Mr. Bingley, his spirits restored by the half hour with Mr. Collins, for Mr. Collins’s troubles had reminded him that his own situation was envied by many, said that he was willing to entertain anyone who Jane wished to invite. “If what Mr. Collins has told me is true about the demands of an infant, than it would be better to have your friends over sooner rather than later. But nothing too extravagant, Jane – I am not in the mood for extravagant.”
Mr. Bingley said he would practice at billiards, while all the ladies, a little fatigued – the day had been warm and heavy, as clouds had gathered but no rain had fallen – retired relatively early. Just as Elizabeth was about to blow out her candle, Jane entered her bedroom. “I hope I am not disturbing you, Lizzy,” she began, keeping her voice low.
“Not at all,” said Elizabeth, and then saw the anxiety on her sister’s face. “Is something wrong?”
“Perhaps. I require – that is to say I wish for – your assistance. I am still worried about Bingley.”
“But his mood has been much improved today,” said Elizabeth.
“Yes, today, tonight, but what if he is just maintaining a good appearance for a few hours? What if his ill-temper returns tomorrow? I would not ask, except that I saw something suspicious and I believe you can help.”
“I will do whatever you command, Jane. Tell me what it is that you desire.”
Jane explained that Bingley had not been practicing billiards this evening as he had said that he would, but that instead she had passed by the library and had seen him poring over a book.
Elizabeth tried hard to take this seriously, but she could not help asking: “Why is that strange? He has a library, why is it odd if he uses it?”
“It is not just that, Lizzy. I think he was looking at something else, and that he is keeping it hidden in one of the books. We have volumes that no one ever looks at. Lizzy, I am not a great reader but you have a reputation for loving literature. Could you search among the books? No one would suspect you.”
“You believe your husband has hidden something in one of the books?”
“That is what I believe. He shut the book when I entered, and it is possible that I am just imagining it – he could simply be using an old letter to mark his place – but he looked so upset when he saw me that I need some peace. Will you look into them, Lizzy? And later tell me what you see?”
“Perhaps I will find a copy of Lady Catherine’s recommendations for the garden of the rectory at Hunsford?” Elizabeth teased, and then, without levity, she added: “Do not be troubled, Jane; I will do what I can. Do you have any idea which book I should examine? Netherfield’s library may not be the size of Pemberley’s but there are enough volumes that examining all of them would take several hours at least.”
Jane was not certain, but she had noticed an empty space on one of the higher shelves to the left of the green baize curtain.
“Is it better if I go early in the morning or do you advise me to look tonight?”
Jane said Bingley had already come upstairs, so she recommended making the search just then. “Bingley will not see you, and if anyone else does, that would not raise any suspicions.” So, after the sisters wished each other good night, Elizabeth waited a quarter of an hour and, carrying a lit candle with her, crept down to the Netherfield library and to the area that Jane had indicated. The section of the bookshelf did not get many users, as it was both a little high and contained volumes in other languages, including several in Latin, Greek, German and French. They were not texts that Mr. Bingley would consult often; Elizabeth could understand why Jane’s curiosity had been provoked.
With which should she begin? Elizabeth decided to be methodical, going from left to right. She had to reach high above her to pull off the first volume. It was a popular work by Goethe, but in German, with print that was difficult to read, which accounted for its banishment to an inaccessible position. Elizabeth opened it and at first tried turning each leaf, but the procedure was tedious and she accidentally made small rips in a few of the pages. Her initial approach was too inefficient. She held the book up and rather guiltily shook it – how disapproving her father would be if he saw her treating a book this way! – and waited for something to fall out. Nothing did. She returned Goethe’s Die Leiden des Jungen Werthers to its original spot, and pulled down the next book, one in Latin – Caesar’s De Bello Gallico – and shook it gently as well. But it was only with the third attempt that she discovered anything: two sheets of paper, folded and tucked into a volume by Voltaire.
Was this what her brother-in-law had hidden? Glancing consciously around, but not seeing anyone, Elizabeth hastily scanned the pages, which were difficult to read by the light of a single candle, especially with her heart pounding so hard. She saw that it was a letter to a Miss Hightower, written in what appeared to be Bingley’s hand. Elizabeth quickly glanced at the salutation and the close where she found his signature. Should she read it or not? To read another person’s private correspondence, without permission, was a terrible breach of trust. There might be some excuse for a husband to read a wife’s letter, or for a wife to read a husband’s, because the mutual dependency and responsibility demanded full information. A parent had reason to make that argument with a child, too. But Charles Bingley was only her brother-in-law, which was not a relationship which allowed indiscriminate perusal on her part without permission. She had no right to read it.
And yet, Jane wished her to read it; Elizabeth was sure. Which principle was more important: sisterly loyalty or honoring the privacy of another’s correspondence? So far her actions could be considered innocent and could certainly be easily explained. Elizabeth could have had a desire to read Voltaire’s Candide and the witty pronouncements of Professor Pangloss. She could have opened the book and the letter could have fallen out by accident. But to continue – no, that was too much. Jane might even be upset by her reading this. Elizabeth decided that she should content herself with what she could scan when slowly picking it up and putting it away.
