As she approached the house, Elizabeth raised her eyes to trace the outline of its elegant architecture. She had seen it several times in her rambles about the countryside and had always admired the beauty of this country manor. Today, however, it looked very different. Outlined as it was by a nimbus of black cloud in the sky behind it, the house had an almost menacing air as it sat brooding in the middle of its rain-sodden grounds.
Elizabeth laughed and chided herself for her fanciful imaginings. She was letting Lydia’s wild tales and the mood of the inclement weather prevail upon her good senses, and incline her towards melodrama!
She bent her head to negotiate the last section of muddy field, then jumped as an eerie scream filled the air. Elizabeth gasped and looked around, searching for the source of the sound. Then her steps faltered as she raised her gaze once more and her eyes caught sight of something at the top of the house.
Elizabeth blinked and looked again, but she was not mistaken. There, in a small attic window, showed a ghostly white face, with black eyes that bored into her very soul.
CHAPTER THREE
So great was the shock upon seeing the apparition at the window that Elizabeth tripped and stumbled in the mud. Indeed, she would have fallen, but for the hand that shot out and caught her arm in a strong grip. A tall, dark figure loomed over her and Elizabeth drew breath to scream before she realised that she recognised the handsome countenance.
“Mr Darcy!” she cried, struggling to regain her composure.
He sketched a slight bow. “Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth was very conscious of his hand, still solicitously underneath her elbow. “I… I must thank you, sir. It would seem that were it not for your quick reflexes, I would be prostrate in the mud.”
“It is I perhaps who should offer my apologies,” said Darcy. “It appears that my sudden appearance may have startled you into missing your step.”
“Oh no, that was not the reason. I stumbled because I believed I saw—”
Here, Elizabeth faltered, suddenly aware of who she was speaking to. She had no wish to confess her fanciful imaginings to such a stern gentleman. She coloured at the thought of repeating Lydia’s wild assertions regarding the house in which her sister was a guest. A quick glance from the side of her eyes reassured her that there was no longer any face at the top window.
Perhaps there had never been.
“Yes, Miss Bennet?” asked Darcy with a raised eyebrow.
“’Tis of no consequence,” said Elizabeth quickly. “Um… I have come to see my sister Jane. We were all very concerned to hear of her illness.”
“I believe it is merely a cold,” said Darcy. “Bingley has already sent for the apothecary and every effort is being made to see to her comfort.”
“Oh, I am sure Jane could not want for better care,” said Elizabeth hastily. “But I hope you will understand a sister’s concern. Will you take me to her?”
Darcy inclined his head. “Certainly. This way, Miss Bennet.”
Turning, he led the way back to the house. Elizabeth followed silently, marvelling at the turn of circumstances that had led her to now be walking next to this formidable man. It seemed that Mr Darcy was a great walker for Elizabeth could not help noticing his powerful strides and the ease with which he moved. It brought to mind an illustration she had once seen of a great jungle cat from the Orient—a savage, beautiful beast with inky black pelt and glittering green eyes, and such a fluid, commanding grace in movement.
Elizabeth blinked as she realised where her thoughts had led her and was glad that Mr Darcy was not looking her way, so as not to observe the high colour in her cheeks. Lydia’s histrionic tales must have affected her more than she realised! It was not like her to be prone to such wild, fanciful imaginings—and about this man, no less! She was relieved when they reached the house and Mr Darcy—with another elegant bow—handed her over to the care of a manservant. As Elizabeth followed the servant across the hall, she put Mr Darcy from her mind and resolved to think no more of him.
She was shown into the breakfast parlour where a footman announced her arrival. Mr Bingley received her with great enthusiasm, but Elizabeth noticed the shocked expressions on his sisters’ faces. They made little effort to hide their disgust as they eyed her appearance and responded to her greeting with cold civility. Mr Hurst merely grunted as he mumbled a greeting, obviously keen to return to his seat at the table and his overflowing plate. Mr Darcy said nothing at all. He simply walked over to the side buffet and upon pouring himself a cup of coffee, stood silently drinking this while his dark eyes rested on the visitor. Elizabeth cared not about the cold welcome from all but Mr Bingley—all she wanted to do now was to see Jane, and she made her excuses gladly as soon as a maid arrived to take her to her sister’s room.
