Dawn of Adventure
Page 12
Jane said in a voice of command that was not her usual quiet manner. I need a shield around the whole of the valley to confine the gods' awful miasma. So, it will not escape as I fight it here. As the contamination gets smaller, you will have to shrink the shield.”
“Anything else?” Lizzy said.
“Not for now. But we’ll see what’s at the bottom of the hole once we have destroyed the miasma,” said Jane with a tinge of fear in her voice, “My guess is that it is not going to be good whatever it is. It will be good to have your power then as well.”
Lizzy sat down next to her meditating sister. The latter had closed her eyes again as she concentrated on the battle with the deadly mist. Lizzy looked around the valley extent and concentrated as she fixed the topography in her mind. With practiced movements, she activated some of the inscriptions in her robe. She felt the power from the environment flow into her. With this blessing of additional power, she started to cast the shield spell. Her magical power suddenly plummeted as it nearly emptied with one overpowering magic. But thankfully, her regeneration rate increased as she controlled the spell. In front of her across the valley lit up with weaves of spell shield energy. In a flash, the weaves started to form a thin sheet of white and blue power that fell upon the valley. This sheet started to push down upon the mist of the miasma as it locked the deadly mist into the valley.
Jane muttered beside her, “Just hold the shield there. No further yet as I don’t want it attacking me more fiercely. It only seems to react, and I think it's not intelligent enough to understand our intent.”
Lizzy looked over the battle between the green grasping mist and the light of Jane's spell as the struggle continued. For an hour, she sat there just watching as her sister pushed forward with her magic eating away at the mist.
Chapter 15
With a slight green mist of envy like the miasma over the hill, Miss Bingley was looking at the way that Darcy was looking at Elizabeth Bennet. She kicked the ground in frustration. The woman had just left for her sister's location by the miasma. For a while, she ate her stew in silence with some crusty flatbread. Miss Bingley wondered what to do about the interloper that was disturbing her plans. She really didn’t need any competitions as Darcy was a hard man to crack as it was.
Ideas and plans turned over in her mind as the evening progressed. Then eventually, as a distraction to her contemplation, she went over to her sister's husband. Hurst, as expected, had pulled out a deck of cards for a game of chance. Much as she liked to play, he was close to an addict. The man had his problems, but the lack of money to gamble was not one of them. The noble party was soon filling their time with card games. When her brother Bingley approached from the direction, he had taken the Bennet, she was ready to talk.
With the first inkling of a plan. Miss Bingley said to the assembled party as she placed her bowl down by the side of the fire. ”What a strange girl that Elizabeth Bennet is. Her manners are pronounced to be very bad; indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence; she had no conversation, no style, no beauty.” Get it all out there so the party could digest what she had just pronounced.
Talking up the stream of comments, Mrs. Hurst thought the same and added:
“She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent master class wizard as I do not think she will get further in her leveling. My goodness, I shall never forget her appearance this evening. She really looked almost like a wild monster from the wilderness. To travel by herself alone in the wilderness at night. Such unladylike behavior.”
“She did, indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must she be scampering about the country, because her sister needed her? Her hair, so untidy, is so blowsy! Could she not have at least cast a healing spell to tidy up her appearance before a noble party of importance. We are not just everyday adventures that she can ignore the sensibilities of normal noble behavior with.”
“Yes, and her armor; I hope you saw her armor, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain, and the robe which had been let down to hide it not doing its office.”
“Your picture may be very exact, Louisa,” said Bingley, “but this was all lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well when she came into the camp wearing the armor. Her dirty appearances quite escaped my notice.”
“You observed it, Darcy, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley; “and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition.”
“Certainly not.”
“To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone in the wilderness of the night! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum.”
“It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing,” said Bingley with an earnest smile at his fastidious sister.
“I am afraid, Darcy,” observed Miss Bingley in a half-whisper, “that this adventure has rather affected your admiration of her fine eyes.”
“Not at all,” he replied; “they were brightened by the exercise.” A short pause followed this speech, and Mrs. Hurst began again:
“I have an excessive regard for Miss Jane Bennet, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it.”
