by Glenna Mason
There was an obstacle to her ascension to this particular throne of course: Eliza Bennet. That interloper had somehow insinuated herself into Darcy’s life and affections with her incorrigible wiles and insipid whims.
Caroline knew that in his heart of hearts, Darcy loved her, Caroline Bingley, sister of his best friend. That minx Eliza had thrown a spell over him. There was only one solution. She had to go.
Caroline perceived that Gilbert Hurst was not likely to let her spend a half a year with him and Louisa ever again. His final explosion at their last dinner together had revealed as much. She still wasn’t sure why her complaints about his servants and disparagement of his mother had caused such a rift. After all, didn’t Hurst himself sometimes complain about his servants and often disagree with his mother?
Caroline also recognized that Charles would never accept her in his household for the entire year. He was getting extremely snippy about two three month sojourns. Caroline could not figure out what had happened to her brother. He used to be so congenial and, well, manageable—that Bennet woman no doubt.
In any case desperation was settling in Caroline’s already unstable mind. She’d spent most of her twenties trying to secure Darcy and Pemberley to the exclusion of other potential alliances. Now it was very late to change course. The gentlemen of the ton were courting the eighteen to twenty-two year olds. She barely got an invitation to dance at balls these days. She stood on the wall more and more often. This failure was not her fault; it was Eliza Bennet’s. She, Caroline Bingley, was supposed to be Mrs. Darcy.
Of course Caroline’s main delusion was “When Eliza is no longer Mistress of Pemberley, I will take her place.” Darcy did not understand the extent of Caroline’s disintegration. He received sufficient alarms from his extra sensory perceptions to be cautious for Elizabeth’s sake. But he never dreamed that Caroline was not only delusional, she was also insane.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
October
Century Gate
Caroline Bingley’s carriage drove through the gates of her brother’s estate to no fanfare. Number one, no one knew exactly when she would arrive. Number two, no one cared. A single footman came from the side of the house and, after opening the door for Caroline, directed the small Bingley carriage to the rear to the carriage house, where Caroline’s carriage driver, footman and lady’s maid would receive directions to their rooms and her trunks would be unloaded.
Caroline walked up the front steps of the elegant façade, welcomed by two giant stone lions, paws lifted, claws extended.
She rang the bell. A second footman answered. He invited Caroline through the door into a vast entry, where giant chandeliers hung down two stories and a black and white marble floor extended the length of the hall.
“Wait here, please, Miss. I will let Mrs. Chambers know you are here.”
“I am Caroline Bingley. I don’t wait for Mr. Chambers. She waits on me.”
“I’m sorry, Miss. I have my orders. Perhaps you would like to sit in the south parlor, while I alert her to your arrival,” the now frightened footman said, indicating a door to the right.
Caroline swept into the room and closed the door with a bang.
Fifteen minutes later she was still waiting, one moment stomping her foot, the next pacing the floor to yank open drawers and rummage through the contents. Finally Caroline went to the hall and yelled down it in a stentorian voice, “Someone in this incompetent house find my brother, Charles Bingley, before I fire the lot of you.”
Still no person appeared. The only sound was the delicate ticking of the grandfather clock halfway down the hall. The house seemed empty; no noises from normal daily chores resounded through the hall. Caroline returned to the parlor. After an additional twenty minutes, Caroline stormed from the parlor and began a search for her brother, veering down the hall, opening doors and then slamming them shut.
Still no one materialized. She screamed up the staircase, “Charles, are you home? J-a-n-e!” Then she tried a different tactic, shouting at the top of her lungs, “CH-A-A-M-M-BERS!”
Finally exhausted from her efforts, Caroline retired to the south parlor and sat down in a huff. An hour and a half from the time of her arrival, a footman asked her to follow him to her room. “Finally!” she screeched. His face remained totally immobile.
Caroline was led to a bedroom on the third floor, which was reached by a narrow, secondary stairwell at the back of the main second floor hallway. It wasn’t the servants’ staircase, but it might as well have been for all its lack of elegance. On the way she passed ten plus doors on the second level, the family and guest suites.
The footman bowed to her, when they reached her door. “Your trunks are already in your room.”
“Oh, and my maid?”
“She is awaiting you there. Her room is next door.”
“What!”
“Will that be all, Miss?”
“From you, you—never mind.”
Pauline was busy placing Caroline’s lingerie in an old oak dresser. “I hung your dresses in the closet and your dressing gown and night clothes in the armoire, Miss Bingley.”
All was going according to Bingley’s plan. Caroline would not have one moment of attention in his house, and she’d live in the most modest manner available. She had invited herself. She could see to herself.
He had actually been in his study when Caroline arrived and had heard her immediate and sarcastic remark regarding Mrs. Chambers. As soon as she had slammed her way into the south parlor, Bingley had called for Mr. and Mrs. Chambers and given specific instructions. She was to be ignored for one hour and thirty minutes, before she would be unceremoniously directed to the smallest, most unattractive room the third floor had to offer. “Direct Pauline and her trunks there. Let Caroline wait.”
