‘He is all of those things, indeed,’ Elizabeth replied. ‘And, I believe, he admires you, too.’
‘I cannot allow myself to think so. After all, he danced with me but twice.’ Jane tossed her strawberry-blonde locks. Elizabeth caught them deftly and threw them back. ‘But he did try to touch me up on the balcony.’
‘There! That proves it! He returns your affections!’
‘Dear Lizzy, do you think it can be true?’
‘It was plain to all! But sweet sister, be wary. You have met him but once, and his reputation …’
‘There are rumours of impropriety?’
‘Oh, Jane …’ Elizabeth sighed. ‘Carrotslime Bingley told me that in Town, among the ladies of fashion, he is known as “Mr Bang-Me”. But we only have her word for that. I, for one, am convinced there is little truth in the matter.’
‘And what of you, dear sister? Slighted by Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy! Are you affronted?’
‘Indeed, I am not,’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘If Mr Darcy considers himself above our station, I can understand it. After all, our stepfather has but two thousand pounds a year, and Mr Darcy is a man of vast wealth, and well known for his charitable works.’
‘Indeed, his educational foundation is spoken of highly,’ agreed Jane. ‘Its aim, I believe, is to introduce corporal punishment into every finishing school for young ladies. There is much to admire in his philanthropy.’
‘If not his character,’ added Elizabeth. Although, inside her head, her Subconscious and her Inner Slapper were having a bitch-fight in a metaphorical car park.
‘Admit it – there is something about Mr Darcy that attracts you!’ shouted her Inner Slapper, grabbing a handful of her Subconscious’s hair.
‘Oww! Don’t listen to her!’ her Subconscious yelled, forcing her Inner Slapper into a headlock. ‘He’s dangerous. And anally retentive. Did you notice the way he rearranged the ornaments on the mantelpiece? He did it with a tape measure, for Christ’s sake!’
Elizabeth shook her head, forcing herself out of her reverie.
‘Do not worry,’ she reassured Jane, whose lovely face radiated sisterly concern. ‘I shall soon forget Mr Darcy’s insult. I will endeavour to put him behind me.’
Jane gave a wry smile. ‘Behind you? I fear that is exactly where he would be if Mama has her way.’
Following Mr Bingley’s ball, the ladies of Longbourn fast became better acquainted with those of Netherfield. Miss Jane Bennet’s pleasing manners grew on the goodwill of Mr Bingley’s sisters, and she was oft invited to spend time in their company.
Looseata and Carrotslime made a great pet of Jane, and together the young ladies passed many an afternoon decrying other people’s dress sense, and waiting for someone to ask them to marry them. On occasion they would be diverted by some small project, such as knitting balaclavas for the terminally ugly of the parish, and one such scheme led to a letter being delivered to Longbourn early one morning.
My dear friend Jane,
We do entreat you to dine with Looseata and me today. We are planning to submit a little piece to The Lady’s Fancy Bits about the philanthropic works of our mutual friend Mr Darcy, and given your eloquence and skill at letter-writing, we are quite determined that you should be the author of the same. Come and discuss the matter as soon as you can on receipt of this.
Yours ever, Carrotslime Bingley
‘May I take the carriage?’ asked Jane.
‘Certainly not,’ replied Mrs Bennet. ‘You must go on horseback, because it seems likely to rain and then you must stay all night. And you can pretend to be saddle-sore, and ask Mr Bingley to rub your inner thighs.’
Thus the matter was decided, and Jane set off on horseback the three miles to Netherfield. Before long her mother’s prayers were answered, and it began to rain hard. Elizabeth was deeply concerned for her sister, but Mrs Bennet was delighted with the turn of events.
‘When she arrives at Netherfield her dress will be quite soaked through!’ she declared. ‘Do you not think so, Mr Bennet?’
Mr Bennet, who was a poorly developed character in every way, merely shrugged.
‘Her nipples will be poking through the muslin like chapel hat pegs! Mr Bingley cannot fail to take notice!’
And indeed, the very next morning a note arrived from Netherfield, addressed to Elizabeth.