Jane was surprised to see her, but it was evident from the expression of delight on her face that while she had not wanted to worry them, she had longed for Elizabeth’s company.
“Have they been treating you well, Jane?” asked Elizabeth anxiously after she had settled in the room. “I know your Mr Bingley is all amiability and kindness, but I confess I cannot imagine that his sisters would provide much in the way of solicitude.”
“He is not my Mr Bingley,” said Jane with a shy smile. “And indeed, you are wrong about his sisters, Lizzy! They have been all goodness and kindness to me, from the moment that they perceived I was not feeling well. They have visited me once this morning already, while Mr Jones the apothecary was here, and left with promises to return again soon.”
Elizabeth made no answer, but continued to sponge Jane’s forehead with the cool water from the basin while she looked at her sister with concern. Jane felt hot and feverish, and her eyes were unnaturally bright. Though she seemed much happier now that Elizabeth was here, it was not difficult to see that she still suffered badly from the symptoms of the cold. Elizabeth administered the draughts that Mr Jones had left behind and hoped that they would prove effective soon.
She was about to begin brushing Jane’s hair—which had become tangled from the tossing and turning in the night—when a soft knock sounded at the door. It was opened by a servant girl bearing another basin of fresh water. She curtsied when she saw Elizabeth and offered a smile. She was uncommonly pretty, with hair of a fiery shade of copper, caught up with a blue satin ribbon. Elizabeth was surprised as she had not seen such finery on a maid before, though the rest of the girl’s costume was as plain as any other maid’s outfit.
“If you please, miss,” the girl said. “I’ve brought Miss Bennet some fresh water for spongin’ an’ a bed warmer for her feet.”
“Oh yes, come in, come in,” said Elizabeth, making way for the girl to enter.
“Lizzy, this is Tilly—she is one of the kitchen maids at Netherfield, but Caroline Bingley has very kindly offered her services to me as my lady’s maid during my stay here, so that I may be more comfortable,” said Jane from the bed.
Tilly curtsied again and looked at Elizabeth worriedly. “Is somethin’ the matter, miss?”
The latter realised that she had been staring. “Oh, no… ’tis naught. I was struck by the sight of your hair ornament,” said Elizabeth, her eyes going once more to the length of blue satin in the servant girl’s hair. “It is uncommonly fine. Did you purchase it from a shop in Meryton?”
Tilly flushed slightly and curtsied awkwardly. “’Twas a gift, miss.” She seemed disinclined to say anything else and Elizabeth decided to abandon the questioning. She took the bowl of fresh water from Tilly and went back to sit at the edge of the bed to minister to Jane, whilst the servant girl positioned the bed warmer under the blankets, then moved quietly about the room, straightening clothing and clearing away soiled items.
“Tilly is skilled in the use of herbs and flowers to prepare healthful cordials and other recipes,” Jane said with a smile. “I do believe that the syrup of violets she gave me is superior to Mr Jones’s draughts in bringing about relief for my symptoms.” She point
ed to a small glass bottle filled with a beautiful, clear lavender liquid, sitting on her bedside table.
Tilly beamed with pleasure. “You’re too kind, miss. I do like spendin’ most of me time in the still room.”
Elizabeth reached over and picked up the bottle. She uncorked it and held it up to her nose, inhaling the delicate violet aroma. “Ah, I have rarely smelled anything as sweet! I have no doubt that this is far superior to Mr Jones’s concoctions.”
“Oh, the power of violets be greatly overlooked, miss,” said Tilly earnestly. “I make violet tea an’ infusions, syrups an’ ointments, an’ they work great to cure everythin’— ‘ague, epilepsy, inflammation of the eyes, sleeplessness, pleurisy, jaundice, an’ quinsy’. The syrup does wonders for those with colds. It eases the coughs an’ the roughness of the throat. Even the flowers chewed can dispel a headache.”
