by Violet King
“Oh, but that odious Mr. Darcy,” Lydia said with a bit too much relish. “To be considered merely passable, I do not know how you could bear it.”
“None of us here place any stock in Mr. Darcy’s words.” Mrs. Bennet said, the high pitch of her voice hardening a little as she glared at her youngest daughter.
Lydia, not used to her mother’s disapprobation, shrank in on herself, staring down at her hands. “I only meant to remark that Mr. Wickham was the more discerning of the two.”
“Was he?”
“And Mr. Wickham is so very handsome. Far more so than Mr. Darcy,” Lydia said. “Mr. Wickham has hair like the sun! We had the loveliest dance, he and I, and he made the kindliest remarks about my dress and bonnet! I had hoped he would ask me again, but it would have been improper, considering he had not yet been introduced to our father. You are so lucky Jane, to be danced with twice!”
Mrs. Bennet said, “We do not know of Mr. Wickham’s situation, Lydia. He may look fine in his regimentals but possess only a pauper’s income. Now Mr. Bingley—he is a fine and responsible young gentleman!—seemed to have some admiration for Jane. Indeed, I rather believe he did. I heard something about it—”
“Perhaps you mean what I overheard between him and Mr. Robinson?” Charlotte interjected.
Elizabeth squeezed Charlotte’s hand. The rightful topic of this conversation was Jane and her prospects, and Elizabeth herself had forgotten it in her curiosity about Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy. That did not speak well for Elizabeth’s sisterly affection, which was shameful. “What did you hear, dear Charlotte? Tell us.”
“Yes, do tell us,” Mrs. Bennet said, her voice syrup sweetness again.
Charlotte explained that Mr. Robinson had asked Mr. Bingley how he was enjoying the Meryton assembly, and which of the ladies he thought was the prettiest, and Mr. Bingley’s immediate answer to the last question had been, “Oh! The eldest Bennet beyond a doubt. There cannot be two opinions on that point.”
As Mrs. Bennet attempted, with little fervor, to demur, Jane’s eyes brightened, and the corners of her lips rose. Of the Bennet sisters, Jane had always been the most astute at maintaining her composure, and even in this moment of glorious happiness, she still kept her reaction within the bounds of propriety. Elizabeth envied that.
Elizabeth was too sharp in her emotions and insights to rein herself in so well. As the conversation continued, Elizabeth found her thoughts drifting back to the mystery of Mr. Wickham.
Elizabeth should have enjoyed his company, but something in his demeanor had put her on edge. Maybe it was Mr. Darcy’s warning, though a warning for Mr. Darcy ought not have held much weight with her. Or perhaps it was the ease with which he bestowed compliments. Elizabeth had a certain wariness of easily won praise.
True, she preferred them to Mr. Darcy’s scorn and insult, but his words were pleasantries, nothing more. The only moment he had exhibited a true interest in what Elizabeth had to say was when he asked her, with all casualness, how long she had been acquainted with Mr. Darcy.
It was all very troubling. And with the letter, its code and warning, Elizabeth couldn’t let the subtle animosity between the two men alone. Had Mr. Darcy taken the letter to protect his sister? And how did Mr. Wickham figure into it all?
Elizabeth resolved to discuss it with Charlotte. Her best friend did not think through things swiftly, but she was thorough, and she often noticed things that Elizabeth overlooked.
They gossiped a while longer, and Elizabeth, seeing both their mothers were well occupied with their analysis of events, begged a moment with Charlotte alone. “I should like to show her my new bonnet,” she offered as an excuse.
“New bonnet? Is that the one you purchased a fortnight ago before Mr. Bingley’s arrival?”
“I have not seen it,” Miss Charlotte interjected. “I would very much like to, Mother,”
“Go on,” Mrs. Lucas waved them both off.
When Elizabeth and Charlotte were in Elizabeth and Jane’s room, Charlotte asked, “So what is really troubling you, Lizzie? I should not have thought you would allow Mr. Darcy’s behavior to weigh so heavily on your person.”
“It hasn’t. Mr. Darcy has been a prat since he first stepped into my father’s study with his letter.”
“Letter? What letter?”
Elizabeth explained about Mr. Darcy and his sister’s letter, avoiding all mention of the second cipher and the danger posed to the Regent.
