Miss Bingley Requests

by Judy McCrosky

  Across the table from her, Charles let out a strangled cough. He’d been sorting through the morning post, but once he’d told her it contained nothing for her, she’d left him to it and had allowed her bleak mood to overcome her. Looking at him now, however, she saw his fingers turning white under the pressure they exerted as he held a few thin pages. His eyes wide, he feverishly flipped through the letter, clearly reading it through more than once.

  ‘Charles,’ she said, a sisterly concern tightening her chest, ‘whatever is the matter? What can have you so upset?’

  ‘It’s a letter from Darcy,’ he told her, his voice quiet.

  ‘Oh, do not tell me,’ she said, her hand going to her heart, ‘that something terrible has happened to dear Georgiana.’

  ‘No, no.’ He put down the letter and tried to smile reassuringly at her.

  ‘Is it Darcy, then, who has you in such a state?’

  ‘Both of our friends are in good health. There is no need to be concerned.’

  ‘Darcy is visiting his aunt, Lady Catherine, is that not true?’ Caroline said. ‘And Miss Darcy is at Pemberley.’

  ‘You have a good memory,’ Charles said.

  ‘The Darcys are our dearest friends.’ Caroline picked up her toast. ‘They are often in my thoughts.’

  ‘You are a good friend to them.’ Charles slid the assorted envelopes and papers strewn across the table in front of him into a pile, and stood.

  ‘Charles,’ Caroline said, her voice sharp with sisterly disapproval, ‘surely you cannot think of leaving before you have told me what was in Mr Darcy’s letter that so disconcerted you.’

  ‘I was not disconcerted.’ He clutched the untidy pile of opened letters to his chest.

  She stood, also, realising that she had no appetite for toast or anything else. ‘Charles, I have known you far too long, and your countenance is far too open and expressive for you to fool me. What is in that letter?’

  ‘What letter?’ He took a sideways step towards the doorway.

  ‘The letter from Mr Darcy,’ she said, trying not to grit her teeth.

  ‘There is nothing in it to concern you, my dear sister. Just news and tales of doings that would only interest his male friends.’

  His eyes were open, seemingly guileless, but Caroline saw the brief motion as they flicked towards the doorway.

  ‘Surely,’ she said, ‘there can be no secrets between Mr Darcy and myself? I am his intended, after all.’

  Something that sounded like a laugh that was being strangled escaped his lips and he immediately looked away, his gaze now resting on the crumbs lying on the table’s white tablecloth. ‘Mr Darcy has proposed, then?’ he said to a particularly large crumb.

  Caroline hesitated, and he picked up the crumb between thumb and forefinger, rolling it between them, before putting it back on the table next to another one that was nearly its equal in size.

  ‘No,’ Caroline said at last, knowing she must answer.

  He made no response, and continued to place crumbs in a row, ordered by size.

  ‘But we both know we are meant for each other,’ she said. When he didn’t look up, she added, making her voice as firm as possible, ‘We will marry, he simply has not spoken yet.’

  ‘Are you so certain?’ Now he did look up, his face filled with gentle concern. ‘If you were to ask his aunt, she would tell you he was intended for her daughter.’

  Caroline waved a hand dismissively. ‘He will never marry such a sickly creature as Anne de Bourgh. He needs a woman in the peak of health, someone with an elegant disposition and all of the accomplishments a young woman can hope to attain.’

  His expression did not change, but she sensed there was something he was keeping from her, something in that letter.

  ‘If you refuse to show me that letter,’ she said lightly, ‘I will think it contains either grave news indeed, which you have denied, or that it shows that Mr Darcy has lost his mind. What has he done?’ She laughed. ‘Ask Miss Eliza Bennet to marry him?’

  Charles stared at her, his face suddenly very red. He began to choke, coughing in an alarming manner. Caroline hurried around the table, to pound him on the back, but as soon as she reached him, he shook his head and, clutching the day’s post even more firmly than before, he raced out of the room.