My dearest sister,
I find myself very unwell this morning, which, I suppose, is to be imputed to my getting wet through yesterday. Mr Bingley says I have a congestion of the chest, which he is seeking to ease by assiduous hourly massages. He says he fears I will have to stay abed until he has quite rubbed the affliction out of me. All of this means I will be unable to write my character study of Fitzwilliam Darcy for The Lady’s Fancy Bits, as I so faithfully promised Carrotslime Bingley. Would you be so gracious as to take my place, Lizzy? Please say yes.
Yours, Jane
Elizabeth was conflicted. While her compassionate heart urged her to be with her sister at this most worrying time, she was anxious to keep her distance from Mr Darcy. After much cogitation and anxious pacing of the parlour, at length she made her decision.
‘Mother, I must go to Jane. Bingley’s ministrations are well intentioned, no doubt, but I cannot believe they will result in much easing of her symptoms.’
Mrs Bennet was exasperated. ‘She is being well taken care of, Lizzy! It is but a trifling cold! And Mr Bingley is unlikely to get past first base if Jane is to be chaperoned by you.’
Nevertheless, Elizabeth insisted, and when no horse could be found to accommodate her, she determined to walk the short distance to Netherfield across the fields. She leapt over stiles, sprang over puddles and – being hopelessly accident-prone in a cute yet vulnerable way that made all red-blooded men want to shag her – she arrived thither with her dress in shreds and her ankle shattered in several places, and was shown into the breakfast parlour.
The Misses Bingley were aghast at her appearance, and shrieked aloud at the muddy state of her petticoats.
‘And what, pray, has happened to your hair?’ asked Carrotslime Bingley, as tendrils of Elizabeth’s mane escaped from under her bonnet and tried to head towards the French windows.
But Mr Darcy stared upon her countenance with such intent that her cheeks turned even ruddier than before.
‘It is thrilling to see a young lady so invigorated by exercise,’ he murmured, never taking his slate-grey eyes off her own. ‘I am a great believer in it as a discipline.’
Elizabeth’s enquiries after Jane’s health were politely answered, and after breakfast she was able to visit her in her bedchamber. Mr Bingley leapt up from the bedside as soon as she entered.
‘Why Miss Bennet!’ he exclaimed. ‘I was just about to deliver your sister’s daily treatment!’
It was evident that in his anxiety for her sister’s health, Mr Bingley had barely rested – his attire betrayed him. His breeches were loosed, and his shirt was unlaced, and his face bore the look of someone who had spent the night tossing, and possibly turning, too.
Elizabeth crossed to Jane’s bedside. Her sister was flush of face and breathing heavily.
‘Jane, my dearest, I am here now. I shall nurse you until you are well. Mr Bingley, pray summon the apothecary.’
‘I will send someone at once,’ he replied, tucking his shirt hastily into his breeches. ‘I’ll be back soon, Snuggle Bunny.’
Jane smiled weakly. ‘Don’t be long, Dumpling.’
When Bingley had quit the room, Elizabeth turned down Jane’s bedsheets. Thankfully, they dealt with rejection pretty well – they were turned down every day.
‘I’m so grateful to see you, Lizzy,’ Jane murmured. ‘Yet I am loath to ask you to take on my duties as scribe, as well as those of nursemaid. The Lady’s Fancy Bits will have to do without an article about Fitzwilliam Darcy.’
‘Hush, now, do not tire yourself,’ chided Elizabeth, gently. ‘I will take on your journalistic duties gladly. I am a great reader of
novels, as you know. Indeed, on the strength of that alone, I would no doubt be able to breeze into a job in a prestigious publishing house just like that, should such opportunities for young ladies ever exist in the future.’
‘So you will speak with Mr Darcy, even though you abhor him so?’
‘For you, Jane, I would do much more,’ replied Elizabeth tenderly.
‘It is agreed then.’ Jane settled back gratefully onto her pillow, and soon her breathing settled into the steady rhythm of sleep. Elizabeth kept watch upon the invalid, occasionally mopping Jane’s brow and at other times dusting and polishing it, but after a while took down a book of poems from the bookshelf and began to read.
Meanwhile, downstairs in the breakfast room, the talk was of the second eldest Miss Bennet, and the exhibition she had made of herself. Her manners were dissected and pronounced to be very ill indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence. In short, she had no style, no taste, no beauty.
‘My, did you note her countenance on her arrival?’ remarked Looseata Bingley. ‘She looked entirely wild!’