“Remember the butterflies? Lord Cunningham? That is so odd!”
“Yes. And Mr. Darcy does not believe it to be an accurate deciphering at all! But these were Mr. Reginald Darcy’s last words to his beloved sister, and I fear Mr. Darcy will not allow Miss Darcy to read her brother’s letter at all.”
“He is awfully cold,” Charlotte said. “Though as her guardian, he has the right to keep such things from her. Especially if he fears Miss Darcy having an improper relationship with this Lord Cunningham.”
“Why would Miss Darcy’s own brother ask her to deliver a letter to someone who was pushing an improper suit?” Elizabeth shook her head. “That would make little sense.”
“You should write to Miss Georgiana,” Charlotte suggested.
“Write her? I cannot just pen the entire story out in the letter.”
“It does not seem much of a story, but if you insist upon secrecy, then write to her in the code you deciphered. You will learn if she can understand it and what her response will be.”
Elizabeth bit her bottom lip. It might work. She could at least test the initial code and explain to her the first cipher. If nothing else, Elizabeth could get some hint as to the identity of this Lord Cunningham.”
“Charlotte, you are brilliant!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
Charlotte laughed. “Hardly brilliant. It just seemed the simplest solution. After all, if Mr. Darcy had not interfered, then Miss Georgiana Darcy would have had the letter in hand, and all would be well.”
Elizabeth nodded. The letter had indeed been addressed to Miss Georgiana Darcy. It was not a betrayal to ensure the intended recipient learned something of the contents, especially not with so much at stake. She would say nothing of the threat to the Regent. If this Lord Cunningham had been the intended recipient of the original letter, then Elizabeth would have her father correspond with Lord Cunningham and gain insight as to how, or if, he was serving the crown.
Decided, Elizabeth walked to the foot of her bed and opened the chest. “You should at least take a brief look at this bonnet, Charlotte, in case somebody asks. And more importantly, what did you think of Mr. Denny?”
Miss Charlotte’s cheeks flushed, and she said, “Put the bonnet on, so I might see how fetching it looks.”
After the Lucases left, Elizabeth made her way down to the study and penned a letter in Reginald Darcy’s code to Miss Darcy. Though Elizabeth knew she was in the right, it still felt improper writing a young lady without even making her acquaintance. Yet the sooner she opened the conversation, the sooner she could learn how best to handle the younger Mr. Darcy’s warning.
It was for the good of the country, and also for the good of Mr. Reginald Darcy’s memory. The apparently random nature of his death, considering the warning he had mailed out prior to it, seemed implausible. Perhaps it would help assuage Miss Georgiana’s grief to know her brother’s death had not been due to some cool capriciousness of fate, but instead, a sacrifice to preserve everything they held dear. Their home. Their nation’s sovereignty.
When Elizabeth had finished, she signed the letter Miss Elizabeth Bennet and added it to the pile to post, slipping the letter between three other envelopes.
From there, she looked over her father’s notes for encoding. His hand was smooth, considering his failing eyesight, though some of the lines of script ran together or off the page, depending on how well he had judged the remaining space. Elizabeth went through the papers, making suggestions and notations of her own.
Only when the post had been
taken up to mail did Elizabeth’s sense of guilt and nervousness begin to ease.
11
Two days later, Jane cornered Elizabeth in the stairwell. “I know you do not wish to do this,” Jane started. “But do it anyway, for me.”
“You know I would do anything for you, Jane,” Elizabeth said. Still, the vague nature of Jane’s request made Elizabeth nervous. “What do you ask of me?”
“Miss Caroline Bingley wishes to meet with me in town and do some shopping.”
Elizabeth winced. “Miss Bingley, that popinjay with her nose so high in the air? Why would you wish to spend an afternoon with her?”
“She is Mr. Bingley’s sister, and not so terrible once you speak with her.”
Jane could make pleasant conversation with a rooster attempting to peck her to death. Though to be fair, Miss Bingley was more taciturn peacock than anything so common as a rooster. “You can manage Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth said. “Why would you need me?”
“Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. Together, they are rather intimidating. And you are so witty. I had thought it might be easier managed if I were not alone.”
Elizabeth could think of more salubrious ways to spend an afternoon, but Jane was her sister, so reluctantly she agreed.
