Nearly everything looked as it had the summer before; the hedgerows were familiar, the usual rosebushes flourished in the warm sun and her carriage was even barked at by the same dogs. Yet there was a difference to her eyes; and she was wise enough to realize that the neighborhood had not changed; she had. When she lived here she had been Miss Eliza Bennet, the second daughter of a gentleman with five daughters, with only modest expectations with respect to money and marriage. Now she was Mrs. Darcy, whose future and fortune were assured, with a splendid carriage, a trunk full of fine clothes, and even a personal maidservant, Jeanette, riding beside her. These trappings signaled rank and riches to every person she encountered, and guaranteed her the best treatment – even when she did not need it.
Elizabeth told Wilson, the coachman, to first go to Longbourn so she could call on her parents before continuing to Netherfield Park. The stop would allow her to stretch her legs and to refresh herself. It would also be an act of courtesy to her parents, with whom she was not staying. Finally, she hoped to have a moment with her father to see if he could tell her anything more about Jane.
She descended from the carriage and was met with noisy affection by her mother. “My dear Lizzy! Mrs. Darcy! How was your journey? My, that is a fine carriage, but you now have the best of everything, do you not? Do not worry, your father’s man will see to the horses and Hill will give your maid and your coachman something out of the kitchen. Come in, come in; make yourself comfortable. There, my dear, I must give you a kiss.”
In the vestibule Elizabeth greeted the rest of her family. Even though it was not his hour to leave the library, Mr. Bennet had appeared to welcome his favorite daughter, and Mary and Kitty were also embraced in turn. Elizabeth, still standing, made the usual inquiries about everyone’s health, and she received assurances with respect to nearly everyone, although Mary lugubriously warned her that Jane had been in tears.
“We are all well, quite well,” said her mother, louder than everyone else, as she answered the question again. “True, Jane seemed a little out of sorts a few days ago, but I called yesterday at Netherfield and all was well. In her condition, nerves are so delicate.”
“What have you brought?” inquired Kitty, for Elizabeth had a basket on her arm.
“Do not be so hasty, Kitty,” said Mrs. Bennet.
“I have brought a few small presents,” said Elizabeth.
“How thoughtful and generous of you. Is not Lizzy thoughtful?” said Mrs. Bennet. “Come in, sit down; and Kitty, ring the bell for tea.”
They entered the parlor, and then Elizabeth distributed the gifts, passing several books to her father, a handsome reticule to her mother, some sheet music and a metronome to Mary, and an elegant little parasol to Kitty. As she glanced around she detected that the silver had been polished, the finest tea cups brought out, and she had been ushered to the best chair in the room, the one usually sat in by her mother.
Everyone expressed gratitude at being remembered; Elizabeth only hoped that the presents were sufficient, and then Elizabeth showed Mary how to use the metronome. Mary, however, was dubious. She was the most old-fashioned of the Bennet sisters, and was generally suspicious of new devices, and despite Elizabeth’s assurance that metronomes were used by the finest young ladies these days, including her sister-in-law Georgiana, Mary seemed to view the gift as criticism of her musical ability. Mary’s attitude was reinforced when Kitty, intrigued by the ticking device, observed: “This will keep you from changing the pace when you play for our dances, Mary. You cannot understand how difficult it is to dance when the tempo keeps shifting.”
“And you do not understand, Kitty, how difficult it is to play the pianoforte at all, especially when people do not appreciate it.”
“If you do not change the tempo, then perhaps the dancers will be grateful!”
“Girls, stop quarreling! And turn that thing off. It is assaulting my nerves,” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet.
