by Violet King
Madame Godiva slumped forward, her chin knocking against her chest in a way that looked painful.
Elizabeth, who had been trying to pull her hand away, jerked back on the chair and had to steady herself. Once she had, she stood. “We are finished,” she said.
The fortune teller lifted her arm and waved back towards the exit of the wagon. “Yes. Go, please.”
Elizabeth took a moment to collect herself in the sitting room before returning to Miss Bingley and Jane. How dare that woman! How could she believe Elizabeth would fall for such blatant, overblown theatrics? Mr. Darcy ask her hand in marriage! Twice? Insanity!
When Elizabeth had returned to her sister and Jane, they eagerly asked Elizabeth about her fortune. Elizabeth, still rattled, demurred.
“You seem upset,” Jane said, taking Elizabeth’s hand. “It was not so terrible as all of that, was it?”
Elizabeth forced a smile. “I fear her skills of observation are greater than those of prognostication. She says Mr. Darcy will ask my hand in marriage.” Elizabeth took a breath. In the bright sunlight, away from Mme. Godiva’s two-toned eyes and the eerie aura she had engineered in her wagon, the ridiculousness of that declaration finally stirred some of the natural lightness in Elizabeth’s spirit.
Miss Bingley’s eyes narrowed, and she said, “Foolishness!”
While Elizabeth agreed, Miss Bingley’s vehemence was irritating. More irritating however was when Jane, in a far more sympathetic tone, squeezed Elizabeth’s hand again and remarked, “How strange. I truly believed Madame Godiva had a gift.”
13
After the disastrous Assembly, neither Mr. Bingley nor Miss Bingley objected when Mr. Darcy claimed important business in London kept him from attending Sir Lucas’s ball. Instead, he paid a special visit to his solicitor, Mr. Hart, who had not seen nor heard anything about anyone gambling with the Pemberley estate nor any illicit use of a Darcy family seal at all.
“As I explained in my letter, Mr. Darcy, if Mr. Wickham is in possession of your father’s seal, your father, rest his soul, is five years gone and any contracts made with that bit of wood and wax will not survive the light of truth. Be at ease.”
“I have had recent occasion to cross paths with Mr. Wickham. He assures me his debts are paid, and he was further able to buy a commission in our militia. Can you look into how this was accomplished?” Mr. Darcy in this request was skirting the edges of propriety. He did not directly ask his solicitor to make inquiries or hire a Bow Street runner to ferret out information, but the request was implied.
Mr. Darcy and Mr. Hart discussed what funds might be dispensed to acquire information, and Mr. Darcy agreed. Mr. Darcy stayed the night in his London townhouse and returned the afternoon after the ball.
* * *
Mr. Bingley kept London hours: the dinner served at half six, and after bathing and changing, it surprised Mr. Darcy to discover the eldest Bennet sister seated beside Miss Bingley at the table. Bingley was making his preferences known.
Miss Bingley, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy greeted them with a bow. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Miss Bennet nodded, but there was a certain coldness to her expression. “Mr. Darcy.”
Mrs. Hurst sat at Miss Bennet’s opposite side, with her husband across the table and seated to the right of Mr. Bingley. The seat opposite Miss Bingley had been left empty, and Miss Bingley gave him a proper nod and measured smile as she said, “Mr. Darcy, please, sit.”
Servants entered with the first course. Mr. Darcy sat.
Miss Bingley said, “You must be exhausted from your travels. Is there any news?”
What information had Miss Bingley already pried out of her brother about his trip? Mr. Darcy did not like her meddling, and he had no intention of offering her any more fodder for her imagination. “All is well.”
“Oh! That is wonderful. I had thought with you having to leave so quickly that there might have been an emergency. But you are already gone and back.”
The eldest Bennet, who though not nearly as fashionable as Miss Bingley still held a fresh-faced innocence and warm manner that drew the eye, nodded serenely and said, “I am happy to hear all is well with you and your business.” Miss Bennet’s nose wrinkled, and a moment later, she sneezed.
“God bless you,” Mrs. Hurst said. “Is your gown dried out well enough from being caught in the storm? You should have allowed Caroline to loan you something for this evening.”
