The Netherfield Affair

by Penelope Swan

  “It appears that the servants saw you engaging in a rendezvous with another, during your midnight walk,” said Miss Bingley. She raised her eyebrows in exaggerated false surprise. “A rendezvous with a gentleman.”

  “A rendezvous with a gentleman?” said Bingley, shocked.

  Elizabeth’s knife clattered to the plate. She had to resist the urge to get up and flee. How could she explain herself? It was the height of impropriety for a lady to be meeting a gentleman alone so late at night—and a stranger too. It took very little for such stories to lead to scandal, which could ruin the good name of her family.

  “I…” she faltered, struggling for words as Caroline Bingley continued to look at her with a malicious smile.

  “I believe the intelligence you obtained may be false,” said Darcy suddenly from the other end of the table.

  All eyes turned upon him.

  He leaned back in his chair and said, “I happened to look out of the window last night and spied Miss Bennet on her nocturnal promenade. I can assure you, I did not see her meet with a gentleman.” He regarded Caroline Bingley coolly. “Perhaps it is unwise to give too much credence to servants’ gossip.”

  Miss Bingley turned bright red.

  Elizabeth stared at Darcy in surprise. He was the only one present who could know that Miss Bingley spoke the truth. She was sure that he had seen her with the stranger and had observed the entire meeting. Why was he now helping to conceal the truth and coming to her defence? Elizabeth felt a wave of gratitude, mixed with surprise and confusion. There was such a contradiction to Mr Darcy as to leave her utterly puzzled.

  “Miss Bennet, have care should you decide to wander the grounds of Netherfield again,” said Bingley earnestly. “I believe my property to be quite safe, but these reports of a local highwayman concern me greatly. I would entreat you to always go walking with an escort.”

  Elizabeth murmured that she would take care and was relieved when the conversation moved on to other topics. Her breast was full of indignation, however, at Caroline Bingley’s attack and she could hardly wait to return to her sister’s room to vent her anger. As soon as she could reasonably excuse herself, she returned upstairs. As she was about to enter Jane’s room, she happened to glance down the hallway and noticed Tilly coming out of a door beyond the one to her own bedroom. Elizabeth had not even noticed there was a door there—it was of plain, unadorned wood and obviously did not lead to a bedchamber.

  “Miss.” Tilly started as she saw Elizabeth and quickly bobbed a curtsy. She shut the plain door behind her firmly. “Did you want me, miss?”

  “Oh no,” said Elizabeth. She was surprised to find that the maid offered no cheerful greeting this morning. “I was merely surprised. I hadn’t realised there was a door there.”

  “It leads to the attic, miss.” She smoothed her apron nervously. “I was checkin’ me store.”

  “Your store?”

  Tilly nodded. “Me store of remedies and cordials and other medicines, miss.”

  “Ah, yes—I am much impressed by your skills again, Tilly! Your remedy for my headache proved sovereign yesterday. Would that I had it after dinner when my headache returned. I was obliged to venture outdoors to seek fresh air as an alternate cure.”

  Tilly looked at the floor. “I’m sorry, miss.”

  Elizabeth frowned. It was unlike Tilly to be so unresponsive. In fact, the servant girl’s entire manner was greatly subdued and she left after offering Elizabeth a brief curtsy, keeping her gaze to the floor.

  Elizabeth went into Jane’s room and turned enquiring eyes on her sister. “Has aught happened?” she asked curiously. “Tilly seems remarkably dull this morning.”

  “I do not know the particulars,” said Jane. “But it appears that there is great fear amongst the servants.”

  “Fear?” said Elizabeth in surprise.

  Jane gave an embarrassed laugh. “You will think me silly, Lizzy, for listening to servants’ gossip, but I could not help noticing Tilly’s unnaturally quiet demeanour this morning and felt compelled to ask her the cause. She confessed that there is great unease amongst the servants in the house. A large number of valuable items have been disappearing in recent days. It is not just Miss Bingley’s brooch. There have been many other items that have gone mysteriously missing, with no earthly reason to account for it. It has put the servants’ minds at great unrest.”

