Caroline's ComeUppance

by Tess Quinn

  Caroline was about to turn her mount in the direction she had come when she heard herself being addressed by name. She twisted in the saddle to see Sir William Lucas approaching.

  “Good morning,” he called as he hastened through his gate. “Good morning to you, Miss Bingley,” he repeated as he reached her.

  Inwardly, Caroline cringed at thought of meeting up with the local nobility, as Sir William fashioned himself. From her introduction to him last year, she knew that he showed much too keen an interest in the lives of this community. He was as bad as the worst busybody spinsters of Meryton who had nothing to do all day but gossip. Caroline could think of few people she would not rather have met today. She must be careful in her address, or news of her morning’s activity would be spread over half of Hertfordshire by dinner time.

  “Good morning, Sir William.” Caroline took care to arrange her countenance in a polite smile.

  “You are about early today, Miss Bingley.”

  “Indeed. The day is so clement I could not stay within,” she replied.

  “Ah, yes, of course! We have a beautiful day for the season, do we not?”

  There seemed little point in repeating herself, so Caroline did not respond.

  “Do you ride for Longbourn? You will not be the first to traffic this path today…”

  Caroline did not hear any more of Sir William’s inane chatter. She had marked his early words, they confirming that she had been too late. Mr Darcy would no doubt be at Longbourn already. When she returned her attention to Sir William, the gentleman was still rattling on. He had not even noticed Caroline’s lapse of attention.

  “… said so just yesterday to Lady Lucas. Do you not agree?”

  “Indeed.” Caroline had no notion of what she had just agreed to, but did not wish to belabour the discourse.

  Sir William, however, was not inclined to relinquish his audience. “Such excitement we will have soon with your brother’s wedding to Miss Bennet; and then another yet again after. It is a pity for us that Miss Elizabeth Bennet does not marry here as well, I do love the excitement such occasions afford.” Caroline tried not to sneer at this turn in the conversation. But Sir William needed no reply to carry his part of the discourse.

  “We wish the couples well, however,” he continued. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet is a particular friend of the Lucases, you know, such a dear friend of my daughter Charlotte who wed last year. So delighted that our Eliza has made such a match! A great relief to her family. But we shall miss her lively tongue when she is gone to Derbyshire. Of course, we are equally joyous that our beautiful Miss Jane Bennet will remain so close by with Mr Bingley. I do hope this means we will have the pleasure of your tenancy from time to time as well. I have no doubts at all we can keep your dance card filled at our little assemblies, oh yes.”

  Caroline did not know how much more of this drivel she could withstand. She answered Sir William politely, assuring him that she had quite strong feelings concerning passing her time here in the country. Eventually, she was able to extricate herself from his attentions, and she turned her grey towards Netherfield once more.

  Arriving again at the turn towards Meryton, Caroline heard laughter coming from somewhere in the woods. She recognized it immediately as belonging to Elizabeth Bennet. She had heard it too often to be dubious. On a whim, she rode a bit closer to confirm who had engendered Miss Bennet’s delight, though she believed she knew.

  She entered the wooded pathway, but could see no one up ahead. Then she heard the laughter again, coming from somewhere off to the right. Dismounting, Caroline tethered her horse to a birch and carefully picked her way several yards into the woods, until she could see the woman; then sidled over a bit more until she could see Miss Bennet’s partner. Sitting on a large rock in a partial clearing was not Mr Darcy, but rather Mr Tremayne. Neither he nor Miss Bennet, standing with her back to Caroline, could know that she looked upon them.

  Caroline began to wonder why Mr Darcy did not accompany the pair, when she heard Mr Tremayne’s wheezy sigh. “My dear, I do apologize for keeping you from your exercise; but I fear I am not so fit as I tell myself, nor so wise as I should be.”

  “Do not express regret, sir. I assure you the pause in order for you to rest is nothing as compared to my increased pleasure of your companionship in walking.”

  “You are too kind.” He paused a moment, as though searching for prudent words before continuing. “I hope you will forgive me prying, but I trust you will not be too kind to overlook the machinations of your intended rival.”