“I have already imposed enough,” Miss Bennet said. “And an hour in front of the fire warmed me to my toes.”
Had Miss Bennet been caught out in that downpour? Why hadn’t she taken a carriage for her visit? Perhaps the Bennet family was too poor. Another sign of how unsuitable Miss Bennet was for Bingley. Or any Bennet for Darcy, not that he had any interest in Miss Elizabeth or any of the others.
Mr. Bingley turned to Mr. Darcy with a wide smile. “I would say the ladies were disappointed at your absence last night, but as you have no fondness for dancing, it was only I who suffered without your heartening presence.”
If it were anyone except Bingley, Mr. Darcy would have assumed the words veiled insults. But Mr. Bingley was too sincere to engage in deliberate slights.
“We missed you, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley said. “Many remarked on your absence.”
Mr. Darcy suspected that they had remarked upon it, either with joy or relief. “Did Mr. Wickham attend?”
“Elizabeth mentioned that you and Mr. Wickham are acquainted,” Miss Bennet said. The tone of her voice had lowered, and her eyes were wide with what appeared to be concerned interest. “From childhood, is it?”
“We are no longer close,” Mr. Darcy said. He had to give credit to the eldest Miss Bennet. She had already ingratiated herself into the household, and her skills at dissembling put Miss Bingley to shame. Mr. Darcy could hardly point out anything in her manner beyond simple concern. It was no surprise Bingley already imagined Miss Bennet an angel.
Miss Bennet said, “In answer to your question, it was disappointing for the ladies to have both you and Mr. Wickham absent. It had seemed towards the end of the Assembly you had warmed to dancing. Or so my sister relayed to me.”
“You and your sister are close, are you?”
Miss Bennet nodded. “What hurts her, hurts me.”
Mr. Darcy got the distinct impression he was being taken to task, and worse that he deserved it.
“I—” Mr. Darcy hadn’t much experience with apologies. His father had always been clear: a gentleman, one tasked with managing a large estate, must never appear weak. If he had done another, especially one of lower station, a wrong, then adequate restitution could be made. But one must never prostrate himself. It was an indignity.
“Mr. Darcy? Are you well?” Miss Bennet asked.
“I should not have spoken so harshly of your sister. She is handsome enough, as are you.”
“Well that is a high compliment indeed,” Mr. Bingley said, clapping Mr. Darcy a bit too heartily on the back. “As Mr. Darcy claims, quite correctly, you, Miss Bennet, are unusually handsome. Remarkably so.”
Jane smiled; it was a measured expression that seemed a touch too serene in contrast to Mr. Bingley’s obvious enthusiasm. Miss Bennet was a kind, mannered woman, but she did not appear to hold his friend in any particular regard. Her interest, as with so many others, was likely in his yearly income.
Mr. Darcy did not hold that against her as many would. A lady’s business was securing a husband, preferably one who allowed her to maintain a quality of life at least to the degree to which she had become accustomed in childhood. In the same way, it was an eldest son’s duty to find a lady of adequate station to continue his own family line. But Mr. Bingley was more idealistic. He wished a love match, and Darcy, as his friend, would not allow him to sacrifice his dreams upon a false altar. Even one as prettily constructed as Miss Bennet.
Eventually, though, Bingley would ask Darcy’s advice, and at that point, Darcy
could set his friend straight. Until then, Darcy could only hope Bingley didn’t allow himself to fall too deeply into infatuation.
“Well, Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bennet said, “While I accept your apology, it is my sister who would most benefit from your words.” She sneezed again.
“Yes. Yes. I will express my regrets to her in person,” Mr. Darcy agreed, and then kicked himself. Now he would have to contrive not only to speak with her again but also to prostrate himself, at least for a moment. It was worse because she had defended her own honor in slighting him, dancing both with Mr. Denny and then Mr. Wickham.
Wickham. All of this was Wickham’s fault. Darcy disliked crowds and strangers, but he would not have been so agitated had Wickham’s treachery not been a factor. And how had Mr. Wickham paid for his commission? On a gambling hell table on the back of Pemberley?
Mr. Darcy stabbed his knife into his roasted tenderloin, scraping the edge against the plate.