  “Perhaps they are simply fearful about the apportioning of the blame,” suggested Elizabeth. “It is common for a master to blame a servant when a possession goes astray. I have no doubt that your excellent Mr Bingley would be reasonable and tolerant, but Miss Bingley I could not vouch for.”

  “Nay, Lizzy,” said Jane. “This is more than that. Indeed, Tilly informs me that there have been so many unexplained occurrences in the house as to lead many to suspect a ghostly presence. The maids have all refused to sleep in the attic now as they claim that they can hear strange noises coming through the walls—sounds of movement in the night, when all should be abed.” Jane leaned forwards, her eyes large. “No one will go up to the attic, save for Tilly, and that is because she stores her remedies there. As for the other servants, they will not venture up the attic staircase. They are convinced that an evil spirit resides there!”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Elizabeth thought suddenly of Lydia’s tales of the ghost at Netherfield Park. Could such wild speculations hold any hint of truth?

  Jane looked at her curiously. “Lizzy? Is there something you have not told me?”

  “I confess, I have withheld some information from you.” Quickly, she told Jane about Lydia’s account of the supernatural presence at Netherfield Park and the story of the serving girl abused by the old master.

  “Perhaps there is more truth to Lydia’s story than we realise,” said Jane on conclusion of the story. “It bears several similarities to the servants’ accounts. Such a coincidence is not to be ignored.”

  “Indeed, Jane, you know it is not sound!” said Elizabeth impatiently. “There are no ghosts and ghouls here—these are simply the imaginings of an excited mind.”

  “Perhaps you are right, Lizzy,” conceded Jane. She laughed. “Perhaps this is the consequence of my listening to too much servants’ gossip!”

  Elizabeth smiled. It was good to hear Jane laugh again. And she was pleased to see that her sister looked much better this morning, sitting propped up against the pillows, with her blonde hair neatly brushed and plaited. Though Jane’s eyes still had a glazed look about them, there was more colour in her cheeks and she seemed to have greater energy and more interest in conversation. She plied Elizabeth with questions now about the discussion at breakfast.

  “In truth, we did not speak of much, Jane,” said Elizabeth, avoiding her sister’s eyes. “Mr Bingley was, as ever, much concerned with your well-being and sent his warmest wishes for your continued recovery. The ladies spoke of acquaintances and events in town, of which I had no knowledge. And you know Mr Darcy never opens his mouth, save for the most minimal of utterances.”

  Elizabeth had not told Jane about her escapade of the previous night and she saw no reason now to repeat the hostile interview in the breakfast parlour. While she did not like to keep the truth from Jane, she feared that the account of her interrogation by Caroline Bingley would only distress her sister more.

  “Why do you not go out for a walk, Lizzy?” asked Jane suddenly. “You must be vexed to be cooped up indoors for so long. I know how much you enjoy your daily rambles. I am well at the moment—do not fret for me.” She glanced out the bedroom window. “The rain appears to have paused momentarily. Why do you not take the opportunity to enjoy the Netherfield Park grounds?”

  “I believe I shall,” said Elizabeth with a smile. She stood up decisively. “If you can spare me for an hour, my dear Jane, I should be glad to take some exercise.”

  Elizabeth returned to her room, put on her spencer, and made her way eagerly downstairs. In the main foyer, she encountered Mrs Hu
rst, who also appeared to have had the happy idea of a walk. It seemed discourteous to refuse the other lady’s invitation to accompany her, though Elizabeth would have infinitely preferred a solitary stroll. They walked together through the shrubbery and presently came upon Mr Darcy and Miss Bingley, who were promenading down a related path. The gentleman and lady had evidently been discussing something with great energy and Elizabeth saw Miss Bingley react with enough guilt to wonder if the topic of discussion had been her—and in no complimentary terms, she imagined.

  Mrs Hurst scolded them roundly for not informing her of their intentions to come out for a walk, then taking Mr Darcy’s free arm, she left Elizabeth to walk by herself. The path only admitted three, thus excluding Elizabeth from walking with the trio, and it was a deliberate gesture of rudeness on her part.