  * * *

  ‘I followed him, of course,’ Caroline told Louisa later that same day. ‘He went into his study and despite my knocking, refused to grant me entry.’

  Louisa shook her head, making sympathetic noises.

  ‘I could hear him continuing to cough, and so I left to find a servant to fetch him a glass of water.’ Caroline paused to recall the state of mind she’d been in during that time, confused, angry, and afraid all at the same time. ‘By the time I returned to his study with the water, he was no longer coughing and when I knocked, calling out to him, he opened the door.’

  ‘And what happened then?’ Louisa clasped her hands in her lap to keep them still, for they had been twisting in each other’s clasp.

  ‘He appeared quite himself, his face no longer flushed, his breathing as easy as ever. He did accept the glass of water and sipped it with every appearance of enjoyment.’

  ‘Do you think,’ Louisa asked, her hands once again twisting, ‘that he had some sort of fit? Did he appear overly in need of water or did he merely sip it to be polite, since you had gone to the trouble of bringing it to him?’

  Caroline thought, until she realised her brow was furrowed. Hastily she relaxed it before unsightly lines could appear on her smooth skin. ‘I think,’ she said slowly, ‘that he was thirsty. He took the glass in both hands, even though it was one of the smaller ones, you know, the ones with the floral engraving just below the rim?’

  Louisa nodded, her eyes clinging to Caroline’s. ‘Please go on.’

  ‘Such a glass can be held quite comfortably with one hand by someone whose hands are large, as are Charles’.’ Caroline pictured her brother drinking in her mind, so as to furnish Louisa with every possible detail. ‘And yet he raised it to his lips with both hands. I don’t think he lowered one hand from it until he had taken several sips and was moving to place the glass on his desk.’

  ‘Ah! He did not finish all the water.’ Louisa’s brow was furrowed now, as she tried to make sense of her brother’s strange actions.

  Caroline smoothed the lines from her sister’s forehead. Yes, Louisa had already found a husband, but that was no reason to let herself go. ‘He may have finished it later,’ she said. ‘I cannot remember, exactly. My mind, now my concern for his immediate health was gone, was occupied with wondering where he had put Mr Darcy’s letter.’

  Louisa nodded. ‘Of course. You are very good in a crisis, Caroline; I have often noted it. You keep a cool head while others around you are close to panic.’

  Caroline smiled to acknowledge the compliment, although she didn’t think she’d been involved in very many crises. She’d always endeavoured to ensure that her life, and the environments in which she found herself, were arranged to forestall anything unexpected or surprising. Still, she had handled herself very well this morning, and she supposed that Charles’ dangerous coughing could have become a crisis, if she had not been there to help him.

  ‘Did you find the letter?’ Louisa asked, after both sisters had had enough time to think about what could have happened to their brother if he had continued to choke, and to be grateful it hadn’t.

  ‘No. I am most perplexed. It was not on his desk, and while some papers had fallen to the floor, I assume as he was fighting whatever it was that had lodged in his throat, I did not see it there either.’

  ‘Could it have been underneath one of the other papers?’

  Caroline shook her head. ‘The surface of his desk, while somewhat untidy, was not cluttered enough to completely cover the letter. And, while he drank, I quickly pushed some of the paper on the floor aside, with my toe, and so revealed what lay beneath them. The letter was not there.’

/>   Louisa’s hands were now clasped at her breast, and she gazed at her sister with admiration. ‘You truly have a mind unsurpassed by anyone else I know. Who else would have thought to search in that manner, even as she assisted Charles?’

  ‘It was nothing.’ Caroline stood, unable to sit as her frustration about the letter arose once again. ‘I cannot think where he could have put it but, even more, I cannot think what could have been in it that led to him denying me the joy of hearing Mr Darcy’s words.’ She paced back and forth in the Grosvenor Street house’s sitting room. It was not as large as the room the family had used in Netherfield Park, but there was no comparison, for the room here was in town while the other room was in, and here she shuddered, Hertfordshire, where Bennets had sat on its furniture and walked about on its carpets.