“I think I have heard you say that their uncle is a craftsman in Meryton.”
“Yes, and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside.”
“That is capital,” added her sister, and they both laughed heartily.
“If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside,” cried Bingley, “it would not make them one jot less agreeable.”
“But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consequence in the world,” replied Darcy in all seriousness.
To this speech, Bingley made no answer; but his sisters gave it their hearty assent, and indulged their mirth for some time at the expense of their dear friend’s vulgar relations.
--
It had been a few hours since Lizzy had produced the pond-like shield confining the green mist in the deep valley. The attacks on the healing light emanating from Jane had slowed down. It seemed now that the light was just holding back the mist and not fighting with it.
With her eyes still closed, Jane said, “Lizzy, I think you can go get some rest. In the morning, we will start to lower the shield in the valley. That is when the true fight will begin as we increase its confinement.”
Lizzy, who was tired of her excursions as he had been up since the early morning. So much had happened just in one day. Nodded her head without complaint, She said, “Shall I send somebody back to guard you, Jane?”
Jane smiled with weariness as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders, “No need. Nothing will attack me with the cursed mist around me. I’ll be safe enough.”
Lizzy looked at her sister, sitting with an expression of pure concentration on her face. Then kissing her on the cheek as she left. With a renewal of tenderness, however, she returned to the noble campsite
When she entered the ring of light provided by the fire, Miss Bingley asked how Jane was doing.
Lizzy said, “She was still very much focused on the task at hand.”
She noted that the rest of the nobles were playing cards with Hurst seeming the organizer. She was immediately invited to join them. But suspecting them to be playing for large amounts of money so she declined it, and making her sister the excuse. She said she would amuse herself for the short time she could stay, with a book. Hurst looked at her with astonishment.
“Do you prefer reading to cards?” said he is a rude manner; “that is rather singular.”
“Miss Eliza Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, “despises cards. She is a great reader, and has no pleasure in anything else.”
“In aiding your sister, I am sure you have pleasure,” said Bingley, “and I hope it will be soon increased by seeing her quite finished.”
Elizabeth thanked him from her heart and then walked to a log to sit. Where she pulled a book from her inventory. He immediately offered to lend her other all that his library afforded when they returned to the dungeon.
“And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever looked into.”
Elizabeth assured him that she could suit herself perfectly with the book she had.
“I am astonished,” said Miss Bingley, “that my father should have left so small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Darcy!”
“It ought to be good,” he replied, “it has been the work of many generations.”
“And then you have added so much to it yourself, you are always buying books.”
“I cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these.”
“Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place. Bingley, when you finish with the castle, I wish it maybe half as delightful as Pemberley.”
“I wish it may.”
“But, I would really advise you to take Pemberley for a kind of model.”
“With all my heart, I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy will sell it.”
“I am talking of possibilities, Bingley.”
“Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get Pemberley by purchase than by imitation.”
Elizabeth was so much caught with what passed, as to leave her very little attention for her book. Soon laying it wholly aside, she drew near the log that was being used as a card-table and stationed herself between Bingley and his eldest sister, to observe the game.
“Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?” said Miss Bingley; “will she be as tall as I am?”
“I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s height, or rather taller.”
“How I long to see her again! I never met anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners! And so extremely accomplished for her age! Her gain of her wizarding level at such a young age is exquisite.”
“It is amazing to me,” said Bingley, “how young ladies can have the patience to be so very accomplished as they all are.”
“All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?”
“Yes, all of them, I think. They all do all manner of things. I scarcely know anyone who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished.”
“Your list of the common extent of accomplishments,” said Darcy, “has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by healing or musical accomplishment. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half-a-dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished.”
“Nor I, I am sure,” said Miss Bingley.
“Then,” observed Elizabeth, “you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman.”
“Yes, I do comprehend a great deal in it.”
“Oh! Certainly,” cried his faithful assistant, “no one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of healing, singing, battling, dancing, and the herbology, to deserve the word. Besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half-deserved.”
“All this she must possess,” added Darcy, “and to all this, she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”
“I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women. I rather wonder now at your knowing any.”
“Are you so severe upon your own sex as to doubt the possibility of all this?”