  Mr Darcy turned immediately and suggested that they move to a wider avenue, but Elizabeth laughed and reassured him that she was more than happy to continue rambling by herself. They were charmingly grouped, she told him cheekily, and the addition of a fourth would spoil the picture. Turning, she then ran off in the lightest of spirits and enjoyed herself for some time wandering through Netherfield Park’s extensive grounds.

  At one point, she came across the gardener carefully pruning some rose bushes. The old man tipped his cap to her and Elizabeth stopped to admire the fruits of his labours.

  “These are fine flowers—though not as fine as the sweet violets used in the fruit arrangement yesterday,” said Elizabeth, smiling at the old man. “I declare, I had not seen such beautiful blooms! Do they require much work to cultivate? I should like to make violets an addition to our gardens at Longbourn.”

  “Ah, them be Tilly’s violets, ma’am,” said the old man with a toothy grin. “Tends ’em good, she does. Not ’ere in the gardens, though—out in the woods. Them violets like a bit o’ shade, you see. Good patch on the west side—Tilly goes out there and brings ’em back. Makes all sorts o’ stuff with ’em. Cordials and syrups and the like.” He pointed to his leg where Elizabeth could see a poultice on his shin. “Made this for me, she did, from crushed violet leaves. I ’urt me leg climbin’ the ladder up to the roof gutters, but this ’ere has eased the wound. Aye, she’s a good girl, is Tilly.”

  Elizabeth wished him well and continued on her walk. As she was returning to the house, she realised that she had made a wide circle and was now approaching the manor from a different direction. In fact, she was nearing the avenue wherein she had encountered the stranger last night. A thrill overcame her again at the memory of that meeting and the mysterious charm of the nameless stranger. Elizabeth could not help lingering at the corner, in some hopes of obtaining a clue which might provide some guidance as to the stranger’s identity.

  On an impulse, she walked down the avenue again and arrived at the grove. To her surprise, she beheld a new posy in the hands of the stone cherub. This time, however, the colour of the violets was blue, rather than white. What could this mean and who was leaving these flowers?

  She thought of her recent meeting with the gardener and her interest quickened. Was it too much of a coincidence that Tilly should be so familiar with violets? Could the servant girl be the one leaving these posies made of the same flower? And were they an innocent gesture—a frivolous attempt to beautify the statue perhaps—or did they have a deeper meaning?

  Elizabeth picked up the posy of violets and held it up to her nose. There was a trace of a sweet fragrance; the next moment it was gone. She retraced her steps back out of the avenue. As she exited the space between the hedgerows, she recalled once again encountering the stranger there. He had been about to enter the avenue when she had interrupted him. Had the posy last night been meant for him? And was that why Tilly had behaved so strangely this morning?

  She caught her breath as another thought struck her. Could Tilly have been the one to start the servants’ gossip which had reached Caroline Bingley’s ears—naming Elizabeth as the lady seen with the stranger? If she had been out herself in the gardens at the same time—leaving the posy—perhaps she had been worried that her own presence would have been observed. Had she hoped to deflect suspicion away from herself should anyone mention that a “lady” had been seen about?

  Before she could ponder more on the subject, Elizabeth became aware of the sound of steps behind her. She turned to see Mr Darcy’s tall figure approaching her. Quickly, she whisked the posy out of sight behind her back.

  “Miss Bennet.” He bowed.

  “Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth curtsied perfunctorily.

  “I felt some concern at your solitary wanderings,” said Darcy. “These grounds may not be quite safe for a lady on her own and it appears that the storm may be returning.” He gestured to the sky which had begun to darken ominously, then held his arm out to her. “Will you permit me to escort you back to the house?”

  “Why, I… Thank you, sir,” said Elizabeth.

  They turned together towards the house, and she was about to take his arm when she glanced upwards and froze.

  There was a white face looking out of an attic window.

  “Miss Bennet?” asked Darcy, looking at her in surprise.

  Elizabeth could not speak, but simply stood there staring. She felt an uneasy chill slide down her spine. Surely the stories about the ghost in the attic could not be true?

