and said, “I do not know to what you refer, Ensign.”
Sir William arrived and started to scold Mr Wickham. Much to Elizabeth’s surprise, Mr Phillips was more direct; he pinched Mr Wickham’s ear and dragged him to the door.
“La Eliza! If you do not want Wicky’s coins, I must have them.” ‘Darling’ Lydia’s screech carried across the room. “For I am the tallest,” she cried to her coterie.
Mary and Charlotte came and shielded Elizabeth from prying eyes, Charlotte apologising profusely for taking so long to fetch tea.
They sipped from their cups in silence before Mr Phillips returned.
“Not having that,” he said brusquely. “If he wants company, he can ask at the Goat.” He nodded and walked away.
Elizabeth and Mary exchanged raised eyebrows. They had had little to do with the second Mrs Bennet’s brother and were surprised by his defence.
Swallowing her anxiety along with a mouthful of tea, Elizabeth had a thought: does he know about the codicil?
I hope not. She swallowed again.
Chapter Thirty-seven — In which a confidence is misplaced
Darcy
Miss Elizabeth looked tired, he thought, as she, Miss Mary and Miss Lucas arrived for their meeting at the top of Oakham Mount. He wanted to hurry to her and take her hands, but manners dictated that he bow instead.
They sat in companionable silence eating their bread rolls and watching the sun rise, the long shadows before them gradually shortening.
“We had the misfortune to encounter your Mr Wickham, yesterday evening.” As usual Miss Mary did not preamble.
“He is hardly my Mr Wickham,” Darcy protested.
“He spoke of you,” said Miss Elizabeth.
“Hmph. Indeed. His usual tales of woe, I should bet.”
“Then you would lose the bet, sir,” retorted Miss Mary.
Darcy’s heart sank as he watched Miss Elizabeth’s head drop and her hand creep toward her sister’s.
“He has heard Miss Bingley’s vile rumours about poor Lizzy’s ‘favours.’”
Miss Elizabeth’s voice was small. “I care not for being ‘poor Lizzy.’” She looked sadly at her sister. “I much prefer to be Lizzy Bennet whose courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate her. It seems that Miss Bingley’s casual malice has removed the very essence of me.”
“Oh, you are that courageous Lizzy Bennet! As I approached, I could tell that you were winning the battle of words,” asserted Miss Lucas.
Miss Mary continued, “Lieutenant Wickham’s only advantage was in his size. Come on, what would Sun Shine say about it?”
A small smile graced Miss Elizabeth’s face as she elbowed her sister. “Sun Tzu!”
Darcy, Richard and Steven laughed.
“You think to distract me!”
“Is it working?” Miss Mary grinned.
“Aye, Sun Shine, Sun Tzu. ’Tis an easy mistake to make, Miss Mary.” Richard nodded.
“The only quote that came to my mind was, ‘A skilful warrior provokes, but he is never provoked,’ …”
“So she provoked him by calling him, ‘Ensign!’”
“Ooh, ouch!” cried Richard.
Darcy caught Miss Elizabeth’s attention and asked her to narrate the whole of her encounter with Mr Wickham.
As she did, Steven interjected, “Miss Mary is correct, you were winning the battle of words. Fancy pretending to have forgotten your first introduction!”
“Aye, kick his self-worth in the nether regions!”
Darcy noticed that Misses Elizabeth and Mary looked at Miss Lucas for confirmation of this. Wondering why, he remembered that the latter had brothers.
Miss Lucas took up the tale, “Then, when Lizzy shouted out, Mr Phillips and my father dealt with Mr Wickham.”
“Mr Phillips surprised us greatly,” added Miss Mary. “He pulled him out by his ear!”
The men laughed at the thought of another man being treated thus.
“He came back to us, afterwards, and said that that sort of behaviour belongs in the Goat and Whistle.”
Steven cleared his throat. “And that is where I shall take up the sorry tale of Wickham’s evening.”
They all turned to face him to await the tale. As he drew breath and held up his head to boast of his adventures, Miss Mary’s voice came:
“Would anyone like an apple?”
Apples were passed around the group.
Steven started again.
“Would anyone like more tea?” Miss Mary shook the flask. “There is a drop left.”
Steven looked at Miss Mary. “May I start?”
“Oh, yes,” cried Miss Mary. “Please do.” She graced him with a cheekily expectant smile, a smile learned from her sister, Darcy thought.
“I had been taking the waters …”
“Aye; ale-flavoured waters.”
“… the waters at the Stoat and Gristle.”
The misnaming of the inn brought smiles to the women’s faces.
“Where I was chatting confidentially,” he paused to wink ostentatiously, “with old Jelly, the inn-keep.”