  ‘Alas, I cannot help you.’ Louisa rang the bell to summon a servant to bring refreshments. ‘I cannot think of a single thing it would be necessary to hide from you. Perhaps I should ask Charles myself about—’

  ‘No!’ Caroline whirled from where she stood by the fireplace. ‘I thank you,’ she said more quietly, in response to Louisa’s shocked countenance, ‘but surely this matter is but a trifle.’ She seated herself again beside her sister and patted her hand. ‘Just as there are matters that women do not discuss with men, there must be some things that men prefer to keep to themselves. I am certain that Mr Darcy’s letter contained nothing more mysterious than a reference to an incompetent barber or a poorly brushed suit.’

  ‘Or,’ Louisa said, laughing, ‘a badly tied cravat.’

  Caroline joined in the laughter and looked with appreciation at the tea and fruit-covered tarts that were being set out on the table. Despite her seeming relaxation and willingness to forget the morning’s occurrences, she could not put the letter entirely out of her mind. Somehow, she would find a way to discover its contents.

  * * *

  Caroline could not stop thinking about Mr Darcy’s letter. She’d managed to convince Louisa that she’d put the matter out of her mind, because she didn’t want her sister to become concerned. Unfortunately, this meant she could not speak to Louisa about it, and as there was no one else she could trust, her thoughts about its whereabouts and what it could contain were left entrapped inside her own head, swirling around and around with nowhere to go.

  Over the next several days Caroline found reasons to enter Charles’ study. She needed to ensure that the servants were doing an adequate job of cleaning it, or that the fire had been built up enough to ensure that he was warm and so would suffer no further coughing spells. She even ventured into his bed chamber, one evening when he had decided to forego the usual card game and practice billiards instead.

  ‘Darcy,’ he’d said, ‘is the victor far too often during our games. I must endeavour to give him at least a little competition, or he will become weary of playing with me.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Caroline had said, more sharply than she’d intended, but her tension over her inability to find the letter infused everything she did or said. ‘Mr Darcy’s affection for you will not permit him to forego the pleasure of playing with you.’

  ‘The pleasure of soundly beating me, you mean,’ Charles said with a smile.

  She’d thought of convincing him that he did not need to acquire better skills at billiards in order to ensure his friend would spend time with him, until she realised that if he was occupied in the billiard room, he would not know if she told the Hursts that she had a headache and would retire.

  No, that wouldn’t work, for Louisa, out of sisterly concern, would follow her to see if she could apply a cool cloth to Caroline’s forehead. No, instead she would say she felt a headache coming on, and so needed to run upstairs just for a moment, to fetch a powder Charles’ physician had concocted for exactly this situation. This excuse would provide less time for a search, but at least she could be certain of being alone for a few minutes. She’d have to keep watch for servants, but there should be no reason for Charles’ valet to be in his rooms at this time.

  As she’d expected, there were no servants around. At any other time, this fact would have caused concern that Louisa was not strict enough with her household staff, but for now Caroline was relieved.

  His sitting room held a small writing desk. Its drawers were unlocked, and she quickly searched through the papers. She found old letters there, from several of his friends, including Mr Darcy, but the one she sought was not there. The other furniture in the room, the chaise, the armchair, and the small tables scattered about in convenient locations, were bare of anything, ornaments or papers. A shelf between the two windows held the trophies he’d won at school, but no papers were concealed beneath or within any of the cups.

  She stuck her head into his bedroom, overcome with a sudden and most atypical shyness. The room was very masculine, with its wood-panelled walls and dark burgundy rug that matched the bed’s coverlet. Paintings of favourite hunting dogs and horses he’d owned over the years covered the walls. Even his pony Spot, the first equine he’d been permitted to ride, had a portrait hanging where he could see it when he sat up against his pillows.

