The Golden Apples of the Sun

by Ivy May Stuart

  That she could see how Elizabeth Bennet and Darcy might be suited meant nothing more than that she would now have to be utterly ruthless if she was to eliminate the threat posed by that young lady. But first Caroline must have confirmation that she was not off on a wild goose chase. She settled in, intending to confirm her assumptions by watching Darcy’s reactions carefully over the next hour. She was fairly confident that he could not hide his Achilles’ heel from her.

  Initially there was nothing to detect. If anything Darcy was stiffer, even more distant than usual. Then, just as Caroline was beginning to believe herself mistaken, a pattern like a negative image began to emerge before her eyes: its occurrence seemingly called forth by any opinion or remark volunteered by Miss Elizabeth. Whenever the room stopped to listen or look at her (which in Caroline’s opinion was far too often) Darcy’s attention would focus somewhere else, on another person or object. In fact, during the whole of the hour that they were there, he did not once look directly at Elizabeth Bennet. It was the deliberate nature of this avoidance that convinced Caroline that the man was ensuring that he did not betray his feelings.

  I have you now, Darcy, she thought triumphantly - unhappy with the confirmation of her suspicions; but proud of her deductive skills.

  Caroline was the product of a ‘genteel’ girl’s boarding school and if there were two things she had learned while brushing shoulders with her social superiors it was firstly, never to overlook an opportunity to probe the resilience of the competition and secondly, to establish her own superiority at every opportunity. Remembering a morsel of negative information about Elizabeth that Jane had unthinkingly let fall in London, she decided to pounce as Elizabeth assisted her sisters in serving the tea. She waited for her turn to be presented with her cup before she said in a voice loud enough for the company to hear, “I believe that you are a very keen walker; but do you ride, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “No, I don’t Miss Bingley. Are you keen on the exercise?”

  “Certainly. I think that most would agree that riding is an essential skill for any lady of quality. I’m sure that my brother and Mr. Darcy - both first class riders - would rate me as rather accomplished. What say you, Charles?” she asked haughtily, watching for Darcy’s reaction out of the corner of her eye. However, the man kept his eyes annoyingly lowered as he silently stirred his tea and it was her brother who, in the end, turned puzzled eyes on her.

  “I would agree to your ability to ride in a sedate manner around the parks in London…yes. But riding to hounds or something similar… No, Caroline. I don’t think you have the seat for it.”

  Caroline tossed her head in annoyance. She had miscalculated there. Charles was still annoyed at her earlier remark. She ought to have known that he would never support her in this. She glanced up and caught a gleam of amusement in Elizabeth Bennet’s eye as she turned away.

  You might find this entertaining now, Miss Elizabeth, Caroline thought, her own eyes narrowing, but I am onto you. You will not have Darcy. Not if I can help it.

  _______________________

  The falling leaves of autumn seemed to hold a strong fascination for the three passengers in the Bingley carriage on its way back to Netherfield, for they did a great deal of staring out of their respective windows at the passing scenery. Of course, it was also possible that the events of the afternoon had provided them with so much food for thought, that they had little inclination to sustain a decent conversation.

  In Darcy’s case he had observed Caroline Bingley’s conduct with dismay. He couldn’t imagine what had given him away, but it was obvious that something in his behaviour had alerted her to his current obsession with Elizabeth Bennet, for she had targeted that young lady with spiteful remarks twice during their visit.

  Then there had been his unexpected encounter with the Dowager Lady Randall, a staunch ally of his aunt, Lady Catherine. Lady Randall had always had an interfering streak, but the certainty in her tone today had troubled him. Behind her words he recognised the domineering hand of his aunt. She had obviously spread her net far and wide amongst her cronies in order to ensure that Darcy received her ultimatum. There would definitely be others who had been told the same story, and although he hovered on the brink of acknowledging Anne’s claim on him, nothing was more calculated to set up Darcy’s back than an attempt by his aunt to force his hand.

  Irritation at the thought made him shift on his seat but still no one spoke, the oppressive silence persisting right up until they drew to a halt at the front door to Netherfield.

  Unexpectedly, Charles leant forward at that moment and said sternly, “You will oblige me with a few minutes of your time in the library, Caroline.”

  “Now, Charles?”

  “Certainly, I know of no better time,” Charles said, descending the steps with his brow furrowed in annoyance. He stood waiting impatiently beside the carriage, his hand held out to receive hers. Then he stepped back and followed hard on her heels into the house.

  It seemed fairly clear that a reprimand was about to be delivered. Out of respect for both brother and sister, Darcy waited back. Once the library door was closed behind them, he crossed the hall rapidly to ascend the stairs to his room. Despite his determination to remain ignorant of the issue at hand, he could not contain a grin as he heard Charles’s angry words penetrate the solid mahogany.

  “I will not tolerate it, Caroline. You have only just met Jane’s sister. What imagined insult or omission can be causing you to make her the victim of your spite?”

  Caroline’s reply was lost as Darcy bounded up the stairs and gained the privacy of his room. Miss Bingley appeared to have overplayed her hand at last.