Elizabeth smiled; despite the polished silver and the best tea cups, at least her family was behaving normally around her. Her mother and sisters resumed speaking with their usual fretfulness, and told Elizabeth the neighborhood’s most recent news: Mr. and Mrs. Collins were planning a visit soon to Lucas Lodge, which meant that Elizabeth would have the opportunity to see her friend Charlotte; Miss Bingley had behaved rudely to Mr. and Mrs. Wickham when they were visiting, but that did not surprise Mrs. Bennet at all, as she had taken a great dislike to Miss Bingley (Elizabeth was a little dismayed to discover that she shared many of the opinions of her mother, although she consoled herself that she expressed them differently). An acquaintance of theirs, Mary King, was betrothed to a Mr. Selby from Liverpool, and was back in Meryton to take care of some business before her nuptials, and Aunt Philips was desperate to see Elizabeth and planned a reception in her honor at her house during Elizabeth’s visit.
When they finished their tea, Mr. Bennet, who had been relatively silent so far, invited his just-arrived daughter to enter his library with him and to help him decide where to put his new books. As they left the noisiness of the parlor, Kitty resumed fidgeting with the metronome and telling Mary that she really ought to try it while Mary disagreed. The voices grew louder, only drowned out by Mrs. Bennet and then the closing of the door.
Elizabeth stood in front of a bookshelf, reading titles of stories and histories that had amused and educated her throughout the years. “I am sorry that a gift of mine should cause my sisters to quarrel.”
Mr. Bennet sat in his usual chair. “My dear, it has nothing to do with your gift; everything causes those two young ladies to quarrel.”
“I had hoped that with the rest of us married, Kitty and Mary would become close friends,” remarked Elizabeth, “but I suppose their dispositions are too different.”
“Longbourn House is not as noisy as it used to be,” said Mr. Bennet. “Or perhaps my hearing is not as good. I thank you for these volumes, I am sure they will give me many pleasant hours.”
“They were selected by Mr. Darcy.”
“Mr. Darcy is a very clever son-in-law, but even if he were to give me ten times as many books, I would still come to see you and his library at Pemberley.”
Elizabeth laughed, then changed the subject. “So, Papa, you know why I am here. Your letter about Jane worried me. One reason I came to Longbourn first, was to ask if you could tell me more about her situation.”
Mr. Bennet obliged her by describing the weeping that Jane had done a few days before, as Mary and the others had mentioned.
“And you had no success in determining the cause of her tears?”
“None at all. But if it is a private matter, in whom can she can confide? She knows we all love her, and that may give her comfort, but she may not be assured that we will be discreet or give good advice.”
“Papa, your advice is often excellent.”
“You are too kind. We both know that I have made many mistakes in my life.”
“And you have not seen or heard from Jane since?”
“No. Mrs. Bennet visited her yesterday, as she said, and you have heard her report. We also received a note, but it was just about your visit, Lizzy, assuring us that they had plenty of room and were looking forward to seeing you. It is up to you to discover what is bothering Jane.”
Elizabeth thought that her father could have made a greater effort. True, Jane had not explained to her father what was bothering her during her visit to Longbourn, which could be taken as proof that she did not plan to take him into her confidence – but Mr. Bennet could have taken the carriage and made the hour’s trip to Netherfield, instead of expecting Elizabeth to travel for two days. It was like her father, she thought, to let others labor so that he could be left in peace. On the other hand, he had a point; she was the best person to speak to Jane. Furthermore, they were both married women now, with independent means; they should not depend on their parents. Most of all, if Jane was suffering, Elizabeth wanted to be with her. “Then it is time for me to
see Jane,” she said to her father. Elizabeth then left the library, and gave the orders to summon her coachman and her maid. She told her family that she would visit Longbourn frequently while she was in the area, then climbed into the Pemberley carriage and continued to Netherfield Park.
CHAPTER IV
It was a relief to leave the tumult of Longbourn and to arrive at the relative calm of Netherfield. Elizabeth was welcomed by everyone: affectionately by Jane; heartily by her brother-in-law Mr. Bingley; and with resigned politeness by Miss Bingley. They exchanged the usual queries about health and then Elizabeth was taken through the house. She had stayed once before at Netherfield, but that was before the marriage between her sister and Mr. Bingley. This time she had different and better rooms: the suite occupied by her husband when he visited Netherfield. But of most interest to Elizabeth was the newly outfitted nursery, and she admired its arrangements.