Mr. and Mrs. Chambers, having been on Bingley’s staff for eight years, were familiar with the machinations of his sister Caroline. They did not say so, but they were summarily pleased with the present instructions. At his orders, the entire staff was told to stay in the servants’ wing and enjoy a little quiet relaxation. No one was to be in sight. Bingley and Jane also retired to their suite, where he silently read, while she embroidered.
With Caroline now in her room, Bingley went into the second phase of his demoralization campaign. He might have been a general on the front lines his plans were so well drawn. No one was to answer her bell, heat her bath water or deliver her tea. Bingley had determined that Caroline and Pauline were strictly on their own—after all, when asked at Netherfield to give an account of her assailant, Pauline had refused—she had stuck with Caroline instead, so she was now indeed stuck with her.
This strategy was designed to insure that Caroline re-ordered the carriage and returned to London. Bingley estimated a time lapse of three days maximum.
Working within that time frame, Bingley sent word to the kitchen staff that he and Mrs. Bingley would dine in their suite until further notice, beginning tonight. He further instructed the cook to not prepare meals for his sister and her maid. They should of course invite the carriage driver and the footman to share meals with themselves in the kitchen.
He did not intend to starve his sister. He told the cook that his sister and her maid could come to the kitchen and prepare whatever was available. When his sister found that out, the three days might well shrink to two or, if he was lucky, even one. However, Caroline was nothing if not stubborn, so she might well extend her own misery to three days just for the sake of spite.
Bingley apprehended that Caroline would understand that this treatment was punishment for imposing on him and his wife uninvited. He hoped it was a lesson she might heed in the future. If not, he’d simply apply the lesson again and again until she learned it. His future and Jane’s hung in this balance. His home could not and would not be the permanent domicile of Caroline Bingley.
Tomorrow Bingley would send Jane to Pemberley, but he would stay at Century Gate to insure that his parsimonious demands w
ere carried out to the letter. If he left, Caroline would malign his footmen and browbeat them into submission. Yet, he did not intend to subject Jane to any of this Caroline controversy. She would stay at Pemberley until Caroline returned to London.
Her letter had sent him into spasms of displeasure. This time Caroline would pay—and with her own money. He would compose a letter to his solicitor instructing him to begin to turn Caroline’s money over to her and set her up in her own domicile. He no longer wanted her in his London townhouse either. She could buy her own townhouse and live on her own income. Bingley was tired of supporting her. While she depleted his funds, hers accrued. He had a wife and estate now. His money was no longer his to share with Caroline. He would inform her tomorrow, but not until after Jane left for Pemberley. He was sure her shrieks would shake the foundations of the great house.
Jane tried to temper his approach, with her always kindly nature coming to the forefront as usual. Bingley, himself a generous soul, would have none of it. It was time for his own and for his sister Louisa’s sake to have Caroline independent of them and their spouses.
Of course Caroline sensed immediately that she’d stomped on the bounds of hospitality this time. Nonetheless, she’d always manipulated Charles with ease. She assumed that if she was sufficiently apologetic, she’d soften his irritation in the days ahead.
Caroline now admitted, even to herself, that she had been unreasonably brazen. She should have allowed Charles the opportunity to reply to her letter before leaving London. He had a wife now. He had responsibilities. Caroline decided she’d be more considerate in the future.
“Ring for tea, Pauline.” Pauline rang. No one answered.
Meanwhile Caroline reclined on a shabby chaise in the corner of the small, unattractive bedroom. Besides this lounge there were three pieces of furniture, a table, a bed and a chair. There was a tiny broken mirror hanging over the table and one picture on the wall, a cheap print of the Mona Lisa.
She looked around. “Oh, no. This doesn’t even have a dressing room or a room with a tub. Pauline, where’s my bath?”
“Down the hall, Miss. We share.”
“You and I share?”
Pauline nodded.
“Ring the bell again. I must speak to my brother.”
Pauline rang. No one answered.
“Go down to the kitchen, Pauline, and see where my tea is.”
Pauline had a good idea, but she went. In the kitchen, Pauline fixed a pot of tea. She was, however, offered no crumpets or tarts. She’d have to fix some herself tomorrow.
Pauline asked the cook, “What time is supper?”
“Whatever time youse and the lady comes in here ter fix it.”
“What?”
“Orders.”
“Oh, I see.”
*****
While Pauline was gone, Caroline entertained herself by concocting ways to eliminate Eliza Bennet.
“Rat poison in her tea? Possibly,” she smirked. “A knife in the heart as she sleeps.” She cackled at that one. “No, smother her with a pillow; that would seem a natural death. I don’t want Darcy charged with murder. How would I marry him?” Another cackle.
Of course even in Caroline’s thwarted mind, these little episodic plans were simply for vicarious enjoyment. Caroline knew she’d be doing something much more simple and mundane—like pushing Elizabeth down a flight of stairs.
Her biggest dilemma was getting access to Elizabeth. If she stayed two months, surely Elizabeth and Darcy would visit Century Gate, or she and the Bingleys would go to Pemberley.
“All I need is a little patience. I have to make up with Charles. That is my number one priority. I must be allowed to stay. A chance will arise. I’ll be ready.”
At that moment Pauline came through the door carrying the tea set.
