Perilous Siege

by C. P. Odom

  “Then we shall surely follow your advice,” Bingley said immediately. “Miss Bennet is most welcome to stay as long as necessary.”

  “Oh, thank you, sir,” Mrs. Bennet said. “That is most gracious and is just what I would expect of a young man with your gentlemanly manner. It is this mother’s opinion that she is much too ill to be moved, just as Mr. Jones says. I am afraid we must trespass a little longer on your kindness.”

  McDunn was not sure whether he agreed, but he had no intention of contradicting this conservative approach. It certainly would not do the young lady’s health any harm to remain for a day or two longer.

  “You must not worry about it, Mrs. Bennet!” Bingley exclaimed. “Moving your daughter must not be considered. Neither of my sisters could support such a suggestion, I am sure.”

  “You may depend upon it, madam,” Caroline said. “Miss Bennet shall receive every possible attention while she remains with us.”

  McDunn could not help but note that Caroline made her remark civilly but with no real warmth. Mrs. Bennet, however, did not seem to notice and was profuse in her acknowledgment.

  “I am sure,” Mrs. Bennet said, “I would not know what would become of Jane if it were not for such good friends for she is very ill indeed. But she suffers with the greatest patience in the world, which is always the way with her for she has, without exception, the sweetest temper I have ever seen. But she especially wishes her dear sister Elizabeth might remain with her, to assist with her care and provide cheer during her affliction.”

  Elizabeth looked sharply at her mother. Jane had indeed made such a request in her room, but Elizabeth had firmly opposed it as being an imposition. In any event, she had just been introduced to Darcy’s sister for the first time, and Jane had attested to the many hours Miss Darcy had sat with her in conversation and reading to her.

  “It can be easily accomplished, Mrs. Bennet,” Bingley said. “The room next to Miss Bennet’s is unoccupied, and Miss Elizabeth could stay there.”

  Elizabeth saw her mother look down to hide her smile of triumph at outwitting her, and then she could not prevent a quick glance at Darcy. His eyes were on her, and she thought she discerned a modicum of interest in his gaze, though deciphering that man’s thoughts was not an easy task. But the mere thought of there being any interest whatever was enough to send a surge of warmth up and down her spine. She looked about desperately for some way of evading her mother’s deft ploy.

  In her unsettled state, she could think of no way to do so except to tell an outright lie. She hated to do it, but another quick and furtive glance at Darcy convinced her of the danger if she remained in this house with him.

  Despite his effect on her peace of mind and the realization of this disruption’s carnal nature, she also had conflicted feelings about him otherwise. Elizabeth knew of his elevated status, of course, and she also knew he could have no possible attraction to a young lady whose father only had two thousand a year and whose estate was entailed away to a male cousin when he died.

  But the unlikelihood of a connection between her and Darcy was actually the least by far of her concerns. She was, in fact, dearly terrified of what might happen if she remained at Netherfield. If he were, in fact, a man without honor and made a subtle invitation for her to enter his room, what would she do? She did not know! Might she succumb to such a man?

  Of course, she had no indication that any such dishonorable intentions might be part of his nature. From Bingley’s information to Jane, the truth seemed the complete opposite.

  In essence, it was not Mr. Darcy’s nature that most concerned her, but her own! If he opened his bedroom door, would she go inside willingly?

  She stiffened her resolve and looked directly at her mother. “I do not think it would be advisable, Mama. As I already told Jane, I am not feeling well myself. I think I should not care for my sister when she is recovering her health.”

  Mrs. Bennet opened her mouth to make an instant rejection but then closed it without saying anything. From her expression, Elizabeth knew how unhappy her mother was at having her least favorite daughter thwart her wishes, but what could she say?

  However, she was surprised when her mother summoned the self-control to accept defeat with as much grace as she could summon. Mrs. Bennet changed the subject to compliment Bingley on the many fine attributes of his new estate. She also, of course, included as many compliments for her own daughters into her conversation as she could manage.

  Elizabeth was certain her mother believed herself to be quite cosmopolitan in the way she made her comments, but she could not help being loud, unsophisticated, and plebeian. She hoped she was successfully controlling her expression, because she shuddered at each faux pas. And Miss Bingley all but sneered in triumph. Even Darcy had to struggle not to show his disdain for Mrs. Bennet’s lack of breeding.

  In particular was one of her attempts to praise Jane’s beauty when she made reference to one of her brother’s acquaintances in London who showed a marked partiality for her.

  “It was when she was only fifteen, and a gentleman so admired her that my sister-in-law was certain he would make her an offer before we departed. Perhaps he thought her too young, for he did not do so. But he did write her some verses, and very pretty they were.”

  Elizabeth was mortified, and her words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “And so ended his affection,” she said, wishing she could leave the house and wait in their carriage. “I fancy there has been many an attraction ended in just that way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love.”

  “I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love,” Darcy said, smiling at her witticism, and Elizabeth felt herself compelled to make some sort of response.

  “Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may,” she said carefully. “Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced one good sonnet will starve it entirely away.”