Civility demanded that Mr. and Miss Bingley both spend some time with Mrs. Darcy. Mr. Bingley did not seem to mind, but he did appear distracted and Elizabeth detected puffy dark circles beneath his eyes. For Caroline Bingley, the effort was more penance than pleasure, and her only genuine smile was when the clock struck five and they could move to their rooms in order to dress for dinner. Jane’s options with respect to her wardrobe were few, so she joined Elizabeth in making her toilette, and when the maidservants were dismissed the sisters could indulge at last in a tête-à-tête.
“Lizzy – my dearest Lizzy, I am so glad that you have come.”
“And, I, too, am happy to see you in such good health. But my visit is not merely social – I am concerned.” Elizabeth showed the letter that she had received from their father, then inquired tenderly: “What is wrong, Jane? Are you unwell?”
Jane looked away for a moment as her lips trembled and she considered what to say. “I am well, or as well as any woman can be in my condition. But I will confess to you, because I know you will be discreet, that I am worried.”
“Can you tell me the nature of the problem?”
Jane nodded. “Charles – Bingley – has been behaving strangely.”
“How so?” asked Elizabeth.
Jane related how her husband had canceled an order for a horse, had been drinking several more glasses of wine than was his custom at dinner, and had not been sleeping well, instead pacing back and forth as if worrying about something. He had been irritable with Jane when she asked him about something for the nursery, and then had become downright angry when she had inquired what the matter was.
Elizabeth said she could not imagine the mild-tempered Bingley becoming angry with anyone, let alone his beloved wife.
“He raised his voice with me, Lizzy! I am not imagining it. He actually raised his voice, told me to stay out of things that do not concern me and even ordered me to get out of the room. And then he threw a book at one of the dogs – he did not hit her, but the book was damaged.”
“That does not sound like Bingley.”
“No, it does not, but what if his character has changed? I understand that marriage does that to some people, and that others are transformed when they become parents. Bingley has always been so sweet-tempered, that I have loved anticipating him as a father. No man could be gentler! In the past, when I have seen him upset, it was for a reason that has made me proud to be his wife. He was angry, once, when Mr. Hurst was curt with a scullery-maid. But what if I have been wrong? What if Bingley does not want to be a husband or a father? I could endure his being bad-tempered and cross with me, Lizzy – I am sure that many wives endure far, far worse – but what if he is unkind to our child after it is born? That I could not bear.”
Elizabeth considered. “It sounds as if something is troubling him, something he does not want to share with you.”
“It does, does it not? And that is distressing too! We are husband and wife; we are supposed to help and comfort one another, in both prosperity and adversity – but for some reason he will not talk to me. What secret could he have, so terrible that he could not tell me? Anything could be better than what I have been imagining.”
“If he cannot confide in you, could he speak with someone else?”
“Who?”
“Darcy?” Elizabeth hazarded.
Jane hesitated. “Perhaps.”
“I agree that confiding in you would be easier for most people than confiding in Darcy. My husband can be intimidating.”
Jane gave a small smile. “That is true, while no one fears losing my good opinion. However, if Bingley believes that he has been a fool, or that he has been weak, then he could be reluctant, even ashamed, to confide in Darcy. He looks up to him so!”
“I love and esteem my husband, but it is not as if Darcy has never made an error of judgment himself. He is not infallible.”
“I am sure of that, and although Bingley may agree with that statement on a rational basis, his feelings could prevent him from consulting his friend.”
“You know your husband best, and as my husband is not here at present, we will have to find someone else. What about his sisters? Could he confide in either of them? It is difficult for me to imagine, but you know Bingley best.”
Mr. Bingley’s sisters, Miss Caroline Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, were neither of them especially sympathetic women, although it was possible, nay probable, that they were more likely to be kinder to their beloved brother than almost any other person, with the exception of each other. Again, Jane hesitated; over the past few months of living with Caroline, even she had learned to detect the occasional unkindness in her, and Mrs. Hurst was with her husband at their own house in London.