  ________________________

  It had been an endless day at Longbourn and by nine o’clock that night Mary and Kitty had been banished to their room, leaving Jane and Lizzy to the dubious delights of their temporary abode above the stables.

  Bundling themselves into woollen dressing gowns as protection against a spiteful little draught that had so far managed to evade detection, the two girls sat hunched before a fire that gave off very little heat: the timid tongues of flame only sporadically licking through a recently added layer of coals.

  “So Lizzy, what do you think of Caroline Bingley?”

  Elizabeth pulled a face. “I’d have to agree with you, Jane. She definitely didn’t endear herself to me. What did interest me was how Darcy’s behaviour changed. He is not the world’s greatest conversationalist but in her presence, the friendliness that I thought we had established seemed to disappear. He all but ignored me.”

  Jane nodded. “I did notice that he was very reserved. You think it was to do with Caroline? I thought that he was annoyed with Aunt Margaret. Weren’t you amazed to see that they knew each other?”

  Lizzy shrugged. “Not really. I should imagine that there are not that many people on the upper end of the social scale and then they live in neighbouring counties, don’t they? I hadn’t really thought about it before, but I can’t say that I was that surprised. The way that she scolded him in public was amusing though.”

  Her eyes sparkling with mischief, Lizzy continued, “Poor Mr. Darcy. I longed to offer him the comfort of telling him that he was not alone and that Mama too has earned Aunt Margaret’s displeasure in the past. Imagine how he would have reacted to that idea! Since you became engaged to Bingley, he pretends to be accepting of our family; but underneath everything, I think he still sees himself as superior. Though he didn’t look too happy about having to tie the knot with that well-born cousin of his either.”

  “You are very hard on him, Lizzy. But tell me, what is your opinion of the discussion that our parents had over dinner? Will you enjoy visiting Aunt Margaret?” asked Jane, pulling a face.

  Lizzy sighed. “She has always been pleasant to me, if only because she thinks that I look like Grandmamma. Personally, I should have liked some time to myself: an opportunity to catch my breath after the whirlwind of this wedding has blown itself
out. But Mama is so keen for me to go, that I fear I won’t be able to refuse. You and Mary have awoken her ambitions to the extent that she has hopes that, with a change of scenery, even I might meet someone eligible.”

  Frowning, Jane looked at her sister. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that someone might find you attractive and come to love you for yourself?”

  Lizzy looked up from fiddling with the ties of her dressing gown. “Now Jane, don’t you start feeling sorry for me. It’s not that I have a poor opinion of myself; rather that I’m quite content as I am. I’m not going to say that it isn’t fun to dress up sometimes. Even so, I’ve never been one to go out of my way to attract men or worry about my appearance. Although, I have begun to appreciate Mama’s point about the way I treat my clothing. I’ve been trying to be more careful about that – surely you’ve noticed? She and I have fewer fights about it anyway.”

  Jane nodded.

  “Besides that, I suppose that I just haven’t thought any further. I’m not sure why I don’t imagine myself married with children at my knee like you do. Even now, when I think on it, it seems strange. Who would be a suitable husband for me? Someone intellectual, with his nose forever in a book like Papa? No! If that were the case, then I would be forced to shoulder more than my share of the responsibilities and have no time for fun. Yet it couldn’t be someone so practical that he would be constantly lecturing me. In that event, I would just be exchanging Mama for another disapproving person in my life,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck as she considered the issue.

  “You know, I can’t even begin to envisage the sort of man who would make me happy. Does he exist? It’s easier to see myself as ‘Mad Aunt Lizzy’ living on my own in a little tumbledown cottage. I will grow vegetables and read books all day and in winter, you and Mary will give me a chair next to your hearths and I will take your children out walking and bring them home up to their ears in mud.”

  “But does your vision of the future need to be so solitary: so narrow?”

  “Narrow? Jane, that is precisely where the difference lies between us. I see a universe of ideas in the world of books. When I am reading, I am free to interact with a writer’s most private, complex thoughts and intimate beliefs. No individual I have ever known has been that generous in their conversation. What brave souls writers are! Do you not agree?”

  “To my mind, a writer can enrich our lives by sharing his experiences and thoughts, yes. But there is a real world out there. Perpetually burying your head in a book is a sure way to go about avoiding your own reality. In the end, is experiencing life through someone else’s eyes really living, or just a form of cowardice?” asked Jane, her voice petering out in shock as she realized how profoundly she had just criticized her sister’s beliefs.

  There was a brief silence. Then Lizzy observed thoughtfully with half a smile, “What will I do without you in the future, Jane? Who will bring me down to earth when I go off on another of my irrational starts?”

  Jane leaned forward and touched her sister’s hand. “You will always listen to dissenting voices, Lizzy. Don’t belittle your intelligence, it is a rare quality that makes you seek the truth and it will guide you. Besides, I need you just as much. You help me when I begin to dither. I would not have been engaged to Charles if you had not insisted that I should leave Meryton when I did. And no doubt I would still be deliberating on whether to kiss him without your advice. Just look at all the living I would have missed!” laughed Jane, her eyes glowing with contentment as she leaned back and looked deep into her future.