When they had finished eating, Mrs. Hurst said, “This rain shows no signs of easing. Miss Bennet, you cannot ride back in this weather on horseback.”
Miss Bennet blushed and looked down at her plate. “I hate to impose—”
“It is no imposition!” Bingley said. Frankly, he looked delighted. “It is enough you were caught in the shower riding to visit. We will not send you out in the dark in a downpour. I have already asked the housekeeper to prepare a guest room for you.”
Miss Bingley looked from her brother back to Miss Bennet. “Yes. It seems we have.”
Miss Bennet sneezed again.
“I hope you are not catching cold,” Mrs. Hurst said. “An autumn cold is a terrible thing.”
“No, it would be too much,” Miss Bennet sniffed. “I have always been very healthy.”
They stayed up after dinner, conversing and playing games, but it was clear as time passed that Jane’s sneezes came more frequently. Eventually, Mrs. Hurst insisted they all go to sleep.
The next morning, Miss Bennet was thoroughly ill. Mr. Bingley insisted she be given time and care to recover, and Miss Bennet had a letter sent to Longbourn updating the family as to her condition.
All seemed settled at noon when they had another visitor, a Miss Elizabeth Bennet, her complexion glowing and eyes brilliant with the warmth of exercise.
All except the elder Miss Bennet were gathered in the breakfast parlor when their visitor was sent in. MissElizabeth’s appearance caused a great deal of surprise that she should have walked three miles so early in the day in such foul weather, and by herself. The hems of her skirts were damp and flecked with mud, the same mud which rimmed her boots.
While Mr. Darcy could not help but admire the healthy flush exercise had bestowed upon Miss Elizabeth’s complexion, he doubted the need for her to come so far. Yes, this was the country, and the likelihood of Miss Elizabeth getting snatched by highwaymen or stumbling across other disreputable characters was slight, but Mr. Darcy felt an odd protectiveness of her. She had risked her safety, and Mr. Darcy found that intolerable.
He also realized as Mr. Bingley extended a warm greeting in a manner that was somehow better than politeness, Mr. Darcy’s promise to Miss Jane Bennet had become imminent. Darcy had promised to apologize to Miss Elizabeth in person, and now, she was here.
“My sister,” Elizabeth asked. She gripped her skirts to keep the damp hems from dragging upon the floor, and her voice rose in pitch as she continued, “Jane said not to worry, but even if there were cause to worry, Jane would admonish us not to. It is her way. She thinks more for the convenience of others than about herself. Is she awake or asleep? Is she too ill to leave her bed?”
Mr. Bingley delivered the news as kindly as he could, but it became apparent that the elder Miss Bennet was doing more poorly than her correspondence had suggested. Though she had awakened and eaten a light repast, she was still feverish and unable to leave her room.
Elizabeth swallowed, and a chill passed over her. “Please, I would like to see her.”
Miss Elizabeth’s request was granted, and to Mr. Darcy’s relief, she was immediately taken from the breakfast parlor to be with her sister.
When they had left, Mr. Hurst resumed his breakfast.
Miss Bingley soon returned, ate a few bites, placed the tines of the fork on the edge of her plate and, looking up at Mr. Darcy, said, “I suppose it speaks well for Miss Elizabeth that she cares so deeply for her sister. But it was ill-advised for her to tromp for three miles—three miles!—through mud and fields. There is something to that exertion that seems almost uncivilized.”
While Mr. Darcy had been harboring some of the same concerns and feeling some degree of irritation at Miss Elizabeth making her way here in a lonely, panicked dash, he found Miss Bingley’s tone and her use of the word “uncivilized” to be a touch overblown.
He said, “I believe familial regard is something that separates us all from lesser beasts. And it is obvious the sisters are quite close. Miss Elizabeth immediately recognized through Miss Bennet’s correspondence an attempt to minimize her illness.” If only Darcy and his brother had been so close. Perhaps Darcy would have been able to identify what had caused Reginald not only to buy himself a commission but further to ask, and in fact insist, on being sent far from England’s shores.