“His name is ‘Jimmy!’” tutted Miss Elizabeth, good-humouredly. “You three and your silly names!”
“And was telling him of a baron visiting Netherfield to have a look at Miss Bingley. Old Jelly said that one look would be enough for any man.”
The women hid smirks.
“I said that there were twenty thousand reasons to look at her. Old Jelly said that he would ask for double that and, as he was wiping the clean tankards with a grubby cloth, added that he would also ask for a blindfold. Much hearty laughter was enjoyed by everyone.”
Miss Mary turned to her sister. “Mr Stevens tells a nice tale, does he not? ‘Much hearty laughter.’ I shall have to remember that.”
“And use it in one of your own tales?”
“Mm. Perhaps, ‘was enjoyed by one and all,’ rather than ‘by everyone.’ What do you think, Charlotte?”
“‘Much hearty laughter was enjoyed by one and all?’ Yes, that is much better.”
“Very good.” Turning back to Steven, Miss Mary said, “Oh, do go on. What happened after the hearty laughter was enjoyed by one and all?”
Steven looked nonplussed for a moment or two. “Since Old Jelly and I were talking in low tones —confidentially, as I said before— I said that there were better pickings at a different estate. It was strange, the tap-room went quiet as I said that.”
“I dread to think, sir. What ‘better pickings’ might those be?” Miss Elizabeth asked.
“I mentioned to Old Jelly —and he promised not to breathe a word on the subject to a living soul— that there was an addition to the will saying that the first of the Misses Bennet to wed would get Longbourn.” He sat back in satisfaction.
“Mr Stevens!” Miss Elizabeth jumped to her feet, outraged. “How dare you! How dare you!” Fuming, she started to march away.
Darcy jumped up to follow her. “Please wait, Miss Elizabeth!”
“Leave me be, sir! Leave me be!”
“Wait! Please!” He ran to catch up with her.
“No! I cannot listen now!”
Chapter Thirty-eight — In which stupidity is explained
Elizabeth
Stupid man! Stupid men! Elizabeth ranted as she ran back to Longbourn.
She entered by the kitchen door where the look of fury on her face deterred questions from the housekeeper and the cook. Marching straight to her father’s book-room, she unlocked the door, entered and slammed it behind her.
Pacing up and down, she felt like screaming. We shall have every ne’er-do-well in Hertfordshire at our door once they hear that! ‘Darling’ Lydia will have too many beaux to choose from and we shall never be rid of her.
A knock on the door heralded Mrs Hill. Without comment, she put a tray of tea things on the desk and left.
“Thank you!” Elizabeth called after her, calming sufficiently to remember her manners.
Soon her rage became despair. ‘Anger may in time change to gladness; vexation may be succeeded by content,’ Sun Tzu had written. Elizabeth was not ready to believe it.
Pouring a cup of tea, she took out the book on strange mythical and foreign animals to distract herself. She found a description of a creature called a kangaroo, which, the author claimed, jumped on its back legs and kept its babies in a pouch! She imagined jumping up and down with a small child in her satchel. Ha ha! That is clearly made up!
No longer furious, but not yet glad —what was Sun Tzu thinking?— she forced herself to settle down to the daily estate work.
At mid-morning, she sat up and stretched. Standing to put papers away, she waved to young Ned Nicholls as he sauntered past her window. In a much better mood, she left and locked the book-room and wandered along to the kitchen. I shall thwart the shortbread thief!
Agh! There at the table with Mary were Messrs. Darcy and Stevens, cups of tea and a half-empty plate of shortbread in front of them.
The men scrambled hastily to their feet and bowed. Elizabeth was not to be banished from the sanctuary of the kitchen, so allowed Mary to draw her to a chair at the table.
“Mr Stevens has something that he wishes to say to you. Will you listen?” Mary’s tone left little option for refusal.
Elizabeth nodded. “Very well,” she replied tersely. She refused to do more than glance at Mr Darcy’s concerned face, instead stared expectantly at his cousin.
“I am sorry, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr Stevens began. “I should have consulted you —you and Miss Mary— before speaking thus. My only excuse —feeble though it is— is that I was trying to hurry along the courtship of Miss Lydia, and it is but a month and a half until the end of the quarter.”
Elizabeth narrowed her lips, considering that. “My worry is that we shall be beset by every man within twenty miles. ‘Darling’ Lydia will so enjoy being the centre of a large throng of ardent flatterers that she will be unable to choose, will not see any necessity to choose.”
“She will not consider any other than a redcoat,” Mary reminded her.
“Ah, thus the militia’s ranks will swell with more fools,” Elizabeth remarked dryly.