  She smiled, seeing the picture, her mission forgotten for a brief moment. How Charles had loved that pony. He’d insisted on calling it Spot, even though its coat was a uniform chestnut brown, without a single marking anywhere. He’d spent every moment he could with it, and while Caroline felt her parents should have insisted that he spend more time in the schoolroom and less in the stables, she’d understood that there was a genuine bond between her brother and the beast.

  He’d spent long afternoons talking to it while it stood in its stall or was let out into the pasture. Spot came to him whenever he called. He’d stand beside it, leaning against its shoulder, speaking in a soft voice, and its ears flicked, making Caroline think that the pony was listening to every word. She wondered, sometimes, what Charles was telling it, for even though he was never a quiet child, she got the sense he confided things to Spot that no other ears heard.

  She smiled now, leaning against the doorway between Charles’ rooms, her body relaxing for the first time in days as she remembered her brother, Louisa, and herself, as young children. How carefree they’d been, running among the trees that stood about their family house, playing endless games in the nursery with puppets and blocks, looking forward to those evenings when their parents would join them for a cup of hot cocoa before the children were sent to bed.

  Suddenly, she snapped back to the present, her hand going to her mouth in shock. What nonsense she’d been thinking. Look at everything she’d attained during the years between childhood and now. Why on earth she’d thought, even when lost in memory, that anything could be better than her life now was beyond her. Wealth, position in society, all the accomplishments a young woman today could gain were hers. The only thing lacking, an advantageous marriage, was within her grasp. If having those things meant less time to gambol in flowery fields, so be it.

  She took a step into Charles bedroom, glancing about quickly. There were many places in which a small number of pages could be hidden, the drawers and cupboards that held his clothing, the drawers in the tables that stood on each side of the bed.

  She had no idea how long she’d been standing here, lost in nostalgia, but she feared that it had been long enough that Mr Hurst would send Louisa to find her. No doubt he was impatient to start the game. And, her strange reluctance to enter the room, the sense that this was an invasion and not something a gentlewoman should do, was strong enough that she turned and quickly left to return downstairs. She’d just have to think of another way to learn if the letter was there.

  Her chance came the very next day, for she encountered Charles’ valet, Byrnside, in the hall outside her own rooms. No one else was about.

  ‘Byrnside,’ she said.

  He turned and inclined his head in respect. ‘Miss Bingley?’

  ‘I wonder if you could help me with a trifling but troubling matter.’ She lifted h
er chin, wanting to appear businesslike.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, clasping his hands in front of his waist-coated stomach. ‘I am at your service.’

  She nodded. ‘Charles wanted to show me a letter from Mr Darcy, but he is unable to produce it. It is possible that these pages became mixed among some of Charles’ other letters. You know how careless he can be, scooping up everything in his path into one untidy pile.’

  She smiled, and as expected, Byrnside smiled back, a rueful but fond expression on his countenance.

  ‘Charles,’ she continued, ‘could have brought the papers into his rooms, and left them lying about his sitting room. Or, if he was particularly distracted that day, he could have thrust them into a pocket or pushed them into a drawer which usually would not contain such a thing. I know that you do an excellent job of looking after Charles’ clothing and other personal items. Have you seen handwritten pages anywhere among his things?’

  She waited with baited breath as he cocked his head and took a moment to consider her question. Was he merely running through the past few days and listing any items he found among Charles clothing? Or, was he thinking what a strange thing this was for his master’s sister to be asking? Would he mention it to her brother?

  After a moment, he merely looked back at her and said, ‘I am sorry, Miss Bingley, but I cannot recall seeing any letters at all. I regret being unable to offer you assistance in this matter.’

  ‘I thank you for taking the time to answer my question,’ she said, ‘and there is no reason for you to regret anything, for this is only a trifling thing. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you do not mention it to my brother.’ She laughed in a girlish manner. ‘I would not wish him to know I am unhappy with his personal habits.’