  “Miss Bennet?” asked Darcy again, his expression transforming now from puzzlement to impatience. He followed the direction of her gaze, but there was nothing to see. The face was gone.

  “Forgive me…” said Elizabeth quickly. “I thought there was… at one of the attic windows… but no, ’tis probably nothing more than a trick of the light glancing off the windowpanes.”

  Darcy looked thoughtfully at the window again, but did not offer further comment. He held his arm out once more, and this time Elizabeth took it and walked silently with him back to the house.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Elizabeth had been hoping to quiz Tilly about the posy of violets, but the maid was nowhere to be seen. She was not about Jane’s room as usual and, as the day progressed and Elizabeth saw no sign of her, she began to suspect that the servant girl was taking pains to avoid her. It was only with the arrival of dinner time that the maid finally appeared. Jane had recovered well enough to consider a brief sojourn downstairs and therefore needed help dressing for dinner. With her position as a temporary lady’s maid, Tilly could not ignore the summons.

  She helped Jane into a muslin gown of pale lavender and arranged Jane’s hair in a classical Grecian style. She kept her eyes downcast the whole time, however, and refused to look at Elizabeth who sat watching on the bed. She would have hurried away as soon as her duties were completed, but for Elizabeth putting out a hand and stopping her by saying:

  “Tilly, I would be much obliged if you could come to my room and help me dress as well? You worked such wonderful feats with my hair last time—I would be quite lost without your skills.”

  The maid bobbed a reluctant curtsy and followed Elizabeth to her bedchamber. The latter selected a gown of white muslin with gold embroidery from her trunk and allowed Tilly to help her into the dress. Then she sat down in front of the mirror and, as Tilly began work on her hair, she tried her best to catch the maid’s eye, but the servant girl kept her gaze steadfastly downwards.

  Finally, Elizabeth could wait no longer and she said, “I hear that you take full credit, Tilly, for the beautiful violets in the fruit arrangement yesterday.”

  The maid’s eyes flew to hers in the mirror. “I… I’m sorry, miss?”

  “I was speaking to the gardener this afternoon.” Elizabeth tried a friendly smile, but got no response from the maid. “He says you have a special affinity for violets and that you cultivate a patch of them in the woods?”

  “That be right, miss,” mumbled Tilly.

  “He was full of praise for your violet recipes. They are such beautiful flowers, though—it seems a shame to be forever crushing them and boiling them
in infusions. I do wonder if you ever just enjoy the flowers as simple posies?”

  Tilly went slightly pale.

  “You see, I came upon a posy of violets as I was wandering the grounds this afternoon,” said Elizabeth, watching Tilly closely. She reached forward and opened her reticule, drawing out the small posy. “This is yours, is it not?”

  Tilly stammered, “Y-yes, miss.”

  “Is it not curious that I discovered it at the site where I encountered the stranger last night?” said Elizabeth.

  She swivelled around in her seat, so that she could face the maid, who was clasping her hands in front of her, her eyes wide with fear.

  “Did you leave this posy there for a special purpose? Perhaps for the stranger to find?”

  Tilly backed away, shaking her head wildly.

  “It was you who spread the rumour about my being seen with the stranger, was it not?” said Elizabeth gently. “You had hoped to deflect any suspicion from your own activities by citing me as the stranger’s companion.”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, miss! I meant you no harm!” cried Tilly. “I thought such a fine lady as yourself could suffer few consequences from bein’ named in such a story.”

  “The consequences of slander on one’s reputation are not so slight!” said Elizabeth tartly. “The damage to my name could harm not just my own prospects, but those of all my family.”

  “Please forgive me, miss,” said Tilly, her voice trembling. “I didn’t think! I was so scared, you see. If Miss Bingley hears of my actions, I’ll be dismissed with no references! Me mam’s sick and me brothers and sisters are too young to work. They depend upon me wages. If I were to lose this position, what would become of them?” She clasped her hands and looked at Elizabeth imploringly. “I beg you, miss, please don’t tell no one.”