‘To walk three miles! What abominable independence!’ declared her sister.
‘And what of her petticoat? Six inches deep in mud!’
‘All was lost upon me,’ Bingley said gallantly. ‘I confess I did not notice her petticoat. Did you, Darcy?’
‘Indeed not,’ replied Mr Darcy. ‘I was far too busy looking at her tits.’
When luncheon was over and the rest of the party were at the card table, Elizabeth petitioned Mr Darcy for an hour of his time, that she might discern from him some facts that might pique the interest of readers of The Lady’s Fancy Bits.
‘You flatter me, Miss Bennet, to suggest that young ladies may have any curiosity about my life and day-to-day business,’ Darcy remarked. ‘I hardly think myself a fit subject for anyone to study. Moreover, speaking about myself gives me little pleasure.’
‘Rest assured, Mr Darcy, it will afford me little pleasure either,’ Elizabeth replied archly. ‘I think we are both of an understanding in that regard.’
Nonetheless, together they repaired to the drawing room, where Elizabeth laid out her notebook and writing pencils upon an occasional table, which was keen to let people know that it was only occasionally a table –most of the time it was a wingback chair. While she did so, she could not help observing that Mr Darcy’s eyes were fixed upon her.
‘If you think to embarrass me, Sir, with your scrutiny, be informed that I am not intimidated easily,’ she said airily. ‘If there is something about my behaviour or appearance that you find reprehensible, pray tell me, that I might seek to rectify it at once.’
Mr Darcy smiled.
Oh my! His mouth was so … so … mouthish!
‘I make no such observation, Miss Bennet,’ he replied. ‘I was merely wondering how it would be to take up one of those fine pencils of yours, and to insert it, oh so slowly …’
Elizabeth’s heart thudded in her chest.
‘ … into a pencil sharpener,’ he continued, his grey eyes dancing wickedly, like two evil imps high on cider.
At that moment, a servant Elizabeth did not recognize, his hair cropped close and his visage roughly stubbled, appeared from behind a potted-plant stand.
‘Ah, Taylor,’ said Mr Darcy. ‘Have you made your final appraisal as regards Miss Bennet?’
‘I have, Sir,’ replied Taylor.
‘And your conclusion?’
‘34C, Sir.’
‘Good! Then make haste to Meryton.’
Taylor gave a curt bow, and headed for the door.
‘My manservant, Taylor, has been despatched to buy some new undergarments for you,’ Darcy remarked, by way of explanation. ‘I could not help noticing that your bloomers and stays were sullied during your journey from Longbourn.’
Elizabeth bristled. Mr Darcy’s impertinence seemingly knew no bounds!
‘I assure you, I have no need of charity, Sir,’ Elizabeth replied, both abashed and affronted. ‘My underthings may not be as finely stitched, nor as decoratively embroidered, as those belonging to the Misses Bingley, but they are perfectly adequate for my needs.’
‘And what exactly are your needs, Miss Bennet?’ Mr Darcy asked playfully.
‘I have no needs, as you put it, Sir.’
‘You just said you did.’
God, he was an arse. ‘I think you understand my meaning perfectly, Mr Darcy,’ Elizabeth said firmly. ‘And please, no gifts.’
Mr Darcy looked disappointed. ‘Please indulge me, Miss Bennet,’ he said in a low voice, edging a little closer towards her on the chaise longue. ‘I am an inordinately wealthy man, and if I wish to buy you a silk shift with little cut-out bits that allow just a fleeting glimpse of nipple, that is my prerogative. Or satin bloomers that cling, like water, to your firm young …’
Mr Darcy’s eyes were now taking on a feverish intensity. Elizabeth decided it was in everyone’s best interests to cut him short.
‘Pray, do not embarrass me again, Sir. I cannot accept your gifts. I have no wish to be beholden to you.’
‘You are refusing me?’ Mr Darcy looked puzzled. He cocked his head to one side. Then cocked it to the other side. Then cocked his leg for good measure.
‘You are fond of cocking, Sir?’ Elizabeth enquired.
‘Oh, I am, Miss Bennet,’ Mr Darcy murmured. ‘Very fond indeed.’
‘Come now, let’s move the plot along!’ shouted Elizabeth’s Subconscious.