“What about turning to Papa? Could Mr. Bingley confide in him?”
Jane considered. “Perhaps. But if the problem is that Charles has fallen out of love with me, then the last person he will want to confide in – besides me, of course – would be my father.”
“I am sure that Bingley is as much in love with you as ever, but even if it were true, Papa could give some advice about that,” said Elizabeth. Mr. Bennet had been charmed by Miss Jane Gardiner’s beauty and good humor before he proposed, only for him to discover her lack of restraint and weak understanding later.
“Lizzy, our parents are more content with each other than ever,” said Jane, who, in her propensity to think well of everyone, did not take as dim a view of their parents’ marriage as did her sister Elizabeth.
“Perhaps. You see them frequently, and I do not, so I will rely on your judgment. Besides, three of their vexations have been removed.”
“Three of – you mean us, their daughters? If you speak this way you will make me think that Bingley is upset about the baby!”
Elizabeth responded seriously. “No, Jane. In our situation our parents had good reason to be concerned about our futures, because we were not well provided for, but now three of us are married, two advantageously. That would certainly be a reason why Mamma, at least, would be in a better humor now, and if her spirits are less irritable, then Papa’s will be too. But this is not so for you and Bingley. His fortune is not entailed, is it?”
“No.”
Then let us continue. As I already said, but as I believe you need to hear again, it is simply not possible that Bingley has fallen out of love with you. No man in his right mind could do such thing, and although Bingley may be distressed about something, he is certainly in his right mind. But let us consider something else. Could Mr. Bingley be unwell? Could some physical ailment be causing him trouble?”
Jane reported that Bingley was drinking more wine, but she believed that was because he was perturbed, and not that the wine was perturbing him. He was eating less and sleeping less – Elizabeth confirmed that she had noticed new lines in his face and a puffiness around his eyes – but Jane had not noticed any injury or symptoms of sickness, such as fever or sneezing. And Mr. Bingley had not, as far as she knew, consulted one of the local apothecaries or a London doctor.
Elizabeth nodded and said that they would assu
me that his health was good for now, and only return to that if they exhausted every other possibility. Then she said, wishing there were a more delicate way to express it: “Could he have financial difficulties?”
Jane shook her head. “I have considered this, but I do not see how. I have reviewed our expenditures. And although we have spent a little more in making improvements to the nursery, we have not been at all extravagant. Nor has his income changed, either. I have looked over the letters from the bank from last month and there has been no diminution in either interest or principal.”
“I am very glad to hear it,” said Elizabeth. She had every confidence in Jane’s comprehension of financial matters; as the eldest, Jane had assisted their father for years. “Now, forgive me some of these questions, but I feel as if I must ask them. Could Mr. Bingley be gambling?”
“Do not fear offending me, Lizzy; your questions can be no worse than the ones that I have been posing to myself. As for having gambling debts, I do not see how it is possible. We play cards sometimes in the evenings, and when the Wickhams were here, we wagered a little, but the amounts were always small. I know that men sometimes lie to their wives about such things, but Mr. Bingley has not been out at night with other friends. He has had no opportunity to lose a great sum.”
“Very well. What about visitors? Letters? Has he received some troubling news?”
Jane reported that there had been no unusual visitors, and that when he had returned from making visits himself, either to their neighbors or even journeys to London, his mood had been excellent. She could not answer for every letter that had come into the house, but she admitted that she had gone into the library once when he was out and had carefully searched through the papers in his desk and had found nothing extraordinary.
“Perhaps he has some difficulty with one of his sisters or with Mr. Hurst? Could one of them be in debt?”
Jane paused. “I suppose that is possible. However, if it were Caroline, I would expect her temper to be affected, and in her I have noticed no difference. And as for the Hursts, I have seen no particular difficulties in the communications from them.” She sighed. “I know you do not consider me suspicious enough in general, Lizzy, but I am telling you all that I know and have seen.”
The Meryton Murders Page 3