Jane’s face blossomed with a full, beauteous smile. She rocked forward on her toes and took both of Elizabeth’s hands. “You will!”
“She will what?”
Both sisters looked up the stairs to where their youngest, Lydia, was walking towards them with a parasol in hand. “What will you do?” Lydia was dressed prettily in pale yellow trimmed with lace. She looked at Elizabeth suspiciously. “I thought Lizzie was to coop herself up with father in the study for the day.”
“We are to meet with Miss Bingley in town,” Jane said before Elizabeth could stop her.
“Not dressed in that dusty skirt, you cannot,” Lydia lectured, pointing at the hems of Elizabeth’s dress, which had taken on a grayish cast at the lower hem from Elizabeth’s late morning walk. “Miss Bingley is so fashionable!”
“I was preparing to change.”
“Good. And we shall walk with you. Kitty and I had wanted to visit the town and pay respect to our fighting men. Kitty!” Lydia called back over her shoulder. “Jane and Lizzie are walking with us to town!”
Kitty, dressed in salmon and lace, joined her sister at the top of the stairs. “Wonderful! Mrs. Forester revealed a new group of soldiers is coming. I should like to meet them.”
“Do you think we might cross paths with Mr. Wickham? I was so hoping!” Lydia’s eyes were wide and shining as she said the handsome soldier’s name.
Elizabeth did not like her sister’s obvious infatuation. Lydia was like a hummingbird, darting from flower to flower, but while flirting was not a cause for ruination, Mr. Wickham was a stranger and far too handsome. And Lydia was young, pretty, and irreverent.
Elizabeth changed. When she returned, their mother and Mary, with a Bible in hand, had also agreed to go, and the carriage was called.
Lydia and Mrs. Bennet chattered on about fashion, town gossip, and Miss Bingley’s fashion.
Lydia said, “I should like to speak with Miss Bingley. Her dress, her fan, her bonnet—it was all so very London and so beautiful.”
“If that is what you wish, you must stay with us for the entire afternoon,” Jane said. Elizabeth was struck again with admiration for her sister. Elizabeth had wanted to warn Lydia from engaging in a flirtation with Mr. Wickham, but anything she said would be taken poorly. Jane, without even a mention of Mr. Wickham, had distracted Lydia from her plan of meeting with him.
Jane and Miss Bingley had agreed to meet at the haberdashery, and Miss Bingley stood in front of the building with two wrapped packages. She handed them to a servant as the Bennets’ carriage drove towards her. Miss Bingley was striking in her cream walking dress with a layered collar up to her chin, bodice crossed with golden ribbon and a golden shawl embroidered with black. Her boots, a soft calfskin, were hardly dirtied from walking about.
Elizabeth found it remarkable she would wear a color so easily stained for a walk about town, but likely her plans included stepping from the carriage into a shop, then back out of the shop and into another indoor enclosure.
As they pulled up, Mary said, “I would like to visit the music store. And perhaps look at some books.”
“Later!” Mrs. Bennet said, throwing both of her hands up in the air. “We must do all we can to make the very best impression on Miss Bingley, for Jane’s sake. And then we shall have Madame Godiva tell us your future, Mary. It has already worked out so wonderfully for Jane.”
Elizabeth glanced at the well-worn, leather-bound Bible cradled in Mary’s lap. She had armored herself before entering the lion’s den. Elizabeth’s lips quirked.
“Miss. Bingley!” Jane said, alighting first. “I hope we did not keep you waiting.”
“I was enjoying the air. It is lovely to see sunshine.” Miss Bingley’s eyes narrowed as Elizabeth alighted from the carriage followed by her sisters and mother.
“Oh Miss Bingley, it is a delight to see you! Is Mr. Bingley also in town? It would be a wonderful coincidence if we were to cross paths, would it not Jane?” Mrs. Bennet said.
Elizabeth’s face grew warm in sympathetic embarrassment for her sister. But Jane took it in stride. “Miss Bingley and I had arranged to meet, not something to her brother’s interest. She was also interested in seeing Madame Godiva.”
Jane had not mentioned this to Elizabeth, though Miss Bingley nodded at the suggestion. “Miss Bennet has told me wonderful things about Madame Godiva’s abilities.”