“I had hoped that it would spur one of the fools into action,” Mr Stevens admitted ruefully.
“Hmph. We shall see, no doubt, we shall see,” grumbled Elizabeth.
Mr Darcy spoke for the first time, “Would you feel less worried if I found a footman to protect you and your sisters?”
All heads turned to face Ned Nicholls who stopped his silent munching of his own plate of shortbread and nodded amenably.
Realising that Ned’s acceptance of a job at Longbourn would mean that she would be stealing fewer servants from Netherfield, Elizabeth asked, “Could we pay you in shortbread?” On his nod, she asked the cook, “Mrs Baker, can you make enough to keep young Ned, here, contented?”
“’E mighten ’ave to ’ave stew wiv the rest o’ us in the evenin’s, mind.”
“Would that be acceptable to you, Ned?”
Ned nodded again and the deal was struck.
Elizabeth was starting to relax. She could understand Mr Stevens’ motives without approving of his methods. She dared a look at Mr Darcy to find him gazing at her with a fond expression. She blushed, her brain having given up all hope otherwise.
The bell at the front door jangled. She and Mary looked at the kitchen clock to see that it was exactly three minutes past eleven o’clock. They then looked pointedly at Ned, who went with Mrs Hill to open the door. Soon they were back; expectant countenances met them.
“It is Captain Carter, Chamberlayne and the one who struts about. To see Miss Lydia, miss.”
“Denny?”
“Mm.” More shortbread had made its way into their new footman’s mouth.
Mrs Hill added, “Mr Wickham, too, Miss Lizzy.”
“Mr Wickham? Here?” Elizabeth felt Mr Darcy’s gentle touch of reassurance on her arm.
“Yes, miss. He has joined the others in the parlour.”
“Miss Elizabeth,” cried Mr Stevens. “Would you permit me to finish telling you of my confidential conversation with Old Jelly at the Stoat and Gristle?”
Darcy interjected, “It might ease your mind a little.”
“Go on then, Mr Stevens. Go on.”
Mrs Hill stepped forward. “One moment, please, sir.” She dispatched her nephew to Netherfield. “Go, tell your mother. Bring your bits and bobs here and I shall find a room for you. Shoo!” Closing the kitchen door behind him, she bid Mr Stevens to carry on.
“Thank you, Mrs Hill, you are a wonder! Now, I said to Old Jelly that I had heard —in the strictest confidence, of course— that Miss Lydia is unswerving in her intent to be the first to be wed. I lowered my voice further and said that I had heard that her very aim in life was to be wed even before Miss Bennet herself.
“Old Jelly said —none too quietly— that Miss Lydia was too young to be wed, at which I tapped my nose …”
“Just so?” asked Mary.
“Yes, Miss Mary: just so,” Mr Stevens demonstrated the tapping of a nose ‘just so.’ “And mentioned that she is not too young to be wed in bonny Scotland.”
“I take it that, despite your low voice, …”
“Or because of it?” suggested Mr Darcy.
“Because of your low tone of voice, you were overheard.”
“‘Indeed,’ as Willy would say. Indeed I was.” Mr Stevens’ woeful shake of his head showed his disdain for nefarious eavesdroppers.
“And Mr Wickham was among the listeners?”
“No, he was not. But, but,” Mr Stevens said, waving his finger, “he joined the party of fools who did eavesdrop and, in his turn, listened to them most keenly.”
“Thus his presence here at Longbourn.” Elizabeth sat back in her chair to think on the ramifications of Mr Wickham in her house, ostensibly paying court to ‘darling’ Lydia. “Mrs Hill, would you ask John to put a padlock and a bolt on the door to our chamber? Ask him to do it now, would you?”
“Oh, Lizzy! You do not think that …?”
“I want to feel safe here, dear. And I do not feel safe anywhere near to Mr Wickham.”
“You are wise beyond your years, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr Darcy.
‘Go on,’ said her brain to her heart. ‘Blush to your content.’ It forgot about thanking Mr Darcy.
Chapter Thirty-nine — In which there is demure Schadenfreude
Darcy
The Bingleys had been manipulated into holding a ball at Netherfield. Steven and Richard had teased Darcy mercilessly about dancing with Miss Elizabeth and her fine eyes. She would hardly dance without them, he had protested while looking forward to asking her for the set before supper.
To his dismay, he found that Misses Elizabeth, Mary and Catherine were not to attend. Mrs Bennet had said that there was no need for their plain faces and their plain gowns to put ‘darling’ Jane and ‘darling’ Lydia to shame. Darcy hoped that he saw his disappointment mirrored in Miss Elizabeth’s face. The evening would have been bearable —enjoyable, perhaps— with her company.