  “What, Miss Bingley?”

  Caroline stiffened at the mention of her name. She glanced around her for any sign that they might be aware of her presence, but saw none.

  “You know she bears you no good will, my dear. I am an old man but have eyes in my head. The woman aims to supplant you in your young man’s affections.”

  “I have no doubt you speak true, Mr Tremayne. But I am little concerned, other than for the distaste of being long in Miss Bingley’s company. She cannot impinge upon my joy, nor turn Mr Darcy’s regard from me.”

  “I am certain you are correct. I have seen the gentleman’s eyes upon you. But can Miss Bingley truly do no mischief?”

  “Mr Darcy has been Mr Bingley’s particular friend for quite some time and, as such, well known to Miss Bingley also – long before I met any of them. Had Mr Darcy any interest in the lady, it would have manifested itself before now, particularly given the effort she has expended to gain his regard. Indeed, they have at times been of one accord in some opinions, and yet Mr Darcy never had inclination to make of her more than an acquaintance.”

  Caroline stood in mute fury. To hear herself belittled in this way was appalling, and she had something of an urge to storm into the clearing and demand an apology were she not cognizant that she was eavesdropping on conversation never meant for her ears.

  “My only concern now,” replied Elizabeth to something Caroline had missed Mr Tremayne saying, “is to maintain a polite acquaintance for the sake of my sister and Mr Darcy.”

  “Of Mr Darcy? Your Jane I can understand, she must be sister to Miss Bingley. But what can your concern be for Mr Darcy?”

  “I would not wish anything to stand as a barrier in his friendship with Mr Bingley. Already we have strained relations within part of our family by the ties of marriage. That they were unavoidable and just does not diminish the discomfort of the connection. I would not for the world subject my husband to the additional disquiet of withdrawal – in any degree – from a good friend and brother simply because I cannot admire Charles’s sister.”

  Mr Tremayne sighed and smiled. “You have a good heart, Miss Bennet. I trust it will stand you in good stead when you need fortitude.” He chuckled, the wheezy laugh Caroline had heard at dinner the night previous. “Do you know, were I younger and wealthier, I might declare to Miss Bingley myself, to save you the inconvenience of her nefarious endeavours. She quite reminds me of my Silva in her youth – she was a carroty beauty as well and strong willed. Those ginger-hairs are, you know!” The two laughed. “I recall an old ditty we used to sing in my younger years, -- ‘The Carrot pate be sure you hate, for she’l be true to no man.’ – that is as much as I can recall, now that I think on it!” He wheezed again in pleasure.

  Caroline had heard quite enough. She had been dismissed as of no consequence, only to then be held up as the object of a ridiculous match for the ancient tutor? She was incensed.

  Still, mindful of the need for stealth, Caroline held herself in check as she picked a path slowly back to her horse so that she would not make noise and call attention to her presence. She untied the grey, and led it some steps to the edge of the wood, there finding a large log for a step up to aid in remounting. Once having gained her seat, she spurred the horse to a canter, keen to be away from the scene of late. She kept the horse at a good sprint until she was again on the edge of Netherfield’s ground. Her fury escalated with each strike of the horse’s
hooves on earth. She would not be made a fool. It had been tried before and she had always triumphed – she would triumph again. She would put Elizabeth Bennet firmly in her place and rejoice in the deed.

  As if to mirror her mood, a flash of lightning rent the sky, followed by a rumble of low thunder. Caroline brought the horse up instinctively lest it bolt from the noise. She glanced at the sky; a dark premonition of a storm had moved in while she was insensate in her ire. It could burst at any moment and Caroline was yet a good half mile from the house. She could only hope its swiftly swirling clouds would push beyond Netherfield before a torrent of rain fell. She reined the grey around to direct it towards the stables when she saw another rider approaching along the river from the opposite direction. From the carriage of the stallion, it had to be Mr Darcy and his Parsifal.

  Though Caroline was but a short distance from the relative shelter of a copse of trees, she chose to wait a moment or so until Mr Darcy came even with her. The grey was edgy, shuffling and snorting. “Miss Bingley!” A moment later Darcy drew Parsifal alongside her and stopped. “What are you doing here? You must ride for shelter!”

