The Bell

by Mary Lydon Simonsen

  In the drawing room, as the party of three settled in, Bingley gleefully explained the misunderstanding. He assured Mrs. Darlington that it had not been Flitter or Darcy’s intention to deceive anyone, but when he had learned that Mr. Darcy had been mistaken for his steward, the playful Bingley saw an opportunity for a bit of fun.

  “I hope you will forgive me my little joke,” Bingley said.

  With the cloud of confusion now dispersed, Mrs. Darlington clapped her hands in delight. “Forgiveness is not required, sir,” a smiling Mrs. Darlington answered. “As you said, it was a bit of fun, and no one is the worse for it. In fact, I think we should continue the ruse. Let our guests know nothing of the real Mr. Darcy until the night of the card party. When his identity is revealed, there will be such oohs and ahs. Oh my! I can hardly wait.”

  The lady then turned her attention away from Mr. Bingley to the subject of the misunderstanding. “Do you find this case of mistaken identity to be amusing, Mr. Darcy?”

  Darcy did not hesitate in responding. That he had been mistaken for the wooly septuagenarian was proving to be enormously entertaining, and like his hostess, he saw no harm in continuing the ruse. His answer prompted a series of questions from the lady, including whether he was a bachelor.

  “I am,” Darcy answered.

  “Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness!” an overjoyed Mrs. Darlington said. “Two bachelors in Meryton at the same time and of a certain age to delight the young ladies of the neighborhood. No matter what happens at the card party, I can already declare the night to be a success as bachelor sightings hereabouts are quite rare.”

  Bingley, who was pleased by Mrs. Darlington’s enthusiasm for their harmless deception, told her of the equally enthusiastic reception he had received on High Street.

  “I know all about it, Mr. Bingley. I heard it was very nearly a riot and that Abigail Clemmons came close to being run over crossing the street in her haste to join the crowd of greeters.”

  “Well, I hope that is not true,” a concerned Bingley replied.

  Mrs. Darlington shared that the card party was the talk of Meryton and that Sir William and Lady Lucas had been besieged by every mother and daughter for miles around for the purpose of receiving an invitation. As a result of numerous entreaties, the guest list had doubled.

  “Because this may very well be the last social gathering at Netherfield Park, at least under my direction, I have invited some of my own friends from Bristol. We shall have quite the crowd. But I imagine your interest tends toward the ladies of Meryton.”

  Bingley did not deny it and spoke of his encounter with Miss Jane Bennet outside the butcher shop.

  “Then you have met the prettiest girl in the shire. Not only is she beautiful, but Jane Bennet is a sweet thing with nothing but kind words for everyone.”

  “So I have been informed,” a smiling Bingley answered.

  “By that remark, I understand you, Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Darlington said, wagging her finger at Bingley. “You have met the mother! Mrs. Bennet does not hide her light under a bushel, now does she?” the lady said, laughing. “But then she has five daughters, all in need of husbands, and that accounts for much. The second eldest daughter is equally lovely, but of a darker persuasion, and very different in temperament from her older sister. Elizabeth Bennet has a quick, sharp wit. Gentleman, be warned, you will not get the better of her in an argument.”

  Bingley guffawed. “I do not get the better of anyone in an argument which is why I choose not to argue. I leave that to Darcy.”

  Mrs. Darlington’s comments made Darcy think of his sister. On several recent occasions, Georgiana had bested him in a debate, and he wondered if women were getting smarter or if they had been smart all along and had been given insufficient credit for their intelligence. He would very much like to meet someone whose beauty was matched by a fine intellect.

  Mrs. Darlington told Bingley that if he chose to lease Netherfield Park that there would be tremendous pressure from his neighbors for him to host a ball. The last ball had been held the first year of the Darlingtons’ residence, more than two years earlier.

  “It was a grand affair. Even my husband, who is not given to such extravagances, enjoyed himself. But that winter, when we returned to Bristol, my older daughter met her husband, and then in the spring, my younger daughter met her future husband. Being young and in love, they had little interest in living in Hertfordshire.”