“What! No crumpets?”
“We make our own.”
*****
Bingley sent a second rider to Pemberley with the notice that Caroline had arrived. “Go across the fields, Carter. It’s quicker. Bring back a response.”
“Yes, sir.” Carter smiled. Word had spread like a flood of the banks of the Thames throughout all of the Century Gate staff. They had each experienced the sharp side of Miss Bingley’s tongue. Now with these latest instructions it was evident that Miss Bingley was being ostracized by her own brother. There could be only one reason. Mr. Bingley wanted her gone. Cheers rose from the stables to the kitchen and the laundry.
Within two hours Carter rode into the stable yard with Darcy’s response. It read:
Bingley: By all means send Jane to us. I suggest she ride out quietly in the morning. Keep Caroline guessing. I am sorry I am not available to help you, but I must protect Elizabeth. I have told you my foreboding.
Darcy
On receiving Darcy’s note, Bingley called Mrs. Chambers to his study to assist him in drafting a formal letter to his solicitors in London. They needed to be able to read it after all. He dictated; she wrote. Bingley no longer cared if the entire world realized that he wanted Caroline gone from his house. When the letter was written, he called Carter in. He was to leave for London at first light.
That accomplished Bingley walked stealthily up his own front hall staircase. “What is wrong with me?” he queried himself. He found Jane anxiously waiting for his report in their suite. He outlined his plan. She concurred. Jane recognized her own nature as being too amenable in certain circumstances. She realized that if she stayed at Century Gate, she would try to mitigate Charles’ actions and, thereby, prolong their misery.
“What fun to ride over. Will you join me?”
“Yes, I’ll escort you to Pemberley, have lunch and come straight home. I want this over.”
“Can we jump fences on the way?”
“Of course. How else would we get from field to field?” He kissed her. She leaned her head on his chest. Bingley ran his fingers along her shoulders. They were tense. “Relax, my love. It will be fine.”
“I have faith that it will.”
“But be wary.”
“Be wary?”
“Darcy fears for Elizabeth at Caroline’s hands.”
“Oh, no.”
“Yes, and his premonitions have been almost perfect since we first met you lovely ladies, so we need to take them as serious warnings.”
“And I certainly must help him protect her, but how?”
“Don’t accept any surprises in the mail.” He laughed.
“Like golden apples,” she joshed back, happy to relieve some of the tension.
“Or poisoned chocolates.”
“Can one lace a letter with arsenic scented perfume?” Jane asked, and then she cringed. “Oh, Charles, I cannot believe that we are making a joke of this serious situation. It is our sisters of which we speak.”
“Even Shakespearean tragedies have a little comic relief, my dear. Do not feel guilty over a little repartee. Just be cautious. Darcy may be wrong, but then again he may very well be right. Why did Caroline really come all this way? I don’t know, but it is imperative that I send her back.”
“Seriously speaking then, how can I best help Darcy protect Elizabeth?’
“Mainly, do not leave her alone outside. You know how she wanders. Caroline is a superb rider. She could take off one morning and lay in wait. I would think her safely ensconced in her room, so how could I warn you?”
“Oh, my. This is worse than Wickham,” Jane said.
“Much worse, my dear. Wickham never planned to hurt any of you. Money was his game.”
“And Caroline?”
“The same as ever. She wants Pemberley. It is an obsession. That is true whether she is dangerous or not, but such a compulsion could make her menacing. She may think Elizabeth is the only obstacle to her dreams.”
“How sad.”
“Yes, she never had the slightest chance.”
*****
The next morning Caroline saw Bingley and Jane head for the stables from her third floor
window. Should she follow them? She hesitated. Then in a flash she saw her answer. Yes, she should. They might be riding over to Pemberley. She could learn the route by horseback. She could hardly take the carriage out surreptitiously, but she could borrow a horse without garnering much attention.
With her hair stringing down, she threw on a riding habit, gathered her hat and whip and sneaked down the servants’ stairwell to the back door. Jane and Bingley, chatting and smiling, were mounting at that very minute.
She sneaked behind a tall shrub to obscure their view of her and listened to their conversation.
“We’ll cut across the south pastures. It’s a straight shot to Darcy’s.”
“What of hunters?”
“I don’t allow hunting on my property. Neither does Darcy.”
“Excellent! Do the estates join then?”
“Well actually, no. We have to cross two other properties.”
“And?”
“I’m not sure of the owners’ policy about hunting.”
“We’re taking the road.”
“Probably best.”
If the couple were taking the road, there was no reason for Caroline to follow them. It would be harder to escape detection and the route via the main byway would be easy to ascertain.
The discussion about hunting raised a new idea in Caroline’s fertile, but disjointed mind. “A hunting accident—how daring.”
*****
After she and Pauline cooked meals, fixed their own tea and heated water for their baths for three miserable days, a new idea germinated in Caroline’s hate-infested psyche. It had become abundantly clear that Jane was going to stay at Pemberley to shadow Elizabeth, that Darcy had no intention of visiting Century Gate while she was in residence, with or without his wife, and that her brother was not going to relent on his strictures on her comfort. Therefore, Caroline fashioned an elaborate counter offensive.