  “Yes, of course, I was about to do so when I saw your approach. I –”

  At that exact moment, another flash lit the sky directly overhead. Caroline’s horse panicked, its eyes bulging with terror. Caroline’s attentions had been centred on Mr Darcy, such that when the grey reared up, she slipped from her saddle. Mr Darcy lunged forward from his seat to grab the reins of the grey and bring him down, but he was too late to prevent an accident. Caroline found herself falling, unable to grasp at anything to reverse her fate.

  Chapter Seven:

  Regrouping

  C

  harles had been happy to lie in today. He had awakened early, but had no obligations until later in the day, and he had enjoyed the quiet of early morning. He knew that Darcy would have gone riding, and Henshaw, when he came to stir the fire to life, confirmed that Caroline had been seen walking towards the stables as well. Louisa and Hurst never rose before eleven, so Charles knew he was at leisure to bask in comfort and revel in the good fortune his life had afforded him.

  When hunger pangs finally roused him, Charles rose cheerfully to meet the day. As he dressed he looked out his window and noted clouds gathering. He casually considered it a good thing, they had not experienced rain in several days and the earth was in need of moisture. Not giving it another thought, he left his room and made his way downstairs to break his fast. He was about to enter the breakfast room when the doors from the garden terrace burst open, drawing his step and his attentions. He watched incredulously as a storm raged indoors – his sister violently charging for the main stairs, Darcy coming in hurriedly after her. Caroline stamped halfway up the steps without so much as a word or glance in the direction of either man.

  Charles could only stare in wonder. Caroline was drenched from head to boot! A quick glance at the sky out the still-opened doors confirmed that the rain had not yet begun, though it could only be moments away. What on earth could have happened to his sister? Looking more closely, he saw that her hair was dishevelled and, here and there, what appeared to be grass hung from it; he looked to Darcy to explain, and saw a lady’s riding bonnet dangled from the man’s fingers. His friend glanced quickly at Caroline, now almost at the next landing, then back to Charles and nodded in the direction of the morning room. They entered it in silence but for a slight squelching of Darcy’s boots upon the carpet.

  Bingley took a seat opposite Darcy at the small breakfast table, noting as he did so that his friend, usually impeccably groomed, also sported small streaks of wet and mud about his person. “Whatever happened?”

  Darcy started to reply when from the pantry a footman issued forth, carrying a tray laden with a selection of breads, rolls and cold cuts. The friends at the table waited while the servant placed his tray and poured tea for the two men. Just before disappearing again through the service door, the footman was recalled by Mr Darcy.

  “Sir?”

  “Please tell Miss Bingley’s maid to attend her immediately.”

  “Yes, sir. I will tell her straightaway.”

  He retreated and Charles turned his attentions back to the scene he had just witnessed. “Darcy? Is there something I should know of you and my sister?” His tone held no accusation, only puzzled concern.

  Darcy began yet again, but found himself unable to answer. An intense rumble that had started well down in his chest had climbed upwards until, at the moment his lips parted to speak, it erupted into deep notes of laughter following one upon the other. Charles could only gawk at his friend in confusion until the paroxysm subsided.

  “Bingley, I am most sorry. I do your sister a disservice, but I confess I could not contain myself longer.”

  “A dis--? But what has brought all this on?”

  Darcy composed himself with a swallow from his cup, and began to explain the events of the morning as he knew them.

  “I took my early ride as always. The sun only lately ascending from the horizon lent a coronal effect upon the low ridge to the west, and I was moved to spur Parsifal in that direction.” Darcy was about to describe the unusual play of light upon the ground he had witnessed with the rising day and burgeoning cloud cover, but then recognized Charles’s impatience mounting. He cut short his poetic reverie to satisfy his friend’s curiosity. “I was returning from a jaunt up Gatwick Hill when I came upon Caroline by the river. The impending storm threatened and her grey reared at a crack of lightning. Caroline could not maintain a hold and was thrown.”