  Darcy smiled at this, and McDunn chuckled outright. He had forgotten the passage, and hearing it spoken by a real person once again, he thought himself an on-stage spectator at a performance of Austen’s signature work.

  With differences, though! he thought, realizing again that the events he witnessed bore only a general similarity to the published scenes.

  In the pause that ensued, Elizabeth trembled in dread of her mother’s embarrassing herself again, but Mrs. Bennet only repeated her thanks to Mr. Bingley for his kindness to Jane. But Elizabeth’s fears were more than answered by the improprieties of her two youngest sisters, who had been whispering together during the whole visit. It was now Lydia who stepped forward.

  “Mr. Bingley, I remember you saying, when you first came into the neighborhood, that you would soon give a ball at Netherfield.”

  Lydia was a tall, well-developed girl who had just turned fifteen years of age, about the same age as Georgiana but without any semblance of Miss Darcy’s composure and intelligence. She did, however, possess a fine complexion and a lively, good-humored manner. She was a great favorite of her mother, who had possessed many of the same attributes in her youth.

  She instantly proved herself just as ready to express herself thoughtlessly as was her mother. “All of us have been depending upon your word, and it would be the most shameful thing in the world if you did not keep it.”

  Bingley seemed little affected by what Jane’s sister said and pledged himself perfectly ready to keep his engagement and even to allow Lydia to name the day as long as she waited until her sister was recovered.

  Both Lydia and Kitty pronounced themselves more than satisfied at this promise and even declared it would give them an opportunity to inform Colonel Forster and some of his officers of the event.

  When the party finally departed the house, Elizabeth was the first in the carriage, e
xceedingly anxious to return home. She intended to immediately go to her room and move a set of drawers in front of the door so no one could enter.

  I shall not come out until dinner! she thought angrily. Is it possible to die of mortification? My mother seems determined to find out whether such is possible!

  Then the memory of Darcy’s handsome face and tall figure flashed into her mind, and she hugged herself reflexively as her family climbed into the carriage.

  What in the world is happening to me? she wondered miserably. I must drive this man from my mind! It is useless to remember him even if I am now seized with urges more like those of a tart than a proper lady. There is no possibility of a connection between two people of such different character and station.

  ***

  Saturday, November 16, 1811

  Netherfield, Hertfordshire

  McDunn leaned back in his chair after taking a sip of his whisky and gave a contented sigh. He had just returned from town after inspecting the progress on his steam locomotive and had journeyed the extra miles to Darcy’s townhouse to retrieve a pair of dusty bottles from Darcy’s butler.

  “This,” he said, holding up his glass, “is immeasurably better than brandy, which I will remind you is produced by the French.”

  “Whatever,” Darcy said, smiling as Georgiana stifled a giggle. “Your whisky is smuggled, you know.”

  “Well, so is your brandy. And we’re at war with the French.”

  “You said ‘we,’ Major,” Georgiana said seriously. “I cannot remember you ever saying it that way before.”

  “Did I?” McDunn said with a frown. “Well, Miss Darcy, I can’t go home, as we all know. This country of yours is now my home for better or worse. And I would much rather live in Great Britain than in any other country I can think of. Especially one ruled by the mad corporal.”[1]

  [1] Napoleon Bonaparte.

  “The Tyrant is how I prefer to think of him,” Darcy said firmly.

  “He is that,” McDunn said agreeably, taking another healthy sip. “I’m becoming so fond of this stuff, I can’t really remember how smooth Chevis Regal was. Oh well. Home, as I said.”

  “How much longer will it be before you are ready for your new demonstration, Major?” Georgiana asked.

  “I would imagine it will be early next summer before we’re completely prepared. We can’t even start laying the rails until the ground dries out in the spring, and there are still problems with the rails and the ties the rails will be laid on that have to be solved. I really need to find a way to make steel production much less expensive. The demo’s got to be perfect since there’s already competition. But the most promising of them was designed by Mr. Stephenson, and history tells me it was hardly less expensive at hauling coal than doing it with horses. Ours is going to be better and more powerful, though it’ll be a bit larger.”

  “Competition again will push another competitor aside, eh?” Darcy said, and McDunn nodded.

  “As I said, progress is relatively heartless at times. And it’s not as though steam locomotives, even the one we’re fabricating, will be a perfect end product. But we need a working locomotive right away so we can get track laid and start making money from transporting freight and passengers.”

  Turning to Georgiana, he continued. “I want to compliment you on helping comfort Miss Bennet. The servants tell me she looks forward to the time you spend with her.”

  “She is very amiable,” Georgiana said, pleased at the compliment. “It was no trouble at all.”

  Darcy muttered something under his breath, and McDunn thought he heard the words “Miss Bingley.” He gave his friend a sharp glance, but Darcy only gazed back innocently, never giving an indication he had made a derogative comparison between the true sympathies of Bingley’s sisters compared to his own.

  “And Miss Elizabeth is very agreeable also,” Georgiana said. “I wish she had been able to stay with her sister, though she did come to sit with her for a short time today. She is very witty and amusing.”