  Mrs. Darlington admitted that taking a five-year lease on a country house so far from the port city had been a mistake for many reasons. Mr. and Mrs. Darlington, who had lived their whole lives in Bristol, were city people and found the quiet of the country not to their liking. Where were the sounds of wagon wheels on cobblestones? Where were the hawkers selling their wares? How she missed going down to the docks to see ships coming into port brimming with treasures that had been found in every corner of the globe. In her enthusiasm to find a country retreat, she had greatly overestimated the benefits of leaving city life behind.

  “It was a few months after settling in at Netherfield that my husband, who is the owner of a shipping concern, discovered that he had paid too much for the lease, and it disturbed him greatly that the Crenshaws had got the better of him, he being a man of business. In the three years we have had Netherfield Park, Mr. Darlington has visited only seven times, and four of those visits were in the first year. He does not ride nor shoot nor hunt, so it was a poor fit for him. The only saving grace was Mr. Bennet, father of Jane and Elizabeth, who has a fine mind and who challenged my husband in many a debate. But in the end, it was the distance, you see, that worked against us, and even Tom Bennet and his pointed arguments and erudition could not make up for all the miles between Netherfield Park and Bristol.”

  Without her own daughters in residence, her visits became less frequent. A symbol of the Darlingtons’ failed country experiment was the shuttered ballroom.

  “I know my neighbors think I am proud and above my company and that is why I spend so little time in Hertfordshire. But it simply is not true. I am not to the manor born. My father was a shipping clerk who eventually rose to become the director of his company. The difficulty was in our different backgrounds. I know nothing of the growing of crops or the raising of sheep and cattle. My ignorance of their daily lives set me apart. Even so, I never considered myself above my company. I am not better than my neighbors; I am just different from them. And, Mr. Bingley, if you decide to sign the lease, you will find that your neighbors are good and honest people.”

  Without hesitation, Bingley immediately declared his intention to lease Netherfield Park for a year with an option to renew for a second year. “Does that meet with your approval?”

  “Oh, Mr. Bingley! A great burden has been lifted from my shoulders as I shall now be able to return to Bristol and enjoy my grandchildren.”

  “And after my sisters arrive and we have all settled in, I shall host my first ball.” Bingley was practically giddy at the prospect of having dancing couples filling the ballroom of Netherfield Park.

  “But, first, we must discuss the card party,” Mrs. Darlington said. “The plan is rather complicated, and I am relying on Sir William Lucas to take charge of the proceedings. But, in theory, here is what has been proposed. It involves a bell…”

  * * *

  Georgiana’s parting words to her brother were cautionary. William needed to remember that he was going to Netherfield Park as Bingley’s friend, and in that role, he should take anything said by the local inhabitants of Meryton in his stride. “Do not be offended or give offense. It is only one evening, so prepare to be amused.” Before departing for Hertfordshire, Darcy promised his sister that he would be on his best behavior.

  The next evening, while dining at Netherfield Park, Mrs. Darlington classified the local ladies as to beauty and charm: Jane Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet, and Mary King were at the top of the lady’s list. Those having a warm nature, a euphemism for being plain, were Mary Bennet, Charlotte Luca
s, and Priscilla Morris. There were other groupings, but he could not remember the names of the ladies in question, and it did not really matter as he was to return to London soon after the card party. Once Bingley was established in the neighborhood, he would go back to Netherfield Park, but his presence in Hertfordshire was for the purpose of enjoying the partridge season, not looking for a bride.

  By the end of the evening, Darcy had lost count of how many times their hostess had said, “two bachelors,” each exclamation followed by a squeal of delight. Mrs. Darlington explained that the reason for the dearth of men in the neighborhood was that the tug of London proved irresistible, which was certainly not unusual. Lambton, the nearest village to Pemberley, was losing its young people—male and female—to Manchester, Liverpool, Bristol, and most particularly, London. London, as the greatest city in the world, served as a magnet to anyone with ambition or those wishing to flee the drudgery of the farm, and for the more adventurous, the opening of the American frontier proved a siren call.