“A truly talented woman,” Mrs. Bennet cut in. “My daughters Mary and Elizabeth have yet to experience her powers, but I found her so refreshing. Why, Jane was so pleased when she had her future told!”
“Miss Bingley, allow me to introduce you formally to my mother and sisters.” Jane introduced each and the daughters curtsied.
Lydia said, “Forgive my forwardness, Miss Bingley, but the layering of your skirts and the color of your ribbon is so lovely. Is this the style of London?”
“Last season,” Miss Bingley said. Her tone was dismissive, but Elizabeth recognized more than a hint of pride in her manner. It reminded Elizabeth unfavorably of Mr. Darcy. Miss Bingley looked down upon the Bennets as though their relative stations were separated by the width of the English Channel. “That is a lovely frock too,” Miss Bingley added, waving her hand towards Lydia’s best walking dress. “Did you do the embroidery yourself? The work is so very detailed, one can hardly notice an occasionally misplaced stitch.”
Lydia’s face flushed as she brushed her fingers over her stitching.
Elizabeth often found Lydia irritating, especially in recent years, but she was Elizabeth’s sister and did not deserve Miss Bingley’s prettily disguised insult. Elizabeth glanced over Miss Bingley’s appearance, searching for something with which to find fault. “Is that hanging thread?” she asked, peering at Miss Bingley’s neckline.
There was no hanging thread, but Miss Bingley looked down anyway. With her chin in that position, the layered neck ruff made her look like a rooster covered in flour. Elizabeth’s lips quirked even as she attempted to maintain a serious expression. Jane gave Elizabeth a warning glare even her own lips twitched.
Elizabeth tried to catch Lydia’s gaze to bring her in on the joke, but Lydia focused on Miss Bingley’s neckline. “What thread? I see no thread. Lizzie, what are you on about?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “It must have been a trick of the light,” she said. “My apologies, Miss Bingley.”
“Hmmph.”
“Our Lizzie is often prone to fits of vision,” Mrs. Bennet cut in. “It fails her at the most inopportune times. Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night, my heart fluttering at the thought of what will happen to her if her eyesight fails in its entirety!”
“It can be very distressing,” Elizabeth said dryly.
�
�Madame Godiva’s home is just a street over,” Mrs. Bennet explained. “She is leasing a small home for the winter.”
“Well, that is a relief. I admit I was not sure of the propriety of visiting a woman who lived in a wagon. Is she a Gypsy?”
“Not precisely, though her ways are odd, and she must have some foreign blood to see the future as she does. Peering into ethereal planes is not exactly civilized, is it?” Mrs. Bennet said.
Miss Bingley said, “I have heard Gypsies can become violent. Why the Morning Chronicle had an article last month about a woman and child abducted by Gypsies, and they were not seen again. We might have been murdered!”
“All of us? Together in broad daylight?” Elizabeth laughed. Whether in a wagon or a leased home, it seemed unlikely. “If this Madame Godiva were the murderous type, I suspect we would have heard rumor of missing persons and mangled bodies by this point.”
“Lizzie!” Mrs. Bennet gasped. “Such talk is not fit for proper conversation!”
“It is not I who brought up the subject of murder.”
Jane said. “Madame Godiva is a widow. She is sweet and kind. I believe she has some perception for understanding the future and takes joy in sharing her observations with others. Perhaps she is lonely, and if our company eases her pain and gives her purpose, what harm can come from that?”
A great deal of harm, Elizabeth suspected, if she could bring herself to believe Madame Godiva had any of the abilities she claimed to possess.
As they walked, Lydia caught a glimpse of Mr. Denny walking towards their direction on the opposite side of the road.
Lydia exclaimed, “Why, that is Mr. Denny. Mr. Wickham’s friend?”
Elizabeth wished Charlotte had joined them this afternoon.
Mrs. Bennet whispered, “Mr. Denny has an income of two hundred a year.”
Mrs. Bennet’s tone and manner were dismissive, but Elizabeth thought a woman could live comfortably in a small household with an income of two hundred a year, provided she was allowed her own freedoms. While Elizabeth had no particular regard for Mr. Denny, and if Charlotte and Mr. Denny both developed a fondness for each other, perhaps something could grow from it. Even if Sir Lucas considered two hundred yearly too miserly for his eldest daughter.