  She looked at her brother. “If Mr. Bingley marries Miss Bennet as everyone is saying, then you ought to marry Miss Elizabeth, William.”

  To his dying day, McDunn considered this particular moment—and his silent acceptance of Georgiana’s suggestion—as his best demonstration of what he liked to think was his rather excellent self-control. His reaction was exemplary compared to Darcy, who had taken a sip of brandy at that exact moment.

  McDunn was quick to assist his friend in alleviating a sudden coughing attack, pounding Darcy on the back until the gentleman could breathe again.

  “This smuggled brandy is nasty stuff when it goes down the wrong pipe,” McDunn said solicitously, which earned him a glare from Darcy as he wiped his lips with his handkerchief.

  Turning to his sister, Darcy finally managed to say, “Why would you make such a suggestion, Georgiana? Miss Elizabeth is an amiable young lady, to be sure, and she would certainly be a suitable friend for you, but you know the inferiority of her connections in comparison to our own. Attention must be paid to the value of each partner in the marriage union, you know.”

  “Yes, I do know, William, but I am thinking of your happiness not whether our family fortune is increased by what everyone calls a splendid marriage. A young lady like Miss Elizabeth could bring you far more contentment than would someone like—”

  She stopped. She was too properly bred a young lady to say the words. But McDunn, possibly emboldened by his beloved Scotch, was easily able to do so.

  “Like Miss Bingley, you mean?” he said, and Georgiana nodded her head vigorously, though her eyes turned to Darcy’s in apprehension.

  Darcy looked at her silently for a few moments. “Is there any possibility this heightened spirit of my sister might be in any way attributable to the time we have both spent with you and your unique viewpoints, McDunn?”

  “Possibly, but I suspect your sister lives in terror you’ll marry Caroline. She’s not yet able to read your emotions well enough to know you’d cut your throat before you did that to her. Or to yourself.”

  Georgiana laughed aloud and exclaimed, “I love your delightful American sayings, Major McDunn! ‘Cut your throat!’ It is so wonderfully different from the usual way everyone else converses!”

  McDunn gave her a quick, abbreviated bow. “Always glad to bring a little amusement into your otherwise drab, uneventful life, ma’am.”

  “You must stop! I have something I want to say,” she said through her muffled giggles. She looked at her brother worriedly, but he remained silent, so she plunged ahead. “William has been a wonderful older brother, and I value everything he has tried to teach me. And one topic he has spoken of many times is how our parents emphasized it was his duty to uphold the Darcy family name and fortune. It has him all…all confused between what he might want to do and what our parents would want him to do. But I love him dearly, and I want him to be happy.”

  “Georgiana,” Darcy said, “I have no plans whatsoever to marry Miss Bingley—no matter how much she schemes and plots.”

  “I am very glad to hear it. I was worried because you tolerated so much from her, and you had never shown any signs of attraction to any other woman, despite all who pursued you.”

  “How could I?” Darcy said with a snort. “Had I given even the slightest hint of interest, I would have been deluged.”

  “By fortune seekers,” Georgiana said. “It is what comes of a concern only for status and wealth in seeking a wife. Pursuit of a gentleman with a fortune is a…”

  “A socially approved trait?” suggested McDunn, which brought rueful laughter from both Darcys.

  Darcy shook his head. “What you should do, Georgiana, is play matchmaker for my friend here. He will need a suitable wife to manage the fine estate he will one day purchase. Perhaps Miss Elizabeth
Bennet would make him a fine wife.”

  Darcy immediately wished he had bitten his tongue because he saw an all-too-familiar expression come over McDunn’s face. It was the one his friend wore when some particularly grief-laden memory of his lost world came to mind.

  What did I say to provoke that reaction?

  Chapter 15

  The young man went to India, where he was drowned. As there is no mystery in this matter, it may as well be stated here that young Heaton ultimately returned to England, as drowned men have ever been in the habit of doing, when their return will mightily inconvenience innocent persons who have taken their places. It is a disputed question whether the sudden disappearance of a man, or his reappearance after a lapse of years, is the more annoying.

  — Robert Barr, Scottish-Canadian

  short story writer and novelist

  Monday, November 18, 1811

  Longbourn, Hertfordshire

  Shortly before four o’clock on the day following Jane’s return from Netherfield Park, the whole of the Bennet family was outside Longbourn to greet a certain Mr. Collins, who had presumed to invite himself for a visit of seven days. The surprise visitor had explained the reason for his presumption in a letter to Mr. Bennet, who at breakfast had acquainted his family with the arriving guest and the reason for his visit.

  “Our guest is a gentleman and a stranger, and is, in addition, a person whom I never saw in the whole course of my life. To be clear, it is my cousin, Mr. Collins.”

  Elizabeth had stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Papa, is that not the man—”

  “—who may turn you all out of this house after I am dead. Yes, Lizzy, it is the very man, my nearest male relative, the beneficiary of the entailment of my house and property. This latest letter”—he waved the letter in the air—“informs me of his arrival at, he estimates, four o’clock today.”