Yet had she not traveled from Pemberley to determine what was distressing Bingley, and through Bingley, dear Jane? It seemed foolish, even cowardly, to allow a few scruples to prevent her from reading the letter, especially when this could provide the answers that she needed to assist her sister. Elizabeth moved her candle over it, but the light was so poor and the penmanship so careless that she wished that she had waited till sunrise. Nevertheless, she persisted and ascertained that it was a letter, definitely from Mr. Bingley to a Miss Hightower, with phrases that were most shocking because they professed both affection for the recipient and alarm for her situation. Elizabeth searched for a date, but all it said was Tuesday – which Tuesday? she wondered – and that it had been written in London.
Before she had finished she heard footsteps in the passage; someone, probably one of the footmen, was coming. Discretion was definitely the better part of valor and so Elizabeth hastily began the process of putting everything away, first locating the approximately correct page in the book, then folding the letter back into the position in which she had found it.
Someone opened the door just as Elizabeth was replacing Candide, with the letter back inside it, on the high shelf.
“Ah, Eliza,” said Miss Bingley. “I suppose I should not be surprised to find you in here. Are you missing all your books at Pemberley?”
“Not at all,” said Elizabeth, hoping the dim light of the candle would keep Miss Bingley from detecting her flushed face and hence her desperate embarrassment. “The library at Netherfield Park is excellent. But I discovered that although I am fatigued, I could not sleep, so I was looking for something to help me slumber.”
Miss Bingley sauntered over to the bookshelf and with her superior height glanced easily at the section of the shelves where Elizabeth had been searching. “I do not recall, Eliza, do you read German? Or French? Although they might be good choices for summoning Morpheus.”
“A little French. But I think I would prefer something
in English this evening. Are you looking for something particular yourself, Caroline?”
“The same as you. Something to help me sleep tonight. Jane is so fatigued these days that it makes for early evenings, and what else is there to do but to read?” As Miss Bingley was more familiar with the contents of the shelves, she was able to make recommendations. “Fordyce’s Sermons? Or The Ancient Mariner?”
Elizabeth accepted the Coleridge with thanks and departed from the library, but, curious, she shielded the light from her candle and lingered in the corridor. Why was Miss Bingley in the library? She was not a great reader. On the other hand, as she had pointed out, if she was wakeful, what other way was there to while away the time?
Miss Bingley paused before the books in German and French, and Elizabeth wondered if Miss Bingley also knew that her brother had hidden a letter, and had also come in search of it. But then Miss Bingley moved to a different part of the room, and took a light novel from one of the shelves.
At this point there was an excellent chance that Miss Bingley would leave the library. Not wishing to be discovered, and feeling guilty for her clandestine observation, Elizabeth turned and went lightly down the corridor and then up the stairs to her room.
The Ancient Mariner did not put Elizabeth to sleep that night, even though she dutifully turned many pages and read some of the verse, so that she could later encounter Miss Bingley with a clear conscience on that point. Even after she extinguished her candle she had difficulty falling asleep, for she was troubled, extremely troubled, by what she had seen of Bingley’s letter.
It appeared that Mr. Bingley had a passionate and guilty connection with a Miss Hightower. Given that he was married to her sister, this was extremely distressing.
Yet there were aspects that puzzled. The letter that she had seen had been written by Mr. Bingley to Miss Hightower. If there were an active correspondence between her brother-in-law and this woman, then why had Elizabeth not found a letter from her to him? That would make more sense. Perhaps he had just written the letter and was planning to send it later. However, it did not appear to be a recently written letter; from the deepness of the creases, even the age of the paper, it appeared a little older. Furthermore, the date and place did not make sense. Mr. Bingley had just been in London; that was true, and perhaps he had taken the time to write a letter. But he had not been there on a Tuesday! Had he simply put down the wrong day? Why would he write such a letter and not send it? If he decided not to send it, then why would he not destroy it? He had to realize that such a letter, if discovered, would seriously destroy Jane’s peace of mind.
And that led to the next critical question: should she inform Jane of what she had seen or not? Elizabeth wanted to protect Jane from anything that might distress her. She had once protected her from the fact that Bingley’s love for her had been genuine, because at the time it appeared that he might never declare his feelings for her and propose, and Elizabeth had not wanted to raise hopes that might not be fulfilled. Now she had another, far worse secret to conceal, and it was the opposite: that Bingley could be having an affair.
However, concealing her knowledge with respect to this would be more difficult. Jane had told her to investigate the library, and she would certainly press Elizabeth for the results of her investigation.
It appeared that Jane’s worst fears had been correct all along: that Bingley had fallen out of love with her. Or, if he were still in love with her, then he had also developed feelings for another.
Yet not everything made sense. If only there were some way to learn more about Miss Hightower! But she had to do this without involving Jane or alerting the suspicions of Mr. Bingley.
Only when Elizabeth devised a scheme to accomplish this could she finally sleep.
CHAPTER XV
The next morning, unsurprisingly, Elizabeth rose later than usual, and when she came downstairs the others were already in the breakfast-parlor. Miss Bingley teased her a little about reading late, which Elizabeth did not deny. An inquiring glance from Jane made it clear that she wanted to know if Elizabeth had discovered anything. Reluctantly, Elizabeth inclined her head.