  At Charles’s look of alarm, Darcy hastened to assure him that his sister was unhurt but for her pride. “The trajectory of her flight took her, fortunately,” – at this he chuckled yet again – “into the river. The soft mud of the shallow bottom broke her fall such that she sustained no lasting injury.”

  “It is well for you to say such a thing,” replied Charles, “but I doubt my sister will agree.” His face was all concern.

  “Yes, yes I know. And I do beg your pardon for my outburst. But if you had seen her, Bingley, thrashing about in the water, dousing herself further and pulling broken reeds from her head like some serpent-haired Medusa –” He could not say more, he had to clamp his jaw shut to prevent another flurry of titters.

  Then: “I assure you, my friend, I was solicitous at the time. I waded in to assist her and placed her upon the bank again, though she was the devil to raise up between her sodden skirts and her flailing. I inquired several times if she had any injuries or pain and was met with stony silence and flashing eyes. I even entered the shallows a second time to retrieve this as it drifted by.” He held up the bonnet, its ribbons and crown now drying with caked mud.

  Darcy was silent a moment himself, as if taking the time only now to consider the events just past. “In truth, Charles, I comprehend her discomfiture, though it is an accident any rider might suffer in the circumstances. What I cannot reason is the heat of her reaction. She looked upon me as if I had myself thrown her into the tarn.”

  He paused yet again, a quizzical expression quickly giving over to one of disinterested resignation. “I offered to carry her on Parsifal and lead the grey if she was injured. She refused. She even spurned my assistance at first in regaining her saddle, stubbornly resolute to mount on her own until she found no step available.”

  Darcy threw up his hands as though to show the earnestness of his attempts to aid Caroline. “The moment she was in the saddle, she galloped off. Had I been on any but Parsifal, I doubt I would have kept with her at all; she rode as if the hounds of Hades pursued her. She gained the stable, slid down whilst throwing the reins towards a startled groom, and stomped off to the house in one motion. And though I caught her up, she would not speak to me nor meet my glance. From then, you know as much as I.”

  To this point in Darcy’s narrative, Charles had sat silent, concern writ on his face for his sister’s welfare. As the tale wound down, however, he could see
that the worst injury Caroline had faced was extreme embarrassment in the presence of Darcy. That was no small thing, he reflected. She would be mortified. And the devil to live with until the shameful memory subsided. He wondered if he should go to her but realized, on picturing her countenance as she had stormed into the house, that a kind gesture would be the last thing she would tolerate now – and the ensuing altercation the last thing to which he would subject his own happy mood this morning.

  As Bingley reflected thus, the breakfast room door opened and Louisa and Hurst entered, making their way to the table. Louisa addressed her brother. “Charles, what has Caroline in a state? She is making such a racket in her rooms, throwing things about!” Louisa and her husband did not await an answer, indeed they gave it no more thought as they helped themselves to rolls and cold ham from the trays.

  Charles looked to Darcy. For a moment, each mirrored the other’s solemn countenance. Then both roared in laughter, as an answering burst outside the windows signalled the day’s rain had finally begun.

  ~~~~~~

  Sara had been busying herself in the closet on Tuesday arranging gloves and shawls when the door to the adjacent bedchamber had been thrown open with some violence. She quickly moved to the interconnecting passage to see what was transpiring. Miss Caroline thundered in, teeth chattering as much in fury as from the cold her sodden clothes must have engendered. She was drenched bottom to top and streaked in mud; there were gashes in her riding cloak and an expression of pure rage on the lady’s countenance.

  Sara had quickly forgotten her routine errands and rushed to Caroline to assist in whatever way she could, but her mistress’s expression held her off. Instead Caroline tore at the enclosure of her coat, ripping it open and struggling to remove it as it clung to her wet skin and underclothes. After a moment of frenetic activity, her struggles ceased. She simply stood, dripping water onto the carpet; her arms limp at her sides as she gazed out her window at the heavens releasing a downpour at last. Sara grabbed for some linens in the closet, then approached again and, this time, was allowed to undress Caroline as the lady stood mute, crestfallen.