“Such a catalogue of benefits from so humble a flower,” said Elizabeth with a smile. “We must beg a recipe from you, Tilly, for our own use before we return to Longbourn.”
“With pleasure, miss.” Tilly shyly returned the smile. Then she pointed to Elizabeth’s gown. “If you like, miss, I can clean the hem of your gown for you.”
Elizabeth followed the direction of the maid’s gaze and realised that the bottom of her gown was caked in mud. It was no wonder that the Bingley sisters had looked so shocked upon her arrival! Indeed, she must have been trailing mud all over the house as she moved about.
“I should have tied my gown up before my walk,” said Elizabeth with chagrin. “Then at least the mud would have only gone onto my petticoats, which could be covered from view when I let down my gown. Now I fear that it will be no easy task to remove these stains.”
“’Tis no trouble, miss,” said Tilly. “I can have the gown clean an’ back to you within an hour an’ no one’ll ever know.”
“Why, that is very kind of you,” said Elizabeth gratefully. She thought of the disdainful Bingley sisters again and realised that it would be in her favour to maintain a respectable image, no matter how much she disliked their company. As a member of the same family, her own conduct and appearance played a role in Jane’s position of respectability and she did not want to do anything which may hamper her sister’s chances of finding matrimonial happiness with Mr Bingley.
“Thank you, Tilly, I will accept your offer,” said Elizabeth, standing up from the bed.
She undressed down to her petticoat and handed the gown to the servant girl, who hurried away, promising to be back within the hour. She was as good as her word and Elizabeth was delighted to perceive the clean gown, with the hem barely showing any sign of soiling. And not a moment too soon, for Tilly had barely finished helping her dress again when there came another knock at the door, and this time it was opened to admit the Bingley sisters.
The two fine ladies entered the room and exclaimed over their dear friend. Elizabeth retreated to the far corner and watched with a cynical eye as Caroline Bingley and Mrs Hurst showered the invalid with effusive expressions of concern. They talked of their own dislike for colds, the miseries they had suffered in the past when afflicted with a cold, and their fears for the possible fatal consequences of such an illness—none of which was designed to cheer the patient.
To Elizabeth’s indignant ears, it seemed that the two ladies were more intent on talking about themselves than enquiring after Jane’s health. She was convinced that they were only visiting because of the lack of other suitable activities to occupy their time in the inclement weather. When at length they had run out of their melodramatic platitudes and finally quit the room, Elizabeth shut the door behind them with some violence and turned impatiently to Jane.
“I cannot understand how such creatures could be related to your excellent Mr Bingley,” she expostulated, approaching the bed. “Where he is warm and sincere, they are indifferent and false; where he is generous and good, they are contemptuous and full of their own self-importance!”
“Lizzy…” chided Jane gently. “Caroline Bingley and her sister have been all that is polite and pleasing. You cannot expect them to care for me as if I were their own sister and I do think it is very good of them to wait on me, when they could be doing much pleasanter things downstairs.”
“I’m sure Mr Bingley would prefer waiting upon you to any other activity, should propriety allow it,” teased Elizabeth, regaining her good humour as she watched Jane blush. “You should try and get some rest now,” she added. “You look tired. I’m sure some sleep would do you good.”
“I believe you may be right, Lizzy,” said Jane, stifling a yawn. “I confess, I did not sleep well last night. Aside from the headache and sore throat, I was disturbed by strange noises.”
“Strange noises?” said Elizabeth. “You mean from the storm?”
Jane shook her head. “No, these were noises that came from within the house.”
“Perhaps it was only the servants going about their duties,” said Elizabeth.
“Perhaps,” said Jane doubtfully. “But it seems a strange time for them to be active. It was a few hours before dawn, I believe—a time in the very middle of the night when all should have been asleep.” She shivered. “One could almost imagine that there was a sinister presence about.”