She was determined not to share what she had learned till they were completely alone. It was imperative that they not be disturbed or interrupted, because not only was what she had to communicate confidential, and her own role in procuring the information highly irregular, the information was such that it might severely disturb Jane’s composure. Even Jane would need time to return to her usual serene self.
Elizabeth conveyed this to Jane with a few short phrases, not to be understood easily by the others.
In the meantime the morning post was brought to them by a footman. Miss Bingley received a note from her sister; Elizabeth received a long letter from Mr. Darcy, in which the continuing decline of Reverend Wallace was detailed, and Jane received a parcel of baby linens from Aunt Gardiner.
Mr. Bingley received no letters at all, but that fact seemed to make him more cheerful rather than not.
“The weather looks pleasant today,” observed Jane. “Charles, why do not you and Caroline go riding this morning?”
Miss Bingley was delighted by the idea; she and her brother had not ridden together for weeks.
But Bingley, even though the suggestion obviously appealed to him, expressed reluctance. “I do not like to leave you alone, Jane.”
“But Lizzy is here,” said Jane. “I will not be alone, and you should take advantage of such lovely weather.”
“But perhaps Eliza would wish to come too?” asked Miss Bingley, with admirable self-command. “We have a mount that might suit you.”
Elizabeth assured Miss Bingley that she was not a great horsewoman.
“Really? I thought you might have mastered it during your months at Pemberley.”
Elizabeth had gone riding occasionally with Darcy and with Georgiana at Pemberley, so during the past year she had acquired some skill – but she still declined and said she would remain at Netherfield with Jane.
Mr. Bingley and Miss Bingley did not press Elizabeth further – Mr. Bingley because he wanted Elizabeth to spend the hours with Jane, and Miss Bingley because she wanted Elizabeth not to spend the hours with her. On Jane’s recommendation, the brother and sister decided to ride to Oakham Mount. They ordered the horses, and Miss Bingley went to change, and then the two departed. As soon as they were gone, Jane said: “You have something to tell me, Lizzy. I know you do.”
Elizabeth admitted that she did but she said they needed to be alone, absolutely alone, before she would share what she had learned.
So they went to a section of the drawing-room, at a distance from any of the entrances, so that they could not be overheard by any of the servants. Even then Elizabeth was still not sure what she should say.
“Please, Lizzy, ignorance is not bliss, not when I already know something is wrong.”
“Very well, Jane, but you must promise me not to judge too quickly. I know that is usually my failing and not yours, but you must do your best.” After Jane promised, Elizabeth told everything that she could about her excursion to Netherfield’s library the prior evening, from a description of the letter that she had found in Candide to her encounter with Miss Bingley, as well as some of her thoughts about the letter during the night.
Jane struggled to remain calm, but Elizabeth could see that her sister was very distressed. “Miss Hightower, you say? I have never even heard of her!”
“I know no one in Meryton with that name,” said Elizabeth. “Of course, the letter had ‘London’ on it. I am sure there are plenty of Hightowers in London.”
“And the letter was from him, not to him?”
“Yes.”
“That is very strange,” said Jane. “Although many would accuse their husbands of infidelity given such evidence, I do not see how Bingley could have been unfaithful. Since we married, we have spent very little time apart. He went to London last week, but he stayed with the Hursts, and Louisa – I k
now you are not fond of her – but Louisa is also a married woman. She would not countenance such behavior; I know she would not.”
“I do not understand it. I have always believed that Bingley was deeply in love with you.” Elizabeth said these words, although last night she had wondered the contrary.
“That is very kind of you, but what if you are wrong? You are very clever, Lizzy, but even you are not always correct. What if he has fallen out of love with me? Married life is not the same as courtship, and even if it were, people change.”
Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s hand sympathetically.
But Jane returned to attempting to convince herself that all was not dire. “No, Lizzy, that cannot be. He has not had time to form an alliance with anyone else, and I have trouble believing, despite everything, that he has been so inclined. Perhaps it is an old letter, which he wrote before we met.”
Elizabeth said that was absolutely possible, for Tuesday could belong to any week, indeed to any year.
Jane then said: “But why would he keep it? Oh, Lizzy, perhaps it reminds him of a happier time.”
“Do you wish to go and look at it? I should not read it again – I am uncomfortable with my actions so far – but you are Bingley’s wife and have a right to do so.”
Jane hesitated, but finally decided that her spirit would not rest till she had perused the pages in question. The sisters repaired to the library immediately, choosing to do this while Mr. Bingley and his sister were still making their journey to Oakham Mount.
“It was in here,” said Elizabeth, pulling down the volume of Candide, and opening it.
But the book did not contain the letter.
“Lizzy, are you sure?” asked Jane, taking down the next book on the shelf and leafing through it.
Again the letter was not to be found.
“Perhaps he moved it – or perhaps Miss Bingley moved it?” suggested Elizabeth, as they continued to look. “Yet Miss Bingley did not seem aware of the letter. And I do not think she is skilled at disguising her feelings.”
The Meryton Murders Page 9