  Chapter 22

  “It is a curious sensation: the sort of pain that goes

  mercifully beyond our powers of feeling. When

  your heart is broken, your boats are burned:

  nothing matters any more. It is the end of

  happiness and the beginning of peace.”

  George Bernard Shaw

  Caroline Bingley’s eyes narrowed as another roar of laughter burst forth from the small knot of young gentlemen standing near the balcony doors. Some five or six of them had drifted there during the interval between sets and since then had vied amongst each other for ascendency, their laughter and outrageous remarks attracting the general interest of the room.

  Frustratingly for their audience, their broad shoulders formed a wall that served to shield the objects of their attention from the general view, but Caroline knew that Elizabeth Bennet sat there: a woman whose existence she had been totally unaware of a week ago. One who had fast become a thorn in her side and might even have the power to wreck the years of careful planning that she had devoted to Darcy’s capture.

  Caroline was now convinced that without her constant intervention, the situation currently developing around Darcy could veer out of control and move him beyond her reach forever. Her anxiety had increased yesterday when Charles had threatened to send her home before the wedding. At that point she would have done anything to appease him and so she had hidden her outrage at the scolding and agreed to conduct herself with more control. Indeed, she would have promised anything; she was not going to surrender the field and lose Darcy to a mere country chit.

  When she had left Charles’ study yesterday, it had been with an increased determination to wrest the situation back under her control. Using the only weapon she had left, she planned to somehow poison Darcy’s mind against Elizabeth. She had searched the house and grounds, trusting that the right words would come to her when she found him. However, she had reckoned without Darcy’s inherent shrewdness. He was seemingly determined to make an exchange of words between them impossible and had disappeared completely, only returning just before dinner.

  After the meal, he had taken himself up to his room immediately on the pretext of attending to urgent correspondence and this morning he breakfasted early and then gone out riding. At lunch, he had barely acknowledged her, keeping up a constant conversation with Charles. Since then he had politely but immediately vacated any room she entered.

  Given this major threat to her most cherished hopes, it would not be an exaggeration to say that the matter of the ball had largely receded in Caroline’s mind. Indeed, when night fell and the carriages began flowing into the grounds, she was at the point of seeing the celebration as nothing but a massive irritant, a feeling that only intensified with the arrival of the Bennet family. Since then, the evening had passed on leaden feet and now, after an interminable wait, the supper hour was almost upon them.

  Most significantly, Darcy had yet to make an appearance. She had seen him earlier but he had murmured a few words and quickly disappeared into the card room. With every minute that ticked by, Caroline’s anxiety ratcheted up another notch. However, the passage of time also emboldened her to hope that he might not appear in the ballroom at all. His absence might have an odd appearance to the folk of Meryton, but it would suit her purposes admirably for, from the minute she had seen Elizabeth Bennet’s smooth white shoulders emerging from a ball gown of sea-green silk, she had realized that it could only be a good thing if Darcy was spared that sight.

  “Miss Bingley. You appear to be rather concerned with the time. Is there somewhere else you should be?” Lady Randall had come up silently behind her, an expression of amusement deepening the lines on her face and, in Caroline’s view, increasing her resemblance to a rather intelligent monkey.

  “No. Not at all,” said Caroline searching for an excuse. “I was just wondering how long it is to dinner.”

  “Oh, to be young again!” enthused Lady Randall. “I long for the return of the days when eating was one of life’s pleasures! Nowadays, I must monitor every mouthful. There are side-effects to everything one does when one gets older – even if it is merely excess wind,” she said.

  Then an artful glint appeared and remained to twinkle in the depths of her eyes. “But tell me, Miss Bingley, where is our Mr. Darcy? When I saw you consulting the clock so frequently, I assumed that, like me, you were waiting for him to appear.”

&nb
sp; ”I’m sure that I don’t know where he is. Perhaps you should ask my brother,” said Caroline, attempting to show the correct degree of detachment and so give the lie to Lady Randall’s taunt.

  But the old hag persisted. “Come now, Miss Bingley. You may fool others, but I am a very old lady who has observed more dalliances and marriages amongst the privileged classes than I would like to admit. It has been common knowledge in town for some time now that you have been dangling after Fitzwilliam Darcy and, to be honest, that is why I have stopped to speak to you this evening.”

  She leaned forward in her seat. “I see your eagerness to raise yourself in society, Miss Bingley and I pity you for it. You exist on the edges, but were you a little more familiar with the ton, you would realise that you cannot pit yourself against the strength of the old families. They are powerful precisely because they know how to deal with the odd interloper. You waste your time, my dear. There are enormous financial concerns involved here, all of which ensure that Mr. Darcy is destined for his cousin, Lady Anne de Bourgh. There is little or nothing that you can do to change that, I am afraid. It is a scheme that was hatched while they were still in their cradles. The Fitzwilliam family will have him do his duty and in the end, Darcy will accept it.”

  Caroline was affronted. “Are you as disinterested as you appear to be in offering this piece of advice, Lady Randall? You do not, for instance, attempt to discourage me in order to clear the way for another: your grandniece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet perhaps?”

  “What has Elizabeth to do with it?” responded Lady Randall, looking genuinely astonished.