“You will dance with Charlotte, though?” Miss Elizabeth had asked him, the fondness for her friend evident.
“I shall be honoured to stand up with Miss Lucas. Of the six of us,” he had gestured to the group of conspirators —friends— sitting under the oak tree, “only she and I shall be attending.”
Miss Lucas had laughed saying to the others, “And, without raising my mother’s hopes, we shall have to depend on one another for company in your absence.”
“Aye, just make sure that there is nothing more than ‘depending,’ Willy!”
“Indeed.” He had smiled down at Miss Elizabeth only to become caught in admiration of her fine eyes.
With Miss Lucas’ dependable company, the first part of the ball was not as bad as he had expected. They danced the second set together, then they strolled around the edge of the ballroom evading and avoiding the tenants of Netherfield Park and the residents of Lucas Lodge. In lieu of their company, they spoke of her friends and his cousins.
When the dancing halted for supper, they found places at a table with the Gouldings and the Longs. They were not his choice of neighbours, but Miss Lucas declared them to be pleasant, undemanding company. He acceded to her wishes. She was correct; they were mostly pleasant and reasonably undemanding. He preferred that to the screeching at Miss Lydia’s table and the supercilious preening at Miss Bingley’s.
They had almost finished eating when Miss Lucas drew his attention to Mr Bingley. He had stood to make an announcement and the revellers gradually fell silent to listen.
“My friends, thank you for coming this evening.”
The foolish redcoats gathered around Miss Lydia greeted the words as if they ought to be handed down to posterity with all the éclat of a proverb by cheering and thumping the table.
“My friends,” Mr Bingley began again. “I have two announcements to make!”
More cheers and more thumping followed.
“The first is that my sister, Caroline, is betrothed to Lord Lineley, and the second is that Miss Bennet has paid me the greatest of honours by agreeing to be my wife!”
A scream rent the air, louder than the raucous applause.
“NO! I am the tallest; I must be first to marry! Tell Jane, Mamma. Tell her that I must be first!”
Miss Lucas redirected Darcy’s appalled attention to Miss Bennet. “I do believe that that is a new expression. We must tell Lizzy that Jane has mastered demure slyness or, perhaps, gratification.”
Darcy was puzzled. “I do not have the pleasure of understanding you, madam.”
“Lizzy swears that ‘darling’ Jane has only three expressions, demureness and two variations of it: delighted and flattered. I shall be pleased to tell her of another.”
“No, I do not … Do you mean that …?” Darcy was rarely so lost for words.
“Oh, yes, sir.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Jane has nothing —nothing— but her beauty. She has no accomplishments other than looking beautiful.”
Words refused to be formed and he sat in silent astonishment. What will Bingley say? Does Bingley know? He wanted, very much, to escape to his chambers to consider the implications should Bingley find out. Instead, he helped Miss Lucas to her feet and led her through the crowds to congratulate the two couples.
Miss Lucas was much better at dissimulation than was Darcy. She enthusiastically congratulated Mr Bingley and offered the very best of wishes to Miss Bennet. Her happy mien did not falter upon hearing Mr Bingley’s exuberant reply to Darcy’s echo:
“Ho, ho, old chap! See that I have beaten you to the brightest jewel of the country, forcing you to spend the evening with an ageing spinster!” Mr Bingley laughed at his own words. “And ‘Lady Caroline’ is to be settled too.” He leaned forward and added spitefully, “You will not get those papers until after the weddings, old chap. We should not want anything to go awry now, should we?”
Fortunately, the press of well-wishers pushed them away and, after offering the same words to Miss Bingley and shaking Barton-the-younger by the hand, he and Miss Lucas made their escape.
The remainder of the ball seemed to drag on. He and Miss Lucas did not dance again, either with others or together, so they resumed their meanderings around the ballroom. He thought about her revelation: was Miss Bennet as empty as Miss Lucas had claimed? Three facial expressions and no accomplishments? Asking his companion, he was shocked at the horrible truth revealed in her answers. Illiterate and innumerate; no skills at all. No music, no embroidery, no art, no foreign languages. Oh, she danced well and looked well, but nothing else!
Oh, and a sudden realisation: “She is not the heiress of Longbourn, is she?”
“Jane? Only if one listens to rumour, Mr Darcy.”
He almost stumbled. Bingley must not discover this!
Miss Lucas squeezed his arm. “I can find no reason to inform your blackmailing host,” she murmured. “Can you?”
Could he? He knew what Richard and Steven would say. But Miss Elizabeth had lied to him. Or had she? He had said that Miss Bennet was rumoured to be the heiress of Longbourn and she had replied that that was true. He thought again. Had she but confirmed that those were the rumours?