“I never saw such a woman. I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe united.”
Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out against the injustice of her implied doubt. They were both protesting that they knew many women who answered this description. When Hurst called them to order, with bitter complaints of their inattention to what was going forward. As all conversation was thereby at an end, Elizabeth soon afterward left to find someplace to take her rest from the company.
“Elizabeth Bennet,” said Miss Bingley, when Lizzy was out of hearing her. “Is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own; and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art.”
“Undoubtedly,” replied Darcy, to whom this remark was chiefly addressed, “there is a meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable.”
Miss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied with this reply to continue the subject.
--
The next day passed gradually as the shield was lowered, and the miasma was dealt with by Jane. Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had spent some hours of the morning with Jane, who continued, though slowly, to work her magic. Jane estimated that tomorrow the diseased miasma would be gone. Then what was at the bottom of the hole would be revealed.
After helping her sister throughout the day to confine the miasma. In the evening, Elizabeth joined their party around the fire. Thankfully this would be the last time she had to deal with the conversation and conceited arrogance of most of the noble party.
Mr. Darcy was writing on a board he had brought out of his inventory, and Miss Bingley, seated near him. She was watching the progress of his letter and repeatedly calling off his attention by messages to his sister. Hurst and Bingley were at piquet, and Mrs. Hurst was observing their game.
Lizzy took up some repair needlework for the inscriptions on her robe. She was sufficiently amused in attending to what passed between Darcy and his companion. The perpetual commendations of the Lady, either on his handwriting, or on the evenness of his lines, or on the length of his letter, with the perfect unconcern with which her praises were received, formed a curious dialogue and was exactly in union with her opinion of each.
“How delighted Miss Darcy will be to receive such a letter!”
He made no answer.
“You write uncommonly fast.”
“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”
“How many letters you must have occasion to write in the course of a year! Letters of business, too! How odious I should think them!”
“It is fortunate, then, that they fall to my lot instead of yours.”
“Pray, tell your sister that I long to see her.”
“I have already told her so once, by your desire.”
“I am afraid you do not like your pen. Let me mend it for you. I mend pens remarkably well.”
“Thank you—but I always mend my own.”
“How can you contrive to write so even?”
He was silent.
“Tell your sister I am delighted to hear of her improvement on the harp; and pray let her know that I am quite in raptures with her increase in musical level, and I think it infinitely superior to Miss Grantley’s.”
“Will you give me leave to defer your raptures till I write again? At present, I have not room to do them justice.”
“Oh! It is of no consequence. I shall see her early next year. But do you always write such charming long letters to her, Mr. Darcy?”
“They are generally long, but whether always charming, it is not for me
to determine.”
“It is a rule with me, that a person who can write a long letter with ease, cannot write ill.”
“That will not do for a compliment to Darcy, Caroline,” cried her brother, “because he does not write with ease. He studies too much for words of four syllables. Do not you, Darcy?”
“My style of writing is very different from yours.”
“Oh!” cried Miss Bingley, “Charles writes in the most careless way imaginable. He leaves out half his words and blots the rest.”
“My ideas flow so rapidly that I have not time to express them—by which means my letters sometimes convey no ideas at all to my correspondents.”
“Your humility, Mr. Bingley,” said Elizabeth, “must disarm reproof.”
“Nothing is more deceitful,” said Darcy, “than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast.”
“And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?”
“The indirect boast; for you are really proud of your defects in writing because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which, if not estimable, you think at least highly interesting. The power of doing anything with quickness is always prized much by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance. When you told Miss Bennet this morning that if you ever resolved upon quitting Netherfield, you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of panegyric, of compliment to yourself—and yet what is there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave vital business undone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or anyone else?”
“Nay,” cried Bingley, “this is too much, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honor, I believe what I said of myself to be true, and I believe it at this moment. At least, therefore, I did not assume the character of needless precipitance merely to show off before the ladies.”
“I dare say you believed it, but I am by no means convinced that you would be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite as dependent on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you were mounting your horse, a friend were to say, ‘Bingley, you had better stay till next week,’ you would probably do it, you would probably not go—and at another word, might stay a month.”