“I have nothing but the highest regard for Miss Elizabeth’s sense of familial duty,” Miss Bingley said. “Possibly it is the difference between the country and city. In London, a young lady of consequence would not travel such a distance on her own and in such poor weather.”
Mr. Darcy asked, “Have you sent for the apothecary?”
“Yes, and Mr. Jones will be here presently,” Mr. Bingley said.
“With rest and fair treatment, the dear lady will become well again.” Miss Bingley said, her voice a little too sweet.
Mr. Darcy finished the rest of his breakfast in silence. The food was tasteless and settled poorly in his stomach. His thoughts were also uncomfortable. He disliked apologizing, but he had given his word. Darcy was a man of his word. At least here, he could contrive to make his apology to Miss Elizabeth with some degree of privacy before her sister was well enough to have both return to their home.
14
Elizabeth could describe her beginnings at Netherfield Park as discouraging. As she explained her reason for paying such a sudden visit, she was well and truly discomfited by the combined pressure of the Bingleys’, Hursts’, and Mr. Darcy’s attention. Especially Mr. Darcy, whose expression was as cold as ever but somehow made worse by his obvious interest in the state of her soggy hems. Or perhaps it was her face, flushed from the three-mile walk.
Then, upon being guided to Jane’s sickbed, Elizabeth’s worst fears were brought to life.
Jane was not well. Her skin was pale and shiny with sweat, and her eyes were a pinkish shade, almost as though she had been weeping. She was leaned back on a pile of pillows, and as Elizabeth and Miss Bennet walked into the room, Jane took a deep breath, and with a visible effort lifted her head.
Elizabeth ran to her sister’s side and took Jane’s hands. “You are far sicker than you told us,” Elizabeth said.
“I did not want you to worry. The Bingleys are taking wonderful care of me, and I can only be grateful for their hospitality, especially as I have become a burden. Miss Bingley, you and your family have my gratitude.”
“Miss Bennet is too kind,” Miss Bingley said. To Elizabeth’s surprise, the woman seemed genuine in her praise. “We have sent for the apothecary, and all that is required for you is that you rest and improve.”
Miss Bingley’s solicitude softened Elizabeth’s ill feeling about the woman.
“Lizzie!” Jane took a breath. “I am so glad you are here. I did not wish to worry you, but your visit––” Jane coughed. “It is good to see you.”
Mr. Bingley stayed a minute or so longer, and after she had left, Jane was not up to much conversation. She managed “Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst have been so kind. And Mr. Darcy—”
“In his way. I suppose. I took him to task for his treatment of you at the Assembly.” Jane coughed again, a violent fit that made her wince.
Elizabeth pulled Jane’s blanket up to cover her shoulders. “Be quiet and rest.”
Jane managed a smile. “But his face—”
“I do not wish to speak of Mr. Darcy.
Jane nodded, and soon after her eyes closed, and she slept again.
When breakfast was over, the sisters returned, and Elizabeth grudgingly began to hold them in some regard as they were so solicitous towards Jane. The apothecary came and examined Jane, advising her to return to bed and promising her some draughts.
Jane had little trouble following that advice. As the afternoon progressed, her fever rose, and she complained of a pounding headache. Elizabeth was too concerned about her sister to leave even for a moment. To her surprise, the other ladies were rarely absent; though perhaps it was because with the gentleman being out, they had in fact nothing to do.
When the clock struck three, Elizabeth was caught between the necessity for politeness, which required she not impose herself too greatly upon the Bingley household, and her own deep worry for her sister. Finally, and through her own reservations, Elizabeth said, “I should go.”
“We can send you in our chaise—” Miss Bingley began, but Jane interrupted her, reaching for Elizabeth.
“Please, do not leave just yet,” Jane said. Her face was flushed with fever, and her eyes too bright.
“Then stay you must,” Mr. Bingley grudgingly agreed. “I will send word to your family and have them bring back a supply of clothes for you and Jane.”
Soon after, Jane fell asleep again, and Elizabeth, leaving her sister in the care of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley for a few moments to relieve herself, stole from the room. Elizabeth returned, and a mere few steps from her sister’s room, Elizabeth had the sudden and disturbing feeling someone was watching her. She froze and looked up and down the hall.