Why had she not corrected his misconception?
As if reading his mind, Miss Lucas answered, “Have you not wondered why Lizzy spends so much time in the kitchen? With Mrs Hill with her mothering care? Mary and I do what we can, of course, but she has no-one to lean on, no-one on whom she can rely.” She looked at him sharply. “You have been in Hertfordshire for barely two months, sir. Do not judge her for loving her sisters; for wanting what is best for them.”
He looked at her for a long moment then nodded. “Very well, I shall not, but I rebel at this web of deceit.”
“We all do. That is why she has set a date to be done with it all.” She laughed. “If only to buy some new gowns for Mary, Kitty and herself!”
“Indeed.”
At the end of a long evening, Darcy escorted Miss Lucas to her father’s carriage, fled the delighted, but misplaced, effusions from her parents and retreated to his chamber. I needs must think.
Chapter Forty — In which an elopement is discovered
Elizabeth
Wailing filled the house.
Elizabeth sighed, tidied and hid her paperwork, and left the book-room locking the door behind herself. What is it this time? she wondered. Perhaps ‘darling’ Jane has a freckle! Huh! The last time that the wailing had been that loud, it had been but a speck of dirt on ‘darling’ Jane’s nose masquerading as a freckle, but it had taken smelling salts and two drops of laudanum to calm the second Mrs Bennet.
She and Mrs Hill exchanged weary glances and ascended the stairs to the mistress’ chambers. The rooms were empty. More wailing drew their steps to ‘darling’ Lydia’s chambers.
Great, wrenching sobs filled the air. “She is gone! My darling Lydia has been kidnapped! What am I to do without my darling baby?”
Mrs Hill, deploying far more patience than Elizabeth could, tried to sooth the second Mrs Bennet. An open bottle of smelling salts held under her nose brought barely a pause to the howls of distress.
Mary and Kitty poked their heads around the doorjamb to see what was happening that necessitated so very much noise.
“It appears that ‘darling’ Lydia has been kidnapped,” Elizabeth explained drily.
“My darling girl! My very own baby!”
Mrs Hill —still displaying admirable patience, thought Elizabeth— flapped a handkerchief in the second Mrs Bennet’s face.
Mary’s voice broke through the keening. “How do you know that she has been kidnapped?”
“Look! Look! She is not here!” The second Mrs Bennet gesticulated wildly about the messy bed-chamber. “She must have struggled so; see her beautiful gowns and bonnets strewn all over the place!”
To Elizabeth’s eyes, ‘darling’ Lydia’s chamber looked no different from usual, but she forbore observing so aloud.
“Eliza! What is being done to recover her?”
Mrs Hill’s supply of patience was clearly running low; she pressed her lips firmly together and looked away.
“Nothing, for I do not know any more than you do.”
Kitty coughed.
“Yes, dear? Do you know more?”
Kitty then owned, with a very natural reluctance for knowing more than the rest of them, “She has eloped, Lizzy.”
“‘Eloped!’ What do you mean, girl? Who has eloped?”
“Lydia. Lydia has eloped; she has thrown herself into the carriage of Mr Wickham. They are gone off together.”
“Oh, my darling Lydia! Eloped without me!”
Elizabeth and Mary looked at Kitty, all astonishment.
“When she returned from the ball last night, she woke me to pack a small trunk for her. She told me of their being in love with each other for many hours,” Kitty explained.
Upon hearing that nonsense, Mrs Bennet could hardly contain herself, her joy burst forth. To discover that her daughter would be married was enough to chase away her alarm. In its place settled a violent delight:
“My darling, darling Lydia!” she cried. “This is delightful indeed! She will be married! I shall see her again! She will be married at sixteen! How I long to see her! and to see dear Wickham too!” Catching Elizabeth’s hand, she demanded, “What is dear Wickham’s first name, Eliza?”
Tempted, as she was, to be impudent … —oh, go on, Lizzy Bennet. Go on— Elizabeth gave in to the temptation and replied, ‘Ensign.’ His name is ‘Ensign Wickham.’”
Mary hid a snort of laughter while Kitty stared at her in horrified wonder.
“But the clothes, the wedding clothes! Mary, run down to Eliza, and ask her how much she will give her.”
Elizabeth started to giggle at being overlooked so quickly.
“Stay, stay, I shall go myself. Ring the bell for Hill, Kitty.”
The expression on the housekeeper’s face intimated that Mrs Hill caught her giggles, but she was more practised at hiding them.
“I shall put on my things in a moment. My darling, darling Lydia! How merry we shall be together when we meet! ”
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