  And into the midst of a Hertfordshire farming community came Mr. Charles Bingley, heir to a great industrial fortune, and Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, scion of one of the North’s most prominent families. After learning of Mrs. Darlington’s plan for the card party, Darcy thought the evening could be quite entertaining, but then he thought, When I am not playing at cards, what shall I do—to whom shall I speak? Mrs. Darlington had mentioned Miss Elizabeth Bennet as a lady with a quick wit and very pretty as well. That might be a good place to start. If Miss Elizabeth is a gifted conversationalist, the burden of conversation will not fall exclusively to me.

  Once in his bedroom suite, Darcy’s reverie was interrupted by a knock on the door, and Mercer opened it to find a grinning Bingley on the other side. Bingley had not stopped smiling since crossing the threshold at Netherfield Park.

  After sampling Mrs. Darlington’s port, Bingley asked of his friend, “Darcy, do you believe in love at first sight?”

  “No.”

  “I do.”

  “I know you do. I have seen it often enough, Miss Clarke being the latest example.”

  “But this time is different. It really is. Never before did I fall in love with an angel.”

  “We are speaking of Miss Jane Bennet who, I believe, did not utter a word when in your company.”

  “She did not have to. Angels need not speak.”

  “But it does help move things along if they do.”

  “There was so much in the way she looked at me. Her eyes spoke of love.”

  “After you stop staring into Miss Bennet’s eyes, what will you say to her?”

  “I shall ask her what heaven is like.”

  “Such a question will defeat your purpose.”

  “How so?”

  “The lady will be rendered speechless by such nonsense.”

  Darcy had often seen his friend in love, but his enthusiasm for Miss Jane Bennet was on a different level entirely. The man was practically walking on air. It was a difficult thing for him to understand what his friend was feeling as he had never had so much as an inkling as to what it would be like to give one’s heart to another. When thinking of love, he thought of his parents’ marriage. Although theirs had been an arranged marriage, over time, they had developed a deep and profound affection for each other. Such an arrangement seemed preferable to the unpredictable experience of falling in love—as if off a cliff. But from his looks, Darcy thought that if his friend did go over a cliff that he would land on a cloud where his angel awaited him.

  * * *

  Lizzy watched as Hill put the last of the pins in Jane’s hair. Now finished, Jane turned to Lizzy, her eyes searching for approval, and in her sister’s look, she found it.

  “Poor Mr. Bingley!” Lizzy said. “He does not stand a chance against your charms and beauty.”

  Jane took Lizzy’s hands in her own. “Promise not to laugh.”

  “I promise.”

  “I think Mr. Bingley is the one for me. I know that sounds ridiculous as I have said nothing to him, and all he said to me were common courtesies. But, remember, I told you I saw a man coming out of the inn? I believe that man was Mr. Bingley, and when he smiled at me, I felt…”

  “You felt what?”

  “A stirring. I do not know how else to explain it.”

  “Please try. Unlike you, I have not been the recipient of verses or even a flirtatious glance. I want to know what it feels like to experience that first blush of love.”

  Jane shook her head, unable to find the right words for what she was feeling, but then settled on warmth.

  “It is the feeling you have on a winter’s eve when it is snowing outside and you are sitting in front of a roaring fire with a cup of tea—safe, warm, and surrounded by those you love. At that moment, life is very nearly perfect.”

  Lizzy was disappointed. She had not thought that love would be compared to a cup of tea. She had hoped for a feeling with a little more passion, a little more heat—something to excite the senses. She then realized that such feelings would be a poor fit for Jane. But it would be a good fit for me!

  “I hope the card party is a success,” Lizzy said, leaving thoughts of love behind. “When Charlotte mentioned the rules governing the evening, it sounded overly complicated.”

  “Charlotte said that Mrs. Darlington emphasized that we are all to mingle—mentioning the word multiple times.”

  “Yes, but for all this talk of mingling,” Lizzy said, “other than Mr. Bingley and the ancient Mr. Darcy, everyone is already known to us.”

  “Not necessarily,” Jane answered. “According to Charlotte, Mary King is to be accompanied by a large party. In addition to her uncle, there are at least three others, two of whom are her cousins and close to her in age. And it is my understanding that Mrs. Darlington has invited some friends from Bristol as well. Although her daughters will not be in attendance as they are with child, Mr. Darlington will be there as well.”