Elizabeth wondered if Jane had heard the stories of Netherfield being haunted and this was why her sister’s thoughts had moved immediately towards a sepulchral explanation for the nocturnal disturbance. But if Jane did not know of the rumours yet, Elizabeth did not want to add to her sister’s cares now by repeating Lydia’s wild speculations. Instead, she bent over Jane and smoothed her sister’s hair back from her hot forehead.
“Sleep now, Jane. I shall be sitting there by the window if you should need me.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Elizabeth was pleased to see Jane fall into a deep sleep at last and their peace was not disturbed until the arrival of Mrs Bennet and the younger Bennet sisters at Netherfield later that afternoon.
Mrs Bennet was taken to see her eldest daughter at once and declared herself extremely satisfied with the way that Jane had been looked after. After spending some time with the invalid, she then made her way downstairs, accompanied by her other daughters, and was shown into the drawing room where Bingley immediately greeted her with questions about the patient. He was alarmed to hear her report that Jane suffered a great deal, though—her proud mama said—with admirable forbearance for “she has, without exception, the sweetest temper I ever met with”, and he heartily agreed when Mrs Bennet declared that Jane was too ill to be moved.
“Miss Bennet is more than welcome to stay as long as her health requires,” said Bingley, adding, “And the invitation is extended to her sister, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, as well.”
Miss Bingley looked thoroughly vexed by this, but was forced by politeness to add her own lukewarm assurances of hospitality to that of her brother’s.
“That is very kind, sir,” said Elizabeth, smiling warmly at Mr Bingley, her liking of him increasing. “I know Jane appreciates the comfort of my presence here.”
“Can I tempt you to partake in some refreshment, Mrs Bennet?” Bingley turned and led Mrs Bennet and the girls farther into the room.
A table had been set up in the centre, replete with pastries, cake, and the pièce de résistance: an enormous pyramid of grapes, nectarines, and peaches, decorated with dainty blooms of sweet violets. The guests gathered around and exclaimed over the beauty of the arrangement.
“It seems to me,” said Bingley, “that violets are in great fashion at the moment. I cannot turn anywhere without encountering this bloom. Upon my word, Caroline, are you not wearing one on your dress?”
He indicated his sister’s chest where a sparkling brooch was nestled amongst the gathered silk of her bodice. The whole party turned to look and there were many compliments offered to Miss Bingley for the beauty of her brooch—so much so that she felt obliged to remove it and offer it for closer inspection.
It was exquisi
tely crafted, Elizabeth noted, with an artful arrangement of diamonds and amethysts, mounted on a silver setting, which was wrought in the shape of delicate violet petals. The workmanship was so impressive that when Bingley held the brooch up against a real specimen of the flower in the pyramid, everyone exclaimed at the close similarities and Miss Bingley was very gratified by the attention. Her pride in the piece was so great that she even condescended to allow it to be passed around to the younger Bennet girls, so that they might admire it under closer inspection.
“It is an heirloom which I received from my mother,” said Miss Bingley loftily. “There is a matching set of necklace and earrings, but those have been bequeathed to Charles, so that he may bestow them on his future bride.”
At these words, Mrs Bennet’s eyes took on a gleam which made Elizabeth uneasy.
“Your future bride will be a fortunate lady indeed, Mr Bingley, to receive not just such finery, but also the pleasure of your generosity for life,” Mrs Bennet gushed.
“You flatter me, madam,” said Bingley, beaming. “But I shall certainly look forward to indulging the future Mrs Bingley with all the gifts at my disposal—not merely the jewels that have been in my family, but also any new trinkets that she should desire. I am sure I shall enjoy taking her to London and making purchases from the stores there. Indeed, window-shopping is something that I have always greatly enjoyed and ’tis an activity I miss whenever I am in the country.”
“But the country has other pleasures, does it not?” cried Mrs Bennet. “To be sure, London has some advantage in the possession of a great many more shops and public places, but for my part, I believe the country to be a vast deal pleasanter.”
The Netherfield Affair Page 2