Glancing down at her notebook, Elizabeth read the first of her questions in as commanding a voice as she could muster. ‘You have vast wealth at your disposal. Pray tell, how is it possible to manage your estates and business interests so successfully?’
‘By exercising the strictest control,’ Mr Darcy replied. ‘I have over four hundred servants at Pemberley, and those who do not meet my exacting standards, or who displease me, are soon beaten into shape.’
‘You are speaking metaphorically, I trust?’
‘No. I personally pull down their breeches and give them twenty strokes. Next question, Miss Bennet.’
‘Pemberley is considered one of the foremost houses in the county of Derbyshire, if not in all of England. What do you consider to be its finest merits?’
Mr Darcy gave a wicked smile. ‘Firstly, you must inform the young ladies who read your magazine that I am changing the name of my estate.’
‘Indeed, Mr Darcy?’
‘To Memberley.’
Elizabeth fought to keep her composure. She would not be baited into responding to his puerile schoolboy humour.
‘You must do me the honour of visiting, Miss Bennet,’ Mr Darcy continued. ‘There is much there that I would like to show you. I have decorated many rooms after the French fashion. You would pass many a happy hour there, I’m sure, fingering my bibelots.’
Elizabeth, occupied by the hurried writing of notes, was grateful to be looking down at her notebook so Mr Darcy could not see the blush that was now starting to spread across her cheeks.
‘Aside from calling upon friends in the country, how do you spend your time?’
‘I sail. I indulge in various physical pursuits. I ride – hard. And I get up whenever I can in Charlie Tango.’
‘Charlie Tango? Is that your hot-air balloon?’
‘No, he’s my rent boy.’
‘I knew it!’ yelled her Gaydar.
Seeing her discomfiture, Mr Darcy appeared to soften. ‘I am toying with you, Miss Bennet,’ he said in an amused voice. ‘Yes, Charlie Tango is my hot-air balloon.’
‘And your charitable pursuits? Are they close to your heart?’
Mr Darcy’s smile instantly vanished. ‘Some would say I have no heart, Miss Bennet.’
‘How can that be so, Mr Darcy?’
‘There is, I believe, in every disposition a tendency to some particular evil, a natural defect, which not even the best education can overcome.’
He leant closer, and Elizabeth could smell his enticing,
manly smell – she sensed cologne, linen, leather and something else. Pickled onions, perhaps?
‘I have many vices,’ Mr Darcy said huskily. ‘My libido, for one, I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding.’
‘That is a failing indeed!’ cried Elizabeth. ‘Implacable lust is a shade in a character.’
‘I have many shades, Miss Bennet,’ said Mr Darcy. ‘About fifty, last time I counted.’
The invalid being not much improved, and dusk drawing on, Elizabeth was invited to stay overnight at Netherfield. She passed a great deal of it in Jane’s room, but was much disturbed by Mr Bingley knocking upon the door several times during the night, obviously desirous of administering to her sister himself. Carrotslime and Looseata also called in upon them before they made their way to bed, keen to enquire after Jane’s health and to be a pair of complete bitches.
‘Mr Darcy informed us that you have “very fine eyes”,’ the elder Miss Bingley remarked. ‘If you were not of such low social status and diminished means, I would declare him to be in love with you!’
‘I cannot imagine Mr Darcy has any tender feelings,’ Elizabeth replied coolly. ‘He seems to be a man of large appetite and little delicacy, and unused to female company.’
‘It is true that he shuns the company of our sex,’ complained Looseata. ‘When he is in Town, he is most often to be found at his Club, Spanky’s.’
‘A shame indeed,’ added Carrotslime, ‘that a gentleman of his fortune and position should be a confirmed bachelor. Still, when he marries – as all men must – he will doubtless choose someone of his own standing in society. Like myself, perhaps.’
‘It would be a good match,’ Elizabeth declared, with much sincerity, for at this time she could imagine no better spouse for Mr Darcy than this vain and prattling creature.
‘And what of your own matrimonial hopes, Miss Elizabeth Bennet?’ Carrotslime continued. ‘Perhaps some impoverished clergyman might take a fancy to you, or, if you are exceedingly fortunate, a farmer?’
Fifty Shades of Mr Darcy: A Parody Page 2