  “Mr. Darlington likes parties even less than Papa,” Lizzy said, “so he will sit next to the punch bowl and scowl.”

  Jane turned and faced Lizzy. “Do you have something better to do this evening? Is that why you are complaining about everything?”

  A properly chastened Lizzy said that she had every intention of enjoying the party. “Mr. Darcy and I can discuss ear horns. I have always wondered where one buys one.”

  * * *

  As time went on, the invitation, once so coveted, so sought after, had been discarded, and an invitation extended to include all those young ladies who were currently out in society, including Lydia and Kitty Bennet. Upon hearing of the inclusion of her two youngest daughters, Mrs. Bennet was thrilled, and Mr. Bennet was content to have it so as it greatly reduced the sound of whining in the house. The venue had also changed as the drawing room at Netherfield Park was inadequate to hold so many guests, and the ballroom had been opened. All that was required for attendance was the proper dress, and Mrs. Darlington asked that the men not spit—at least not indoors.

  As the carriages arrived at Netherfield Park, its occupants joined those who had arrived early in anticipation of catching a glimpse of Mr. Bingley. For a month, there had been little talk on any subject that did not concern that gentleman. The air in the ballroom was filled with the hum of excitement as everyone was eager to make a good impression so that Netherfield Park would be let—and let to Mr. Bingley.

  Charlotte, who had arrived early with her parents, joined Lizzy and Jane, and each complimented the other on their dresses. The Bennet sisters had added lace and trim to their frocks, but Charlotte had a new blue-gray gown that matched her eyes and complimented her complexion.

  “Your dress is lovely, Charlotte,” Jane said. “You look so beautiful.”

  “Mama insisted I have a new gown, and Papa went along with Mama in the hope that Mr. Bingley will fall in love with me.” Charlotte laughed. “But from what I hear, Mr. Bingley has already lost his heart to Jane.”

  “It must h
ave been Mama who told you that,” Jane said, blushing. “Mr. Bingley does not know me.”

  Charlotte’s source was her mother who had her news from Mrs. Morris. According to the letting agent’s wife, it was the general consensus that Mr. Bingley had come under Jane’s spell during their brief encounter on High Street. The attachment was so noticeable that Mrs. Morris had resigned herself to the fact that her husband would have to continue to pay for Priscilla Morris’s education as she would never be Mrs. Charles Bingley, and Lady Lucas, despite the expense of the new frock for Charlotte, was happy to have Mr. Bingley as a neighbor.

  As the three friends walked about the room, there was only one topic of discussion: Mr. Bingley and what it would mean for the village to have such an esteemed gentleman in residence at Netherfield Park as the man would most certainly have bachelor friends. From their neighbors, they learned that Mr. Bingley was the oldest son of a large family from Scarborough who had inherited a great fortune. Part of that fortune had been set aside for the building of a great estate, and why should Mr. Bingley not buy property in Hertfordshire and build his manor house here? It was also learned that Mr. Bingley had a house in town on Grosvenor Square, confirming the vastness of his wealth.

  “So, Jane, you will have a house in the country and a house in town,” Lizzy said. “Excellent work considering Mr. Bingley has never heard the sound of your voice.”

  Jane’s protests ceased when Sir William Lucas, followed by Lady Lucas and Mrs. Darlington, entered the ballroom for the purpose of introducing the guest of honor. Before speaking, Sir William cleared his throat, adjusted his neckcloth, and gave his waistcoat a tug. With the exception of his speech about the king, this might be the most important moment of Sir William’s life as the neighborhood depended upon him, and it was his intention to make the most of it.

  Sir William prefaced his introduction with stories about the village and how it had grown from a sleepy backwater to a market town on the London road. Few villages of its size could boast of such amenities, including many fine shops and an assembly hall. He went on for several minutes in this vein and finished by reminding those in attendance that he had once been their mayor—as if anyone was in danger of forgetting. With the room starting to stir, Sir William finally got to the reason for his oration and introduced Mr. Bingley.